Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Jane furiously scribbled out another set of equations, only to have her pencil lead snap off to lay among the crumbs of what was left of her most recent eraser. Making a frustrated noise low in her throat, she crumpled the sheet of paper and threw onto her “useless ideas” pile (or as Darcy called it, the trash bin), before dragging her laptop towards her. Four different windows vied for space on the screen, each with information – whether research papers, Google searches, or offers from colleagues – that had been a complete waste of time.

She should have realized by now that theory doesn't translate well into reality. Although she wasn't about to let that realization stop her.

However, at three in the morning, when Darcy wandered into the kitchen that conveniently doubled as Jane's work space, she thought perhaps stopping once per night might be a good idea.

Even if abandoning her work for a few hours to do something as wasteful as sleep seemed like a burden. Even if, after years of searching and researching, going on wild goose chases and struggling for funding, she was finally getting somewhere. Even if, for the somewhat less lofty reason that the chill of the October night seeped even into Puente Antiguo's desert, the short walk out to her trailer wouldn't be very pleasant.

“You know, I hear a good night's sleep is good for the brain,” Darcy said, opening one of the cupboards as she looked for an after-midnight snack. “You might want to try that once in a while.”

Jane buried her forehead in her palms, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she mumbled, wondering if it if would be better just to take a nap at her desk. Darcy's footsteps came closer, and when Jane looked up, Darcy was neatly sitting herself on Jane's desk, a chocolate bar in hand.

“Still working on the watchamacallit–” Darcy leaned over Jane's jumbled pile of notes, waving one hand in the air, “–Energy transfer?”

Jane sighed. “A sustainable energy source and transference device. And with a workable size.” Though she was confident the science of her newly published Foster Theory was solid (which gave Jane a little thrill every time she thought about it), she couldn't exactly figure out how to build a “wormhole generator”. The amount of power she would need made any potential machine much too large to be feasible. And then there was the problem of overheating, and materials that wouldn't break under stress, and cost and–

“And you haven't used our own personal wizard to bend the rules of space-time a little?” Darcy took a bite of her chocolate bar, little crumbs falling onto one of Jane's heavily crossed-out pages of notes.

“Not a wizard, Darcy,” came a tired voice directly in front of Jane's desk.

Jane snapped her head up as Darcy squealed, “Jesus shit!”, nearly dropping her chocolate bar as she spun around on the desk. “Loki, don't fucking – oh.”

Unlike most times Loki corrected Darcy on her purposeful misnomers, there was no teasing smile on his face. In fact, Loki looked downright gaunt, hair messy and some of it sweat-plastered to his skin.

It was a look Jane had seen far too many times since Loki had come down to Earth about a year and half ago, though fortunately one she had seen with less frequency in the past months.

It was a look that screamed nightmare. His eyes were just a bit too wide, his breathing too harsh. Jane was sure if she peeked behind his back, his clasped hands would be shaking.

Although the fact that he actually decided to approach them, rather than staying in his room and wrestling his demons on his own, was a good sign.

She and Darcy must have taken a bit too long to answer, for Loki blinked and said, “Sorry, am I intruding?” It was the careful way his face grew blank under the pasty white skin that made Jane want to bang her head against the wall. Over a year of living in the same building, and Jane was pretty sure Loki thought at times that she would kick him to the curb one day.

Although considering what she knew of his relationship with most of Asgard, she guessed suspicion wasn't exactly unwarranted.

“Uh, no, no it's fine,” Jane said, wiping the crumbs off her work (even if that page happened to be useless). “We were talking about–”

“Jane's saga of science troubles,” Darcy interrupted, sliding off the desk. “You should write it down and send it to Thor. It'd probably be a hit at feasts.”

Loki managed a wan smile as Darcy wandered towards the kitchenette. In the most scathing tone it sounded like he could muster, he replied, “Asgard prefers sagas with a bit more punching involved. I think Jane's tale would send even the hardiest warrior to sleep in minutes.” Then he hesitated, a thoughtful look on his face. “Which I suppose would have certain uses.”

Jane felt a rare rush of gratefulness for Darcy's facetiousness. Most of the time Jane ignored it or else it got on her nerves, but sometimes it came in handy. It was better than staring at Loki when he most definitely didn't want to be stared at...sort of like Jane was doing now.

Clearing her throat, she grabbed a few pages from her “not useless” pile and gestured to the closest chair. “Well, before you weaponize my life story, how about you have a look at these designs.”

The easy gracefulness with which he settled into the chair, long limbs folding as he spun the chair closer, was so different from when he first came down from Asgard. His movements had been slow and stiff, and while Jane had known about the broken leg and some of his other injures, she had never realized just how far his grace had fallen. Back then, there would have been no smooth crossing of his legs so one of his ankles rested on his other leg's knee, no leaning forward with his elbow on his leg and chin in his hand. He would have sat almost formally, back tense and both feet on the ground, hands clasped tightly in his lap. As if sitting otherwise hurt, pulling at one injury or other. Or as if not sitting prim and properly would somehow offend Jane or Darcy.

In fact, looking at how Loki was now, he was nearly different person from when he had first arrived. The scars she had once glimpsed running up and down his arms (and, she was sure, most of his body) were gone, his lips were smooth, and even the circles under his eyes were lighter, though they never disappeared entirely.

More than his physical features, Loki seemed less...afraid. Less about to get caught up in his own mind or fears, or become distressed over something seemingly innocuous. Like when Jane's van had suffered a breakdown, and she had decided to check the engine, with Darcy and Loki looking on in curiosity rather than a desire to help. When Jane had closed the hood, the hinges had creaked and groaned before the hood slammed down with a metallic clang that echoed around the desert. And with the clang had come a small, frightened, almost desperate sound. Jane had looked around at Loki in time to see him flinching back, one hand going to the front of his throat, the other to rub at his wrist. As if for checking something, and was relieved when he didn't find it.

(“The sound reminds me of a door,” was all Loki had said when she and Darcy had asked, his voice shaking slightly.)

Or when Darcy had decided to paint her nails a deep, rich, purple that was nearly black, bounding out of her room to show Jane and Loki as they worked on Jane's theory at her desk. Loki's face had flashed though several emotions, too quick for Jane to name, but she had caught his hands twitching before he curled them into fists, the knuckles white. After a moment of silence too long, where Darcy had begun to slowly withdrawn her nails, Loki had given her a lacklustre attempt at a teasing grin. With a flick of his fingers, he had changed the colour to a bright yellow.

(Loki hadn't offered up an explanation that time.)

She knew being on Earth, where no one knew that the Jotnar existed or that Loki was one of them, outside of herself, Darcy, Erik, and SHIELD, probably helped. Especially since no one who knew, as far as Jane was aware, considered the Jotnar monsters.

However, sometimes Jane wondered if the distancing was really doing Loki any good in the long run, or if he was just using Earth to ignore everything that had happened on Asgard. Or that could happen if he went back to Asgard.

And other times, she thought having some space away from his past was for the best. Like how Jane had moved to England with her mom after Dad died, only returning to America when the pain became manageable, When the memories of her dad in her house wouldn't send her reeling to the floor with grief.

(She wondered how long it would take gods to make the pain manageable.)

Bringing herself out of her reverie, Jane tapped her pencil with the broken lead against one of her latest drafts. “What do you think of something along these lines as a receiver? The stress might bend it out of shape eventually, but it's the best I've been able to come up with so far.”

Loki hummed, staring at the paper. “If you let me get some metal from Alfheim, I think that would solve–”

“No! No magic, no space metal, no space energy sources.” Jane sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I want to do this here. With Earth technology and Earth materials. If I have to go to another world just to get off this world, it ruins the point of it all.”

Loki stared at her, as if evaluating her, when Darcy said, “Jane, I didn't know you were such a purist.” Her words were slightly muffled, and when Jane looked over she saw that there was chocolate bar stuffed between Darcy's teeth. Her hands were otherwise occupied, carrying three glasses of water as she ambled back to the desk.

“No, it's not that. It's just–” Jane waved one of her hands in the air. “It just feels like cheating, somehow.”

“You want to prove you can do it yourself, without an aid,” Loki said, voice low, still staring at Jane curiously.

“Yes, exactly,” Jane agreed, grabbing Darcy's offered glass of water.

She was about to add something about having enough of that “cheating” bullshit in grad school when her cell phone started buzzing in her pocket. And the building's corded phone rang against the wall. And Jane was pretty sure she could hear Loki's (SHIELD-bought-and-paid-for) phone ringing from his room, as well as strains of Killer Queen emanating from Darcy's.

They glanced at the station's phone then at each other. As Jane wrestled hers out of her pocket, Loki made a flicking motion with his hand and his cell phone appeared within it.

Loki frowned down at it. “It says the number and caller are unknown,” he said, giving his phone a suspicious look.

Jane finally got hers out and checked out the screen. “Mine too.” Seeing as no one outside of Jane, Darcy, and SHIELD had Loki's number, and she didn't know who else would be quite so persistent, it didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out who was calling.

“Three guesses for mine, then?” Darcy said, leaning over the desk. “Is someone gonna answer at least one of the phones, because I swear I'll get the corded one if you don't.”

Jane and Loki shared a glance. Loki still held his phone as if he didn't quite trust it, so Jane motioned at him to put his away. SHIELD might be paying her bills, as well as sticking around in Puente Antiguo to maintain the whole Asgard-Earth relationship and keep an eye on Loki, but that didn't mean she had to trust them. Not after they stole her equipment.

SHIELD had their own agenda, whatever that might be, and they didn't mind stepping on the little people to get it done. That, and the whole shady, super-spy thing going on, didn't fill her with confidence about their intentions. So she put her phone on the centre of her desk, and after answering pressed the speakerphone button.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Foster? This is Agent Coulson from SHIELD.”

“Yes, I remember. Hello, Agent.” Jane could feel her voice ice over. She had never forgiven Coulson for taking her life's work with all the smug assurance of a G-Man. Even if he'd eventually given it back.

If Coulson heard the coldness, it didn't show in his voice. “Is Loki currently available?”

Jane looked at Loki. He mouthed back Why.

“Why do you want to talk to him?” she replied, trying to sound demanding.

“It concerns SHIELD business.”

Meaning not Jane's business. At least, as long as Coulson could keep it SHIELD business, which wouldn't be very long at all. Grinning slightly, Jane said, “Fine, if you won't talk to me...” She picked up the phone and put it just a bit closer to Loki. He seemed torn between wariness and amusement at Jane's smugness as he bent down towards the phone.

“Hello?”

“Prince Loki, this is Agent Coulson, with SHIELD. Perhaps you remember meeting me last year?” Coulson's voice had a slight hesitation that wasn't present with Jane. Alien royalty probably ranked higher on SHIELD's respectability list than scientists.

“Yes. You were rather adamant that I join your organization.” Loki's voice was not as annoyed as his words seemed to imply , but rather more pleased.

“Well, now I would like to make a similar offer.” Coulson's even tone didn't waver. “Not quite for SHIELD itself, and not permanently, of course, but...” There was a pause, and when Coulson's voice returned he sounded grim. “Your brother promised to protect the Earth if we needed it. However, he's not exactly around right now. In his absence, would you be willing to carry out his promise?”

Loki stared at the phone for a second, scrutinizing it, as if thinking the proposition over. Jane didn't know if Coulson was telling the truth about Thor's promise, though it definitely sounded like something Thor would do.

Evidently Loki thought so as well, though his tone was still suspicious as he asked, “What exactly would this protection include? Fighting in one of your wars? Helping to bolster your organization?”

“No, nothing like that,” Coulson said quickly, his voice angling for reassuring, though Jane caught something beneath the surface, something like worry. “I can't tell you much over the phone. We would have to meet in person. But this is about more than just SHIELD, and maybe about more than the world. And you should know...” There was a slight hesitation, and the agent's tone softened slightly. “It also concerns the safety of Dr. Erik Selvig.”

Jane couldn't help a sharp intake of breath, and just beside her Darcy made a small squeaking sound. Coulson probably heard, but at the moment, she didn't particularly care.

The last time she had heard from Erik was when he left to work on some project for the government, not long after Loki had arrived on Earth. It hadn't sounded like anything that would put put the world at risk. What the hell had happened that he was in trouble now? That had gotten SHIELD involved? Jane hadn't heard of any huge disasters in the news, or anything in the science community that would require a god to intervene.

Whatever was going on was about as secret as SHIELD, and probably more dangerous. And somehow Erik had ended up part of it.

Jane wanted to grab the phone and demand an actual, real explanation, but settled for a death-grip on the desk and a sharp look at Loki, knowing her eyes were scared and pleading.

She needn't have bothered. While there was still suspicion in his eyes, there was also worry. Whether for Erik, or for Coulson's ominous warning about “more than the world”, she wasn't sure. But Loki glanced at the two if the of them, let out a slow breath of air, and with a small, wry grin he replied, “Then consider me Midgard's protector.”

Chapter Text

The call came for Erik during one of the desert's few days of rain.

The day was nearly two weeks after Healer Maija left, and as she had promised, Loki's body was nearly recovered. There were still sometimes aches in the bones that had been weakened by poison and broken, occasional twinges of pain when he stretched or flex a muscle that had been torn apart too many times. But when he had gotten out of bed to the sound of rain against the walls of the building, his ankles had not felt as if they might twist under his weight; when he had pried open the window to feel the rain against his palm, his grip had not felt weak, his fingers were not clumsy or slow. It was a relief to know that his body, if nothing else, would return to normal.

It was also the first day of rain Loki had encountered since leaving Asgard (and Loki half-hoped the rain meant Thor had come down to see him, even though he felt none of his brother's touch in the clouds). While the cool air was a refreshing break from the dry heat of the day, it turned the sky dark and the landscape into a gloomy, monotonous grey. So, despite the more comfortable temperature, Darcy declared it a day to sit back and do nothing until the sky cleared up.

Jane protested, but Darcy was adamant (and forcibly trying to block Jane from accessing her laptop).

“You need a break. You've been working non-stop since His Highness got here–” Darcy's thumb jerked towards where Loki was seated at the table, half-watching the display, half-looking out the window for a glimpse of a bright red cape (which he knew would not appear, not this soon after Loki had left). When Loki heard the nickname, he just rolled his eyes. He had explained the proper titles for a prince of his standing before. Darcy, of course, had not cared.

Without stopping for breath, Darcy rattled on, “I mean, it's great that your science is exciting, but you really have to eat and sleep sometime. And besides, SHIELD pays for everything now. We don't have to worry 'bout the university deciding you're a crackpot and cutting off your paycheck.” Both Jane and Erik frowned at the word 'crackpot', and Loki made a note to look up the word later. “They won't cut you off for missing one day of work.”

“Darcy's right,” Erik added in. “We're not on a time limit, and it's not going to help anyone if you run yourself into the ground.”

“Fine,” Jane huffed, and collapsed in the seat next to Loki. When he glanced towards her, she made a motion towards one of the ever-present cups of coffee, and Loki slid it over. She took a mouthful as Erik sat down on her other side, reaching for his own cup.

From the dark circles underneath both their eyes, and the way Erik was running his hand over his face, Loki could not help agreeing with Darcy's assessment. Although Jane's apparent exhaustion did not stop her from grumbling, “Who needs stuffy, sceptical old profs to get in the way of work when I've got you two?”

Loki snorted into his own cup of tea. “I believe it is the plight of scholars everywhere, to have friends that prefer squandered time over learning. Thor has done much the same to me, when I've been attempting to work out new spells or potions.” Loki frowned at the rain-streaked windows, through which the world remained stubbornly grey. “Though he took me out on quests, rather than telling me to stay inside.”

“Yeah, but inside's more exciting when you have the internet,” Darcy called from across the room, playing with some of the cables on the floor.

“And the only thing outside is wet desert,” Erik added, glancing out the window as well.

There was silence for a moment, the only sound rain tapping against the walls and Darcy shuffling through cords, as Loki stared out the windows and wondered how long it would take before Thor had time to visit Midgard. Certainly a fortnight was not enough time to escape from the responsibilities of being king.

(Although it wasn't as if Loki had much experience, being on the throne for only a few hours before–)

“The rain thing,” Jane said suddenly, cutting through Loki's thoughts, and when he glanced at her, she too was staring out the window, looking contemplative. “When your brother was here, he seemed to tell when it would rain – and you said you would miss the thunder–” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her chewing her lip. Then, half-disbelieving, she blurted out, “Can he actually control the weather?”

Loki nodded, still facing the grey outside the window. “Anything from a light drizzle to a raging hurricane.”

“Does he do it by himself, or is it Mol – his hammer?”

“Mjolnir,” Erik provided, sounding interested in the answer as well.

“Yes, Mjolnir,” she finished, seeming to not care if she got the word right or not.

Reluctantly, Loki took his gaze from the window, trying to bury the spark of jealousy rising in him. It was only natural to ask about Thor's powers, considering just how amazing they, and Mjolnir, were. Besides, the three had asked plenty of questions about Loki and his magic already; it was only fair they turned to Thor's.

And it wasn't as if Loki hadn't been thinking of it first, staring out at the rain with what probably looked like forlorn longing.

“It is...both in a way,” he answered, thinking of the best way to answer in terms the scientists could understand. “Both himself and Mjolnir. Thor has a natural affinity for weather – otherwise he's pretty much entirely deaf to magic–” No matter how many times Loki tried to explain it to him. “–But Mjolnir is what allows him to direct and control it. Or not control it, as it were.” Loki smirked, thinking how for the longest time, “Thor” and “control” rarely belonged in the same sentence.

“And that means...?” Jane began, gesturing at him to go on.

“Mjolnir is tied to Thor. His self, or his...being.” Loki shrugged at the inaccuracy of the word, but it was close enough. “There's been more than a few storms on Asgard because Thor's been in a mood.” He made a face, thinking of the early decades when Thor first had his hammer, still not quite a man for all he had come of age, and all the damned storms every time Thor's temper was touched off. (Which, to be fair, was Loki's fault half the time.)

“So this rain wouldn't be him then,” Jane said, a touch of disappointment in her voice.

“Oh?” Loki asked, tilting his head.

“He'd probably be happier to come to see us,” Jane said simply. As if it was simple.

(As if Thor might have no reason to worry about having left his friends with a Jotun and a–)

Loki concentrated on the sweet, leafy taste of his tea as he took another sip and shoved that thought from his mind before he could complete it.

Personally, Loki was not sure if he preferred an angry or worried Thor to no Thor at all.

“And this rain looks like someone ran over its dog,” Darcy provided, before letting out a cry of “Ha! Success!” The far wall, the only one not covered with papers, became lit up by the projected screen of Darcy's laptop.

“Who's the computer whiz now” she said as, trailing cables, she plunked her laptop down as she took the last free seat at the table. “Time for a movie marathon.”

Then Erik's phone rang.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik went out to his little mobile home to take the call. He was out for nearly half an hour.

Not knowing the appropriate length for a phone conversation, Loki only knew something was amiss when Jane started to stress. She wandered restlessly around the building, unable to even settle at her computer, while Loki sat next to Darcy at the table. Darcy was absently doing something on her laptop. Loki was trying to keep an eye on both of them.

When Jane nearly tried to put her cup down about a foot away from the table, only Darcy's shout preventing a broken mug, Loki began contemplating how to place a spell on Erik's phone so he could eavesdrop on both sides of the conversation. His only hesitation was a reluctance to break the trust of these mortals only a fortnight after his arrival, no matter if they never found out. Loki had no desire to start his life with them with a lie.

There had been far too many in his life already.

Luckily, he had not gone too far into his musings when Erik returned.

“I have some bad news,” he started with, running a hand through his already messy white hair. “I've been called to another job.”

“What?” Jane looked appalled, body nearly recoiling from the news. “But we've barely started here. We finally have proof.” She waved her hand at Loki. “I'm on my way to publishing my theory, and you're going to leave now?”

“I'm sorry, Jane, but they were very specific about the qualifications, and it was either me or you. And I couldn't let them draw you from your work.”

“Oh.” Jane deflated, the anger towards Erik disappeared. Instead, it seemed redirected to those that took her friend away. “Well, do you have to go?”

“Yeah, tell them you got other priorities,” Darcy spoke up.

“Can you not decline? What is the job?” Loki asked. He knew this portion of Midgard did not have a king, and neither Jane nor Erik had a superior to order them around. Unless their superiors were the sources of payment, which meant SHIELD and those mysterious 'universities'.

“It's government work.” Erik glanced at Loki, then focused on Jane as he explained, “They need a specialist in thermonuclear astrophysics for some theoretical stellar energy research up in Washington, and there aren't that many of us specialists to go around. And since SHIELD's footing our bill, the government can tell us where to go.” He shook his head regretfully. Yet there was something off in his tone, something too smooth yet stiff to be entirely natural. Even though Loki did not understand all the terms Erik had used, he could tell that Erik's words were spoken as if they had been recited. Practised until memorized.

Erik was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Yet Loki did not wish to turn suspicion on Erik now, not if Erik believed there was a reason for the deception, so he held his tongue as Jane sat heavily down at her desk, and laid her head in her hands. “When are you leaving?” she asked, voice tired.

Erik sighed and made his way over to her desk. “Tonight,” he answered, sitting down beside her with one hand on her shoulder. He glanced over to Loki and Darcy, who were still at the kitchen table. “Do you two mind picking up groceries, so I can pack some for the journey? Heaven knows what the accommodations will be like.”

Another lie, though this one much less suspicious; they had gone shopping not two days ago, but it did not take someone of Loki's intellect to know he wished to speak to Jane alone.

So he tugged Darcy out the door and into the rain, handing over his jacket at her protests, before letting her lead him down the road to what passed for an indoor market in this town.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the afternoon was somber.

No one was in the mood for Darcy's movie, so as Jane helped Erik pack, Darcy retreated to her room, and Loki to his. Although Loki's withdrawal was not so much because of the morose atmosphere of the building, but that there was something Loki wished to do first, and he had little time in which to do it.

By the time dinner rolled around, it was complete, though the mood had still not improved. The four of them sat in near silence, which also meant Loki could hardly subtly ask to speak to Erik in private. Loki suspected he may have to put a simulacrum in his rooms, teleport to Erik's little mobile home, and put a muffling spell on the door just in case, in order to get the man alone.

That had been the plan until, after dinner, Erik had sidled up to him as they brought the plates to the sink.

“Loki, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, nodding outside, to where his trailer sat in the remnants of the drizzle.

Loki blinked. “Of course,” he answered, putting his dish in the sink and wondering if anyone but him felt the need for subterfuge.

Probably not. Although, no one but the politicians had on Asgard, either.

He followed Erik to his trailer, watching as Erik sat down on the small bed, surrounded by suitcases, and gestured for Loki to take the chair by the desk bolted to the wall.

“Loki, I...” the man started as Loki sat, seeming a touch unsure. “Well, after Thor, and then you coming down, there's been a lot happening that I never – I mean not even in my wildest dreams – thought possible.” He gave a nervous laugh, then paused a moment as Loki waited. Loki tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, that Erik was about to tell him he should leave, that he had no place here. That it would only be better for them all if Loki found himself another home.

(But wouldn't it be for the best, not having a monster around, a liar and murderer and–)

Fidgeting with his sleeves, Erik stared Loki in the eyes and started again. “Look, I know we haven't had the time to really know each other, beyond a couple of nights...”

“They were entertaining nights, though,” Loki said, giving a grin he hoped looked real despite the creeping fear inside of him. Not that the nights had been dull, of course.

Apart from their evening drinking, last week Erik had invited Loki to look at some of the “Norse Myths” with him, as the Midgardian called stories of the Nine Realms. Erik had picked out the stories, sitting on the chair where Loki was now while Loki had lain back on the bed, reading out loud some rather ridiculous tales. Loki had had quite some fun explaining why they were so blatantly false; or, in some cases, more true than some of the Æsir may prefer. Erik had been more fascinated by the ones that had turned out to have some grain of truth.

Although when Loki had asked for the book, to flip through these ludicrous tales and pick out some of his own (for Erik had told few that involved Loki), Erik had hesitated. “Actually,” he said, “I would like to hear some of your stories from Asgard. True ones.” He had then snapped the book shut and set it aside, leaning forward in the chair with an anticipation that Loki could not deny. In the manner of the storybook, Loki had picked a few ridiculous ones of his own. If laughter was mead, then by the end of the evening both would have been passed out drunk.

Strangely enough, when Loki looked about the trailer now, he could not see that book of myths. Perhaps Erik had packed it up to take with him.

When Loki returned his attention to Erik, the man seemed to be recalling the same night, as he had a rather wistful look as he said, “Entertaining? That they were.” Then he blinked and the wistfulness disappeared, replaced by a more troubled expression. “And I know you said most of those myths aren't true, but in them you tend to be...” Erik waved a hand, opening his mouth, then closed it as he seemed to reconsider his statement. When Loki began to arch an eyebrow, Erik finished with, “Well, not much of a fan of peace and order.”

“I cannot...entirely disagree,” Loki said carefully, that horrible sinking feeling now wrapped around his heart. “But since I – since what–”

The words stuck in his throat, and Loki looked away from Erik's horribly sympathetic expression, staring instead at the off-white wall of the trailer. “Peace seems more agreeable these days,” he finished quietly.

More agreeable than getting himself hurt, than being turned away because he lied to, hurt, tricked, and betrayed everyone he had ever cared for. Than doing more damage than he had already done.

He remained staring at the wall as Erik said slowly, “I understand – at least, as well as I can, but–” Loki heard the man take a deep breath. “If you ever feel like peace is starting to get a bit boring, promise me that you'll keep Jane and Darcy safe.”

Oh. So that was the point of the conversation. Not what Loki had expected, but not entirely unexpected either. Or unwarranted.

(Erik was not telling him to leave, that he had no place here because of his crimes. As long as he did not commit more.)

Loki nodded, and finally looked back at Erik, the mortal nervous but serious. “I swear, I will do my best,” Loki said solemnly. He had no desire to see either mortal injured, or brought to harm because of one of Loki's schemes or tricks. They did not deserve that, when so far they had done nothing but accept him.

But Loki would not swear in absolutes; there would always be something he could not control, something that would always go wrong.

Luckily, Erik seemed relieved anyway, as if he had finished with an unpleasant task, which meant now Loki could get his business over with. He pulled his chair closer to the bed as he said, “In fact, I wish to discuss safety as well. Where exactly are you going, that necessitated a lie to Jane and Darcy?”

Loki kept his voice curious, rather than accusing, but Erik still looked abashed, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“You caught that, did you? Well, god of lies – or not really, but close,” he added hastily, looking at Loki, who could feel his face begin to twist with bitterness before he could control it. It seemed lying would be his legacy, no matter where he went.

Erik let out a breath of air, fingers drumming on his leg, then clasped his hands together and leaned forward, his decision made. Quietly, as if someone might overhear, he said, “It's not government work, not exactly. It's for SHIELD, but it's – I'm not even sure what it is, but it's not something they want a lot of people knowing.” Loki guessed that he did not fit into that category, even though he had little interest in Midgardian affairs beyond what affected him directly.

“And it's true what I said about them asking after Jane if I didn't come. Or...” Erik glanced to the side, then his voice dropped lower. “Or if neither of us came, well, they control our money...”

“And they could stop giving it to you,” Loki surmised, and was surprised to feel a simmering of anger under his skin. It was aimed at SHIELD, that the organization might hinder Jane simply to get what they wanted.

An intelligent way of doing business, of course. But not when those business practices harmed the mortals that had taken Loki in.

Erik sighed, and his voice resumed its normal pitch. “Yes. And I couldn't do that to Jane. They took her work away once, I wouldn't let them take it away again.”

“I see,” Loki said. And he did see: Erik's regretful face, with protectiveness for Jane shining in his eyes.

Before Erik could make any move to dismiss him, Loki moved his thumb and forefinger, and between them appeared a small stone, decorated with several runes he had painstakingly carved in earlier that day. He held it out to Erik.

Tentatively, Erik grabbed it, and held it up to the light. “What is it?” he asked.

Careful not to let his anxiety show in his voice, Loki said, “A Protection stone. It wards off minor ills, pains, and unfortunate circumstances. Although it cannot prevent any major disaster or injury,” he cautioned. Erik's eyebrows rose and his eyes widened as he continued examining it from all angles, as if trying to read the runes, though he said nothing.

Perhaps Erik was suspicious, and wished to make sure it was genuine. Or perhaps he thought it too little a token for the situation. Or it was too much, after so short a time together. Was there perhaps a custom to Midgardian gift-giving rituals that Loki had missed?

Loki put his hands behind his back, to disguise any overt signs of fidgeting. “It is a gift,” he said nervously, “for taking me in, after...after I left Asgard, though you had no obligation towards me, nor did I offer you repayment for your kindness. And to aid you, wherever SHIELD may take you. I – it is made using my magic, though I have little direct influence once it is put into the stone. And I am sorry, it has little power for it was made rather hastily – usually they take longer, but I had to give it to you before you left...”

He thought he would have to say more, to explain why he had not the time to make it more intricate. But then Erik finally looked at him, a wide grin on his face. “This is amazing, Loki, thank-you. And don't worry about repaying us. We weren't about to let you wander the earth on your own. Not to mention Jane would never forgive you if you took your secrets of Asgard to SHIELD instead of her.” He chuckled lightly, before a regretful expression came over his face again and he held the stone back out to Loki. “But I can't take something like this, not – well, we hardly know each other, and...” For a moment, Erik looked uncomfortable, and Loki wondered if the gift had in fact been a misstep in propriety and Erik was too polite to explain. Or perhaps the hesitation was solely due to Erik's feelings alone.

Then the look passed, and he smiled. “You should give it to Jane instead. I've got SHIELD around to protect me, and she's the one who decided you could stay. She deserves it more than me.”

With a light pat on the back, Erik steered Loki out the door. Though not before Loki slipped the stone into Erik's luggage. At least it would keep his possessions safe, if nothing else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, a black car came by to pick up Erik. He hugged Jane and Darcy, and awkwardly shook Loki's hand, before getting in the car and waving at them until the car was out of sight in the gloom.

Over the next two weeks, Loki spent most of the time in his room, doing for Jane and Darcy what he had not been able to do for Erik.

Nearly a month after he left Asgard, Loki presented Jane and Darcy with their own Protection stones, these imbued with more power, attached to glittering chains of gold and silver that he had bought in the town then embellished on his own.

They were surprised, of course, and as they stared at the pendants Loki worried that they would reject the gifts as Erik had, see the presents as too much for too little time.

And then Jane immediately began poking at hers with her instruments, asking Loki how they worked. He had been all too happy to oblige.

Chapter Text

Once Coulson hung up, the agent texted to Loki's phone the coordinates of a waiting helicopter; apparently SHIELD knew Loki could teleport, even if they didn't know he needed more than arbitrary numbers to know where he was going. As Loki looked up the coordinates on Google Maps (thankful that Darcy had shown him all the wonders of the internet), he couldn't help but ponder what exactly SHIELD had found out about him during the past year.

And not just about his magic.

(How much did they know of his fear?)

“I know you want to help Erik, and I want him helped too, but are you sure you're good with it?” Jane asked, pacing about the room. She hadn't stopped moving since she heard Erik was in trouble. While at first she had looked as if she might beg Loki to go, she had begun to have second thoughts. “I mean, it's been a while, and...”

“SHIELD probably has, like, a million other guys to help anyway,” Darcy filled in for Jane, still sitting at the desk. She was fiddling with the chain of the necklace attached to the Protection stone Loki had given her, which she had decided was the “weird Norse god version of a friendship bracelet”. Sometimes, Loki found himself amazed that Jane and Darcy still wore their necklaces, as if they believed them to be worthy presents.

Perhaps, if Erik had decided to accept his stone – if he had even discovered it – he might be able to avoid some of whatever danger he was embroiled in.

Or perhaps he had still considered the gift too sudden, and did not like Loki attempting to sneak it with him once he had already declined. Perhaps he had thrown his stone away.

“I mean,” Darcy continued, now waving her hands about, “SHIELD could always get Iron Man. He's a superhero. Oooh, or that other one, War Machine. And who knows who else a creepy spy organization has on call. No offence to you, of course.”

Darcy had shown Loki a video of the two metal-clad men months ago, defending the “Stark Expo” from metal automatons. Then she had shown him a video of Tony Stark streaking naked through an apparently high-profile political meeting. And Loki wasn't even sure if the man had been entirely drunk at the time. Sure, both Thor and Loki had done their share of stupid things, but most were before they hit the age of manhood; Stark looked well into middle-aged for a human.

If SHIELD did not call upon War Machine, Loki would rather trust Midgard's safety and Erik's life to someone more reliable than Tony Stark. Even if Erik had left too soon after Loki arrived to become true friends with him, Jane and Darcy still cared for him. And if that wasn't reason enough, there was still Midgard to think about.

“Thank-you for your concern, but believe me, I will be fine.” He gave them a thin smile over the top of Jane's laptop. In another place, he would have thought they were calling him a coward, but neither Jane nor Darcy had ever truly seen him in battle. Or probably ever seen anyone in battle, really. Considering how they had seen him, however, even just minutes ago when he awoke pale and sweaty, his mind full of the lingering image of fire running through his veins, as his family looked on, impassive to his pleas because of the blue skin...

Well, he knew their worry was simply worry.

Glancing back down at the laptop, he continued, “On Asgard, I have faced dangers that do not even exist here on Midgard, and I believe a year and a half is long enough to sit idle.”

Loki did not add that he could not sit idle. Not now.

Thor wished this world safe. More than that, Loki wanted it safe, just as he wanted the two women in front of him safe. The realm and these mortals had taken him in when Loki had nowhere else to go. He had lived here longer than Thor, longer than most Æsir who had set foot on this realm. If he believed Agent Coulson's word, then his inaction put this little planet that knew nothing of the gods and Jotnar into harm's way.

Even if helping SHIELD could put himself into harm's way instead, subjecting himself to pain he had been trying to avoid since arriving on Midgard.

Yet how could Loki turn away from protecting one of the nine realms, solely out of memories of tortures long over and long healed? How would Thor see him, if he found out Loki had turned away from duty?

(As cowardly as a Jotun? As cowardly as Asgard always believed him to be?)

Loki was raised a prince of Asgard, and had defended his realm (which was never his realm) and his people (who were never his people) countless times, whether with his knives or his silver tongue. And what was one adopted realm to another?

As Loki magnified the image on the laptop's screen, he memorized the empty patch of ground that matched the coordinates somewhere close to the country's east coast before straightening. With a shimmer of magic, he exchanged the Midgardian sleep-wear Darcy had bought for his own clothes, one of the few sets he had brought from Asgard. It was one he had not worn since before he had been handed Gungnir, and it was wonderful to be back in his leathers and armour, after being forced into the mortals' more loose and casual clothing for the past months. And it couldn't help to make an impression.

(Certainly better than that other impression he'd made on SHIELD, lying bleeding on the desert sand.)

“Oh, I thought you were planning to go in your 'jammies,” Darcy said, running her eyes up and down Loki's body in an appreciative manner. “I think this will probably go over better with Coulson though.”

Loki rolled his eyes, somewhere between exasperated and fond. Darcy made it no secret she enjoyed looking at men's bodies, and while Loki knew she had no more designs on him than he had on her, there was still a part of him (a very, very small part of him, he would say if anyone asked) that was flattered by the attention.

(The part if him that knew his true skin held no such appeal.)

Loki checked that all his knives were in place as Jane's pacing came to a halt in front of him. Even as she ran a hand nervously through her hair, she had a look in her eyes that Loki recognized from Jane's near-sleepless nights as she pushed her theory into publication. “Look, I know you're over a thousand years old, and have done things that I couldn't even dream of doing,” she said as she crossed her arms and stared Loki in the eye, not cowed by the way her neck had to crane up. “But you aren't invincible and you know it. If you're in over your head, call your gatekeeper person, or whoever. And...if Erik's hurt, then call us. Even if Coulson decides it's not 'our business'.”

Loki nodded, and gave a grin that was not entirely genuine. “Do not worry. I'm sure if I can fool all-seeing Heimdall, I can get around any barriers Agent Coulson might create.”

Loki did not say that even if he called for Heimdall, there were very few in Asgard that would be willing to come to Loki's aid. Even if the gatekeeper demanded it. Perhaps more would come if their king did, yet Loki was not sure if he would appreciate most Æsir's version of “helping” a Jotun.

As he gathered his magic about him, preparing to jump through space, Darcy gave him a thumb's up and said, “If SHIELD tries to confiscate your cell phone, get a video because that's something I'd like to see.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick Fury had a list.

Many would think the people on that list should not belong in a room together.

Most people would not have to choose between a tortured refugee alien royal and a depressed runaway man with a rage-induced beast hiding beneath his skin.

Some may have taken their chances with the rage-induced beast.

So far, the alien had been less outwardly destructive, and his powers weren't based on uncontrollable anger. And since part of Fury's job was assuring the safety of his people, he had gone with the alien.

For now. If he worked out well enough.

Fury only hoped he would not be forced to bring all the worst choices on his list aboard the Helicarrier.

In fact, only Loki had arrived so far, thanks to his ability to ignore the rules of time and space; and the god's magic was only one of his assets that would make him useful to SHIELD. If they could drag him away from Dr. Foster, of course.

Which was why Fury had asked his agents out in New Mexico to try not getting on the alien's nerves. Not to mention when dealing with a prince of two separate, very powerful worlds, Fury knew the value of playing nice.

So in one of his private command rooms in his Helicarrier, Fury sat and watched Loki in silence, and Loki in turn watched the footage from only a few hours before. It began in the joint NASA and SHIELD Space Radiation Testing Facility, in the Accelerator Testing Room where the Tesseract had began pulsing. It then shot out a blue beam of light to the centre of the platform built to monitor just the kind of energy the Tesseract was giving off then. Except no where near the levels it had been in that room.

From above, with the cool distance of the camera, the figures scurried about, haphazard movements that still seemed more organized than they had on the ground.

On the ground, Fury had been waiting for the end of the world. If not from the impending explosion the Tesseract was going to trigger, than from the four figures he had seen as the steam cleared from the platform.

The figures were blue-grey and human-like, but taller, the three upright ones holding what looked like weapons. The fourth was kneeling, holding a golden sceptre, and one hand pressed against the ground. That one was hooded, a large cloaked draped over it's back, obscuring it's face so Fury could not tell if it was the same as the rest of the aliens or not.

“Drop the weapons and raise your hands over your heads, slowly,” Fury had yelled from across the room as he turned from Barton, hoping they spoke English. If not, well, he figured he still had the four advancing soldiers to get the message across.

The three standing aliens had shifted, chittering softly. Fury kept his eyes on the centre, kneeling one, but motioned to the soldiers to keep their rifles at the ready.

No sooner had the soldier closest to the platform cocked his rifle than the alien in the centre moved.

It was a blur, so fast Fury hadn't been able to track it's movement, and even the security footage showed little more than a light-coloured blur. One moment it was crouched, the next its spear was halfway through the man who had just cocked his rifle, the golden tip poking out of his back. The man didn't even have time to finish his strangled shout before there was sound like a muffled plasma blast, and blue light had burst from the sceptre's tip through the man's back, blowing the soldier behind him clean off his feet.

The rest of the aliens had started firing before Fury could fully withdraw his gun. It was in his hand when a burst of energy caught the row of shelves beside him, the impact enough to knock him off his feet and his pistol from his hands.

As he hit the ground he rolled, coming to a rest behind another set of shelves. Putting his back against the metal, he leaned his head around the shelf, looking for his pistol and the alien with the sceptre. He hoped that if he took out the leader, the rest would hopefully surrender, or at least be fazed and easier to subdue.

That was when he noticed the Tesseract pulsing with light, just as it had before opening the portal the first time.

“Incoming!” he yelled, ducking back behind the shelf as one of the alien's energy bursts fired past, slamming into the metal plating near Fury. He turned his head from the resulting explosion, trying to avoid any shrapnel. And that was when he spotted the alien with the sceptre.

It was next another of the shelves, one of it's grey-blue hands – a hand with two thumbs – wrapped around Selvig's neck, while the man's mouth was open in a rictus of pain and fear. The alien's other hand held the sceptre, the tip of it resting on the centre of Selvig's chest. Under the alien's hood were two large strips of leather, covering the upper half of its face and Fury couldn't see any slits for eyes, if the alien had any. A golden metal chassis running across the lines of its face and the mouth, a dark blood-red, was grinning.

Fury expected the alien to push the spear forward, gutting Selvig, but instead the spear's tip begin to glow.

Blue energy diffused around it, them seemed to flow into Selvig's chest. Fury could see him let out a gasp, and then Selvig's eyes turned a pitch black. When the black receded, Selvig's eyes were a bright, glowing blue, the same blue as the sceptre. The look of fear disappeared from the man's face, and as Selvig stared straight at that black leather covering the alien's eyes, the six-fingered hand still wrapped around his neck, Selvig smiled.

Compromised, Fury thought. Selvig's will or his mind, compromised. All with a touch of that spear.

For the first time in a long while, Fury had felt the stirrings of fear.

The alien let go and Selvig pointed further into the compound, towards where some of the technicians were hiding. If Fury's lip reading skills were still up to par, he was sure Selvig said, “Those two over there.”

Then rushing sound of another portal being opened disappeared, and when Fury leaned his head out of cover, he could see six more of the aliens on the platform. Thankfully, none of them held another sceptre, but all but a few of his agents down, and the few left scattered about the room, taking cover like Fury.

That was the point when Fury had thought the end of the world was a distinct possibility.

“All non-evacuated units, to the Accelerator Testing Room!” Fury ordered into his comm as he darted out of cover, headed towards the Tesseract's holding device, scooping up an abandoned pistol as he ran. “We have ten hostiles with advanced fire power–” Fury ducked behind the mechanism and went straight to the silver box used to safely transport the cube. “–And one has a spear-like weapon with the ability to influence minds.” He dragged the box over to the base of the Tesseract.

Fury didn't want to see how many of those things could come through before the installation blew sky high.

When an agent rounded the focusing mechanism as Fury snapped the box open, Fury was about to order the agent to give him some covering fire.

Then he noticed the agent's eyes. A bright, near-glowing blue, and staring at Fury as if he didn't recognize the director.

Fury was the quicker draw, aiming at his agent's head before the man had reached into his coat. Except Fury didn't think the agent (Fury's agent) would surrender, even with a gun aimed at his head.

Fury hesitated, then moved his gun to the left and shot the alien coming up behind the agent. The bullet pierced the alien's eye socket, and as Fury rose from his crouch and turned to run, he saw it fall limp to the floor. Which meant the things could be killed.

If there was anyone left to shoot at them.

Ducking and weaving as he ran for cover, Fury was lucky that only one bullet hit him, impacting on his body armour, but it still knocked the wind out of him and sent his jump behind another shelf into more of a tumble.

“Need some help there, sir?” A concerned voice asked, and Fury glanced up to see Barton, with his eyes not a glowing blue.

“I'm fine,” Fury said through gritted teeth, ignoring the pain in his side and Barton's hand as he plastered himself against the back of the shelf. “Though I doubt that will last much longer.”

“What are your orders?” Barton asked, sidling up next to Fury, hands held awkwardly on his own pistol as if they'd be more comfortable holding a bow.

“We've got too few men to take take them out,” Fury said, his mind parsing through possibilities. “And we don't know if whatever that alien did to our people is permanent. We need to find a way out and – Goddamn it–”

The sound of another portal opening filled the room, and even if Fury had had a good plan for taking the Tesseract back or leaving the compound alive without their eyes lit up a bright blue, it had gone up in smoke.

On the ground, the situation had been hopeless, the only hope the aliens would still be in the compound when the Tesseract blew it sky high. Except Selvig knew what the Tesseract was about to do, and he had been batting for the other side. All Fury had known was that were aliens were arriving, and his men were either dead, comprised by the sceptre, or pinned down. On the ground, Fury hadn't been able to see much more than the occasional glimpses before an alien or one of his own bright blue-eyed agents tried to take his head off.

From the footage, it was obvious the aliens had little concern for the humans once they were pinned or controlled. Other than making sure the few remaining agents didn't come out of cover, the aliens clustered about the centre of the Accelerator Testing Room, around the Tesseract.

Having seen the footage before Loki, Fury knew that four more aliens had arrived as Fury took cover with Barton, right before Selvig and two scientists removed the Tesseract and put it into its transport case. The alien with the sceptre hovered over them, watching, one hand on the Tesseract's holding mechanism.

As Selvig closed the case, Agent Hill emerged in the footage, darting in through the back doors and managing to take out another alien before she ran for her own cover. All Fury had heard was the gun shot, then Hill swearing over her comm; even before he had asked her to report, that had been a decent enough way to know she still lived and was in control of her own mind.

The footage continued up until the whole party, including twelve aliens, four SHIELD agents, two scientists, and Selvig carrying the Tesseract, left the chamber, heading through the back doors were Hill had entered.

As soon as Fury had heard the sound of their footsteps stop echoing around the room, he had ordered Barton, Hill, and the few remaining agents to chase them as he headed to take a helicopter, leaving the cavernous space empty. The footage showed only the blue energy of the Tesseract coalescing about the ceiling, and soon after the room had emptied, a sea of blue-white light enveloped the cavernous room, washing everything away.

The footage disappeared from where it was projected on the holographic screens to their right, and Fury stood up, looking down at Loki from across his desk.

Loki's face had barely twitched throughout it all. The real god of lies or not, he still had a great poker face.

“Well?” Fury asked.

Loki swivelled in his chair, coming to face the director. He stood as well, hands clasped behind his back and face tense. Through gritted teeth he said, “So you humans discovered an artifact, whose powers are well beyond your ken, and you decided to broadcast its power into the depths of space with little knowledge of what's out there?”

So the god already seemed to know how the aliens had found them; it seemed Fury had been right about the god's usefulness. Less nice, however, was Loki's face, which had gone from completely unreadable to stormy.

“Don't act so high and mighty,” Fury retorted, eyeing the god. “We are funding Dr. Foster's wormhole experiments. If you're so opposed to us looking into the depths of space, then why are you helping her?”

“Well, for one thing, she doesn't have the Tesseract with her,” Loki bit out.

“So you do know what it is?” Fury cut in. Since it looked as if Loki was about to start on a tirade, and Fury had better things to do. Like make sure this hunch panned out.

Loki's eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing into suspicion. “Yes, I do. But why did you think I would know what it is?”

That question was easy enough to answer. Fury took a highly-edited and specially-made file out of one of his drawers and tossed it over to Loki's side of the desk. The god picked it up, looking at it curiously.

“This is our file on the Tesseract,” Fury said as Loki flipped through it. “The man who originally brought it out of its hiding place believed it was given to humanity for safekeeping by Odin.” At that, Loki flicked his eyes up, his face kept oh-so-carefully completely blank, before he returned to the file.

Fury paced behind his desk as he continued. “We thought this was the product of the man's delusions, to go along with his other delusions of grandeur.” If one wanted to call what the Red Skull had done delusions, but Fury didn't feel like explaining what exactly constituted the Red Skull's insanities or teaching an alien World War II history. For all Fury knew, Loki thought “World War” meant the Crusades.

“Of course, that was until your brother and his hammer showed up, followed closely by those of your other home world–” Fury watched as a spasm crossed Loki's face before it blanked again, and made a mental note to mention the frost giants as little as possible in the god's presence, “–and then you,” he finished, gesturing in Loki's direction.

He came to a stop, leaning over his desk in front of Loki, fingers splayed on the desk's surface. “So, considering your connection, we thought it reasonable to go to you first, before we branch out to any other assets.” Other, potentially angry and green assets.

“I see.” Loki shut the file and tossed it back on Fury's desk before settling into his chair again. “And I take it you want me to tell you everything I know, and retrieve it and the humans, if possible.”

“You have most of it right. We want you to tell us everything you know. And if you know whether your people have any nice and quick way of finding this for us, that would be all the better.” Fury didn't really want Asgard involved too much, as he wasn't sure if Asgard thought of Earth as their own independent world, or something more like a protectorate. But if his reports from his agents in Puente Antiguo had any truth to them, or Selvig's hypothesis on the matter when asked had been right, Loki was well-versed in science; his science was simply magic. If anyone outside of Banner could find the Tesseract, it would be the alien in front of him, and Fury would rather have this whole thing over with quickly.

Loki stared up at Fury for a moment, then smiled. Fury didn't think the smile was entirely genuine. “Well, you're in luck. I can probably help, and with more than you're expecting.”

One of the creatures from the video popped into existence behind Loki. Fury's hand was halfway to his pistol before his mind caught up with the near-impossibility of one appearing out of nowhere, as well as the sparkle of Loki's eye. Fury glared, but it didn't seem to dampen Loki's mood.

Without turning, Loki said, “This is a Chitauri. A Chitauri Drone, specifically. They–”

“Drone?” Fury interrupted, taking a second look at the illusion of the 'Chitauri', and thinking back to what he had seen of the real thing. “Like an ant?” At Loki's nod after a short pause, Fury asked, “What does that make the one with the sceptre? The Queen?”

Loki smirked. The smirk seemed more real than his smile. “I doubt it. Even our – Asgard's–” Fury noticed a slight drop of his smirk with that slip of the tongue. “–Records have little to say about their Queens, so it is doubtful one would head an invasion. That one is another class, probably, though I could not say for certain. It has been some time since Asgard dealt with the Chitauri directly. A few thousand years back, as the Chitauri were only beginning to expand into space, Asgard ended up in a slight skirmish with them over some small world or other that didn't want to be part of a Chitauri empire – Asgard won, of course,” he added, almost offhandedly, as if it was too obvious to bother explaining. “More recently, a few hundred years ago I believe, some Álfar explorers ran into trouble with one of their hiveships, though they escaped more or less unharmed.”

Before Fury could decide if Loki was joking about “a few hundred years” being recent or not, Loki continued, “However, while the Chitauri are related to the Skrulls somewhere down the evolutionary tree, they tend to have little contact with other species of they can manage it, and keep to themselves. So unless they've become more friendly in the past few decades, I don't think we should expect more allies.”

Fury made a note to ask about Skrulls later, and any other aliens that Earth should probably know about. “Know anything about their weaknesses, or should I send out a memo saying not to invite them over for tea?”

There was that not-quite genuine smile again, with a bitter tinge to it. “Well, compared to Asgard, most other species of the universe are considered much weaker. And they generally are.” Another slip of his smile. “However, on an individual basis, I would say that they are not much more durable than humans, though somewhat stronger.”

Loki brought his hand up to his chin, finally turning to look at his creation. It stayed still, head canted towards the floor. “I can't say exactly what they want with the Tesseract however. With something that powerful, it could be anything.” He faced Fury again, a troubled expression on his face. “But considering they took Erik, your men – the scientists, not just soldiers – and they have weapons aplenty already, they might use it for it's most basic purpose. To move through space.”

Fury did not like the sound of that. Though it wasn't as if he hadn't suspected it already – that's why he had put out the call for his initiative. A hostile alien species was bad enough when it wasn't grabbing their one weapon that might be useful against something just like them. Using it to basically teleport, just like the god sitting in front of him, was much worse.

Feeling weary all of a sudden, Fury sat down, clasping his hands in front of him. “Another portal then. To go back where they came from? Or to bring more here?” he asked, hoping Loki would not say the latter. If the Chitauri escaped to space, then it would become space's problem, not theirs. As long as the Chitauri weren't interested in opening one of their portals back here to re-enact their invasion on a larger scale. Or deciding to take over more people's brains.

As Loki tapped his lips thoughtfully, the illusion behind him disappeared in a glimmer of gold sparks. “I am...not sure. I do not know what designs they would have on your planet, but any use they might find for it would not be...pleasant.”

Though he felt like running a hand down his face, Fury stayed still. “How about our people? You got any magic for an anti-mind-control spell? Because while I would make the sacrifice if I had to, I'd rather not lose good men if we can't find a way to undo what that...Chitauri did to them. And I'm sure you wouldn't like Dr. Selvig–”

“No,” Loki said abruptly, leaning forward in his chair and with a touch of panic in his eyes. A second later the panic died down to a calm as he relaxed back into the chair. “No, do not worry. If I cannot find a way, I promise, you will have Asgard's assistance on the matter.”

“Good.” That meant Loki hopefully wouldn't be treating humans as if he was a god straight from one of the old stories. Or he wouldn't treat Dr. Selvig that way, at least. Fury might look out for the greater good but that didn't mean he would make the hard plays if he didn't have to. “And you spoke of the Tesseract's power. Care to share?”

Loki hesitated. It was slight, but it was there, before he answered, “In its most basic form, it is power. Unlimited power...If one knows how to use it.”

Fury studied the god. “And you think we don't?”

Immediately, Loki shook his head. “No, I don't.” Then he gave Fury a considering look. “Although, that may be for the best. Better for one who would squander its power to have it, than one who knows its potential and uses it for ill.”

“I see.” Fury probably saw more than Loki wanted him to. Because Loki did not seem to trust them. Not entirely.

But Loki still wished to keep the Tesseract out of the wrong hands. And that, Fury could work with. Even if he planned on keeping an eye on the god. More than just his one, if he could help it.

“So, do you think you can find it, then?” he asked, hoping he would get more out of this meeting than information.

This time, Loki's smile seemed somewhat more genuine. “Yes, Directory Fury, I believe I can.”

Chapter Text

Loki is not quite sure when he began to have a word for before, when before became Before, nor when after became After. At first, it was only that his thoughts would wander, with him staring off at one of the blank white walls of the tiny house, not quite absorbed in one of Jane's textbooks or Darcy's suggested reading list. Or while doing one of the menial chores that he used to only have to do when on quests, when no servants could be counted on to change bed sheets or do laundry. (Though Jane often didn't seem aware she had to do them either unless Darcy reminded her.) It was then that the thoughts would creep up on him, as much as he tried to keep himself busy, keep his mind occupied with something so he wouldn't have to think about what came before. Though he couldn't always name exactly what time Before was.

Yes, Before was Asgard, with Thor and Mother and Father, with Sif and the Warriors Three, and for the most part blissful ignorance of what he was. But sometimes Before was before Thor's coronation. Or it was before that foolish trip to Jotunheim. Or before Loki took it into his head to lead a small group of Jotnar into Asgard, his original betrayal, the hand that set it all in motion, when he could still pretend that he hadn't been (wasn't still) a monster. It could be before Thor was banished to Midgard, or before Loki made his way into the vault and screamed at–

(killed)

–Father, before Father fell into the Odinsleep, before Loki was handed the throne.

Sometimes, Before came as close as being when Sif and the Warriors Three strode into the throne room, demanding Thor's return.

Before was always before the moment Loki's skin had turned blue and he could not stop laughing. Because whenever his thoughts strayed that far, he would flinch away, trying not to make a sound out loud, trying not to disturb Jane or Darcy. He would not drag them down with his thoughts, with his fears.

Of course, with a Before, there had to come an After. Which was mostly tended to be Midgard, with Jane and Darcy, and at one time Erik.

Yet After was sometimes those last few days in Asgard. The time when, except for Mother and sometimes Thor, Loki was alone. It could be after being moved to Mother's room, or after Father's funeral. Or his final decision, after being attacked by those men.

Sometimes it was the first time he awoke in the Healers' rooms, to the soft pillows and sheets, the light pouring in through the windows; though when he thought of that, he tried to cut off everything he had felt when he had first opened his eyes, because it was too much. Too much for the quiet house in the quiet town out in the middle of the desert, where the most disruption to ever come by had probably been Thor, SHIELD, and Loki. It was too much for Loki.

After was always after Thor unlocked the last of the chains around his neck and carried him away before Loki's memories dissolved into blackness and panic. Because Loki could not go further back.

Because in between, after Before or before After, there was nothing. Nothing that he thought of unless he couldn't help it. It did not have a name, and Loki had no desire to give it one. He only wished it to disappear.

It didn't, though.

It would resurface at night in the thoughts that leapt upon him as he drifted off, images of torn blue hands, manacles and chains stained with his own blood –

And he would startle into wakefulness with a cry, clicking his fingers to blink the lights on so he could stare at his hands. His hands would be pale pink, smooth and unblemished, and when he could draw his eyes away he saw no dank dungeon or cage but the tiny room at the back of Jane's house. Usually, he could be lulled back into sleep after reading one of his new books or something on the laptop SHIELD had bought for him. Sometimes, he stayed awake until morning.

Yet neither was morning entirely safe from after Before and before After. It came in the thoughts just after waking, before he could consciously push them back, bury them under the cascade of After –

(Eagle-spread on a table, screaming as fire ran through his veins)

– thinking about how Jane should be up now, and how yesterday she and Loki had talked for hours about how the theories of what humans called “relativity” contributed to the idea of faster-than-light physical space travel; they had only stopped when Darcy had shoved bowls of pasta in their faces and ordered them to eat, and Jane would probably wish to speak on the subject more today if she wasn't busy with her own work and then he would be on his own –

(Howdidyoukillyourfather?Howdidyoukillyourfather?)

– But no, because Darcy too would wish to speak, as she had said she wanted to take Loki shopping for objects to decorate the walls of his room, because apparently trophies from quests were “weird and a little bit creepy”, even if Loki disagreed and knew he was at least better at decorating than Thor.

Loki thought about After until everything that happened in between was gone for the day.

If only for the day.

Because it still came in nightmares, though thankfully not every night as they had on Asgard. But there were ones that sometimes sent him running to the toilet to retch, or sometimes stuffing a hand in his mouth to stifle the whimpers, in case Darcy was awake. Sometimes he set a muffling spell about his room before he slept, so the mortals would not be subject to his cries in the middle of the night. He had disturbed his mother enough on Asgard, and as an Ásynja she needed less sleep than the humans.

So he did his best to let Jane and Darcy rest in peace. Even if, after those dreams, not even Midgard's reading material could settle his mind enough to allow for sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki did not know how much he came to rely on After being After until Jane came to knock on his (already open) door one evening, about five weeks after he had arrived. When he had glanced up from the biology textbook he had been reading, she had a look of extreme discomfort on her face. Which was suspicious enough on its own, without her nervous question of, “Loki, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Asking to “talk” generally never wound up in something good, in Loki's experience.

Yet Loki still said, “Yes, come in,” marking his spot in the text before putting it to the side and gesturing to the bed. It was the only other place in his room to sit, as Loki had taken the desk.

Jane sat down awkwardly, smoothing the bed covers below her and letting out a big puff of breath. “Right, um,” she said as Loki waited, his foreboding not easing, especially as she was not quite looking him in the eye. He was reminded strongly of his conversation with Erik before he left, and while that had not gone as horribly as expected, Loki still did not think they had ended up much friendlier with each other.

“Look,” Jane huffed out, tapping her fingers on his covers, “it's been over a month, and Darcy and I have been talking about you, and –” She hesitated, and in that moment the pit of Loki's stomach fell through. Because perhaps his conversation with Erik had not ended how he feared, but what else might make Jane so nervous? For what other reason might Jane and Darcy need to speak at length about him?

Then he realized of course, of course he should have seen this coming, he should have been surprised it lasted so long. Perhaps Jane would have cared for Thor for longer, but then again Thor had been here barely more than a week. Not enough to know if she was willing to take in a god.

(Especially one as broken as him.)

Loki kept his expression carefully smooth as Jane continued, “–We just wanted to know if this,” she waved her hand around the room, “is good. For you, I mean. Because I know it's nothing like you're used to on Asgard, and we can't exactly provide for royalty, not something like SHIELD could.”

Something twisted in Loki's stomach as he feigned confusion at her statement. As if he didn't hear her saying that he had already outworn his stay, because they were too put upon to take care of him. He did not know the rhythms of Midgardian life well enough for them, like while he knew how laundry was done, he was still learning the intricacies of the washing machine. Or maybe they thought he was not doing enough chores, ones that he was supposed to take over from Erik, ones that were perhaps so obvious to the mortals they thought the chores did not need explaining.

“And Darcy and I–” Jane looked to the side, then the ground, anywhere but Loki's face. Guilt, for not doing something that never should have been expected of her in the first place? “–We haven't really dealt with someone who's been through...everything that's happened to you, before. We don't know what to do, if you need help – proper help. And SHIELD has people for those kinds of things, as well, if you think going with them would be better.”

So he was disturbing them, then. He wondered if Darcy had complained about him, as both their rooms were in the back in the small building, and his cries could have woken her from sleep. Although considering how late Jane sometimes worked, she could have been working through an important formula, something that required concentration like when Loki was attempting a new spell, only to be interrupted whenever Loki awoke with a gasp and had forgotten a muffling spell on his room.

From the curiosity of a prince and alien, he had become a burden. Perhaps even Jane had run out of uses for him, his font of knowledge run dry in her eyes when faced with the trouble he brought.

Jane wiped what were probably sweaty hands on her jeans. “So, um, just, if you want to think on that–”

“There is no need. I understand,” Loki said as he stood from his chair, preparing to say his farewells to her. He was surprised his voice was so steady despite the sick, painful beat of his heart, carrying grief with each pulse as he realized he had to leave behind another home. Before he had a chance to truly know it as “home.”

(His After would have to change. Maybe it would keep changing, nothing steady under his feet because in After he had no home.)

It would not take too long to pack his belongings and teleport to the SHIELD outpost. Forcing a genial smile, he said, “If you wish me to leave, then I will no longer overstay–”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Jane interrupted, half-standing and holding her hands out as if to stop Loki from moving. “No, damn it, I should have made Darcy do this.” She pursed her lips for a second, as if thinking, then said, “Okay, I – we don't want you to leave, we're wondering if you want to leave. If we're not...good enough.” She said the last two words with a wince.

Loki blinked. “Good enough?” he asked, slowly returning to his chair as his mind tried to flip her conversation. Where Jane had meant she was the one lacking.

And Loki was...not.

(For once.)

“Yeah, if you're feeling cramped, or lonely, or uncomfortable...” Jane said, looking quite uncomfortable herself. “We just want to make sure that nothing's wrong with what we're doing here. I mean, we're scientists – or rather, scientist and political scientist – not psychiatrists. If you need something, and we can't do it or we're busy or doing something all wrong – we just want to make sure you get any help you need.”

Loki stared at her, her worry and even a hint of guilt, as if she and Darcy had not done enough by letting him stay. By treating him like – well, not Ás, as they had no idea how the Æsir were meant to act. But as if he were human at least.

Not a monster. Not beneath them, as the Æsir believed the Jotnar were in everything but their height.

Not even as Asgard had treated Loki before they knew what he was, as the spare prince. The prince who never seemed enough to belong in the royal family, as son to Odin and brother to Thor, nor even to truly belong in Asgard.

(It did not help to find out just how right Asgard was.)

Jane and Darcy did not even creep around him and treat him like fragile glass, about to shatter with one wrong word, like Thor and Mother had. Not that their worries were unfounded: On Asgard, Loki had sometimes felt as if he had shattered, hastily put back together with an improper adhesive, all the pieces in the wrong places.

Here, the pieces seemed to stick together better, even though he was sure they were still in the wrong places.

He did not want to be treated like glass again, even if by something like SHIELD.

And he did not want Jane and Darcy to start now.

Leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, relief nearly made him giddy as he raised one eyebrow and he said, “Uncomfortable? Are you hinting at the time Darcy purposely showed me the wrong way to use the shower function of your bath, so she could surreptitiously take photos of me in nothing but a towel when I asked for help?” And had leeringly looked his body up and down, rather less surreptitiously.

Jane's face immediately coloured, revealing something Loki had only guessed at the time. “Yes, like that,” she said, before adding quickly, “She wasn't supposed to do that, by the way.”

Loki grinned. “Come now, you saw those photos too.”

Jane let out a strangled sound somewhat like a cough. “Well. She showed them to me.”

“And you looked, of course.”

Jane groaned and put her head in her hands. “Loki–”

“And it was not uncomfortable so much as flattering that she would scheme to see me in a towel,” Loki cut in, leaning back as if contemplating how the obvious ogling had felt.

Loki had never had much trouble convincing others into bed, or him into theirs, when he had felt the need.

(And he tried not too think to much about how those lovers now felt, knowing they had slept with a Jotun. Even one whose body had looked and functioned like an Ás' at the time. Although, considering what those five men who had attacked him had been planning, perhaps those who felt they had put the Jotun in its “proper place” were not so disgusted with the memory.)

Yet Loki knew his lean body – Ás body – was not as desirable as someone like Thor's, with his brawn and strength. Time around Darcy, and the internet, had shown him that Midgardians had rather more varied tastes.

And while neither woman had seen his true skin, they both knew what he was, and had a general idea of what the Jotnar looked like. Even knowing all that, Darcy had still wished to play the voyeur towards him. From Jane's red face, it seemed she had quite enjoyed the sight as well.

“Loki,” Jane snapped, bringing Loki out of his faked contemplation that had become real. “I'm being serious here.”

“So am I. Mostly,” Loki said, spreading his hands as if being frank. “I am not uncomfortable. And I do not think one can be lonely with Darcy around, or with you always asking for clarification on magical principles. And I admit the quarters are rather cramped,” he said, looking around his bedroom, where the bed took up most of the space, and Loki had had to magically expand the interior of one of his cupboards to fit all his books. “But, all things considered, it is better than Before.”

He realized his mistake the moment the word was out of his mouth, that this before had a meaning, one that Jane was not meant to know.

He was about to correct himself, to clarify which Before this was, but Jane only nodded as if she understood. “Before you came here?” she asked.

Glad this slip-up had not been too strange, Loki nodded. “Yes, both before and After – after they knew what I was,” he corrected. “There is less...threat.”

Her face grew troubled, eyes sympathetic (pitiful?), probably remembering the state in which he arrived on Midgard, broken and beaten. Not wishing her to dwell on the memory, nor for the sympathy to become pity, he said, “So, yes, you are...good enough.” He smiled, not teasingly or bitterly, hoping she would see that this was more than “good enough.”

They were letting him be normal again. Or as close to normal as After allowed.

The smile she returned, pleased and somewhat hesitant, seemed to show that she caught his meaning.

After a moment, she realized she was doing nothing but smiling and staring and immediately got to her feet. “Well, I'm glad we're good enough for a prince. Two princes,” she amended and began making her way to the door, before pausing and turning back to him. “And if you do feel uncomfortable, or you need to talk, we're here.” She gestured to the house, encompassing Darcy's room and outside, where her trailer sat. “We'll listen.”

Loki nodded, giving her a smile in thanks before she departed. Yet he knew he would not take her up on her offer; Loki did not wish to be a burden.

Sharing the memories, the knowledge of what lay beneath his false skin – the guilt that weighed down his heart unless Jane, Darcy, and Midgard's various distractions kept it at bay – would only hurt the mortals, weigh them down too.

He would not give them a reason to cast him away.

Chapter Text

“So how does this work?” Director Fury asked as Loki scanned through the scientific information and readings SHIELD had gathered on the Tesseract for the past sixty years.

They had moved into another room, this one somewhat oval in shape with several white counters at the front of the room and one at the back. Behind the rearward counter was a series of wide window overlooking what looked like the ship's docking bay, and on top of the counters and stuffed into corners were devices that vaguely resembled equipment that was obsolete in Grandfather Bor's time. Loki only hoped he would be able to work with such ancient equipment. All the Tesseract's readings were in waveforms, graphs, and charts: sterile and cold information, with none of the cube's essence behind it.

“I need to know what the Tesseract...feels like, would be the best description,” Loki answered, not looking away from the screen hanging from the ceiling near the centre of the room. Translating magic terms through the All-tongue could be difficult, as some human languages simply did not have the proper words, but at least here the annoyance was not too debilitating to getting the point across. “Something as powerful as the Tesseract has a signature,” he explained. “As long as it remains on this realm, and possibly a bit beyond it, I should be able to tell you where it is. Once I get a sense for it.” Loki didn't want to go looking for one of the most powerful objects in the universe and accidentally pick up on an exceptionally large electrical station.

Loki turned from the screen to face the director. The man had a slight scowl, which only encouraged Loki's smirk. It was fun to draw those little scowls out of the man. “Besides, objects like the Tesseract sometimes want to be found.”

Fury's one eye was staring down Loki as if wondering whether Loki was jesting or not, when a voice came from just beyond the doorway. “What wants to be found now?”

Loki looked behind the director to see three people enter the room. The one in front, the one who had spoken, was a short, middle-aged man that Loki recalled being in the footage from the destroyed SHIELD base. He was quickly followed by a small woman with hair red enough to rival the rubies of Brísingamen, and a tall, handsome, well-muscled blond man.

“Because if we're looking for something that wants to be found, then our job's half done,” the first man said with a grin, coming further into the room to lean casually against one of the desks. The woman came to stand beside him, a natural grace in her step that spoke of either a dancer or warrior, while the remaining man lingered just beyond the doorway. None of them were in the professional garb that seemed to be a staple of SHIELD agents.

Loki looked curiously from the humans to Fury, who sighed and turned to the new arrivals. “Barton, as an order from your superior, shut up. Loki, these,” he waved in the humans' direction, “will be part of the retrieval team. The one who's been mouthing off is–”

“Agent Clint Barton,” said the man – Barton – launching himself from the desk, ignoring Fury's glare as he reached out his hand and grabbed Loki's. “We've met.”

Loki stared, letting the agent shake his hand as a frown formed. “Have we?”

Agent Barton's face fell and the woman huffed out a breath. “What did I tell you, Clint?” she said, shaking her head.

Dropping Loki's hand, Barton ignored her and stepped back, staring at Loki with a hopeful expression on his face. “You're sure? In the desert, when you first beamed down to Earth?” He jerked a thumb proudly at his chest. “I held the front end of your stretcher.”

“Ah,” Loki said, the faint stirrings of panic rising in his stomach. He was being paired with a man who had witnessed his rather pitiful arrival on Midgard first-hand. Out of everyone SHIELD could have chosen, why him?

Loki tried to keep his face apologetic as he said, “I am sorry, but my mind was consumed by other things at the time. And I believe the pain may have been distracting me as well,” he tacked on, which seemed to assuage the agent somewhat.

“Oh well, maybe your mom and brother remember me,” Barton said forlornly. Which brought up another set of questions about the agent.

“We didn't bring you aboard so you could meet royalty,” Fury said, eyeing Barton until he backed off. Fury nodded towards the woman. She walked forward at a much more measured pace as Fury introduced her. “This is Agent Natasha Romanoff, Agent Barton's partner.”

“Hello,” Loki said, shaking her hand and hoping she hadn't held the back end of his stretcher.

Luckily, if Romanoff had, she didn't bother to mention it. “Nice to finally meet Earth's resident god. And I'm sorry about Clint; he can be a bit of an idiot sometimes.” She smiled, ignoring Clint's shout of “Hey!”. But while the smile seemed genuine, Loki could see the calculating expression in her eyes, assessing Loki much the way Loki himself would assess an unknown. Like the way Loki was assessing her now.

He wasn't sure if that was in her favour or not.

“That is quite alright.” He smiled back. “I am used to dealing with idiots and those with little tact.”

“Oh, now I'm the bad guy here,” Barton complained. Romanoff rolled her eyes at him as she let go of Loki's hand and stalked back towards Barton.

Loki turned to the last man in the room, who was still standing a bit awkwardly by the door. “And you are?”

The man seemed to be somewhat surprised by the question. He smiled, though there was a twist to his lips that made it seem wry. “Don't hear that much these days. I'm Steve Rogers.” His handshake was much firmer than the other two, but he looked at Loki with warmth. “I hear you only arrived on Earth last year. I hope you're liking it here so far.”

“I – yes. Your realm is certainly fascinating,” Loki said, slightly caught off-guard by the question. He could not recall anyone ever asking him that before, although there weren't many who knew he had come to Midgard a year and a half ago.

But the novelty of Rogers' statement didn't stop Loki from noticing the man had not called himself “Agent”, and yet he had still apparently read whatever information SHIELD had on Loki.

Immediately, Loki decided this whole thing was a bad idea. He was on a large, contained ship where possibly everyone knew everything about his last days on Asgard, about why he left, knew that he had been hiding out in the desert because he was too afraid to do anything else.

And maybe Loki had misread the warmth in those soft blue eyes, and there was nothing but pity. Romanoff may have been sizing up and reading an ally, but not so much to judge his capabilities but to see if he was really as worthless as his file and her partner claimed. Fury may have only taken him as a last resort. Coulson had said they had only called Loki because Thor was unavailable.

He had an urge to run, to get away from these people, these humans who knew too much.

But no, Rogers hadn't mentioned anything apart from Loki's arrival, so maybe for all he knew Loki was simply vacationing on Midgard. And Barton, even though he'd seen Loki at one of his more pathetic moments, still wished to work with him, seemed happy to meet him. And even if he was not overreacting, Midgard was in danger, Erik had been taken, and the Chitauri had the Tesseract. He would be dooming more than just Erik and this realm if he let the Chitauri abscond with it.

Loki would only be more of a coward if he fled, especially if only for imagined pity.

Hiding his unease beneath a smile, Loki let go of Rogers' hand and backed away. “I am quite fond of the people here. And I'll do what I can to protect them.”

“Well, that's good to hear,” Fury said, striding to the centre of the room. “Loki, once you find the Tesseract, these three and maybe another–” Fury's face pinched as if he was not fond of this other, “–will accompany you on the retrieval mission. Romanoff and Barton will be part of the stealth division, and you and Rogers will be part of the heavy hitters.”

Loki frowned at the last statement and turned to examine Rogers. He was large for a human, and certainly looked strong, but Loki did not understand why that would make him especially skilled against the Chitauri.

Some of Loki's confusion must have shown, for he heard Barton make a sound that seemed like a muffled snort. When he turned to Barton, both Romanoff and Fury were glaring at the agent.

“Am I missing something?” Loki asked coolly.

Rogers just sighed and shook his head. “Not really, and it's not your fault. It's complicated. Back when I, well–”

“Steve's famous,” Romanoff interrupted. “And Clint thinks your ignorance is hilarious, don't you, Clint?” she said sardonically, giving Barton a withering look. The agent looked a bit embarrassed, his cheeks reddening under her gaze as he scuffed his feet. Oddly enough, Rogers was also giving Barton a disapproving look. Perhaps he did not approve of Barton's scorn either, for which Loki felt a twinge of gratefulness. Though Loki wasn't exactly kind to the ignorant himself, especially those who were both ignorant and rather gullible.

Like with Romanoff, he wasn't sure that kind of scorn that was in the Barton's favour or not.

“Rogers is a super-soldier,” Fury said to Loki, bringing the attention in the room back to the director. “Stronger and faster than a normal human, and hopefully better off to deal with this than the rest of us.” He dug into his jacket, and in a swirl of black coat handed Loki a tablet, similar to what Jane used when her laptop was too bulky to carry around. “You can read your teammates' files when you have the time, but right now, your priority is finding the Tesseract. Understood?”

Loki nodded. “Yes, I know.” He put the tablet on the nearest table before turning back to the screen where he had put up most of the data he believed he needed. “Though I am unsure of how long it will take.”

“Can you give us an estimate?” Romanoff asked, gliding closer to take a look at Loki's screen.

“An hour or two, perhaps.” Loki watched her as she watched the screen. Although it was better to say that she was only half-watching the screen, half-watching Loki's reflection in the screen's glass, so he kept his face neutral as he examined the information.

Barton whistled. “And I thought we'd be here all day.”

“Anything you need to help?” Fury still remained in the centre of the room, as if keeping his eye on all the occupants at once.

“Well, peace and quiet would be nice,” Loki said, glancing at Barton as he edged closer to Romanoff. Truthfully he could work with others around – just as long as they didn't happen to be as annoying as Thor when Loki was trying to work and Thor would prefer to adventure or fight. And Barton, from the way he bounced from surface to surface, seemed pretty close to the level of annoyance Thor could bring on a lazy afternoon.

“Then we'll be up on the bridge if you need us. Press this button here,” Fury pointed at a button on the wall, next to a speaker, “when you're done.”

Then he swept out of the room, black coat snapping behind him, and the other three humans followed in his wake.

At the door, Rogers paused for a moment. “Good luck,” he said, the warm smile on his face making him seem oddly like Thor.

Loki blinked at Rogers. Just as the man had surprised him with his question, he surprised Loki with this platitude. He nodded. “Thank-you. Though I am not sure if I need it.”

“Well, it doesn't hurt,” Rogers said with a shrug, then left, the grey door sliding shut behind him. The noise level dropped, the ambient sounds from the hallway muffled. And Loki was alone.

Loki felt a wry smile come to his face. Luck. He had so little of it, he usually did his best to do without it. Although if the information running across the screen was too antiquated to work with, Loki might need some.

In truth, Loki could have just called on Heimdall after Fury brought him to the ship, but Loki had dismissed the idea. It might just be a waste of the Gatekeeper's time, for Loki did not know how long it may take Heimdall to find the missing Tesseract. Midgard was large, full of nooks and crannies, and it might take Heimdall days to spot it. And by the time Loki returned to Midgard with the news, the Chitauri could have moved and the process would have to start over.

And...then there was the problem of returning to Asgard. Not that Loki would have to go much beyond the Bifrost chamber, if he did not wish it. He would not even have to look out over the rainbow bridge and the starry sky above it, and be reminded of the days and nights spent stargazing, sometimes on his own, sometimes with Thor. He would not have to look at the palace in the distance, and think about Before, in all its ignorant glory. Knowing that it should have been, and had been, his home.

However, Loki doubted that even just sitting in the Bifrost chamber, staring at the designs on the wall, could prevent him from thinking about Before, and After.

(Or what lay between the two.)

Loki spent most of his time on Midgard specifically not thinking about Asgard, or Jotunheim for that matter. It was...safe, on Midgard, somehow.

Yes, Loki missed Thor, his bright, warm laughter, the way Thor would always stand staunchly by Loki's side, even when Loki had been in the wrong in some mischief or other. Or the way Thor would look at Loki, as if Loki were the only one in the realms who mattered. And he missed Mother, how she would always be open to talking about his magic studies (one of the few who cared). Or the comfort she could give when Loki was hurt or miserable. He missed Father, and –

(Loki spent most of his time on Midgard not thinking about Father.)

Loki missed the golden halls, the sprawling libraries, the beautiful gardens. He missed running about the palace, exploring its secrets, clambering over Asgard's plains and adventuring into its mountains and beyond.

Loki missed Asgard.

But he did not miss the stares.

The whispers.

The fear, both his and the court's.

Being reminded of his heritage with every step he took in the palace, where everything had been the same since childhood and yet simply being in After meant everything had changed. Or seeing a guard dressed too similarly to his torturers, and remembering the pain in a white, hot flash of fear that left his knees weak and froze the air in his chest. Or that every time he saw something that reminded him of Father, Loki's crimes were thrust to the front of his mind and he was cut through with disgust and loathing so deep he thought he would vomit.

Loki did not miss the hate and loneliness. How he had to skulk down corridors, invisible, or else face some Ás' wrath.

He did not miss how even Before, there had always been whispers and rumours about his magic, about the men he took to bed, about his supposed cowardice, about his weakness in battle as if he hadn't been able to beat Thor a few times in the training grounds (and then the rumours were always that he had cheated). Even Before there had been loneliness, his friends more Thor's friends than just his, and the few Loki had not shared with brother were not close enough to be trusted as confidants.

At least in Before he had been stared at on his own terms, for creating a bit of mischief here or there (even if they would not stare at him in awe, the way they did with Thor).

Yet on Midgard, no one knew or cared what Loki was. There were no reminders of his past lurking in Jane's little home (unless Loki deliberately went rifling through his possessions and stumbled upon the knives Father gave him as a gift, leaving Loki sitting on the floor of his room, mind lost in memories and pain, until Darcy yelled at him to come watch a movie with her).

Midgard, especially the little town in the desert, was entirely new; so Loki did not have to remember.

Until now. That is, assuming all of these mortals knew who he was and where he came from, and why he left.

Loki never thought he would be one to find solace in anonymity. But then again, he had never thought he was a frost giant either.

Growling under his breath, Loki put his hands to his forehead, as if he could physically push the thoughts away. He had not the time for such distractions. Drowning in self-pity and memories wouldn't help him find the Tesseract – or Erik – any quicker.

Emptying his mind, he put his fingers against the transparent screen. Then the tips sunk in slightly, dissolving as they ceased to be physical. “Plugging himself in” was the phrase he had used to a horrified and utterly fascinated Jane and Darcy. Loki let his consciousness merge with the cold hard facts of the computer's hardware, trying to hear the faintest echoes of the Tesseract in recordings of waveforms and energy emissions.

If Loki couldn't find the Tesseract on his own, then he would turn to Heimdall. And once he had retrieved it with the team who already knew more than Loki wished them to know, he could leave (even if this was one of the most exciting things he'd done in the past eighteen months, even if his body was aching for something more strenuous than helping Jane move equipment around. Even if this sounded just like one of his adventures back in Asgard).

Of course, once Loki found the Tesseract, he wasn't planning to let SHIELD have it back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did we know he could do that?” Steve Rogers asked, staring down at the video feed on the table.

They had all moved up to the helm where, now that introductions were over, other business could be taken care of. Certain business concerning their new alien ally.

Although that alien ally was doing quite a good job of thoroughly distracting them, and Natasha didn't believe he was entirely aware of it.

“No, we did not know he could turn himself into a living USB stick,” Natasha said, studying her own screen. The god's eyes were half-closed as if in a trance, the hand at his side sometimes twitching but otherwise still. “Seems useful, though.”

“If a bit creepy,” Clint added, peeking over her shoulder at the screen. She could almost hear him making a face as Natasha enlarged the image. Loki's fingers were solid right up until they met the LCD screen, then they seemed to fizzle out of existence in little pinpricks of golden light.

Clint gave Natasha a nudge and muttered, “Personally, I'd like to have his invisibility shtick. Then I'd finally be able to creep up on you one of these days.” He looked off into the distance with a dreamy look on his face, as if he'd already turned the tables on Natasha and made her let out a high-pitched yelp after putting cold fingers down her neck – although Natasha couldn't help it if her hands were cold and Clint's warm neck was such a tempting target.

“Keep dreaming, Clint,” she said fondly, reciprocating the nudge as she moved the video screen to the side so Clint could get a better look.

“If you two are done, agents,” Fury said with a hint of exhaustion, and Natasha remembered that unlike Clint, he probably hadn't had time to rest since the Tesseract was stolen. Yet nothing in his posture betrayed any fatigue as Fury walked around the table, hands clasped behind his back. “Agent Romanoff, I arranged all those...introductions for you, and I want a second opinion.” He stopped next to her and leaned down, splaying his hands on the table. “If things go south, do you think we can rely on him?”

“Wait, I thought we had already decided to work with him,” Steve said sharply, glancing at the two of them from the other side of the table. “Was that an interrogation down there?”

“Not quite,” Fury answered calmly. “More of an assessment, because unlike the rest of us, he hasn't got a real stake in this. If the Chitauri decide the Earth would make a good colony – or decide humans make good puppets – he can skip out of town if he damn well pleases.”

Steve still didn't look appeased. “From his file, it sounded like he was a refugee. If there was a better place for him to go, why stay here this long?”

“Actually, I believe one of his problems is his file,” Natasha said, bringing the room's attention back to her. She sat up from her slouch, clasping her hands in front of her on the table, because when Captain America was looking at you like you had something to say, it was hard not to sit up straight. “Or rather us knowing his history in general is a problem.” She looked up at Fury. “Apart from Clint telling the room Loki needed a stretcher–”

“I was trying to be nice,” Clint mumbled beside her.

“–You caught his face when Steve said he knew Loki had been here for a year?”

Fury nodded. The feeling Loki had displayed had really only been present for a split second, and then disappeared under a smile – something like uncertainty, or wariness. It even could be suspicion about how Steve knew anything, or that he knew too much. Considering that most of the information they had on Loki's past came from his mother's meeting with Coulson, at least Loki didn't have to worry about it being skewed out of his favour, even if wanting his past to stay private was a sentiment not far from Natasha's own heart. “If anything, we should be worried he will delete his file, or at least the more sensitive parts of it.”

“Good thing I've already got hard copies,” Fury muttered. “How about the mission? What's our chance on him getting cold feet?”

Natasha thought it over, everything she had read in the file (the high-level clearance file, not the little two-page blurb anyone below a level seven had access to). Usually, Natasha wouldn't trust someone whose moniker was the “god of mischief” just on principle.

Myths – and religion in general – had never been a big part of her life, but she'd had to read up on them in case someone decided to get cute and name a secret experiment to reanimate the dead “Project Orpheus” or something. Still a better name than “Project Lazarus”, in her opinion, but not exactly subtle. When Clint had told her that there were now Norse gods and giants hanging out in the New Mexico desert, she'd decided to review the myths a bit more, Norse and otherwise. If someone calling themselves Zeus from planet Olympus zapped down to Earth, she wanted to be prepared.

However, even with the little knowledge they had on the real Asgard, the discrepancies between myth and reality were staggering, including Loki being Odin's son rather than blood brother. So perhaps the myths were not the best sources to go by. Not to mention Natasha knew better than to rely on legend to get to know someone – she was example enough of it. Or even the righteous Captain America, who had not been acting exactly noble or righteous when she and Clint approached him with the offer to join the Avengers Initiative a few hours ago. Instead, she had met a man who could almost be called surly, pounding his fists into punching bag after punching bag.

Speaking of Steve – “Captain Rogers is right about Loki, I think,” she said. Across the table, she saw Steve look startled, as if he didn't expect her to agree with his assessment. On first impression, Loki seemed to be someone who adapted to circumstances, at least on the surface. Secretive and wary enough to keep what he was really feeling clammed up tight. But she didn't think that meant he would run.

“If he has other places to go – any planet in the universe that's like us and still has close tied to Asgard – Loki could have just moved there. But he's stayed here for this long, and from it file it seems that this was his first choice. I don't think he'll jeopardize his new life. Although he has refused to work with SHIELD before, and he's lived with Dr. Foster for a year. She doesn't seem to like SHIELD all that much.” Natasha had to swallow a grin when she remembered how Coulson complained that Dr. Foster pretty much tried to kick him off her property the moment he was done speaking with Loki. Keeping her tone serious, she continued, “But as an asset, I'd say he's a pretty good investment.” Not to mention if he didn't run, they'd have a god and his magic on their side. That had to even the odds.

(Against aliens of all things. This was not what Natasha expected when joined SHIELD. Or even when she had woken up this morning.)

Fury nodded and straightened. “Well, hopefully that will be one thing that goes right today.”

“Sir!” Agent Hill called, and Natasha glanced at the helm to see her coming up the stairs. “Stark's arrived. Should we take off?”

For a moment, Fury looked as if his hopes of everything going right had been dashed. Then his face smoothed over and he said, “Yes. Give the order, Agent Hill.”

“Stark?” Clint muttered in Natasha's ear. “Fury finally caved and brought him in?”

As if on cue, Stark came striding into the helm chattering at a very annoyed-looking Coulson. Stark stopped when he spotted Natasha, and Coulson took the chance to edge off to the side (specifically to the side closest to Steve).

“Natasha-slash-Natalie!” Stark greeted as he sauntered closer, arms wide open and a grin on his face as if he was actually pleased to see her. “My favourite spy. You do any hostile takeovers of a company lately?” He leaned against the table on the spot Fury had recently vacated. “Wrap your legs around someone's neck and choke them to death?”

“No to the first, yes to the second, and tell Pepper I said hi.” She smiled sweetly at Stark. Technically the second was a flip, not a choke, but she enjoyed the way Stark's eyes widened anyway. Or perhaps he was surprised she still kept up with Pepper.

Stark snapped his fingers. “I knew she'd been having lunch dates with someone. And you.” He pointed past Natasha at Clint. “Hawkeye, right? Cool code-name, but arrows, really?” He made a face, as if the lack of technological advancement personally offended him.

“At least I haven't been caught naked in the middle of Central Park with one,” Clint shot back.

“Oooh, you heard about that one with that archery chick, did you? Touché.” Stark gave Clint an appreciative nod before bouncing off the table and walking towards Steve. The Captain was studying Stark closely, frowning slightly.

“So you're the great Captain America,” Stark said as he approached. “Never really imagined you without the suit. Not that it wouldn't be an amazing mental image, though,” he added, holding up a cautioning hand as if he had insulted Steve.

Steve's frown deepened and he half-rose from the table. “I wouldn't call myself 'great' exactly,” he said, ignoring Stark's second comment. He held out a hand. “And I prefer Steve Rogers.”

“If you insist,” Stark said. He stared at Steve's hand, then shook it as if he were performing a magnanimous gesture. “We can't all be called Iron Man.”

Before Steve could make any response, Stark let go and spun away, then kept spinning around in a circle, head twisting every which way. “Is that all? Where's my alien? I was promised an honest-to-God magical blue alien. Or a magical maybe-blue alien. A magical Schrödinger's blue alien.”

“Stark, first of all, you're late,” Fury snapped all the way from his position at the head of the bridge. “Second of all, keep your mouth in check around 'your magic alien'.” With each word Fury bore down on Stark, until Stark was crowded against the table. “I don't want another couple of invasions because someone mouthed off at their prince. Got it?”

Stark held up cautioning hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't worry, oh-one-eyed-Odin, I can be civil. Polite, even.”

Fury gave Stark one last glare as he said, “I'll believe that when hell freezes over.” Then he moved back just as the Helicarrier's engines started up. As their soft rumble reached the helm, Fury looked at Natasha, Clint, and Steve. “You three. Suit up. And Stark.”

Stark looked up from where he had been looking at Steve's live feed of Loki. “Yes, director?” he said, with all the insubordination Natasha was sure he could conjure up.

“Make sure your suit's ready when I give the word.”

“Yes sir, Director Fury.” Stark gave the director a sharp mocking salute, returning to the video screen.

Natasha and Clint stood, and Steve wandered closer to the helm as the Helicarrier prepared to lift off, Coulson following close behind him. Probably to tell him all about the Helicarrier's features and surreptitiously ask Steve to sign his cards. As Natasha started making her way down the corridor with Clint, she heard Stark exclaim, “How the fuck is he doing that?”

Chapter Text

Jane was the first one to find Loki after one of his nightmares.

She had been working late, as was usual after Erik's departure. Except this time it was nearly two o'clock in the morning, and Darcy and Loki had gone to bed hours ago. Even then, she only noticed because she realized she had to use the bathroom. Jotting down a last note, she quietly made her way to the bathroom. It was just down the hall from Loki's and Darcy's rooms and she didn't want to wake them up, as she hadn't them stir for the past few hours.

She left the hall light dark, and saw the bathroom light wasn't on either, so at least she didn't have to run out to use the one in her trailer.

Yet the moment she stepped across the threshold, light flooded her eyes and she heard the sound of retching, a sound that was too loud not to have carried down the hall. After blinking the spots out of her eyes from the florescent lights that most definitely hadn't been on a moment ago, her thoughts came to halt when she saw Loki, kneeling on the floor in the centre of the bathroom and dry heaving into the toilet.

“Loki! Are you all right?” She rushed towards him, nearly tripping on the bath rug before she crouched down beside him. “Are you sick?” Could gods even get sick? But he wasn't a god, he was an alien, and what if this was like War of the Worlds and Loki had caught a cold or something, and medicine here wouldn't be able to treat him so Loki would have to go back to Asgard and someone would try to kill him because even super-advanced civilizations could be super-racist–

“No.” Loki's rough voice cut into her worrying. He still hadn't looked towards her. “I'm fine, I just –”

“You aren't fine, you're throwing up into the toilet.” Now that she was closer, she could see his skin was sweaty and paler than usual, and he was breathing hard. “What's wrong?”

Thinking he might have a temperature (was it even possible that Asgardians or Jotuns or whatever could get temperatures?) she reached out a hand towards his forehead.

Loki flinched back.

Jane's hand stilled. Slowly she withdrew it, watching as Loki seemed to realize what he had just done. He turned towards her haltingly, eyes wide and uncertain, his pallor making his sweat-plastered hair stand out starkly against his skin. There were dark circles under his eyes, which Jane couldn't recall seeing earlier.

But Loki was good at illusions, she knew that much. If he didn't want Jane to see something, he wouldn't have a hard time covering it up.

And Jane thought she was having some idea of what was happening. She knew she should have pushed going to SHIELD a bit more, even if she trusted them about as far as she could throw Agent Coulson. At least they would have someone who was better than her at this.

“Loki...I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help. If something is wrong –”

“No, I –” Loki glanced down, then sighed and leaned away from the toilet, until he was slumped back against the bathtub. “I just need...” he trailed off, as if he had no idea how to finish that sentence.

Jane rearranged her legs so she was sitting cross-legged, facing him. “How about you tell me what happened?” That was generally a good place to start, she thought. Talking therapy was something she had heard about, and it wasn't far from the empirical method: observations first, then the hypothesis.

Loki swallowed, then drew his knees up to his chest, his gaze turned resolutely to the slightly mouldy wall. “I had a nightmare.” His voice was flat, and by now he had schooled his face to match his voice.

Jane felt her mouth grow dry. “About the prison and...what they did do you?” Thor and Loki had told her some, but she didn't know the full story.

(She didn't think she wanted to know, either.)

Loki made a choking sound that Jane realized was a laugh and shook his head. “Not quite. Those dreams are not – they are not as bad as the ones where –” His head turned sharply towards her, his eyes wet and wild. “I was the last one to see my - my Father, awake and alive. It was when I...” He flexed his hand, almost unconsciously. “When I found out what I was. And Thor, before he came here, he hated the Jotnar and I was afraid he would still hate them when he came back.”

“And were you afraid that he would hate you,” Jane surmised, slowly, wondering how Loki could believe the Thor that she knew could hate something – or someone – so thoughtlessly. “Is that why you flinched?”

“Partially. And...” Loki made a frustrated sound and rubbed a hand against his forehead. “A Jotun's touch can burn Ás skin, and it could do worse to a human's. In my dream, I - I reached out to Father, but when I grabbed his hand, all I did was hurt him.” He looked at her beseechingly, as if he was trying to apologize to her for something he hadn't even really done. “I tried to let go, but I tried to stop, I tried to help him, but I - I –” His gaze slid to the side. “I only hurt him,” he whispered, voice breaking partway through the sentence.

“Loki...” Jane risked coming closer, until she was up against his side on the tub. Gently, she put a hand around his shoulder, the other around one of his clenched fists. “You aren't hurting me now, see?” She lifted their hands to his eye level, and she saw Loki glance at their hands briefly. “And you didn't hurt your father then. You didn't do anything to him. Just like Thor...he didn't hurt you when he came back, did he?”

“No, he–” Loki gave a little shake of his head, “–he was the one that released me.”

“So you know he doesn't hate you just because you're a Jotun. He came down here when you were hurt and he wanted to help you. Half the time he was down here, he was telling stories about you.” She gave him a weak smile, which faded when he didn't look at her. Swallowing, she said, “It's just bad dreams. But I know even if they're not real, they're still...whatever frightens you or hurts you. Because they frighten or hurt you. But they didn't happen.” She hoped this was helping. Loki's face wasn't really giving anything away. “And after...everything you went through, they're normal. It'd probably be strange if you didn't have them.”

Loki did not move at first. Then with a sigh he tilted his head back until it brushed against the bath curtains. Slowly, the line of his shoulders began to relax, and after a few minutes his face regained more of its (admittedly little to begin with) colour.

Eventually he turned to look down at her. “Thank-you,” he said. “For listening to me.”

“That's what friends are for, right?” From the few Jane hadn't driven away when she forgot to call them for the umpteenth time because she was working on her doctorate, she knew that's what friends were meant to do. And the way Loki's eyes sharpened at the word “friends”, maybe he had driven away a few of his own as well. If everyone finding out he was a different species hadn't driven them away already.

Recalling the conversation they'd had a week ago, she nudged his shoulder and added, “And, hey, remember what I told you. Darcy and I are here around the clock, if you need to talk to anyone. I'm generally up late here anyway, and Darcy is just in the other room. And there's still SHIELD, if you want. They could probably find someone to listen to you as well.” She gave him a half-smile. He did not return it, instead frowning slightly at his legs.

“Loki?” she asked, now frowning as well.

He jerked, then moved away from her, as if about to stand. “I have disturbed your work,” he said politely. “I should return to bed.”

“No, I disturbed myself and–” She blinked, realizing she hadn't even known Loki was in the bathroom until she walked in because–

She grabbed his arm before he could stand up, and though she knew he could remove her easily if he wanted (or just drag her all the way to her trailer), he stopped. She waited until he had turned back to her before she said, somewhat accusingly, “You were trying to hide this.” She gestured at the toilet, at the bathroom light that hadn't seemed to be on until she was in the same room as him. “You were deliberately trying not to disturb our sleep.”

“You are mortal. You need your rest more than I,” he said, sounding slightly surprised that she would make such a statement.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Darcy sleeps in, and I might as well be in another building. Plus, you having nightmares that make you throw up is important.”

“I have no designs of placing a burden on you–”

“A burden?” Jane let go of Loki's arm in surprise. “You think you're a burden?”

Something in Loki's eyes shuttered. Tonelessly, he said, “If it weren't for my mind – my magic and my knowledge of it – wouldn't I be? Without my uses, I would simply be taking up space in your household, and when this–” he waved around the room as Jane had, grimacing “–happens, you would take it upon yourself to help with no expectation of gain.”

Jane gaped, then groaned and buried her face in her hands. Into her hands she grumbled, “You're so incredibly smart, why can't you get this?”

“I don't–”

“Loki, it's not a matter of use,” she interrupted, removing her hands and looking into Loki's slightly-confused face. “It's – okay, think of it this way. Darcy can't do magic. She's not a god. She's not incredibly strong, she's not a prince or a king, and she doesn't have a magic flying hammer.” Nor did she have a bronze, well-toned six-pack and biceps bigger than Jane's head, but she didn't think Loki wanted to hear that about his brother. He was already looking confused enough.

“She's not even in the same faculty as me,” she continued. “She can't help me do anything around the lab except the things I specifically tell her to do, because she can't directly help me with my research. The one time I asked her to quickly solve a basic magnetic-electric field equivalence problem because I was busy trying to map star chart differentials, she messed up the integration so badly I'm not even sure where she went wrong.”

Loki gave her a sceptical look. “Your mathematics are so basic we learn them as children. How could she–”

Jane let out a puff of breath. “I don't know,” she said, since she was solving multi-dimensional integrals for fun when she was fifteen. Then she put a hand back on Loki's shoulder, not to keep him there, but in the hopes that he would listen. “And yet, despite all that, Darcy is still here. She still lives with us, works with us. And do you know why?”

Loki stared at her for a few seconds, as if judging how she wanted him to answer, before saying quietly, “Because she's your friend.”

“Yes, she's my friend,” Jane agreed. “She's funny, she cares, and she's smart – not physics-smart, but smart in ways that I'm not, and I know I'll never be. She's laid-back where I can be too sharp or angry, and doesn't get angry back at me for it.” More firmly Jane added, “She's my friend, like you're our friend.”

At that, Jane could feel Loki's arm under her tense, and could see some of the doubt in his eyes begin to ease. Pressing her advantage when he didn't seem about to contradict her, she said, “Yes, I like that I can hold a prolonged conversation about my degree with you, and you can understand. But I like you as a person, and I care about you, as a person. And all this secrecy,” she waved at the room, “it isn't going to help you. So,” she took a deep breath, really hoping Loki wasn't going to just nod and smile and ignore her, “next time, no hiding in the bathroom, okay?”

At his sides his fingers clenched, and he looked down at his knees. Letting out a hiss of breath, he nodded, and Jane let out a sigh of relief.

It was silent again, then with a slight frown he asked, “Why did you come in here in the first place?”

“Oh, um...” That had an awkward answer, especially with this being the closest she had come to a heart-to-heart since last week, but Jane didn't really feel prepared to make up a lie. “I had to use the bathroom.” Of course her bladder chose that moment to make itself know once again. Discreetly, she tried to shift into a better position, but Loki stood up in one swift movement, gently taking her to her feet as he did so.

“Then I should let you take care of that.” He hesitated, staring down at her, then said, “Thank-you, again. I will...think on your advice.”

Jane smiled. “Good. And remember, I will tell Darcy, so if she hears you doing this, you know she won't be happy.”

Loki gave her a small smile in return as he walked back towards the doorway. “It seems I've been warned.” He turned and started to walk away, before pausing at the doorway. Looking back at her, he said, “Good-night Jane,” and left, thankfully shutting the door behind him.

“Good-night, Loki,” Jane called through the door. She hoped he acted on her advice as well, because with a mind like his, he could be thinking about it for the next few decades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friends. Had they really known each other long enough to be friends? Just over a month of knowing them, compared to the thousand years that he'd lived...

Though it was not as if he had made many friends in those thousand years on Asgard though.

Loki supposed their days working together, their evenings swapping stories, could have made him and Jane, and Darcy, friends.

It sounded...nice. To have friends here.

But Loki was still a coward, then, for lying to his friend. Or rather lying by omission.

It had been such a relief, to tell some of the truth, that–

(YOU KILLED YOUR–)

–he had hurt his father. But he had not told her all of it. He could not. He could say it was just a dream, but he could not say it was real. The words would always choke up in his throat. The half-truth was the only way to get them out. And Jane had listened.

Even then, it was so much easier to say the words to Jane, than it would ever be to tell them to Mother or Thor. To admit to what he did.

Loki wondered if they would hate him if they knew.

He wondered if they would try to pretend to still love him, or just resign him to his fate. It was not as if they had to visit him, down here. They were busy, he knew, Thor new to the kingship and Mother helping him. They could use that excuse for a long time.

(It would be so easy for them to let him go.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next week, Loki woke up with his heart racing, biting a finger between his teeth to stop from crying out, and tears beginning to fall. He considered putting a muffling spell on the door so he could pace in silence as he tried to calm his thoughts. That or turning on the light and trying to lose himself in a Midgardian book, before ultimately failing and either waiting to fall asleep or waiting for morning to come.

On Asgard he had avoided Mother. On Asgard, Thor was far too busy to talk to, and instead Loki had wandered the halls. On Midgard, Asgard was too far away.

On Midgard, he had gone to sleep not long after his talk with Jane.

Just this once, he thought as he quietly walked down the hall. Just this once and no more.

With a soft double-rap, he knocked on the the door to Darcy's room.

Chapter Text

It was difficult to measure time when one's consciousness was adrift, but Loki was pretty sure it had been just over half an hour when he withdrew his mind from SHIELD's computers, satisfied that he had coalesced enough sense of the Tesseract to find it anywhere on this realm. He fully opened his eyes, looked blearily around to ensure nothing had changed – no alarms, no agent waiting to speak to him, door closed, and the tablet that Fury had given him still sitting on a desk to his right, silver letters against a black background reading “Avengers Initiative Members”. For later, Loki decided.

Reassured that nothing more urgent demanded his attention, Loki drew into himself, away from his senses in physical world. Then he spread himself and his other senses out across the world.

Only to immediately stumble over something that was not even a kilometre away; it was close enough to even be aboard the ship itself.

Baffled, Loki pulled himself closer, towards this signature that was much too weak to be the Tesseract itself but strong enough to catch his attentions. On closer contact, it did not quite feel like the sense he had gained from SHIELD's files, like a different flavour that still tasted just as sweet.

Well, in any case, it was much too unlikely that the Chitauri would bring the Tesseract to the human's ship that Loki should drop his search and go after it now. Not that it wasn't worth pursuing, but later, when time was not of the essence. And he would ask SHIELD about it, if he couldn't figure it out himself.

Although if they didn't care to answer, Loki didn't think that would present much of a problem. And if they didn't know, then that was another matter entirely. Hopefully one that was not too serious. Though he would not complain if it turned out being interesting.

With a touch of reluctance, Loki extended himself further, senses flowing beyond the ship, and left the strange trace of energy behind behind.

He had not gone far when he encountered another signature again. The same one, just as weak. Although instead of aboard the ship, it seemed to be somewhere on the mainland. And probably not the Tesseract either.

A spark of annoyance flitted through him, yet Loki once again drew towards the signature until he was brushing against it. It was weaker than Loki had first thought, which seemed to be because it was more spread out; the diffused glow of a splotch of energy rather than a bright pinprick. Yet even then it seemed to be more feeble overall, perhaps only a second-hand version of the one on the ship. Carefully, he pushed into the power, dipping into the strange-tasting flow. A flow that came not from that splotch, but elsewhere.

Not second-rate, Loki realized; the splotch was simply not the source. Curiosity returning, Loki gripped the tendrils of power and traced it as it wound its way towards the sea and then...dropped underwater. Right to the bottom of the ocean.

Unless the Chitauri had managed to travel across the continent and steal an underwater vehicle in the last few hours, all without SHIELD being alerted, then it was another dead end.

Loki turned from the source, irritation rippling through him. Hoping he had not lost too much time, he returned to the search. The proper search, for the exact sense he had gained from SHIELD, not these little distractions. Even if he would have to find out precisely what SHIELD was doing with a power of that magnitude aboard their ship and under the seas, for Loki hadn't known humans had developed something that was even close to mimicking the Tesseract. Yet if SHIELD had been studying it for a while, they may have been able to make a poor copy of it.

Following the echoes of the cube (or what he hoped was cube), he wondered if he would have to take those copies away from the mortals, as well as the Tesseract.

Because Loki knew that he could not let the humans, or rather SHIELD, get their hands on the Tesseract again. Midgard simply was not ready for such power, if the humans he read about in Fury's file were anything to go by. The first thing they had done once they discovered the Tesseract was make weapons, ones that had devastated the other side. And while Loki did not expect SHIELD to start trying to take over the world, he did not believe they were going to be overly altruistic with its power. Not to mention the spy organization had not the first clue how to handle and contain power of such magnitude. They had managed to bring a hostile species down on their heads within a year and a half of bringing Erik on-board.

And where one species went, another might follow.

Even if Loki let SHIELD have the Tesseract, they did not represent the whole of Midgard, but were only a faction of it. And Loki did not know if SHIELD was fond of sharing.

So Loki would have to steal it away, and hopefully before the mortals had time to object. And surely they would understand that it was the best course of action; even Asgard couldn't fault him for bringing back the Tesseract.

Actually, Loki thought with a surge of bitterness, they probably could find a reason. If there was fault to be had, then Asgard would find it. That Loki had needed mortal help to take it back, or that he used stealth when he should have strode straight in with his sword swinging and bellowing war cries.

Or they would say that Loki had never intended to give the Tesseract to Asgard, planning to keep it for himself. That he only gave it to Heimdall when he realized his plans wouldn't work, or that Heimdall had seen and taken it himself (and not even Heimdall's word would persuade them, not when Thor himself couldn't persuade them not to hate Loki). Or they would say that Loki had been working with the Chitauri all along. Or maybe with the Jotnar, and was planning to give them the Tesseract, or the dwarfs, or the Álfar or the Eldjotnar, or even Vanir rebels. Anyone but Asgard.

Perhaps they would even go as far as to bring Father into this, to say that because Father had put it there, it should stay there–

Loki's mind faltered, bringing his search to a screeching to a halt.

(If Father had put it here, if it should stay here–)

–But Loki couldn't stop now; he had a task to complete, and the longer he took, the worse off Midgard would be.

Attempting to wrest the churning thoughts under control, Loki set himself after the cube's thundering, bursting light again, now louder than it used to be. Which was lucky, because Loki's attempts at wresting his thoughts was poorer than he would have liked.

Had Father meant the Tesseract to stay here? After all Loki's reasoning and planning...was Loki wrong?

As far as Loki knew, Father had given the cube to Midgard, out of all the other realms, or even worlds beyond Yggdrasil's branches, for safekeeping. But what if he had another reason for putting it here, and hadn't told anyone?

(That was Father's way, after all.)

Was there a specific reason for giving it to Midgard, out of all the places? Or had he simply wished it to be off of Asgard?

Would Loki ruin Father's plans if he brought it back, ruin something he had set in motion nearly a thousand years ago (as Loki had managed to ruin whatever plans Father had had for him, before they ceased to matter)?

But what possible plan could there be? Did Father want the mortals to use it, when so far all they managed was to make two meagre copies and lure another species to them?

No, safekeeping would make sense, since a thousand years ago Midgard would be an obvious choice out of all the other realms and worlds. Back then, Midgard wouldn't have even been able to touch the Tesseract's power, let alone attempt to understand and play with it.

They were not ready, whether they misused it or simply studied it. This had to be the most reasonable course he could take, and when the Tesseract was back on Asgard, Thor and Mother would understand and could do as they wished with it. If they could use it, if they kept it, then they might be able to convince the rest that this was a good thing, as much as they derided Loki's methods. And even if Loki was wrong, and Mother or Thor or one of the council knew there was a reason Father had left the Tesseract here, they would understand why Loki had thought he was right. They would see that–

Loki nearly flinched out of his search again, for the sudden fear that had taken hold of his stomach and set it roiling. Because he remembered thinking those words before, a hundred times, every time he had a plan and he thought was for the best and they see why he had to lie.

Like he had thought before Thor's coronation, that they would see why he had to do it.

And why was Loki doing this? To impress Asgard, show them that he was just as good as Thor? Show them as he had tried to show them all those years, always falling short. Was he trying to do the right thing – to help Midgard, to help Erik and the other humans – or just chasing after more glory?

But Thor always did both; doing what was reasonable should–

Something heavy landed on his shoulder.

His real shoulder, his real body that should be alone – a hand, heavy and strong, much too strong to be a human's; it was latched onto him, its fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder and shaking him.

Loki panicked; he tried to drag himself out of his search, away from the Tesseract's song, to that hand that had attached itself to his body; yet he knew it was already too late, it would take too long and whatever was in the room with him would already accomplish whatever they had planned. Loki should have locked the door, should have set up wards before he let himself be vulnerable, except he hadn't thought the mortals capable of hurting him, or willing to hurt him when they knew Thor would come for him if something happened – Heimdall, Loki needed to call for Heimdall so Thor would know–

Then he heard the voice, soft and reverberating as if coming up from the bottom of a well. And best of all, familiar.

“–you okay? Loki? Are you hurt–”

Loki could feel his heart slowing, the panic receding.

Perhaps it was too soon to say, but on first impression Steve Rogers had not seemed like a cruel man.

And then there was the fact that he was worrying over Loki for some reason.

“What?” Loki tried to snap, but the word was slow, slurred. He could barely feel his own mouth moving. He half-raised himself into the real world, not wishing to lose the trail when he felt the Tesseract was close, yet still wishing to hear. Perhaps something had happened while Loki was under, and the ship was under attack, and Rogers was here wondering if Loki had been caught in it. Or perhaps something more mundane; maybe Loki had carried himself too far from his body in his search – or the effect of the Tesseract was stronger than he had realized – and his legs had neglected to keep him upright.

Mentally sighing, Loki thought that he probably should have sat down for this, but for some reason SHIELD seemed short on chairs, and the floor did not seem very appealing. Although he supposed if had fallen, it made little difference since he had ended up on the floor anyway.

Loki rather hoped he hadn't; at least, if that had been the case, he dearly hoped Rogers was the only one there to witness it.

(He didn't particularly want Barton bragging about how he helped cart Loki around a second time. Once was far too much already.)

The hand withdrew, and even though he was chasing after the Tesseract's glow, its ringing in his heart, Loki noticed the sudden lack of warmth.

“Sorry,” Rogers' voice murmured, muffled as if Loki were half-asleep. “I saw you on the camera after you...removed your hand from the computer. But you...you weren't moving and you were just staring at nothing. I thought something might be wrong.”

Once he had processed the words, Loki noticed a stiffness in the mortal's voice. And concern.

“No,” Loki replied shortly, anger at the uselessness of the interruption warring with a warmth that rose from the mortal's worry. Had SHIELD specifically told Rogers to keep an eye on him, and Rogers had gone above and beyond his duty and decided that meant taking care of Loki? Or did Loki just inspire an overprotective instinct in well-muscled, blond, blue-eyed men?

Well, at least Loki wasn't on the floor.

Hoping he had not taken too long between answers, he murmured, “I am searching. I am getting the...smell of it. Taste.” His explanations were insufficient, he knew; probably offsetting for a mortal. But he was certainly on the right trail now, a faint song in his ears, a scent in his nose, a taste on the tip of his tongue and the feel of it beating against his heart.

There was silence, and as Loki's mind skirted past little blips of power to the bright beacon he could nearly touch, he thought he had scared Rogers off, or his words had been indecipherable and the mortal had decided this was a waste of his time.

Then there was a breath like a sigh, and Rogers spoke again. “I...is this normal, then?”

Loki was pretty sure his head moved in something like a nod. “Yes,” he said, just in case.

There was a sigh again. “I'm sorry, I'm just not used to this, aliens and magic. Although I guess no one else is either, but where I'm from – or, when, I guess. When I...I'm sorry, you asked for peace and quiet, didn't you?” The words were farther, retreating. “If you're good, I'll get going. And if you need any of us, just call the bridge and–”

“When?” Loki murmured.

“When? I'm going to the bridge now.”

“No, when. Not where.” An odd word to use. Humans hadn't perfected time travel, had they? Jane would have told him. In fact, if humans had, Jane would not have asked him all those questions about if time travel was truly feasible and what theories the rest of the nine realms had on it. Unless SHIELD, with their poor imitation of the Tesseract, had cracked some of its secrets.

Humans with the Tesseract was bad enough. Humans with time travel was close to catastrophic.

“...Ah.” Hesitancy, Loki thought. Reluctance. To tell SHIELD's secrets? Did he know about the Tesseract-imitation?

“I guess you don't know.” Rogers' voice drifted closer, coming to a stop by Loki's right. Even with Rogers' words, the Tesseract was so close now that Loki was pretty sure he could only lose it if he tried. “It's probably all on your – do you know what a tablet is? What Director Fury gave to you?”

“Yes.” And now Loki regretted not looking. He was just about to ask, to wheedle more information out, when the Tesseract's sense exploded in his mind, as if he were biting down on a berry and letting the juice rush over his lips and tongue. He was close, so close, a sweet jangling in his mind, tugging at his heart, and Rogers' next words were reduced to tinny vibrations.

“Then it's probably on there, if you want–”

“What?” Another voice, unfamiliar. But Loki couldn't spare any thoughts, not even about being nervous, couldn't feel anything beyond where the Tesseract was leading him, dragging him. “Don't leave him in suspense. Though it's not really a secret, seeing as it's in every history textbook in the world.”

“Stark? I thought Fury wanted you to suit up.”

“Oh, were you listening in after he tried to chase me off the bridge? I didn't know you cared – and I would've suited up, but it's a pain in the ass to clunk around. But now you're down here, monopolizing my god, and–”

A roar filled Loki's ears, whiting out the voices, whiting out even the tenuous connection Loki still had with his body, and he immersed himself in the sweet, almost sickly sweet scent. If he stretched out his hand he could touch it and he reached for it, grasping–

There was a harsh, piercing jerk in his mind, something bitter filling his head as he reached out and brushed against something that was not the Tesseract, not that sweet sound–

Then he was past it and it was gone as the Tesseract's power washed over him, consuming him like a blazing fire. Her sickly sweet song was filling him; he could taste and smell nothing but her, and he knew her.

And he could find her.

Triumphant, Loki drew himself back to his body.

And found himself blinking up at wide, frightened blue eyes as a panicking voice was saying, “–calling a medic and if they blame this on me–” The sound of a door opening. “–I'll tell them that you were closer and infected him or–”

“He's awake,” Rogers called over his shoulder, and Loki heard a faint, “Oh, thank God.”

Loki then registered that he was horizontal, his back on a hard surface as his legs dangled off. Hands that were strong for a human's were pressed against his shoulders, ensuring he did not slip off onto the floor. Rogers turned his head back to Loki, his brow creased with worry as the unknown voice hollered out the door, “Never mind, we're good, back to whatever it is you superspies do...”

Loki pulled himself into a sitting position, holding back a groan as his head swam with the movement. He closed his eyes, and Rogers' arm held him up. “What did you–” the mortal began to ask.

“I found it,” Loki grinned, that beautiful song ringing in his mind as he steadied himself. So he had fallen after all, but at least it was only Rogers and one other mortal that had seen it. As long as no one else was watching the cameras, that was.

Opening his eyes again, Loki raised his face to Rogers. “I found it and–”

He stopped, gaping. Rogers was no longer wearing the plain clothes of earlier, but a bright mish-mash of red, white, and blue. It would be considered flashy even on Asgard, and it wasn't even adorned with gold or silver. And while Loki had to admit it fitted his form quite well, he could not even see any armour that would make it useful.

“Where did you get that suit?” he asked, barely managing to keep himself from laughing. “It's – is your fame from drawing the attention of everyone on the battlefield?”

Rogers followed Loki's gaze, and when he looked back up there was a pained expression on his face. “It's new. It came with the job.”

“Actually, no, I think the alien's got it partly right,” the new man chuckled, and Loki swung his head over to look at the new arrival. He was short, somewhere past middle-aged, and had styled, dark facial hair.

He also looked suspiciously like Tony Stark.

“You're one to talk,” Rogers said with a lift of his brows.

“Hey, the kids like it.” The man shrugged without taking his hands out of his pockets, his eyes bright as he wandered closer. “So, tall, dark, and magical, why'd you swoon on us? Was it him?” He jerked a thumb at Rogers. “Did you catch a case of the righteousness-es? Or was it a nasty SHIELD virus hidden away in their computers, because although that thing you did with the computers was way cool, I'm not letting your fingers near Jarvis until you get yourself cleaned up.” He eyed Loki up and down, as if Loki were covered in something foul.

Loki didn't like it. And while he only partially understood what the man was saying, he was sure he wouldn't like the other part either.

He narrowed his eyes. “You,” he hissed.

That stopped the man in his tracks. “Yes, me,” he said, putting a hand against his chest. “I'm amazing, astounding, I know–”

“Oh brother,” Rogers muttered.

“–although maybe you don't, seeing as you're not from here. I'm–”

“Tony Stark,” Loki finished, sliding down off the table and crossing his arm. Irresponsible, drunkard of a man, Tony Stark. Scowling, Loki said, “Was SHIELD short on automatons when they called you?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Stark put his hands up, a broad grin stretched across his face. The exact opposite of what Loki had been going for. “I'm known by the gods and Captain America isn't? I think you just made my day. I'm going to have to put that up somewhere.” He crooked his hands into L-shapes, then moved them horizontally above his head. “Tony Stark, famous among the gods. Tony Stark, even the gods can't get enough of him. No, not catchy enough...I'll think of something.”

Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping the pounding at his temples wasn't the beginnings of a headache. He had thought Darcy could be annoying when she put her mind to it, but Stark didn't seem to have an off switch. Worse than Agent Barton had seemed, though luckily Loki was pretty sure Stark had been nowhere near Loki's stretcher.

Thank the Norns for small mercies.

“If Loki's finished up, I think you should get ready,” Rogers was saying, and Loki heard him cross the floor to Stark. Loki didn't bother correcting Rogers that Loki was not quite finished up, at least not where Loki's plans were concerned. He would save that detail for larger audience.

“Nah, I'll do that later and – oooh, SHIELD tech. Backwards as fuck but let's see what SHIELD's got on you. Maybe they've been spying into your personal life.” Loki looked up to see Stark waving Loki's tablet towards Rogers, who no longer looked disapproving. In fact, Rogers looked just as curious as Stark as the man swiped his fingers across the screen. “Maybe they know what patriotic undies you wear.”

Rogers looked over Stark's shoulder – not a difficult task, considering Rogers was nearly Loki's height. With a flash of a grin, Rogers said, “White. You think they're spying on us?”

Stark glanced up at Rogers in surprise before returning to the tablet. “Wow, you do have a sense of humour. And they're spies; what do you think? Although...oh, this was the tablet you wanted to assign to Loki as homework. I still think they should have kept 'super-secret-boy-band' instead of Avengers, but Natasha probably threatened to kill someone. Loki, pay attention, this'll be on the quiz.”

Loki wondered if there was any point to Stark's nonsensical chattering, or if he just enjoyed irritating everyone in his vicinity. Rolling his eyes, Loki made his way to the call button at the front of the room that Fury had indicated. He would rather read about the information without Stark's overactive mouth for a filter, but then Stark said, “Hey, this isn't the file I got.”

Loki glanced back from the door to see Stark had taken up residence on the desk at the back of the room, poking at the tablet as Rogers leaned over him. “It's got every single campaign on here. In detail,” Stark added, then gave a low whistle. “Whoever wrote this must have been in love with you, Cap. Seriously, listen–” He put on a stiff, nasally voice as he read, “'the ever-daring Captain America, leading his team of Howling Commandos, did not cower from a full-frontal assault on the supremely well-defended Hydra bunker...' God, it just goes on.”

Loki looked sharply to Rogers, whose face had coloured slightly. “You are a warrior?” Loki asked him. “A true one?” When Fury had called the man a super-soldier, Loki had thought it a Midgardian term, or one of many soldiers from one of the several wars this domain was embroiled in. But Rogers had not said he was a captain, nor that he had a team to lead into battle.

Which, Loki assumed, must be what he was famous for; not just a 'super-soldier' for being stronger than most mortals, but for being a superior soldier. Loki took a more measured look at the mortal, re-evaluating those muscles under the tight fabric, the straight back, the confident stance.

Probably an excellent, praise-worthy warrior, Loki thought, and could not keep the taste of bitterness from his mind.

Resentful about a mortal just for existing, is that how low he would stoop? When he was already so much stronger than even a mortal 'super-soldier'?

From the way a touch of rancour refused to leave, it seemed that was exactly how low.

Yet, oddly, the re-telling of his battle did not seem to please Rogers. His lips just tightened and he shook his head at Loki. “A soldier,” he replied tersely, his eyes quick to avoid Loki's. Then, reaching for the tablet, he said, “Stark–”

“What?” Stark leaned back, holding the tablet out of reach. Raising his eyebrows judgmentally, he stated, “Every kid in America knows all this. You want to leave Loki out?”

Rogers took a moment to send a glance Loki's way, as if concerned that Loki was upset at missing out on anything – mostly Loki was just bemused – and Stark took the opportunity to spin around on the desk, leaping off the other side, right next to the windows overlooking the ship's bay. “Besides, I thought you wanted Loki to read about your trip to the future. Here,” Stark resumed his nasally voice, “'But even heroes must fall, and on the eve of Hydra's destruction...blah, blah, blah, Captain America was forced to crash-land the plane in the Arctic before it could destroy New York. He was thought lost–'”

“Stark, leave it,” Rogers snapped, striding after Stark.

Stark just rounded the other side of the desk, like a child playing a game of Chase-Me, not ceasing in his monologue. “'Until, seventy years later, SHIELD operatives found him encased in ice, and yet somehow still alive...' Damn, they don't actually say how they unfroze–”

“Stark!” Rogers vaulted over the desk in front of Stark and pushed the tablet down. Loki could only see half of Rogers face, but his eyes were steely, angry. Stark didn't back down though, staring back flatly as he wrenched the tablet from Rogers.

“Loki said he wanted to know; now he knows. And like I just said, everyone knows this – well, not the unfreezing bit – but everything else is textbook.”

Stark sent a look Loki's way, perhaps searching for support, perhaps gauging Loki's reaction. Loki was personally more interested in Rogers' reaction. There was more than just anger there, and as Rogers ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the doorway, Loki thought it might be shame.

Which was entirely ridiculous. Shame for what? From what Loki had understood, the mortal had sacrificed his life in battle. On Asgard, or even with the humans that had thought the Æsir gods centuries ago, Rogers would be lauded as a hero.

But this wasn't Asgard, and Rogers was not one of their warriors. Perhaps, if in seventy years –

And then, with a feeling like his stomach had bottomed out, it hit Loki.

Seventy years. And for a mortal...

Loki knew Jane was around thirty. Rogers looked around the same age as her, perhaps younger. And mortals these days, even though they lived much longer than those in the past, they lived decades longer... most mortals lived for less than a century.

Seventy years was nearly a lifetime for humans.

(Nearly a life-time, and what would happen in forty years to Jane and Darcy, when–)

Perhaps that was not shame that was shadowing Rogers' face, but loss.

“Now I have to see what dirt SHIELD's got on me,” Stark was saying, more to himself as he wandered to the centre of the room, eyes once more on the tablet. Loki figured he was someone who talked just to hear the sound of his own voice.

Ignoring him, Loki intercepted Rogers before the man could reach the door, a light hand on the mortal's shoulder.

Rogers looked up to him, face deliberately blanked in an expression Loki recognized from the mirror. Loki swallowed, and said, “Rogers...” then stopped, unsure what came next. After a moment, where Loki could see an almost angry anticipation beneath Rogers' blank gaze, Loki settled on,“I am...sorry for your losses.” The words felt paltry on his lips. He had always been at his most eloquent when insincere (incapable of sincerity). “And I should not have pried into when you came here,” he added.

Rogers didn't hold his eyes for long. Turning his head back to the door, he said shortly, “You would have been told sooner or later.” His face was tired, for a moment much older than it should be, as if he had actually lived those seventy years. Then it was gone, and he gestured forward. “We should get going. I can show you the way to the bridge,” he offered, and started walking to the door.

Loki nodded, but decided to reclaim his tablet first, if only to stop Stark from poking through it. Loki's gaze swung back to Stark, just in time to see a strange look pass over the man's face as his eyes scanned over the screen. It was a look very similar to Rogers', but with something else as well. Something like panic.

Then it was wiped out, Stark's voice glib as he said, “Actually, let's not play the game of SHIELD-file-roulette. It's all lies and slander anyway.” His gaze flickered up to Rogers and back again, a guilty look about his eyes as he began pressing something on the screen. “Sorry Cap, that was–” a slight hesitation and his eyes flickered again. “–That was a dick move, really...well, I was being a dick.”

Rogers made a sound that might have been surprise, might have been the acceptance of the apology. But Loki was more concerned that Stark's fingers were not simply moving in absent scanning motions, but as if he was typing something.

“What are you doing?” Loki asked, worried that Stark had decided to make up his own “lies and slander” before Loki even had a chance to look. He stalked across the room in two short strides and grabbed the tablet before Stark could pull it away.

As Loki did, his fingers brushed Stark's, and Loki froze.

He knew that feeling.

Chapter Text

In that one brief second of contact as Stark handed the tablet over, Loki recognized the feeling pulsing under Stark's skin.

“Yeah, okay,” Stark relented, releasing the tablet. He was not looking at Loki. “You can – hey!” Stark was yanked forward as Loki grabbed his arm, and Loki took the opportunity to snatch Stark's hand back, squishing it against the back of the tablet as he tried to hold both. To feel the man's flesh again, and whatever power was strumming through it.

There, a quiet counterpoint melody to the one roaring in his head, sweet taste like a dusting of sugar that was nearly overwhelmed by the Tesseract's sickly sweetness.

“Look, this isn't how handshakes go,” Stark snapped. “I don't know what you do in god-town, but here it's not polite to just grab people.” He tried to pull his arm away, but Loki didn't want to let him go quite yet. Because it didn't make any sense. How could it be Stark who gave off those weaker signals? How could Stark have set him on so many false starts? The man was human, so how could he emit such power?

“Are you even listening?” Stark was saying, an edge to his voice.

No, not quite Stark, Loki realized as he dipped into that energy, its veins and pulses, listening closer to its song. Something in Stark.

“Hello, anyone there? Please don't tell me you've decided to go into another trance now. Rogers! A. Little. Help.” With each word there was another faint tug on Loki's arm.

It was something in Stark's chest, where Loki could see a faint circle of blue beneath the fabric of the mortal's suit. A glowing blue circle he had recalled seeing on the Iron Man suit in the video Darcy had showed him.

“Loki, let him go,” came Rogers' voice, firm and commanding. “We need to get going.”

Stark, a mortal, who had a power like that, and used it only for a simple suit. There was so much others could do with it – what Jane could do with it, if she had it. And something that could echo the Tesseract, even faintly, how could Stark have constructed it? Had he done so on his own? Was he working with SHIELD and they had created it together? How was it in him, and what was its purpose without the suit? Could it be removed?

Worst of all, would Loki have to take Stark back to Asgard with the Tesseract? Because there was no way in the Nine that Loki wished to explain Tony Stark to Heimdall.

“Loki–” Rogers' voice was sharper, and there were footsteps.

So many questions, so many unknowns and variables that he simply did not know; but he didn't have the time to ask, to sit down like he often did with Jane and spend the afternoon and evening just talking until Darcy forced them to sleep. Not when there was still the Tesseract and Erik to concern him. Not to mention Stark's damn irksome mouth that would make any conversation headache-inducing.

Unless the tablet could tell him. But he had little time to read it because afterwards, if Loki's plan went accordingly...

Abruptly, Stark's voice brought him back from that feeling beneath the man's skin. A light gasp, then, strained, “Ow, ow, you're hurt–”

With a jolt of fear, Loki let go, nearly jumping backwards. Quickly he drew his hands back to his own body, guilt shooting through him like hot lead. Stark was rubbing his arm, but he looked otherwise fine as he glared at Loki, though his expression was not without confusion.

Loki ducked his head. “I – My apologies for hurting you,” he said smoothly. “I forgot my own strength.” The mortal might annoy him, but he didn't deserve a pulverized arm for it.

“What the hell were you trying to do?” Stark asked, brow furrowed. He turned his arm over as if checking it for any sprains. “Pull me into magic-world with you?”

Looking to the side, wondering how best to answer without drawing more questions, Loki caught sight of the tablet's screen. It was a blank white except for the black and silver logo at the top reading, “Avengers Initiative Members”, and in a cheerful blue oval in the centre, “Files successfully deleted.”

Loki blinked at it, as if the screen might change if he closed his eyes. The blue oval remained. As did its message, flashing at him, demanding attention.

Slowly, Loki looked back towards Stark, and from the way Stark's face grew nervous again, he knew exactly what Loki had seen. Yet his face was without any trace of the guilt he had shown for Rogers earlier.

How – how dare he. Loki seethed, outrage growing under his breast alongside the lingering guilt. What right – this was Loki's –

The door swooshed open, and a professional voice said, “Prince Loki, I am supposed to escort you to the – oh –” Loki glanced behind to see a SHIELD Agent nearly blushing and staring up at Rogers. “C-captain America,” the young man stuttered, “I didn't know–”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Stark muttered. When Loki's head snapped back towards him, Stark's expression dropped into something almost abashed. His body braced itself, as if waiting for an attack.

Loki growled, and before Stark could move he shoved the useless tablet back at the mortal. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out the door. The young agent hurried to catch up, squeezing past Loki at the door and gesturing at Loki to follow him down the corridor to the right.

Fuming, Loki strode just behind the agent. Everything had been fine until Stark had shown up. The Captain's worry had been unnecessary, but at least it was nice. It was like if he went to Darcy after a nightmare, and she insisted on hot chocolate or alcohol or both, depending on what she thought was best – even if the alcohol affected him little. And Rogers had known him for barely over an hour.

Not to mention that Loki could have read what was on the tablet without announcing it to the whole room – like Barton had done with Loki.

Who was Stark to deny him this, when Stark and the rest of them all knew about him? SHIELD knew why Loki came down, knew what he was – put him in one of their medical rooms for the Norns' sake – and had decided to return the favour for this team, this “Avengers Initiative”. And now where SHIELD trusted him, Stark decided he didn't. As if he was king of this ship, and not Fury.

Although Loki could probably find the information again: he could simply delve into SHIELD's computers, or retake the tablet and see if he could recover the information. But he had a task to complete, and he had already wasted enough time.

Besides, Loki knew what it felt like to have everything, even the things he wanted to be dead and gone, accessible to possibly anyone – on this ship at least. Perhaps leaving the past well alone was for the best.

Footsteps, quick and angry, though lighter than Loki had expected, were the only warning before Rogers was suddenly at his side. With a low voice, Rogers said, “Loki, whatever you were doing to Stark back there, I hope it wasn't because of what he said, because–”

“It wasn't that,” Loki snapped, then at Rogers' taken aback expression, he sighed and shook his head. Using a quick spell so the agent couldn't listen in, he explained, “Something...surprised me and I was lost in my head. I forgot myself,” he added, “and forgot how delicate mortals are. Do not worry, it will not happen again.” He would make sure it wouldn't happen again. He was always so careful around Jane and Darcy, but the quest, the feeling like he was preparing for another adventure, had made him fall into older patterns.

(Centuries-old patterns, and ones that could not be repeated, not with Thor on the throne, not with all the rest on another realm while Loki was down here.)

Rogers gave him a long measuring look, and Loki was surprised to feel nervous as the mortal studied him. As if it mattered how much the mortal believed his explanation. Then, at last Rogers nodded, and Loki felt a curious flush of relief. Yet he did not linger on the feeling long, for there was another question building on Rogers' tongue, and Loki didn't feel like dancing around the issue of asking about Stark's magical “taste”. Or the taste of whatever was inside him. Which in his head sounded worse than it really was.

“May I ask when exactly you...arrived here?” he said before Rogers could open his mouth.

Rogers faltered and looked away. Eyes on the agent ahead of them, who was glancing back over his shoulder with his dark eyes uncertain, Rogers said slowly, “Yes, I...woke up from the ice about a year and a half ago.” He cleared his throat and looked back at Loki, a wry smile on his lips. “I guess that means I'm about as new here as you are.”

Loki's smile was much wider as he repeated Rogers' earlier words. “Then I hope you're liking it on Midgard, Steve Rogers – or is it Captain America?”

“That depends.” Rogers' smile turned into a smirk. “Do you want Loki or would you prefer Prince?”

Loki thought he was beginning to like Rogers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Loki entered the bridge, Rogers at his side, the agent they were trialing headed off farther into the helm. There, Fury stood in front of several floating images, next to a woman Loki recognized from the security footage. Agent Hill, Loki thought she had been called over their communication system. Fury's back was to them, surveying the lower portion of the bridge like a king looking out over his domain.

Approaching a table in the centre of the room, Loki spotted both Barton and Romanoff sitting on the far side of it. Like Rogers, both the agents had changed, and Romanoff into a suit with all the sleekness of Rogers', though without the flashiness. And for all Rogers' tacky colours, Loki had to admit that both he and Romanoff looked better for the form-fitting change.

“I can see why Agent Romanoff was outfitted for stealth instead of you.” Loki grinned at Rogers. The man just made a noise similar to a sigh, and as the two of them came to a stop at the table, Loki noticed Stark stride in behind them. Thankfully Stark had seemed to realize Loki was in no mood to converse with him and had kept his distance.

Or maybe he had just wanted to delete more SHIELD information before coming up.

“Please tell me you have good news,” Fury's voice called across the room, and Loki turned to see the director walking away from the floating images, along with Agent Hill. The agent who had lead Loki to the bridge ducked to the lower floor just in front of the helm, seemingly having just told the director of their arrival.

“Because we have been trying to keep this as close to the chest as we can–” Fury said, an edge to his voice, as he strode to the head of the table with Agent Hill closely following. “–And have been having a hell of a time with it. So.” He tapped the table, and a map of the realm appeared on its surface. The ship was lit in red, just off the east coast of the land of America. Fury gestured towards the map, hand waving across the entirety of a landmass. “Where is it?”

Loki leaned over the table, and put his hand to his chin contemplatively, studying the map. He turned his head this way and that. Abruptly he straightened, seeing out of the corner of his eye as everyone watched his movements.

Loki took a deep breath, held out one hand, then pointed at the starboard side of the ship. “It's that way.”

Everyone looked in the direction his hand pointed, then back at him. For a moment, no one spoke. Even some of the agents on computers at the front of the deck turned around, staring at him like he was out of his mind.

“What.” Fury did not phrase it as a question. If the human's eye could throw daggers, Loki was sure one would have pierced the centre of his forehead.

Loki suppressed a grin. This was going to be the hard part. And the fun part.

It was going to be a performance, the likes of which he hadn't put on since Before, on Asgard.

(And he knew there was guilt creeping up his sides, especially since they saw fit to trust him, but this had to be done. Besides, no harm would come to them anyway, nothing that they had not volunteered for, at least.)

Steeling himself, Loki spread his hands and smiled. “You wanted me to find it. So I found it.”

Agent Hill muttered something that sounded like, “Should've gone with Banner.”

Fury just glared at Loki. “Then where is it?”

“I just told you, it's in that direction.” Loki pointed again. When it looked as if Fury was about to physically throw Loki off his ship, Loki put his hands up, trying to look placating. “Look, I know where it is,” he said in the calmest, most soothing voice he could muster. “But you are sorely mistaken if you believe magic to translate well into something as paltry as this map.” He gave a grimace as he glanced down at the table.

Actually, Loki probably could find it on a map. If he really wanted to. But he didn't.

“So how does that help us, then?” Fury asked, crossing his arms and staring down at Loki from across the table. He really did act like a king in his demeanour.

He certainly has the eyepatch for it , Loki thought before he could stop it, before he realized he couldn't turn to Thor and share the joke, before his mind caught up that this was no joke , not now , not After . He shoved the thought away, burying it before it could do more than send the electric feeling shame shooting through his heart. Now was not the time to break down into fear or guilt.

Instead, Loki cocked his head. “You are aware I can teleport, yes?” Beside Loki, Rogers jerked, as if this was news to him, and Stark – whom Loki had been doing his best to ignore – was staring at Loki as if Loki held the secrets of the universe in his head. He must have not had that on his file either.

“That is how Agent Coulson asked me to arrive. And since I know exactly where the Tesseract is, up here–” Loki tapped his head, although technically he should be tapping the centre of his chest as well. But he knew by now that certain humans seemed to prefer mind over soul. “–teleporting directly to its location won't be a problem,” he finished off with a pleased smile.

Once again, the room stared at Loki as if he had gone mad (and in the back of his mind, Loki was glad it wasn't because they were trying to see the blue beneath his false skin, or to whisper rumours to companions about what the second prince had been up to this time.)

“Fucking magic,” Barton muttered under his breath. He probably didn't know Loki could hear him.

“So let me get this straight,” Fury said. All eyes in the room converged on him. “You want to teleport yourself, and the rest of the Avengers,” he waved to the humans gathered around the table, “to an unknown location, appearing right beside the Tesseract without any knowledge of how many other men the Chitauri have managed to convert, and without knowing when or how back-up will arrive?” The tilt of his head promised severe consequences if Loki didn't explain, and fast. “Are you trying to screw us over?”

“Not in the slightest,” Loki lied, giving a light shake of his head. Though he wasn't lying about this part of the operation. “I didn't say we would be teleporting. I will be the one teleporting.”

Fury, Romanoff, and Hill all looked as if they were about to start arguing all at once, so Loki quickly added, “And I know enough about human technology to know you can track someone, yes?” Darcy had described GPS tracking and cell phones (specifically her phone) one somewhat monotonous day. “You can give me such a device, and I can affix it to the nearest structure.” He spread his hands as if to say see, everything is alright. “Then you'll have your location, I can give you numbers, layout, and information, and can teleport back here without hassle.”

Though Fury's eyes were narrowed suspiciously, Loki could almost see the idea running through the director's mind as the mortal considered it. Loki thought of how simple it was to convince humans to not run into battle with swords – or rather, guns – out, and instead take the sneakiest route possible. If there were a similar situation with Thor or his friends, it would take ages to cajole them into letting Loki go in first, alone. Then again, here on Midgard Loki was the strongest, hardiest, and most dangerous of the men and women standing around the table. Or probably in the entire realm for that matter.

It was a strange thought. Loki was not used to being the strongest of any group.

Then Stark cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, there's still the problem of you teleporting – which is awesome, by the way – right beside the glowing cube of doom. I'm pretty sure they aren't going to let you waltz in and take a look.”

Loki gave Stark a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Oh, you're sure about that? I have a very smooth waltz.”

As Loki's illusion smirked in Stark's direction, Loki came around to Stark's right side, leaned down, and whispered in Stark's ear. “And I can be very light on my feet.”

“Jesus Christ!” Stark screeched, nearly falling over sideways as he scrambled away from Loki's voice.

Letting the invisibility spell drop, Loki doubled over laughing. He was right; this was the most fun he had had in ages.

The illusion quickly dissolved as well, after one last grin at Fury.

Fury, however, did not seem amused, but across the table, Barton had broken out into cackles. As Loki was trying to stifle his giggles, Barton nudged Romanoff and gasped out, “Nat, see! If I could–”

“Still in your dreams, Clint,” she said, and her smile had a wicked slant as she turned to her partner.

“You're all bastards, all of you,” Stark spluttered. He inched away from Loki along the table, still glaring at Loki.

Loki just grinned back. Maybe next time Stark would leave what was Loki's alone.

“Loki, Barton, Stark, that's enough,” Fury snapped.

“But I didn't–” Stark tried to say, gesturing at Loki.

“Enough. Loki, if you believe you can get in and out quickly, without being detected, then you take Romanoff and–”

“I cannot hide more than myself,” Loki interrupted. “Not if you want us to remain hidden.” Which was a complete and utter lie, but no one needed to know that.

“And why not?” Fury asked.

“It's more difficult to hide others, especially if they don't stay close. Then there's details like sound, smell, body heat...” Loki ticked off his fingers. This one was a partial truth; the other senses were harder to hide than sight, but not impossible. “And the Chitauri do not entirely navigate by human means either – I must take care of other divisions of light, as well as vibrations.” Loki was not completely sure on that, but it sounded reasonable. “If I take her,” he finished off, “then there's a chance my protection might fail, and one or both of us could be discovered.”

And if SHIELD sent someone along, it would be that much more troublesome to steal away the Tesseract.

Loki wouldn't attempt it the first time he arrived. There would be too much risk of the Chitauri discovering him as he stole the Tesseract away, and even if Loki succeeded, they might take the humans hostage once they found the Tesseract was gone. Or kill them in vengeance, and Loki would not have that on his hands. Instead, he would use his time away from SHIELD to warn Heimdall about the cube.

Returning to Asgard, for a little while, would be unavoidable. He couldn't rely on the gatekeeper paying attention to him at a certain moment. Before he returned to SHIELD's ship, he would have to teleport to an out-of-the-way place and allow Heimdall to bring him (home) back to Asgard. Once he informed the gatekeeper to be ready the moment the Chitauri were defeated or captured, he could return to Midgard, and report back to the mortals. Together, they would do most of the dirty work, and the Tesseract would be safely back on Asgard. And of course Loki would then ask Heimdall for some books on mind magic, if he couldn't figure out how to help Erik and the other humans in the meantime.

Yet these plans of betrayal – for all they made sense – still managed to itch at him. That prickle of hot guilt still climbed down his back, if not for SHIELD, then for the people in it. Rogers, after all his concern, would most certainly be hurt. And he thought he was starting to like Romanoff, and perhaps Barton, since the mortal still wished to work with Loki, even after attending to Loki in his weakest moments.

(Though he wouldn't be too broken up about leaving Stark behind.)

Then there was the sense of adventure, so much like Before on Asgard, where he would eventually grow bored within the walls of the palace and wish to go on a quest (although he protested Thor's efforts, just to make sure Thor didn't think he could pull Loki everywhere with him). Even the lying was familiar, at least during the times when he knew Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three wouldn't understand his reasons. And yet afterwards, if it all came to light, they still let him come on other quests. Granting, Loki thought that was usually because Thor convinced them to bring him along, and wouldn't hear a word against him.

Here, Loki was sure he could convince the mortals well enough himself. That he belonged. That if there was another need to defend Midgard, Loki could be counted on. Especially if Thor and Mother agreed with his assessment, that he was helping the realm.

( Convince them that betraying them was in their best interests; well, there was a reason he had earned the name silvertongue .)

Although...Loki didn't have to tell them he had contacted Asgard. They knew Heimdall was watching, and watching Loki in particular. It would not be difficult to convince them Heimdall had taken the initiative himself–

But no, if Loki wished to stay with this team, these Avengers, he would admit to what he had done.

And he thought he was ready for a bit more adventure.

Fury stared at Loki across the table, as if judging the sincerity of Loki's argument. Loki stared back, letting worry, embarrassment at his “inadequacies”, and conviction flood his expression.

At last, Fury nodded. “All right. Agent Romanoff?”

“Yes, sir,” Romanoff responded promptly. The two SHIELD agents shared a look before Romanoff nodded and stood, and Loki realized that neither she nor Fury had bought his argument quite as much as he had thought. Which meant Loki would have to be careful.

Yet still Fury said, “Prep Loki for a stealth and track mission.”

Chapter Text

“This goes in your ear, so you can hear us and we can hear you.”

Agent Romanoff held a tiny device between her fingers, one that looked a bit like the ear bud for Darcy's iPod. Loki took it gently, and inserted it into his ear. It felt strange, but not overly uncomfortable.

Romanoff had led him to a small room filled with shelves and boxes of electronic devices; apparently preparing for a “stealth and track mission,” meant sticking several little human inventions on his person, although Loki was fairly certain he was taking care of the stealth portion himself. Yet it wasn't as if he entirely needed them for the tracking portion either – extinguishing the Tesseract's luminous melody from his head would be a difficult feat indeed. However, if he wished for his plans to work, he must limit himself to more humans means: already Romanoff had handed him two tiny black tracking devices. “In case you lose the first,” she had said.

Although Loki knew he technically had three devices on him; Romanoff had attached one to the metal mesh of his tunic when she had brushed alongside him in the narrow room, likely believing he did not notice when her fingers had stuck it in between two of the silver squares. Loki was currently trying to figure out ways to trick the little devices. They seemed quite simple, and surely would not take too much effort to confuse.

“And now we just need a camera,” she muttered, then walked further into the stacks. Loki followed, letting his magic gently caress the tracking device and the ear piece as Romanoff stopped by a box and opened it, revealing a set of other tiny electronics.

As Loki was thinking which spells would be best to mislead his own electronics, Romanoff nearly startled him when she said, “You know, Clint's not really like that all the time.”

“Oh?” Loki said after a moment, since her pause seemed to expect a reply. Was she simply making conversation to fill up the silence, or trying to defend her partner? He not thought her the type to talk needlessly.

“He was actually excited to meet you in person. Again.” Agent Romanoff reached into the box and grabbed a camera. “He was one of the agents assigned to Puente Antiguo for about eight months.”

Loki blinked. “He was spying on me?” And Jane, and Darcy. Though he supposed that was to be expected.

“Not quite,” she answered, smiling as she turned back to him, the camera between her thumb and index finger. “More like making sure things went smoothly. Things like getting your credit card bill paid–”

Loki made a face at her. “I did figure that one out eventually.” The idea of “floating money” still did not quite make sense – or seem sensible – but when he'd asked about it one day, Jane had sat him down and gone through the concept step by step.

“And Clint was very proud of you when you did.” She gestured for Loki to bend down slightly. When he was low enough, she reached up and began affixing the little device to his lapel. “Then there was making sure the locals didn't get suspicious about the pretty lights shooting down from the sky, or start blogging about it. You know once he actually had to help fend off some alien conspiracy theorists? They had a crazy idea going on that renowned astrophysicist Dr. Foster and a mysterious government organization were working together to look for aliens.”

Loki did not quite know what to make of any of that – what exactly alien conspiracy theorists were, how had they guessed at some of the truth, what someone like Barton had done keep them at bay; and, most importantly, if Romanoff was making a joke at his expense. When he looked at Romanoff with what must have been scepticism, she glanced up at him and smirked “You've met him,” she said, a sparkle in her eye. “Get him into jeans and a t-shirt and he pretty much screams the opposite of government agent.”

She finished pinning the camera to his clothes and stepped back, briefly surveying her handiwork. “Delivering your mail was a big thing as well,” she continued, still smiling. “He stopped one of the junior agents from sneaking a peek at your letters, although that was mostly on the grounds that he thought your mom would be angry.”

Loki frowned as Romanoff looked up at him, waiting for a reaction. No, just as before, expecting something. And Loki doubted that this conversation was simply for Agent Barton's benefit. Giving her a confused look, he asked, “Are you trying to guilt me into being his friend, Agent Romanoff?”

She raised her brows in such a way that Loki couldn't tell if it was natural or feigned. “Is there something to feel guilty about?”

It was only careful control over his face that kept him from reacting. Was Romanoff giving him a warning? How much did she – or Fury – guess about his intentions? Perhaps she was guilting him with whatever pain Barton might feel at Loki's betrayal. Or perhaps she knew nothing and was trying to assess if he was guilty.

In which case, it would be best not to show any sign of it.

Giving a self-deprecating smile and glancing down in embarrassment – not entirely untruthfully – Loki replied, “Only that I was such a bother to care for. Although I might ask why my mother's wrath was such an incentive for my defence.”

With that, Romanoff gave a light laugh, one Loki suspected was genuine. “Well, he seems to think your mom is the greatest woman to walk the earth.”

“Should I be worried about his intentions?” Loki asked with slight alarm.

She snorted and patted his arm. “No, I think you should be worried you'll get yourself another brother. Or him following your mom home like a duckling.”

“Ah.” Loki had the sudden image of Barton trailing after Mother, padding behind her as she glided around her study and strolled in her gardens.

He shook his head, though before he could ask anything else – such as how exactly Barton knew his mother – Romanoff waved at him and pressed a finger to her ear, in much the same place Loki had his own comm.

“Your camera is good,” she answered his puzzled look. “Now, I want you to say something, and we'll see if the comm picks it up.”

Loki grinned at her. “Well, if Barton happens to disappear, just send someone to the top of your ship and have them shout for Heimdall; he should have no trouble sending Barton back down here.”

“I have no idea what you two are talking about, and I don't think I'd like to know.” Fury's voice blared in Loki's ear, and Loki did his best not to jump. He hadn't expected the little thing to be quite so loud. Without a pause, the director continued, “Agent Romanoff, return to the bridge. Loki, can you hear this?”

“Yes, I can,” Loki responded as Romanoff walked past. She gave Loki a pleased nod before she was out of sight, the door swooshing shut behind her.

“Good,” Fury said shortly. “This is going to be in and out. And if whatever magic you have to do interferes with our systems, I want you to return immediately. Is that clear?”

Although Loki did not think that “in and out” suited his plans well, he held any sour note from his voice as he said, “I understand. And Jane's equipment has never had a problem with my magic, so I doubt yours will either.” Though he might blame any “mishaps” when he departed to Asgard on a spell gone wrong. If it came to that. “Am I free to leave, or should we continue to chat?”

Loki thought he could almost hear Fury scowl. “No. Now go find the Tesseract.”

Grinning, Loki first pulled his magic about himself, concealing him from sight and sound. Then, thrumming with perhaps the slightest bit of anticipation, he followed the Tesseract's roaring, burning blaze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Underground, was where he seemed to be. Dark, wet concrete and dank corridors, the only lighting a harsh white glare from above.

Not that Loki had much time to examine his surroundings. As Fury's voice said in his ear, “Camera and GPS are working, now we need a comm test–” someone walked into his back.

Loki whirled to see two men, one stumbling backwards, both in suits that designated them as SHIELD agents, and both with identical near-glowing blue eyes. And both staring in surprise at the suddenly-solid patch of thin air as their hands automatically reached into their jackets for their weapons.

Letting out a curse – not that the two agents could hear him anyway – Loki snapped his hands forward and gently smacked the agents' heads together, muffling the sound with a quick spell.

Gently for him, of course. The two men's eyes rolled back in their heads, and it was only Loki's grip on their lapels that kept them from slumping to the floor.

“I suppose that takes care of the comm,” Fury said after a moment. “And those are Agents Desmond and Blake. Please tell me all you did was knock them out.”

“Do not worry,” Loki answered hastily. Loki hoped Fury appreciated how difficult it was to let the device pick up his voice, without allowing anyone else overhear his voice emanating from nowhere. Probably not. Nobody except for Jane, it seemed, ever grasped the little details of his magic.

“They're quite alright,” he continued, reaching out with a small spell to the agents to assure that Loki hadn't, in fact, miscalculated his strength; luckily, nothing was broken or overly bruised. “Though they may require assistance when they awake.” As well as still under control of the Chitauri, but there was not enough time to work on a cure now. SHIELD would merely have to restrain them.

“And ready to be tripped over by the next alien to walk down the corridor?” Fury asked archly.

“Director, a little faith please,” Loki mock protested. Hoisting one man on each arm, reaching under their shoulders and grasping the back of their suits – an awkward position, but humans were much lighter than Æsir – Loki dragged them over to the side of the corridor. Examining the wall behind them first, he then gingerly lay them down against the damp concrete. Once he was sure they were well out of the way, with a spark of magic the two agents disappeared.

“I thought you said your invisibility thing was difficult,” Fury snapped, and Loki noted a hint of wariness. Perhaps he believed he was uncovering Loki's lie.

“Not, invisibility – illusion.” Loki corrected, and did his best to keep the smugness from his voice; he would never allow to himself to be caught so easily. Reaching a hand towards seemingly-empty space, he hoped the camera could see a faint golden glow appeared around his fingers as they pierced the illusion's surface. “Much simpler.”

“Well, fuck me,” a different voice said in Loki's ear, almost as contemplative as it was crude.

“No thank-you,” Loki replied innocently. “And I thought the news claimed you already have a lover, Stark,” he said as he stuck one of SHIELD's tracers to the wall just above the agents, then turned and walked down the corridor, towards the Tesseract's pulsing power. He would have to retrieve the two when he and SHIELD launched their rescue mission.“Several, in fact,” he added.

“One, it's just Pepper – are you reading the gossip mags on me? – and two, that's just an expression. Three, I lied about two, although it's more of a science proposition than a sexual proposition,” Stark said.

“Oh?” Loki said as he turned a corner, making sure to muffle his footsteps with magic. Just in case. “Go on.” This might be interesting to hear.

“Okay, fully three-dimensional rendering of several cubic feet of space with your head just by looking at it – actually, scratch that, I've built tech that can do that. Mostly. But how do you do the computer thing? Does your hand become one with the data or something?” Stark's tone was rather sarcastic on the last sentence. Like Jane, Loki thought, he seemed to prefer science terms over magic.

Then immediately Loki wished his mind would take the words back; Stark may be intelligent, but he was not like Jane. Jane would never be as irresponsible, and was adamant about what could be done and not done with another's property. Not to mention her words tended to hold meaning, rather than being mindless chatter. “Yes, in fact, it does,” Loki snipped back. There were two corridors in front of him, both leading in a similar direction. Loki reached out, brushed his senses against the cube's song, then headed down the one on the left.

“Are you serious?” Stark answered after a moment.

“He can do magic, Stark,” Barton cut in. “What did you expect?”

Loki wanted to bury his head in his hands, though refrained as it would not be the best idea when sneaking around an enemy's territory. But did SHIELD just let anyone talk into the other end of his device?

“Well that's – okay, fine,” Stark spluttered as Loki spotted movement at the end of the corridor. Both humans and Chitauri, it seemed. “What about how you're talking right now? Because you said you needed to make sure you weren't heard, but you're obviously letting the sound vibrations reach the comm. It sounds pretty clear on this end, so how's it travelling? With just magic?”

Loki steadily breathed in and out in an attempt not to hit the wall in frustration. Could it not be someone else, anyone else, who could have noticed the little details? Appreciated the difficulty and intricacies? Couldn't he instead be having this conversation with Rogers or Romanoff, have grudging appreciation for them creeping through the irritation? Have their curiosity remind him of Jane's endless questions, never satiated with an answer of just magic? Curiosity like Loki's whenever...

A feeling like resignation settled on him and, almost grumbling, Loki answered, “Using magic, yes. But it's a rather complicated spell.”

Someone took a breath as if they were about to say something else, but luckily they shut up when Loki entered the room. Instead, Loki distinctly heard Fury say “Shit.”

It looked like a human's version of a blacksmith's shop. Chitauri and mortals worked together, soldering and assembling metallic objects. Objects that Loki guessed would eventually resemble the portal generator SHIELD had designed.

Loki inched along the wall, careful to avoid getting in the way of the Chitauri or humans. He could feel that the Tesseract was achingly close, only metres away, and her taste was mouth-wateringly sweet. Glancing in the direction of her power, he saw a small doorway. No one was entering or leaving it.

“Loki, do you have a visual on the Tesseract yet?” Now Romanoff's voice. She must have joined the rest of her companions.

“I will in a moment,” Loki answered, and nimbly ducked around two Chitauri and a human before slipping into the doorway.

The Tesseract nearly blinded him with her power, singing out her sweet song for all to hear. She was sitting in a small case on a desk in front of a bench. And on that bench, carefully examining her, was Erik Selvig.

He looked nearly ecstatic, and, as Loki drew closer, completely exhausted, his white hair in a disarray and clothing crumpled. Behind Erik was the Chitauri leader, loosely holding the sceptre. His hooded face was watching Erik work – or the Tesseract, Loki was not sure – with one hand clutching Erik's shoulder, one of the fingers and the two thumbs brushing against his neck. Possessively. As if Erik was his.

Loki seethed, hands clenching and he wished to rush forward, throw that Chitauri off, rip that hand from Erik's shoulder. But that wouldn't do the man any good now. It would more likely lead to Erik's death, or several of the other humans' at least. But the dark shadows beneath what Loki could see of Erik's eyes troubled him, and Erik's hands were startlingly close to the Tesseract's surface; surely both Erik and the Chiaturi knew what would happen if a mortal held that power for too long. Or perhaps neither cared.

One more reason to get this over with, and seize Erik away from the Chitauri. And once Loki had a free moment, he would have to call up Jane and Darcy to tell them Erik was safe; the two of them had gone too long without any news, and would be getting anxious. Loki would not mention the mind control unless it was necessary – there was no need to worry her or Darcy if he could help it.

For that would be the next challenge, curing the humans. Loki would probably have to get his hands on the staff dangling casually from the Chitauri's grip, study the glowing blue gem's properties and hope that what was done so simply could be undone just the same way.

And perhaps it was entirely selfish of him, but he knew SHIELD would have to keep him around to help the humans, even if they felt the sting of betrayal. No one else on Midgard was acquainted with such advanced technology, and is they wished the humans restored quickly, they would need his help.

So with a sigh of relief, Loki carefully attached his second tracking device to the wall not far from the bench, underneath a crumbling bit of stone. This part of the operation was finished.

“I will head back along the other corridors,” he breathed. Or head back along a corridor and leave all the little devices behind for a moment, which might be easier than fooling them while he headed off to Asgard. “Just in case I missed something in one of the other rooms.”

“Negative,” Fury said flatly. “We can see the Tesseract well enough, and the bulk of the men and operations are in the other room. Get back here, and we'll explore later.”

Loki frowned, hoping the director was being obstinate only out of a desire to get this over with quickly. Peeking out of the doorway to make sure no one was approaching – bumping into someone now would spell disaster – he countered, “There may be safeguards that we had not anticipated. What if they have set up a trap?” The sound of soft footsteps came from behind him, and glancing back, Loki saw the Chitauri leader had released Erik and was headed for the doorway. Hastily plastering himself against a wall, Loki continued, “Or other defences, and we will head into a worse situation than we expected? Surely it is better to–”

There was a dark, almost imperceptible blur of movement, and Loki's eyes registered that the Chitauri was no longer stalking towards the door. Then the Chitauri's hand shot out and slammed into Loki's head.

At first, he thought the white, blinding agony was from his head hitting the stone wall behind him. But it did not stop, filling his mind until it blotted out everything else.

Distantly, he heard screaming, and several tinny voices chattering in one ear, all of them speaking at once.

“–Loki, what's going on – Get out of there – Move, Goddamn it, move–”

Then another voice, one that was all around him, in his head, in his ears, in his heart.

“Did you believe your inquisitive little mind would escape notice?” it said, the words cleaving through the pain – no, the words were pain, driving further into Loki's skull until he thought his head might rive in two.

Loki felt his legs give out and something slithered into his mind, thick blue tentacles that Loki could feel as they crept through his thoughts. He tried to stop it, throwing up a golden wall of power and will around his mind, but it only crumbled as the blue tentacles wrapped around it and squeezed.

“Who are you, to attempt to stand up to my master?” the voice snarled, and the tentacles began rifling through Loki's head, as if his mind were nothing more than a box of curios. Loki's body convulsed as he retched. Then his body was no longer in the damp, underground room.

He was with Jane and Darcy, watching a movie on Darcy's laptop.

He was running down golden hallways with Thor, laughing because his lessons were over and Thor had promised to play with him.

He was watching Thor's coronation, he was watching his hand turn blue, he was screaming at Father and Father was falling.

He was crying at Father's funeral; he was standing at Thor's side, skin blue, as Thor attempted to make the kingdom cheer at the appearance of a Jotun.

He was standing invisible in a hallway, listening to a group of nobles discuss the travesty that one of its princes was Jotun. He was trying not to be sick after a nightmare, because the noise might wake Mother, and she was exhausted enough without having to deal with him.

“Jotun, yet Asgardian,” the voice hissed, sounding thoughtful. “A prince. Yes. You might be useful.”

The tentacles dove into a place Loki did not want to think about.

He was eagle-spread on a table, limbs chained and two blurred faces above him. They were asking him question after question after question.

How did the Jotnar get in, where's Prince Loki, whom do you serve?

“I don't know, I don't know,” Loki sobbed. The poison was eating away at his body, his legs were shattered and crooked. “He's dead, Loki is dead, they killed him.”

They poured liquid fire over his body. Blue skin burned, blackened, and peeled and Loki could only scream. They carved open his chest and dripped the scalding liquid inside, burning holes through organs and tissue.

How did you kill your father?Why did you kill him?

“I didn't mean it, I didn't want to,” Loki heard himself pleading, begging for them to understand (but that was wrong, Loki hadn't said anything, he had kept his mouth sealed as if they had already stitched thread through his lips). “I didn't want to hurt Father, please, I'm sorry.”

He was in his cage, chained to the wall and mouth sewn shut.

(But he could hear himself screaming, how could he be screaming?)

Everything ached and burned and hurt, and he didn't know what day it was. Mother had not come yet. She had come yesterday.

(Hadn't she?)

That didn't mean she would come today. Why would she? He wasn't her child, she could just leave him. Just as he wanted her to. It would be for the best.

He was on a damp stone floor, and his head was torn open in agony.

“You crave death.” The words were a knife in his mind. “You crave freedom from pain.”

“Yes.” The word was out of Loki's mouth in a broken sob before he could remember who was speaking. Was it the guards? Were they finally going to kill him?

“Good. You will be a boon.” The voice paused. “I will grant you one of your wishes, and if your new Master is merciful, he will give you the other.”

Something sharp pressed against his chest, and the pain stopped. For a moment, his mind was clear, and Loki saw the point of the sceptre touching his chest, the Chitauri above him, red mouth grinning.

Then a vast wave of blue washed over his mind, staining his vision until there was nothing but the glow of the sceptre's stone. It filled every memory, every thought, every corner of his self; a harsh, bitter taste that Loki knew he had felt before, felt just as he had felt the Tesseract's beautiful sweet energy. But unlike her song, this wave filled him until Loki was not entirely Loki, but that cold, blue, unyielding power.

Then something in Loki's head righted itself.

Loki's vision cleared. The wave was gone.

Loki felt...light.

Lighter than he had felt in a long time. Since he found out he was a Jotun – no, since long before that, since before he realized he would always come second in Odin's eyes, since before Thor was gifted Mjolnir.

He couldn't help it. He laughed.

The joyful sound echoed through the cavern. Loki hadn't heard such a sound from himself in a long time. He could scarcely believe it came from him.

All his fear, all his doubt, all that self-pity, that self-disgust, and that self-loathing – it had all fallen away.

Because none of that mattered in the face of his Master. His way and purpose were clear.

And Loki was happy.

Loki stood, brushing the useless tears away from his cheeks. No one from the adjacent room had come in during Loki's embarrassing breakdown. Neither had Erik moved from his spot by the Tesseract, though as Loki steadied himself Erik looked around and waved brightly, a cheery smile on his face. He mouthed a short Hello, before returning to the cube, humming. Loki did not respond; now was not the time to exchange pleasantries. His master – or rather, one of his new masters – stood in front of him, waiting.

Loki bowed low, as was his place. “Thank-you, my liege,” he said reverently, “for this gift.”

In his ear, Fury was yelling, “Get someone over there, now! Stark, suit up!”

With a burst of power, Loki shorted out the little device, the camera, and the tracking apparatus Romanoff had stuck to him. With a flicker of surprise, he noticed another tracking device short out, one just under his gauntlet that he hadn't seen. The surprise turned to admiration – for Romanoff was cleverer than he had thought, to slip something past him while he was distracted; it was a pity she couldn't be of use to his Master's plans.

Taking the device from his ear and brushing the rest of them from his clothes, he warned The Other, “Reinforcements will be here soon. They will want the Tesseract and the humans back.” He dropped the mechanisms to the ground and crushed them under the heel of his boot.

“You will take us and all the necessary equipment to another base,” his master ordered. “The humans know another place that will be...suitable.”

Loki nodded and dipped his head. Transporting that many people would be exhausting, but Loki was needed. He would not back down.

The Other caressed a hand along Loki's cheek, and Loki could feel the tentacles brushing against his thoughts. They were odd, but not entirely unpleasant. And, as they were from his master, necessary. “Then you, Asgardian, will inform our Master that there has been a change of plans.”

Loki smiled. It wasn't one of his smirks or snide grins. It felt like the type of smile that always split Thor's face, one that was bright and warm and completely guileless.

“Yes, my liege,” he replied happily, and began to get to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The comm washed away in static, the camera went dark, and their extra tracking bugs stopped pinging.

Fury could still hear the screaming; the cryptic, choked-out words; the Chitauri's guttural snarls; and the eerie laugh that confirmed Fury's fear.

He looked at the remaining faces around the table. Stark had gone to fetch his suit. Rogers, followed by Barton, had run off to catch one of the planes leaving.

Agents Hill and Romanoff remained behind for orders; they had more important things to do than get involved in what would probably end up in a wild goose chase.

“Agent Romanoff?” he said.

“Sir?”

There was only one option left, and he knew Romanoff wouldn't like it. “Get Banner.”

What little colour her face had washed out. But she still nodded. “Yes sir.”

Fury turned to his second-in-command. “And Agent Hill?”

“Sir,” she answered promptly.

“Get someone to go start yelling for Asgard's Heimdall person before they find out on their own.”

Chapter Text

When the SHIELD car first pulled up outside the building, Loki thought they had more letters from Asgard, even if it was rather early in the morning for it. For the past two seasons since he had arrived, once every few weeks Mother and Thor would deliver a letter by Bifrost. The beam of light landed right outside the door of the SHIELD building out in the desert, and Loki would return his letters in the same way, although he was not overly fond of others handling his letters, at least those who were not as trustworthy as servants (the letters were his only connection to his family, and he would not have them tampered with). And from the scowls of the agents that usually came to the door just before noon, they were not fond of being demoted to messengers either. However, sending the Bifrost to the front of Jane's house would only bring unwanted attention from the mortals in the town. Besides, Loki figured the Gatekeeper had his own reasons for keeping SHIELD close.

As the car rolled up, Loki, Jane, and Darcy were attending to a rather sleepy breakfast. Or rather, sleepy for the mortals; while Loki could stay up half the night watching a trilogy of epics labelled 'Lord of the Rings' with few ill effects, Jane and Darcy were nearly nodding off into their cereal and toast. Even so, it did not take Jane's mumbled request or Darcy's groaning for Loki to push back his chair and nearly run to the door before the agents had left the car.

It only took one glance through the glass windows to notice something was wrong. First was the agents themselves, who were not the young men and women who normally delivered the letters, obviously given menial tasks because the elders had more important work to do. These two agents were middle-aged for mortals, both with dark glasses that concealed their eyes, and they walked up to the door with a stride that screamed their purpose was of importance. Next was that neither carried the normal white missives that Thor and Mother wrote their letters on. Their hands were empty, swaying loosely by their sides as they walked up to the house. Not aggressive, at least, but not relaxed either.

Loki wrenched open the glass door before they had a chance to knock. “What is it?” he asked the dark-skinned woman who approached first. “Do you have some message for me?”

The woman shook her head. “No, not this time. But you and your friends need to come with us.”

The ominous words set off a twinge of nervousness in Loki's stomach. “Why?” he asked, hearing the scrape of chairs in the background as Jane and Darcy stood up.

“What's wrong?” Jane said, her voice worried.

The man in the back spoke up, smiling slightly. “Because you have some visitors out in the desert.”

Loki froze, then took an abortive step towards the agent. His movements felt jerky, his heart racing in his chest as he licked at suddenly dry lips and rasped, “You mean from Asgard? Thor and my mother?” He twisted his head to look down the road into what little he could see of the desert, as if he could see them from here, see Thor's golden hair and his mother's warm smile. In six months' time, they still had not the time to visit, and he hoped –

“Can't they just come here, then?” Jane asked, and Loki could hear the frown in her voice.

“Yeah, we wouldn't mind hosting Thor and, y'know, the Queen, for a bit,” Darcy added, before giving a wide yawn.

“Because it's not just the Asgardians,” the woman said with a hint of a sigh. “One of them's bigger. And blue. We don't want to cause a panic in the town.” She grimaced. “More than your magic delivery system already has, that is.”

“Oh,” Loki said, staring down at the woman. He was pretty sure it was all he could say. There was an odd feeling in his head, as if it had been disconnected from the rest of his body and sent to float against the ceiling.

A Jotun. A Jotun had come down to see him.

What if...was it Laufey? Was Laufey here, on Midgard, a thousand years after he had tried to conquer it? And what would Laufey say, if he saw the son he had cast away – the son he had left to die, so long ago? Did he want Loki back? Had he come to reclaim Loki, to take him back to Jotunheim, whether Loki wanted to go or not?

(Loki did not know which he wanted.)

Or did Laufey want to disown Loki face to face? To tell him that Loki was no more Laufey's family than on the day Loki was born?

(As if abandoning Loki in the snow wasn't enough.)

But Thor and Mother were there. Surely they wouldn't bring Laufey down only to have him renounce Loki. If Laufey actually wanted to meet Loki...

“Loki?”

Loki blinked, and looked down at Jane. Her arms were crossed, hugging her body, likely chilled in the cool morning air. Her forehead was creased in a frown, and both she and Darcy looked worried.

“Do you want to go, Loki?” Jane asked slowly, as if she was repeating a question.

“I–” Loki wavered. He could retreat back indoors and ask that Mother and Thor come alone please. Mother and Thor would oblige. They wouldn't push him. They would simply trade troubled looks and think to themselves that Loki must still be fragile, he must still need more time to heal, he must be coddled or else he might break again–

But that request would be cowardly. And if there was a chance a Jotun, any Jotun, wished to meet him, then Loki would be able to ask–

(Are Jotnar monsters? Am I a monster? Why, why was I–)

–whatever he had the courage to ask.

Loki nodded. “Yes. Let's go–” he looked out over the desert once again. Maybe he would spot the towering head of a Jotun, blue standing out against the dusty browns of the sand. “Let's go meet my family.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car rolled up to the grey, box-like SHIELD building, which Loki highly doubted was large enough to fit a full-sized Jotun through its doors. He was right, and the car made it's way around the side of the building. At the back, there was a worn grey canopy extending from the roof of the building and held up by hastily erected poles in the sand – though the canopy could more accurately be called a tarp (probably because SHIELD had not expected royalty to visit). At the far edge were five metal chairs and what looked like a mattress set up around a large table, upon which sat a pitcher and several cups.

Also at the far edge, his head nearly brushing the tarp and accompanied by two smaller figures, was a Jotun.

And that Jotun was not Laufey.

Something roiling in his stomach – something that wasn't quite fear, nor relief – Loki lighted his eyes on the two smaller figures. Talking to the Jotun, dressed in all the finery of Asgard, were Thor and Mother. They turned as one from the frost giant, and before the car came to a full stop at the edge of the shade cast by the “canopy”, Thor was headed towards them at a gallop, Mother at a much more graceful and sedate pace.

“Brother!” Thor exclaimed as Loki exited the car, and Loki had barely taken a step forward before he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

Well, not really bone-crushing (Loki already knew what that felt like). And as much as Loki normally disliked Thor's overenthusiastic hugs, Loki felt like melting into this one, resting his head against his brother's shoulder and letting the comfort of those arms hold him close. But over Thor's shoulder, he could see the Jotun's red eyes darting towards the display. Watching, staring, even as the frost giant very obviously tried to busy himself with the table.

There was also the increasingly urgent need to breathe.

“Thor, I would like my ribs intact please,” he said, putting a bit more emphasis on the strain in his voice than he needed, and Thor immediately pulled back, the huge grin on his face not diminishing in the slightest. He put one hand on the back of Loki's neck, as his eyes searched Loki's face. Just as Loki began to think something was wrong, Thor rumbled, “You look much better Loki. You are not so – not so hurt, or afraid or–”

Thor's smile finally wavered, something sorrowful and almost guilty creeping over Thor's face. So Loki smiled, one that to his surprise was not the least bit forced.

Pitching his voice low enough that the Jotun – now fiddling with the jug of water – would not overhear, Loki reassured, “Yes, Thor, I am fine.” Better than he had been on Asgard, but he did not wish to upset Thor further. “And you are not so different, except–” Loki reached out and tugged on Thor's hair, now reaching long past his shoulders. “You've grown your hair. No time to cut it as king?” he teased.

Thor's own hand reached up to his hair. “Do you think it too unruly?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You look as noble and kingly as ever, Thor. Probably moreso now,” he said, feeling something warm and almost too tender unfurl in his heart when Thor's smile grew with the compliment. As if Loki's approval meant everything to him.

“Yeah, you look even hotter than before,” Darcy said from behind Loki, and Loki glanced back to see her give Thor a sly grin as she climbed out of the car. She nudged Jane, who was caught between trying not to stare at Thor's face and trying not to stare at the Jotun. Loki felt much the same way.

Leaning casually against the car, Darcy added, “Should've really stuck with hot-stuff here and been Queen of Everything.”

“Darcy–” Jane began to scold when, with one last smile, Thor moved past Loki and gathered Jane up in her own hug.

And Loki was right in front of Mother, her eyes both joyful and full of tears.

Deciding he didn't care whether the Jotun was watching or not, Loki hurried forward into her open arms.

“Oh, Loki, how I missed you,” she said. “The palace seems entirely empty without you there.”

Loki was sure she and Thor were probably the only ones who believed that, but at the moment the thought caused him no bitterness. It was too difficult to be bitter now, with Mother in his arms and Thor's voice a low rumble behind him, the warmth of his brother's hand against his neck still lingering behind.

Mother pulled back, putting her hands on the side of his face, ensuring that Loki did not look away from her worried gaze. Quietly, she said, “I asked Heimdall to look in on you now and again. At night, he said, you are worse. Please, tell me you do not let yourself suffer in silence.”

Loki put his hands over Mother's and slowly drew them down, keeping them clutched in his. He did his best to keep looking into Mother's eyes as he admitted in a murmur, “It is...getting better. And I have spoken with Jane about...talking.” He glanced back at the two mortal women, to see them now standing beside Thor, glancing curiously between him, Mother and the Jotun. With a start, he realized Mother had not had time to truly converse with the women when she was last here.

Ignoring the Jotun – who must have realized by now just how studiously Loki had avoided acknowledging him, though luckily he remained where he was – Loki gestured the two women to come closer. And he hoped Mother didn't notice he was avoiding further questions; he had no wish to be reminded of his nightmares now. “Mother, this is Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis. Jane, Darcy, this is my mother, the Queen Mother Frigga of Asgard.”

The mortals glanced at each other, then quickly bowed, Jane mumbling, “Your majesty,” and Darcy, “Queen Mother Frigga.”

“Thank-you, but there is no need for that here,” Mother said, walking forward and putting a hand on both their shoulders. Her eyes were warm as she took in the mortals' somewhat startled expressions. “Especially as I could never repay you, and your other companion, for aiding both my sons when they were in need.”

“Well, we were kind of in the right place at the right time,” Jane said, her face a touch red as she looked at the ground.

“With the right car. Twice,” Darcy said, and Jane shot her a glare as Thor shifted uncomfortably, much to Loki's amusement. Loki had heard about the car. And the Taser. “And it wasn't like we could leave Loki with those science- and iPod-stealing bastards,” Darcy added with a pointed look at the driver's seat of the car behind them.

“I see,” Mother said, giving Thor and the car a quizzical look. “Nevertheless, your kindness is much appreciated.” Then she gave a nod to Thor. He stepped forward, unease replacing his embarrassment.

“I believe there is one more introduction we must make,” he said, smiling with a nervousness that seemed foreign to Thor's face. He put a hand around Loki's shoulder and a cold chasm seemed to open in Loki's stomach and swallow his joy as Thor's arm forced Loki to turn around. To look at the being who's presence spoiled what should have been a purely happy occasion. Even if the Jotun had held back while Loki reunited with his family.

(Kind enough, for a frost giant.)

At first Loki did not look, his eyes glued to the sand. But as Thor propelled him forward, with Mother, Jane, and Darcy at his back, as the Jotun approached to meet them half-way, Loki could not avoid seeing the vast expanse of naked, whorled blue skin. Nor could he avoid seeing, when he craned his neck upward, the crimson eyes staring down at Loki with an odd expression in their depths.

(Maybe the Jotun was wondering how someone like Loki could ever be Jotun. Or how something so odd could ever think itself Ás.)

“Loki, Jane, Darcy,” Thor said, ill-concealed worry on his face as he waved hand his up towards the frost giant, “this is one of the Jotnar who came to Midgard and spoke of opening negotiations with Asgard. He is also the lead negotiator for Jotunheim on Asgard,” he finished, seeming almost proud.

The Jotun inclined his head politely. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Second Prince Loki, and mortals Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis.”

Loki stared. His mouth didn't quite seem to know how to work.

“Hello, it's nice to meet one of you – another one, I mean,” Jane said. Breathless. Not scared, but awed. Loki had no need to look back at her to know that there was wonder in Jane eyes, a thousand questions on her tongue, all jostling to be first. And she would bite them back because she knew what this meeting meant for Loki.

(Knew as much Loki had told her, at least.)

“Yeah, hi,” Darcy said, the same breathlessness in her voice. Darcy would be bouncing with curiosity, the barest hint of decorum keeping her from running up and poking the Jotun's leg. Although that did stop her from adding, “Blue's good colour for you, y'know. Very pretty, though not the exactly the blue I thought it would be.”

The Jotun seemed confused as Jane hissed something at Darcy – probably a rebuke – but he only inclined his head and said, “Thank-you, Lady Darcy. I believe it is a good colour too.” Then his red eyes turned to Loki, expecting a welcome, and Loki could feel the others staring at him. Wondering how he would react.

(He should have stayed back, told them he wasn't ready, and then Mother and Thor would be right, he was still so fragile, breakable, broken–)

Loki swallowed, wetting his dry throat. Looking into those red eyes, he managed to say in a more-or-less steady voice, “Greetings, Jotun.”

There was a moment of silence, as if everyone was waiting for Loki to say something else. The Jotun had not lost that odd expression of his.

Then Mother gently put a hand on Loki's back. He turned to her, trying not to think that he was glad to have an excuse not to look at all that blue skin (torn, bleeding, scorched blue skin) anymore.

“I think I would like the mortals to show me their abode and town,” she said, glancing at the two women. Darcy made a disappointed noise, pouting, and Jane's face crumpled.

“Are you sure we couldn't just...” Jane said, flapping her hand at the Jotun. Before she could find the correct words, Mother stepped towards her, briefly rested a hand on Jane's arm.

“Worry not,” Mother said, smiling. “I am not opposed to answering your questions, Lady Jane, and I am sure we will have much to discuss.” Then she gracefully hopped into the car and gestured at Jane and Darcy to follow.

The two mortals shared a look. With a glance back at the three of them remaining in the shadow of the tarp, Darcy mouthing “Good luck” at Loki, they jumped in the car after Mother.

Loki watched, mixed hurt and relief pooling in his stomach. He knew Mother was giving him less of an audience in the hopes he would be more comfortable – and he did not particularly want Jane and Darcy to hear whatever the Jotun had to tell him. Even so...he wished Mother could stay.

When the car drove off down the road, Loki no longer had a reason to look their way. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the Jotun.

Just as he saw the Jotun move forwards.

Loki couldn't help the step he took back, eyes widening with what he was sure even Thor could tell was fear. The Jotun stopped, staring at Loki in surprise and something like hurt. Then Thor put a steadying hand on Loki's shoulder and Loki focused on the warmth and strength of that grip like it was a lifeline. Thor gave the Jotun a nod, and the Jotun continued his movement. To Loki's relief, all he was doing was pulling forward the mattress that the mortals had set out for him in place of a chair. Slowly, the Jotun knelt on it so his head was nearly level with Loki's.

“I have been wishing to meet you for a long time, Loki,” the Jotun rumbled, his voice almost wistful.

“H-have you?” Loki asked, hating the stutter that slipped out before he could stop it. He gritted his teeth together, willing himself to stop it, to stop being so frightened of nothing but memories and stories.

If the Jotun caught the stutter, he didn't react. He only nodded and said, “King Thor told me of you several months ago. Unfortunately, circumstances prevented us from meeting at the time.” With a last glance at Thor, the Jotun's crimson eyes met Loki's, longing in their depths. “I am Helblindi, First Son of King Laufey, and your elder brother.”

There was a buzzing in Loki's ears. The desert, brown sand and piercing blue sky, were not quite in focus. Once again, Loki's head seemed to have separated from his body, disconnected from this impossible scene. Because it was impossible, wasn't it, for Loki to have had another brother all this time, a brother by blood. And not known it.

Maybe he was dreaming. It had been a late night, and the stories of the night before rather intriguing. Intriguing enough to concoct a tale like this.

All he had to do was wake up, and this would turn into nothing but an odd memory. It was certainly better than many of his other dreams.

But if it was a dream, then that meant Thor and Mother hadn't actually visited him.

Oh.

He didn't want that.

Maybe it was better if this was real, even if his head still felt rather strange, and the only thing that seemed real was Thor's hand gripping his shoulder. Not even the Jotun (his brother) in front of him, who was beginning to develop a worried frown on his large brow, looked entirely solid. The frost giant could just be a mirage in the desert heat. Although the desert wasn't very hot this time of year.

Thor's hand was gripping his shoulder, his low voice whispering a question that Loki didn't quite seem to hear. And Loki realized his silence had stretched on for a while.

Maybe he should say something.

“Ah,” Loki said. Or squeaked. It was a sound, in any case, and seemed to satisfy Thor enough that his hand relaxed.

But the Jotun – Helblindi – his brother – still looked worried. Maybe Loki should say more.

“I – I didn't know,” he said, and wasn't that just the most obvious thing in all the realms.

Though Helblindi was nodding, as if what Loki had said was perfectly intelligent. “Yes, I–”

“I didn't know about any of it – that Laufey had any sons – other sons.” And now Loki was babbling, his mouth trying to keep up with his circling, derailing thoughts. “I didn't know I was his–”

“Loki–” The Jotun said, his worry bleeding into an attempt to soothe.

“Or – or that Laufey had left me – that he had a runt and left it to die–”

“Loki.” That was Thor this time, alarm in his voice.

“But why? Why did he do it? What was so wrong that he had to–”

It was Laufey, Laufey who was supposed to be here, who was supposed to explain why.

(You were knee-deep in Jotun blood, why did you take me?)

(I was your son, why did you leave me to die?)

“Why did he not want to keep me? And you–” He stretched one hand out towards Helblindi, his elder brother, who would have been there, who would have known. “–Why do you want to see me when you didn't stop him – Why did you let him throw me out–”

“Because I didn't know either,” Helblindi shouted, and Loki's mouth shut with a snap. His eyes wet, he realized, his fingers clenched and limbs shaking enough that surely Thor had to feel it through his grip on Loki's shoulder.

In front of him, Helblindi's hands were balled into fists just as tightly as Loki's, his red eyes both angry and full of grief. “I did not know what our father did, Loki. I found out after you did, when King Thor told me. Loki, I–” Helblindi reached out one great big blue hand, as if to grab Loki's other shoulder.

Loki flinched back.

He didn't mean to, but he saw the blue, could feel the natural cold radiating from the hand, remembered the first time a Jotun had touched him and sent everything crashing down around him (black nails pulled off one-by-one, his blue wrists a bloody, pulpy mess every time they switched manacles for chains), and he couldn't. He could not let that hand touch him.

When Loki looked from the hand to Helblindi, the Jotun looked disappointed. Or heart-broken.

Then, before guilt could twist in Loki's chest, Helblindi's expression smoothed out and he put the hand in his lap, clasping the other one as if in a tutor's lesson.

“Loki,” he said calmly, as if Loki might start babbling again at any moment (and Loki hoped he wouldn't), “When you were born, it was a time of war and confusion. I myself was hidden away in another part of the realm. For safety.” Helblindi's face twisted. He looked to the side, before regaining control of whatever had pulled his lips into a snarl. “It would not have been difficult for Laufey to keep your birth, and what he did, secret.”

“Oh,” Loki breathed out. So no one knew he had been cast out.

They didn't know he had been born.

Loki was meant to be the Liesmith, and yet it seemed that, no matter which realm, he was only a lie.

He was suddenly quite appreciative for the way Thor moved closer, putting one arm around Loki's back. Loki leaned into the touch, the warmth, and tried to gather his thoughts. “Then you – you do not know why?”

Why he thought I was better off dead?

Helblindi hesitated, and in Loki's ear Thor rumbled, “Are you sure you wish to know, Loki?” Though Loki did not turn his head, he could imagine Thor's blue eyes painted with worry.

Even if it hurts, Thor meant.

But Loki was no stranger to pain. He nodded.

The Jotun still looked unsure, yet he must have seen the resolve in that one nod, for he said in that same calm, gentle voice, “The reason is not entirely clear to me. I believe only Laufey truly knows. But when I...spoke to him–” The hardness in Helblindi's voice made Loki think he and Laufey did more than “speak”. The gratefulness that Loki felt soar through his heart startled him. Shouldn't he be grateful someone didn't want him dead?

But why should he be so grateful that his blood kin wanted him alive?

Loki had not the time to think his feelings through. Helblindi, with his red eyes full of sympathy (pity), said, “Laufey claimed he left you to die because you were a...disappointment.”

“A...disappointment,” Loki echoed tonelessly. His insides coiled into hard, cold knots, wound so tight they tore and pulled and hurt with each breath.

Disappointment. When was he not one? Especially to Father.

(It didn't seem to matter which one.)

And of course, what could be more disappointing than his very birth–

“But I do not believe that is the true reason,” Helblindi cut in sharply, his red eyes hardened with fury even as his voice remained steady. “The fault lies with him, not with you. The realm was failing under his rule long before we lost the Casket, and then we began to lose the war. When you were born as Jotunheim was falling, and born a runt...” Helblindi's jaw clenched and in a bitter voice he nearly growled, “He used you to take the blame for his failures.”

“Oh,” Loki said. He seemed to be saying that a lot today. But what else could he say, as this changed nothing about Loki being a disappointment to Laufey – one of Laufey's other failures, Helblindi should have said–

Except that wasn't what Helblindi had said. Helblindi saw Laufey as the failure, and not Loki. And Helblindi was looking at Loki with those red eyes full of hope and anger and sympathy and a longing that Loki could not believe was for him.

He averted his eyes. It was too hard to look at, like when Thor's eyes filled with a love so clear that even Loki could not dismiss it. Speaking of a fear Loki had had since Thor announced he would join the two realms, he muttered to the sand, “So Laufey will not make me come back to Jotunheim?”

Helblindi made a surprised sound at the same time that Thor soothed, “No, of course not, Loki.”

“No, you may do as you wish, Loki,” Helblindi added, a hint of sadness in his voice that sent guilt winding through the knots in Loki's stomach. “I am not here to enforce Laufey's will. I am simply here to see you.”

Loki jerked his head up. The sentence had been so straightforward, off-hand, as if it was obvious someone would come all the way to Midgard to see him.

As Loki watched, Helblindi brought one knee up, so he was kneeling as if he were a subject before a king, and extended one large blue hand towards Loki. “May I see you? As you are normally, without the glamour?” To Loki's surprise, Helblindi's throat bobbed as he swallowed. Nervous. “As a Jotun?”

“I–” Loki looked from Helblindi's damned hopeful expression to Thor.

Thor, damn him too, looked encouraging. His bright blue eyes were almost pleading Loki to take Helblindi's hand, let his true self show. Or to release the glamour himself, as he had power over his own skin now. To see the hideous blue spread across him until he looked like Helblindi, body marked with twisting curves of skin, vile red eyes staring out of his face instead of green. But it was bright out, in the middle of the desert even as the season pulled away from summer, even in the shade, and Loki would have to feel those second eyelids sliding down (feel them pulled off, one by one, magic forcing his other eyelids open and Loki had no choice but to watch and feel and scream–)

“I – I can't,” he whispered, voice raw as if he had been screaming seconds ago instead of months. He stared into the desert, avoiding both his brothers' disappointed looks (and when was Loki not disappointing others?) “I'm sorry, but I cannot.”

This was – it was all too much. Too much, and Loki wanted to leave, even if this was the first time he had seen his brother in months. The first time he ever had seen his other brother.

But he could not leave. It would be cowardly, as cowardly as it would have been to ask the Jotun to stay behind. So, after a deep breath, he marched out of Thor's hold and took one of the seats at the table, two down from the mattress Helblindi was seated upon. Back straight and hands twisted in his lap, he said, “Although I-I would like to know how your negotiations have been going, as I left before they could truly begin.” It was an obvious deflection, but Loki had not the energy to think of another excuse.

And he did want to know how the negotiations were progressing. He wanted to know how soon he could go home.

(If he still had one.)

Helblindi glanced at Thor, the two of them sharing a look (both knowing Loki was so fragile, so broken). Then Helblindi shifted closer as Thor took the chair between Loki and Helblindi, moving it back just enough so Loki could see both him and Helblindi. And close enough that he could reach out a hand and rest it on Loki`s shoulder.

Still not having entirely lost his disappointed look, Thor began, “We started the official meetings barely three months ago, not long after the Jotnar's quarters were finished. You should have been there to see them, Loki, they are as grand as...”

Thor must have realized it was better not to say that “should have been there”, for guilt coloured his face and he glanced away. In a heavy voice, he said, “However, the talks themselves have been...mixed. Sometimes we are successful, sometimes not. ”

“All but two of your council members are opposed to our people for the majority of the time,” Helblindi added, looking as if he was trying not to grimace. “Even the sanctions King Thor agreed to in our first talks were argued over for a month.”

Loki nodded, his face blank. If most of the council was still opposed, those who spent the most time with the Jotnar, then Loki doubted that the rest of Asgard would be any more welcoming.

He thought he would only be forced to hear more disheartening news, when Thor suddenly perked up, his eyes brightening and a smile tugging at his lips.

“Although...there is something I think you should be pleased to know about,” Thor said, eagerness overflowing in his words; it seemed being made king did nothing for Thor's lack of guile. “Lord Frey has never been as averse to the Jotnar as we thought. When he was younger, long before the war...” He paused, and a pleased smile plastered itself across Thor's face before he finished off, “He had a Jotun lover.”

It took a moment for Loki to understand the nonsense Thor was spouting. “What?” he asked finally, staring at Thor's utterly joyful face.

He must have misheard. That blue skin, like cold dead flesh, or ice on a river that was not quite solid, ice that would break under you if you tried crossing – And those eyes, a blank, unchanging red, like spilt blood. How could anyone, any Æsir, ever find that appealing?

But Helblindi was nodding, a smile of his own growing. “Yes, our own Elder Gerðr. When she and Lord Frey saw each other, well...” He let out a deep sound that must have been a chuckle. “I have not seen Elder Gerðr move so fast in a long while.”

Thor laughed and looked up at the Jotun, teasing, “She does seem a rather more subdued individual.”

“No, she is rarely prone to such...wild outbursts of joy,” Helblindi smirked.

“And you should have seen Frey, Loki. Freya had to take over half his duties for the first few days,” Thor said, turning partway back to Loki. “Frey could hardly concentrate through our meetings, and Freya decided that the ladies of Jotunheim should acquaint themselves with some of the ladies of Asgard, just for Elder Gerðr to have some space.”

“I cannot say ElderGerðr enjoyed it, though Lady Skadi claimed to find the drink that was served quite delicious...”

The words washed over Loki, Helblindi and Thor half-turned to him as they spoke. Yet even with Thor's hand on his shoulder, Loki felt as if he were only there as an audience for them. Not truly there to participate. Not there to talk, just to listen to the two share their memories.

Loki was no stranger to being jealous of his brother, or jealous of those his brother spoke to. Yet he rarely felt both at once.

And never towards two brothers.

Helblindi was smiling at Thor, his sharp white teeth flashing between blue lips, casually adding in what Thor had missed. Everything about Helblindi, from the relaxed stoop of his shoulders to the warmth of those red eyes, spoke of friendship toward Thor.

Even though Thor had been the one to lead Loki and everyone into Jotunheim. The one to do the most damage, to kill the most Jotnar, to refuse to leave while the rest of them tried to defend themselves. The one who had harboured such a hatred for the Jotnar all those years. Even though Loki was Helblindi's brother, not Thor, Helblindi seemed not to care as he rumbled a laugh at something Thor had said.

And Thor, giving Helblindi one of his bright smiles. Proudly telling Loki of the time Helblindi managed to cow Lord Yngvi into agreeing with one of his sanctions as he stretched out and patted Helblindi on the arm. As if the blue skin and cold didn't matter. As if, in Loki's absence, Thor had been forced to find a replacement, and he found one that was better.

It wasn't as if Loki could blame them. Loki was the one who had fled, who was too afraid to even talk with Helblindi, who no longer walked down the halls of Asgard.

Loki wondered, if he had stayed, would he have been able to speak with the Jotnar, to become as friendly with them as Thor was? To use his silver tongue to convince the council as Helblindi was doing? Or would his presence be a nuisance, always in need of protection because he wouldn't be able to take care of himself, a curiosity to the Jotnar and nothing more? Unable to convince the council or Asgard of anything, because to them he was a reminder that even an Æsir-raised Jotun would fall to its true nature.

So Loki did what he always did: he buried his jealousy, somewhere with his memories and pain, and faked attentive smiles. And when Thor said, “Not two months ago, I spent one day helping to rebuild the palace I destroyed, cutting stone and moving it to the remnants of the palace”, Loki responded in a perfectly sympathetic voice, “That must not have been a popular move with Asgard.”

Thor frowned. “Aye, most of the council was unhappy with my decision, yet I would not let them persuade me otherwise. For I wished my service to be a symbol, that Asgard was not as superior to the Jotnar as our people believed for so long. And yes, many of our nobles too were...” Thor seemed to struggle with the proper word (one other than disgusted, probably). “They were disquieted,” Thor settled on, “but for others, it had helped convince them of the truth about the Jotnar, and more are now open to the idea of sending Æsir diplomats to Jotunheim.”

Helblindi took up the conversation before Loki could wonder what most of Asgard believed that 'truth' to be. “Even some of the Jotnar were suspicious, but when Thor did as promised–” Helblindi gave Thor a look that seemed proud. “–I believe many minds changed that day.”

“And hopefully more in the future,” Thor replied, eyes only on his Jotun companion. “Once we manage to sway more of the council...”

Loki listened to the two of them speak, only adding in a word here or there. And throughout it all, Loki did his best not to feel, to only distantly pick apart what the two were saying. What he would have done if he were there, what he could have done better. And if his presence would have made any difference at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother arrived shortly before noon, though Loki caught little more than a glimpse of her before she whisked into the SHIELD building, Jane and Darcy in her wake. Loki was still not entirely sure how Mother had managed to convince SHIELD to provide lunch for them in so short a time, though he had supposed that SHIELD must just have orders to please the Queen Mother and King of Asgard to the best of their abilities. Although Darcy, when Loki asked, had winked and whispered, “Your mom acted all mom-ish to one of the agents, and he crumpled. It was amazing.”

(Which had quashed whatever was left of the idea Loki had briefly toyed with, of seeing how far he could order around SHIELD. Yet he decided it would do him no good to make enemies of an organization with the power to make his – and Jane and Darcy's – life more unpleasant anyway.)

So they sat around the table: Darcy, Loki, and Jane on one side, after Loki had quite deliberately moved; and Mother, Thor, and Helblindi on the other, feasting on a variety of hastily prepared Midgardian dishes. Loki thought the garnish on top of the pasta slathered in sauce was one of the more amusing attempts at 'sophisticated' dishes. Especially as, from the taste of the sauce, it was the same kind stored away in the back of one of Jane's cupboards.

As Thor put a large chunk of chicken breast on his ceramic plate, he said proudly, “I announced that the three of us were visiting the historic place where Jotunheim and Asgard first made an agreement to peace–” He inclined his head to Helblindi on his left. “–And where its sons reconciled with each other.”

“Hopefully to alleviate some suspicion if we visit this place repeatedly in the next few years,” Mother added, looking curiously at the pasta before dolloping it on her plate and passing the bowl to a very eager-looking Darcy. “But unfortunately that means we cannot remain for much longer. Our councillors are no fools, and I believe it would be better if fewer knew where you resided.”

From Mother and Thor's letter, Loki knew that there were not many on Asgard that knew of his exact whereabouts. After his hasty departure, they announced that Loki needed more time to recover from his wounds and the stress of his time in the dungeons (which was at least partly true), and he had gone to one of the other realms for peace and quiet. They had not, of course, specified which realm.

“Why can't they know where Loki is?” Darcy asked, twirling some pasta around her fork.

“Yeah, they'd need an Einstein-Rosen – or ah, the Bifrost to get down here anyway,” Jane said, concentrating more on Mother than her plate as her fork stabbed wildly. “And I thought Loki came here because no one else could get here.” Her voice had a slight accusatory note.

Mother and Thor shared a look, and Loki knew they were thinking of the pathway Loki had found (and used). He hoped they were keeping it well-guarded. And that no one else but him had discovered how exactly to use it without Heimdall's sword to direct where it emerged.

It was Mother who answered, clearing her throat slightly. “There are those who had more power and sway than we would like, and Heimdall has been bypassed before. We have no wish to put Loki's – or your – lives in danger because of carelessness.”

Loki could see both Jane and Darcy growing appalled – that Loki's life may be in danger, that their lives were in danger, or something else, Loki knew not. So before they could dwell too long on the idea, he asked, “Who else knows?” before slowly taking a bite of his salad.

“Well, the councillors know you are on Midgard,” Mother said hesitantly. “Though I may have lead them to believe you were in one of the parts of the realm we visited long ago,” she added with a grin. Which meant they thoroughly believed Loki to be in what the mortals called Scandinavia.

“And I told Sif and the Warriors Three,” Thor said brightly in a slightly muffled voice, his mouth not quite empty of chicken. At Loki's disgusted face, which was echoed by Jane, Thor looked abashed and quickly swallowed. “Sif was the first told, although she did not entirely understand why you left, at first.” And Loki could imagine her wondering how Loki could be so cowardly – why flee instead of standing and fighting, like any real warrior of Asgard should–

“But when we told her of the warriors who attempted to hurt you,” Thor continued, even all these months later his anger bleeding into his voice, “I believe she began to see why you had. She was quite glad to be the one to bring them in for arrest.”

Loki's eyes began to widen, and he quickly looked down and took a bite of his salad to hide his surprise. It was hard to believe that Sif, of all people, would ever leap to his defence (even if she had guarded his rooms in the Healer's wing, when there was no one else to trust). She, along with most of Asgard, had never approved of Loki's preference for magic over more solid weapons. Especially when a similar half of Asgard believed she should be the one laying aside her sword for magic. Still staring at the salad, Loki heard Thor finish off, his voice nearing its normal eager tone once more, “The Warriors Three, once they returned from Vanaheim, felt much the same, and the four of them enjoy hearing of your tales of Midgard from your letters.”

Loki nearly choked on a tomato slice. He wasn't sure if was he more angry that Thor shared the content of his letters (which were meant solely for Thor and Mother), or shocked that Sif and the Warriors Three cared.

Or maybe Thor just read the interesting bits out to them. And they had pretended to care because they didn't have a choice in the face of Thor's belief that of course they cared about his brother's tedious exploits on Midgard just as much as he did. He doubted any but Volstagg would care about his experience with Midgardian cuisine, and if any of them heard his descriptions of the various books he had read and the sciences he was discovering, their eyes would glaze over before they nodded off to sleep.

Subtly, Loki tried to turn his choke into a cough, and said in a somewhat hoarse voice, “I see. Is that everyone that knows?”

“No one else knows the specifics,” Mother said, now starting on her chicken. “A few of the sorceresses you trained with under Lady Freya asked about you not long ago, ones I remember you always spoke about with high regard.” She gave Loki a reassuring smile, as if she could see the disbelief written on his face, instead of the bland look of interest he had tried to cover it with. “After I asked Lady Freya about their integrity, I informed them only that you were safe and hale on Midgard. They seemed rather relieved by the news.”

Loki could not hold her eyes, so full of comfort, as if learning that people liked him should send him into bounds of joy (and it should, shouldn't it, when so few did?). Instead, he looked down at his half-full plate of food; his appetite had fled sometime around the time he learned a Jotun had come down to Midgard, and it had not returned since.

He did the numbers in his head. Including his family, Heimdall, Sif, and the Warriors Three in his count, there were maybe fifteen people on Asgard who probably did not want him dead.

He wondered, bitterly, if that was cause for celebration or not.

There was the rumble of a throat being cleared, and Loki glanced to the member of the table he had been trying to avoid. Not that he disliked Helblindi, but whenever Loki snuck a glance in Helblindi's direction, the Jotun had usually been looking back at Loki. The Jotun seemed unable to hide a wistfulness in the depths of those red eyes that only sent more guilt flooding the pit of Loki's stomach.

It certainly did no good for his already poor appetite.

Turning his eyes reluctantly to the Jotun, he saw Helbindi sitting cross-legged on his mattress, cutlery held awkwardly in his large blue hands. He had some of everything on his plate, and seemed to be sampling each food. So far, he seemed to favour the salad, which Loki had been attempting to force down so far, and the chicken, which Thor had started with. Skewering a slice of chicken with his ridiculously small fork, Helblindi said, “I told some of the diplomats I arrived with on our official visit to Asgard that Loki was in Asgard, when they learned of his true birth.” His voice gave nothing away about how those diplomats might have felt. If they were dismissive, or disgusted, or truly just curious.

“Of course,” Helblindi continued with a light shrug of his great blue shoulders, “only Býleistr knows of Loki's true whereabouts.”

“Býleistr?” Loki asked, wondering whom Helblindi would trust enough to reveal exactly where Loki was living. At the same time Darcy asked with a mouthful of pasta, “Who's Bee-lee-stir?”

Helblindi blinked and drew back, a look of embarrassment on his face that was, oddly enough, echoed by Thor.

“I'm sorry, I neglected to mention–” Helblindi made a motion as if he were about to reach out for Loki, then stilled. Instead, he said smoothly, “Býleistr is your other brother, the Second Son of Laufey.”

Loki's fork dropped from limp fingers. It clattered against the plate, and five pairs of eyes followed it. All eyes except for Loki's. He was still staring at Helblindi.

Two brothers. Two, completely unknown brothers, one he hadn't even met yet–

Býleistr. Second Son. And Helblindi...Helblindi had called himself First Son.

Feeling as if the glare of the sun off the sand was too bright, the day was too warm, and the five pairs of concerned eyes on him making him want to be anywhere but here, Loki carefully picked his fork up and drove it into his salad. Slowly, as if simply curious, he asked, “Býleistr is the Second Son? And you are the First Son?”

Which made Loki...the Third Son. Apparently his lesser rank was official in his title in Jotunheim, and a step down from his one in Asgard.

Helblindi frowned. “Does the title bother you?”

Apparently Loki had not been able to hide his (jealously, bitterness, shame) dejection as well as he had hoped. “I did not know that Jotunheim ranked its children,” he said somewhat stiffly. Moreso than they were ranked in Asgard.

He heard Thor draw in a sharp breath, and Mother make a small sound. But he did not look round, too distracted by Helblindi jerking back suddenly, startled, his mouth parting in what Loki thought might be shock.

Then that blue mouth closed and Helblindi said, almost aghast, “It is not a matter of rank. It is –It is to do with family. With knowing...” The Jotun hesitated, as if searching for the proper terms, before saying, “With knowing who is the elder, who is younger, which child was responsible for their younger siblings, which had to listen to their elder...It is a means of knowing family bonds,” he finished off, red eyes staring intensely at Loki. Then he took a deep breath and those eyes looked away, body rigid. “It also means that you would not be called Third Son. Not officially.”

Loki was still reeling from the thought that the Jotnar valued family enough to create titles for it (and yet Laufey had seen fit to discard him. Perhaps runts did not count as family). He had not the time to feel regret from the loss of a title he wasn't even sure he wanted before Helblindi was speaking again.

“You would still be a son of Laufey, but you have no real ties to us,” Helblindi said. His eyes still avoided Loki's. As if he was the one that now felt guilt curling about his stomach. “You would not be Third Son, because you did not grow up as Third Son to us. And you would maintain your title of Second Son of King Odin and Queen Frigga, because of your ties to them.”

Loki glanced at Mother and Thor. Mother had a mixed look of sorrow and gladness, while Thor's face was lined with worry. Perhaps he believed Loki would be dejected by the loss of his Jotun title.

“But that is officially,” Helblindi said, something odd in his voice. When Loki looked back to Helblindi the Jotun's head was bowed slightly, his eyes bright and a slight smile upon his lips. “Unofficially, I would be...pleased if you let yourself be Third Son, to myself and Býleistr.”

All five pairs of eyes were on Loki again. On the other side of the table, Mother, Thor, and Helblindi, all with shining hope in their eyes, Jane and Darcy at his sides, expectant. As if Loki was not at all apprehensive (fearful) of joining the family that had abandoned him, the people whom Asgard believed had been monsters for so long.

And then he realized what Helblindi was asking.

He wanted to be Loki's brother.

He actually wanted to be Loki's older brother, a position Loki sometimes doubted even Thor wanted (when Thor had dismissed Loki, ordered him about, allowed him to be teased and laughed at for simply being different because Thor wished Loki could be just a little more like him).

Ignoring the tremors that shook his hands, the tightening of his stomach into twisting, nauseating knots, Loki looked up into his Jotun brother's hopeful blue face and smiled. He was unsure if it was entirely genuine or not.

“Yes, Helblindi. I think I would like to be called your brother.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When even Helblindi had eaten his share of SHIELD's meal, it was time for the three of them to return to Asgard.

Leaving Loki on Midgard once more.

“We will return again as soon as we can,” Mother promised, hugging Loki farewell.

“Just take care of the lying for Thor. I don't think he's gotten any better at it,” Loki mock-whispered in her ear, and both of them shared a smile at Thor's exasperated sound as Loki pulled back.

“That's what I always had you for,” Thor said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he swept Loki into his own hug, this one not quite as bone-crushing as the last.

A sharp pain pulled at his gut from the words, that Thor missed Loki's silver tongue; at least, when that silver tongue was used for Thor's benefit. “Well, I think it's time you learnt for yourself,” Loki said softly, his chin on Thor's shoulder. He tried not to think how long it would take Thor to learn. And how long Loki's absence would drive that necessity.

Thor was evidently trying not to think of that as well, for when he released Loki his face had lost what little cheer it had.

“I hope I will not have to, brother,” he said, cupping his hand around the back of Loki's neck. His blue eyes burned into Loki, sorrow and something else, something utterly painful in their depths. Something that it hurt to watch, and Loki had the urge look away, even though he did not know when he would see Thor next.

Then Thor let Loki go and his eyes turned to where Jane and Darcy were waiting to say their farewells, hanging back so Loki could have his privacy.

And Loki had one last farewell of his own to make. He walked over to Helblindi, who was standing closer to the Bifrost site, as if he did not wish to intrude on the others. When Loki approached, he knelt, and Loki was glad the Jotun did not make Loki crane his neck to see him. It occurred to Loki that the whole time Helblindi had been down here, he had been trying to make Loki feel at ease.

Because it wasn't as if Loki had done a good job of hiding his uneasiness.

Nor, evidently, did he do a good job of continuing to hide it, as his first words came out clumsy and stuttered. “I had not expected – I had not even considered having a – a brother. A Jotun brother.” Internally Loki grimaced and after a steadying breath said in smooth voice, “There has been a multitude of surprises for me today, and I apologize for my earlier reaction.” Babbling and shouting and accusing–

Helblindi only nodded, his red eyes not the least bit angry. “I understand. It was quite a shock for myself to learn of you. And...why you did not grow up alongside us.” Helblindi's jaw tensed slightly, before he relaxed and a warmth, unexpected from a being that lived in the cold wastes of Jotunheim, filled those eyes. “I am glad I met you, brother,” he said, sharp white teeth standing out against blue lips as he smiled and stood. He turned to where Thor and Mother were speaking with Jane and Darcy.

And now was Loki's chance. If he didn't take it now, Loki didn't know when he might see another Jotun. One who liked him as much as Helblindi seemed to, anyway. And Loki would be forever stuck wondering what was wrong with him.

“Wait, I–” Loki said before Helblindi could rejoin Thor and Mother. Helblindi stopped and looked back at him curiously. Loki swallowed so his voice wouldn't crack on his next words. “May I speak to you? In private?”

A slight frown creased Helblindi's marked blue brow, and after a quick glance at the other four, he allowed Loki to lead him further into the desert. When Loki stopped he put up a muffling spell between himself and the others, just in case they overheard.

(In case they found out just how monstrous he was).

Helblindi only sat down, crossing his blue legs over each other and waiting patiently as Loki fidgeted with his hands. Helblindi would probably regret his offer of brotherhood after this. He would probably think Laufey's decision to leave him was wise.

Eventually, Loki just clasped his hands together in front of him, stilling them in an attempt to still his thoughts. Hesitantly, he began, “I – I have a question. About the Jotnar and the ice, the cold part of your – our mind.” Fear clawed at his throat, but he pushed it down, concentrating only on how Helblindi's frown grew deeper.

Was Helblindi confused? Suspicious? Was this a common problem among Jotnar and now he suspected that Loki had it too?

But Helblindi only asked, “What about it? Are you wondering how to create the ice?”

Loki jerkily shook his head. “No, no I can do that.” Why he would want to, though–

Suppressing a shudder, Loki wrapped his arms about himself, a parody of a hug. “But when I reach for it – when I feel it–”

Loki couldn't look anymore, he couldn't see Helblindi's face when he found out just how wrong Loki was. He stared at the dull brown sand and said, voice shaking along with his body, “It feels good, like – like it's calming and soothing, even though it shouldn't be, because – because the Jotnar aren't monsters, but it doesn't do any good, it only freezes and kills, and even though I know it's wrong I – I can't stop liking it.”

There was silence but for a slight wind rustling over sand. When Loki dared look up, Helblindi's red eyes were wide in horror, his mouth agape. And Loki knew Helblindi was about to reject him, to recoil and tell Loki he could remain Second Son of Asgard because Jotunheim did not want a monster like him.

“No – how did you – who told you that it was wrong?” Helblindi gasped.

Now it was Loki's turn to be confused. How did Helblindi not understand?

Loki tried again. “I – no one told me, but isn't it? How can it be –” The shame choked Loki's throat, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he pleaded, “What's wrong with me?”

At those words, the shock disappeared from Helblindi's eyes, replaced by something softer, something close to pity (Pity for the monster that wasn't good enough to even be Jotun).

Helblindi began to reach out, then stopped, and Loki regretted flinching that first time. Instead, Helblindi only leaned forward. “There is nothing wrong with you, Loki,” he said gently. “All Jotnar have it, and there is nothing bad about it.”

“But – but it hurts others and–”

“Because you only know of it in times of war. When it is used for it for killing. But that is not its only use.” Helblindi put a great blue hand to his chest, next to his heart. “Our – what you called the cold part of yourself – is called our Issjä. It is a part of our life. We use it for building, for feeding, for growing, and yes, for fighting. It is necessary for life on Jotunheim.”

Loki could not see how the ice could help feed or grow anything. All Loki had been able to do was break a glass of water and freeze an attacker's leg; a useful defence, perhaps, but then Loki could have burnt the man instead and the result would have been the same.

His doubt must have shown, for Helblindi sat back and said suddenly, “King Thor and...tell me, is Mjolnir wrong?”

Loki blinked at the strangeness of the question. “No.”

“But Mjolnir is connected to Thor as much as our Issjä is connected to us. It is used to strike down enemies. Its storms could bring devastation to a land, and its lighting could kill the mortals he stands beside now.”

Loki's mind flinched back from the thought. “Thor would never–”

“No, I know he would not,” Helblindi reassured. “And if a realm was experiencing drought, could King Thor not use Mjolnir to bring down the rain? Or use it to build instead of break?”

“I–” Loki's mind worked, and he began to see what Helblindi was trying to say. Yet it was not the same. Mjolnir was different, especially in Thor's hands (the hands of someone worthy.) “Yes, Mjolnir could be used as a weapon and as...something else. But the ice cannot–”

Loki cut off in a yelp as the ground beneath him moved, and suddenly Loki was standing on a tall block of ice, face-to-face with Helblindi, who had risen to his feet. The Jotun's face was still mild, still gentle, but his voice had an edge to it as he spoke.

“Your Issjä is a part of you, something that could be used for good or ill, just as Mjolnir could be. To Jotunheim, Mjolnir is a tool of destruction, and Thor as its wielder could be 'monstrous' to us. Just as we and our Issjä seem to Asgard. But it is not wrong.” The ice beneath Loki's feet changed, becoming more defined, until Loki was standing at the top of a staircase of ice looking at Helblindi's smile; one that for all its sharp teeth still seemed...kind. Softly, Helblindi said, “And neither are you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those words echoed through Loki's head as he watched the Bifrost touch down and whisk away Mother, Thor, and Helblindi. His family.

(He supposed he had two now.)

It was in a dream-like state that he returned to SHIELD's car, barely listening as Jane ordered the agents that she would need all the readings they had gathered from the Bifrost by tomorrow so she could run some tests. As the desert blurred past the window, all he could think of was ice beneath his feet, the ice and cold he had buried somewhere in his mind, that he hadn't touched once in the past six months in case he hurt–

There was a tap on Loki's knee. Loki jerked his head around to look at Darcy, who had the unfortunate luck of being stuck in the middle. Slouching against her seat, she had a lazy smile on her face as she said, “So, if you're Jotun, then that blue-skin, red-eye thing, do you–”

“Not now.” The words were sharper, harsher than he had meant. Darcy blinked in surprise, her smile slipping away as she sat up staight. On her other side, Jane fell silent, staring at him. In the car's mirrors, he caught a flash of the agents' eyes looking in his direction. Loki twisted his head back towards the window.

“Loki, we didn't have much time to talk with Helblindi,” Jane said, her tone calm, reasonable. “Its only a few–”

“Please.” His fingers twisted in the material of his pants. “I'm sorry. Just...not now.”

He could think about the ice, about the cold. He could come to terms with having two Jotun brothers. But he did not wish for that skin to rise to surface again.

(That burnt, broken, twisted body.)

Jane and Darcy, whether they understood his hesitation or not, respected his wishes for the remainder of the ride. When they arrived back at the house, the two of them talked excitedly about Loki's mother – Jane had asked about her magic and Darcy about stories from Thor and Loki's childhood – repeatedly trying and failing to draw Loki into the conversation. By evening, they had left Loki alone, the two of them taking over the couch as Loki drifted to his room. Once night had fallen, and the low murmurings of Jane and Darcy long since ceased, Loki waited for sleep to take him.

It refused. Instead, circling and chasing all the fears he's had since he had woken up in the Healer's rooms (that the cold was wrong, that death and pain was all yielded), Helblindi's words flitted through Loki's mind.

There is nothing wrong with you, Loki.

It is not wrong. And neither are you.

Loki hoped he would never prove Helblindi otherwise.

Chapter Text

As the cold winds howled and swirled about the ridge, Thor shivered and drew his furs closer. Or tried, rather, since one of his hands was currently occupied grasping the thick leather reins of his steed as it clambered up the ridge of ice, its claws digging into the ground with each step. Thor muffled a curse as he made another grab for his furs and almost slid off the animal's back.

“Having trouble?” a deep voice rumbled, concern not quite blotting out an undercurrent of amusement.

Thor glanced towards at the owner of the voice. He had to crane his neck, but even in Jotunheim's gloom he could see Helblindi's red eyes lit with a hint of laughter.

Attempting to disguise his next shiver as nod, Thor said, “My steed is rather...uncooperative.”

His “steed”, as Thor had learned earlier today, was called a djurisk, and unfortunately had little in common with the horses Thor had been riding since he was a child. Djurisks were four-legged, yes, but that was where the similarities ended. With their powerful upper arms and jagged teeth, they bore quite a bit of resemblance to the beast Thor and his friends had encountered on their first visit to Jotunheim, though these were smaller and without the fearsome tusks of their war-bred brethren. Even then, the djurisks were over ten feet tall, large enough to fit a full-grown Jotun on their backs. So Thor had been given one barely weaned from its mother – which meant it was rather disinclined to follow Thor's ardent tugs at the reins.

Helblindi smiled kindly and slowed his own much larger mount, directing it to nudge Thor's djurisk with its head. With a whine, the little beast reluctantly listened to its elder, and lessened its pace until it was ambling over the ice instead of galloping. Sighing with relief, Thor took both his gloved hands off the creature's reins and settled the white fur cloak more snugly about his shoulders, preventing the wind from seeping in through the gaps in the fur. Stretching out his sore fingers before returning them to the reins, Thor smiled up at his friend. “Thank-you, Helblindi,” he said.

“It is no trouble.” Helblindi replied, gaving his djurisk a friendly pat. “Besides, we are not far off. And once we return to the palace, I will have our cooks give you one of our hotter drinks.”

Thor nodded again, though he doubted the drink would be anything more than lukewarm. In his past three days on Jotunheim, he had discovered that even “warm” Jotun cuisine was closer in temperature to a feast that had been left to cool for an hour. Not that Thor was going to let something like cold food – or cold winds – spoil his mood.

Whenever Thor had imagined his first trip to Jotunheim – his first trip not in war, not in one day's work of reparations as he had done so many months ago – he had thought there would be great fanfare. He had envisioned bringing huge processions of nobles to Jotunheim's palace, dreamed up feasts that would last for weeks. There would be Jotun and Æsir approaching each other, learning that the other race was not full of monsters, just as Thor had hoped the Jotun ambassadors would accomplish on Jotunheim. And most of all, he had imagined the trip with Loki by his side, his brother's usual blank masks vanished in place of wonder as he explored the realm where he was born.

But as the months wore on, Thor had seen little change in way the Jotun ambassadors were treated. They were still shunned when they walked the halls, even cursed if an Ás was bold enough (and stupid enough to risk Thor's wrath). Even most of Thor's councillors seemed to accept their presence as a nuisance at best, and an insult at worst. He knew, after only a few months, that any large procession to Jotunheim would have to be wait a few years, if he did not wish for violence to break out.

However, he had believed that if nothing else, then at least he could bring Loki with him. Together, they would visit Jotunheim's icy plains and sky-splitting spires.

And ten months ago, when Thor had brought Helblindi down to Midgard, that had been his plan: extending the invitation, for whenever Loki was ready.

He had thought Loki would be ready.

The moment Thor had first seen Loki's eyes flicker worriedly to Helblindi, Thor began to have his doubts.

Then Loki had met Helblindi.

And Loki had flinched.

Thor had hoped Midgard would heal Loki's fears, his wounds. But as happy as Loki had looked at first, as whole and well compared to the terror and hesitation that had haunted Loki's every move during his last weeks in Asagrd, it was not enough. By the time the six of them settled for the midday meal Thor knew Loki was not ready. Even Loki accepting Helblindi's offer of brotherhood had not assuaged the heavy ache in his heart (although Thor could not help the spark of jealously when Loki had smiled and told Helblindi “Yes”. Which had been followed by a deep welling of shame, because Thor wanted this for Loki, and for Helblindi. He did not want to see Loki's fear, to see him recoil from another Jotun's touch.)

Leaving Loki (again) had been easier than the first time, at least, for he knew Loki was improving on Midgard, seeming comfortable in Jane and Darcy's company. Yet there was still that terrible misery when he finally let go of his brother, for Thor did not know when he would be able to see his brother again. And the little time they had shared had been much too brief, too preoccupied with other concerns.

Although when he had seen Loki draw Helblindi aside before they left, something else occurred to him, again with another flicker of guilt. So consumed by wondering what Loki would think of Helblindi, of a new brother, he had forgotten to consider what Helblindi might think of Loki.

What he might have felt when Loki had been so quick to flinch away.

(Did Helblindi think Loki a coward for it? Did he resent Loki for it, blame Loki for it, after all Loki had been through?)

(Loki had not taught himself to hate the Jotnar, after all.)

As he had watched Loki and Helblindi make their way back towards the four of them, studying the frost giant's face for anything amiss, Thor, Mother, and the mortals, Thor had been struck by the urge to defend Loki, though Thor was sure Helblindi's patience could rival Mother's (and Helblindi knew the hardships Loki had gone through, knew why he had left Asgard). Even so, when they returned to Asgard, he had invited Helblindi to dine with him and Mother, alone.

Once the meal was served and the servants dismissed, Thor had cleared his throat, drawing both Mother and Helblindi's attention to him where he sat at the head of the table. “Helblindi,” Thor started, trying his best not to fidget as he stared at Helblindi's placid red eyes. “I know Loki's reaction was not altogether...what you – or I – had expected.”

“Thor,” Mother said softly. “We all know this would be difficult for him.” Thor had to spoken to her earlier, and she had said much the same before hurrying off to assuage any councillors that might have grown suspicious about the length of their absence.

Thor turned to her, knowing she would not be as calm if she had been there to see the panic in Loki's eyes. “Aye, but Loki should–”

“No, I understand,” Helblindi's voice broke in. His hands were folded on the table, in front of the tableware designed special for the Jotnar, and his voice was not angry but somber. “He was unprepared, unlike myself. And after his....” Helblindi's eyes flickered down to his hands, and Thor could see them clenching. “After time spent here in Asgard, and after speaking to him, I believe I understand his fear better. I would wish him to learn more but...if he needs more time, I will not push.”

Thor nodded, relieved. He should have known there was nothing to worry about in the first place – Helblindi would not be so quick to judge. Though Helblindi's answer had made Thor curious about what exactly he and Loki had spoken of when Loki had drawn Helblindi aside. Before Thor could ask, however, Helblindi's face abruptly brightened. With a smile, the Jotun said, “Although Býleistr might be disappointed. When I told him about Loki, I believe he wished to ask entrance to Midgard and bring Loki back to Jotunheim himself. He does not think Midgard is a proper place for a Jotun, especially since Loki decided to reside in a desert.” Then a strange frown crossed his face, and his lips pursed as he added, “Although that may be my fault.”

“What do you mean?” Thor asked.

“Did you tell him that Loki did not belong there?” There was a warning note in Mother's question.

Helblindi shifted uncomfortably. “No, none of that. It is simply – and I do not think he has ever gotten over this – when he was very young, I...” Helblindi's voice dropped to a hush. “I convinced him Jotnar would melt if they grew too hot.”

Thor stared. There was silence for moment, and Thor recognized the strange look on Helblindi's face as abashment. Then Mother let out rather unladylike burst of laughter.

“Did you now?” she asked, still giggling as she scooped up her glass of wine. “And what happened then?”

Helblindi, an embarrassed grin on his face that Thor could not recall seeing before, told them how Býleistr had grown afraid of the forges, then kitchens for the few fires they used, and at one point would even refuse warm glasses of teblad, a spiced milk drink. It lasted until Helblindi had stolen from coals from the kitchens, putting them in a specially carved box to keep them warm. Then he had found Býleistr in one of the palace's courtyards. Covering his hand in a thin sheet of ice, telling his nervous younger brother that there was nothing to be afraid of, he had stuck his hand near the coals. Then had promptly pretended to melt as the ice dripped off. Býleistr's panicked shrieking had brought the servants running, who had then run to Laufey when Býleistr wouldn't stop crying. Which put an end to the whole ruse.

“Or that is what Býleistr wished me to think,” Helblindi chuckled. “However, I still think he is rather reluctant to enter the forges.”

Wiping an errant tear of laughter from her face, Mother sighed. “Reminds me of what the two of you boys would do to each other,” she said to Thor.

“Aye, though Loki learned quickly.” Thor grinned, thinking of the pranks Thor had played on Loki – only once Loki grew a little wiser, he had turned around and played them on Thor. More convincingly, as well. Leaning towards to Helblindi, Thor said, “I imagine if Loki had been there, he would have...”

A chill that had nothing to do with the Jotnar in the room swept through Thor's body. The grin slid off his face and his mouth felt dry. The room grew quiet, the bright mood disappearing, and Thor knew the three of them were thinking the same thing.

If Loki had been there, on Jotunheim. As Helblindi and Býleistr's brother, Laufey's son.

If Loki had not been here.

The thought sent Thor's mind to the edge of terror. As if he stood on a ledge and one misstep would send him falling into an endless black.

Mother stood, the sound of her chair scraping against wood filling the room. “It is late,” she announced with a tight smile. “And time we should retire.”

It was, and Thor knew he would have to stay up even later, parsing over some notice about taxes that he had put off this morning. Though as Mother strode out the door, allowing the servants back in, and as Helblindi took his leave, Thor wished to follow. He wished to speak more.

And later, he did, inviting Helblindi to join him and Mother a few weeks later – though they did not start where they left, preferring to talk of only the present, not the past. After that, it became tradition, every few weeks when the three of them were free. Either they would take dinner, or a shorter afternoon drink if they were pressed for time. Mostly, Helblindi would tell stories of life on Jotunheim – none of which, of course, were like the stories Thor had heard from his nursemaids, or read his children's books. Once, Thor recalled the ruins of buildings surrounding the palace and asked, there had been loss and grief in Helblindi's words. He spoke of monuments, gardens, and buildings grand enough to rival Asgard, back when Jotunheim had been strong, and with the Casket in their possession. How they were neglected now when resources had to be allocated elsewhere, how the stability if Jotunheim's ice and land had diminished, and time had led to the collapse of these great structures. And once, when Mother had spoken of Loki's love for books, Helblindi had mentioned his palace's library, kept underground and crumbling in some corners, yet still a place of wonder.

Only occasionally would tales of Helblindi and Býleistr surface, for each time a somber mood would eventually descend, bringing the evening to an abrupt close. The same happened if Thor or Mother told a story about Loki; Helblindi never smiled quite as wide, and Mother and Thor would seem to realize they always spoke of Loki in the past tense. As if the distance between them meant something worse.

( Like with Father.)

It was after Thor heard about the library that he decided to include more in letters to Loki. Though his writing could never do them justice, subtly, (at least, Thor was pretty sure he was subtle), Thor would occasionally mention a few of Helblindi's stories about Jotunheim. More often, he would speak of Helblindi's health, or how the negations were progressing. He hoped, with each reply, to encourage Loki, to make him feel more comfortable asking questions about Jotunheim, or at least hear about it.

In his mind, Thor could still see that trip to Jotunheim, perhaps less fanfare, less people – less Æsir, for Loki's own protection – but nonetheless with Loki by his side.

Yet Loki's replies ignored the tales of Jotunheim as if Thor's careful, cautious words had never existed. His only comments on the negotiates would be diatribes on Thor's clumsy blundering. Mentions of Helblindi were mildly better, met with meticulously written reciprocations of his own health, and hopes that Helblindi would remain happy and unharmed. And that was all.

But Thor could wait. Until Loki was ready, he thought.

He had waited through the sending of diplomats to Jotunheim three months earlier, in Asgard's first negotiations hosted in Jotunheim. With them went Sif and the Warriors Three, both as diplomats, and to keep the peace if need be. Thor knew he was very lucky in his choice of friends, for they had asked to go. Sif and Hogun had even claimed to be looking forward to it, and Thor thought they convinced Fandral and Volstagg to at least put on a show of optimism. Few of the other diplomats were quite as cheerful, though. And Thor had been unable to discern whether Loki's response to this development in his letters was happy, disappointed, or simply neutral. So Thor still delayed.

Until a few weeks ago.

It was only an inconsequential thing, the Grand Vizier smugly petitioning to add a tariff to some export or other – the kind of things Helblindi and the rest of the Jotnar ambassadors had been dealing with since they had arrived. But before anyone else could say a word, Helblindi had half-risen from his seat, his sharp white teeth flashing as he nearly screamed, “Your tariff is ridiculous, petty, and unnecessary. You have reason to suggest but for your–”

Helblindi abruptly cut himself off, his eyes widening. He sat down. The other Jotnar had gone quiet, some looking nervous, others satisfied.

The Æsir, however, were not so silent. Thor heard whispers, angry and even fearful glances, and a snide comment, deliberately louder than a whisper, about uncontrollable beasts.

Thor had called the meeting to a close for the day.

It had taken several knocks at the door to Helblindi's guest rooms before the Jotun had answered, quickly ushering Thor inside. Thor had rarely entered Helblindi's quarters, and it was as chilled and large as he remembered, with oversized furniture that made Thor feel almost like a child, trespassing in his Father's rooms.

But the feeling had fled his mind when he noticed Helblindi's slow movements as he took a seat across from the chair Thor had chosen, saw the low slump to his shoulders. Red eyes turned out the window, high above Asgard's streets, Helblindi's voice was low as he said, “I apologize for my loss of temper, King Thor. It was uncouth of me.” His head drooped, his breath coming out in a long sigh. “Perhaps...I need a few weeks rest, back on Jotunheim.”

Thor swallowed, his throat dry. For some reason, he had never imagined Helblindi leaving; the Jotun prince had been here to help since the beginning, had fought the hardest in attempting to join their two realms, had been the one to help change Thor's mind in the first place–

(Had been the reason he finally recognized Loki in the dungeons, under the blue skin and scars.)

–And Thor did not know how the negotiation would proceed – or if they would succeed at all – without Helblindi.

(Thor had already lost Loki.)

Bowing his head and clasping his hands, Thor had said, “I...Iam sorry you feel that way. You have have doing well for your people here, and if you left, I do not think the proceedings would go as smoothly.” Not that they were smooth in the first place. From the way Helblindi glanced at him with a wry amusement, Thor guessed he had the same thought. Floundering for a solution, Thor asked desperately, “Surely you could figure some way to stay – perhaps attend less meetings, or...How have you dealt with being away from your home before?”

Helblindi gave Thor an indulgent, tired smile. “I have not. Negotiating with you on Midgard was the first time I had left Jotunheim.”

It was that weary look, those simple, matter-of-fact words, that had changed Thor's mind. He gave up on the processions and fanfare, a true joining of the realms when he next visited Jotunheim. And give up his dreams of showing Loki, for now.

(That did not mean he could not write to him. To tell him there was nothing to be afraid of.)

(Maybe, after all, Loki could come with him soon enough.)

So last week, Thor had announced that he would take a trip to Jotunheim, to see how the realm was faring, and asked the First Prince of Jotunheim to accompany him. Helblindi's barely concealed joy reassured Thor that this had been the right decision.

Three days ago, Thor had left Gungnir with Frigga, as well as residual powers as temporary regent, which gave her final word on any difficult decision on the council. Then he had taken Mjolnir, a few Einherjar that he would keep stationed at the Æsir guest quarters in the palace, and taken the Bifrost down to Jotunheim.

Of course, a visiting king required at least some fanfare; King Laufey, a few Elders, and an array of warriors had greeted him and Helblindi at the Bifrost site, before leading him to the palace for the proper welcoming ceremony, where a crowd of Jotnar and the few Æsir diplomats massed into the throne room. Throughout the ceremony, Laufey had been cool, his thin lips seeming on the verge of sneering. In return, Thor done his best to present the king with the politeness necessary for such an event. But he could never forget that this was the man who had left Loki to die. That, in Helblindi's words, would care little if were dead now.

Helblindi had taken his place at the right of the throne, and though his mouth occasionally dipped into a scowl as his father spoke, he had seemed more relaxed than Thor had seen him in quite some time on Asgard. To the left of the throne, stood another Jotun who had been introduced as Second Prince Býleistr. He was big, tall even for a Jotun. Whenever Thor had glanced at him throughout the ceremony, Thor had thought he had looked quite stoic, fearsome even.

Apparently he had just been bored.

“The trick is to not look it,” Býleistr had told him after the ceremony had finished. As a servant had lead Thor his guards to his rooms, Helblindi had followed, taking Býleistr with him until the three of them were alone in Thor's new guest quarters. Still grinning, Býleistr had added, “If you seem like you're paying attention, no one questions it. But...” Býleistr's smile took on a mischievous edge. “Are you certain you are the proper height for the King of Asgard? You seem rather short for one of your rank.”

Thor folded his arms across his chest in mock outrage, a grin spreading across his own face at Býleistr's teasing. “For an Ás, I am tall enough. Even Loki is shorter than me.”

Instead of laughing, however, Býleistr had grown dismayed, his red eyes widening. “Truly? I had thought...” He looked questioningly towards Helblindi, who had shaken his head.

“Nay, brother. He is only up to here.” Helblindi settled his hand somewhere around waist height. But Helblindi's dour look was quickly replaced with a smile. “Your plans to teach him how to fight like a Jotun will require a bit more care than you had thought,” he said.

Helblindi's words did not seem to help. Shoulders slumped, Býleistr turned pleading eyes on Thor and asked, “Is he otherwise healthy? There are terrible rumours about runts, that they shatter like ice under the summer sun – and that they are hunched and slow. Your Æsir labourers...” Býleistr's face grew stormy, and this time the fearsome look was not a product of boredom. “When they believe I cannot hear, they only have unkind words for Loki.”

The faint hum of electricity rose in the air as Thor's hands clenched in fists. If only he had been there, amongst those who would dare slander his brother, he would–

What, beat them into submission? Threaten them with Mjolnir? That was not a king's way. Should he have them thrown into the dungeons, even though a third of the labourers were already from the dungeons? And if insulting Loki was a crime, then as much as it hurt him to think it, Thor knew most of the population of Asgard would be in prison by now.

Thor would simply have to think on another solution. Hopefully while he was still in Jotunheim and could speak with the workers. Running a soothing hand along Mjolnir's head, Thor had adamantly shaken his head. “The rumours are simply that: rumours. Loki is as strong as any Ás, and he has the grace to match the finest Ljósálfr dancers.”

That, at least, had seemed to assuage the prince, though unfortunately, Býleistr was soon called away, and Helblindi retreated with him

Which suited Thor fine, as it was not long before there came a knock at his door (made of stone, not ice, as Thor had been picturing in his mind), and was nearly tackled by Sif and the Warriors Three. Even Hogun had not turned down a hug (or two), and the five of them must have made enough noise to disturb the Æsir diplomats in the rooms near Thor's.

For that afternoon, Thor had not cared, laughing and swapping stories with his friends in the little time they had together. Thor had been glad to see they had taken well to Jotunheim (even if Volstagg's belt seemed to have tightened).

Unfortunately, that had been the only time Thor had seen the four of them – occupied as they were with the other diplomats – as well as his only meeting with Býleistr. The Second Prince was in charge of the workers at the docks and shipyards. According to Helblindi, Býleistr enjoyed the work because it got him out of the palace, and Laufey could not force him to attend diplomatic meetings if he was serving to keep the workers from fighting. But Thor had promised to visit him again, with more stories of his – their – missing brother.

Luckily, the welcoming ceremony was also one of the few times Thor had seen Laufey. The King of Jotunheim had not bothered to speak to Thor beyond the necessary greetings and formalities, seeming to want to have as little to do with Thor as Thor with him.

So Thor took the snubs well in stride. Instead, he had spent the last three days being guided around the palace by Helblindi, meeting with Jotunheim's Elders and Jarls. From the thinly veiled hostility underneath every forced grin or overly-strong handshake, Thor was finally acquiring a sense of how Helblindi – or any of the Jotun ambassadors – must feel in Asgard.

(How Loki must have felt.)

But today, at last, Thor had left the palace for the first time, with plans for the next week to be shown some of the parts of Jotunheim close by. Or at least close enough to be reached by his djurisk.

Soon, Thor knew, he would have to return to Asgard – hopefully with Helblindi by his side – for Asgard should not be without its king for long. Even if Thor relished the break from all the demands, the arguing, the decisions that apparently couldn't be made without his approval.

(Sometimes Thor wondered why he wanted to be king in the first place.)

(And then he would realize he had not thought he would be the one to take care of the minute details, the politics, the clever words to force even the most stubborn of diplomats to agree. That was always meant to be Loki's job.)

Out on the ice, though, Thor could relax in his freedom for the moment. Only himself, his adventurous and uncooperative young djurisk, Helblindi, and the other infrequent Jotun traveller were around they rode across Jotunheim's plains and tundra. And Helblindi had been right that their destination was not far yet: as Thor's little beast crested the top of the ice ridge on the heels of Helblindi's, Thor saw his first destination outside of the palace's walls.

Nearly a hundred feet high, stretching across the plain of ice next to a frozen sea and built with a combination of stone and ice, the completed docks stood where only empty ice used to exist. After the workers had finished rebuilding the palace and other structures that Thor's foolish battle-lust had brought down, the docks were next.

After the war, once Father had left the realm, Jotunheim had been banned from rebuilding their shipyards and docks, as well as creating more ships and skifs – which had left Jotunheim with very few ships, since most had been destroyed in the war. And after they had surrendered. The ban had been put in place from the fear that Jotunheim may strike out through the space lanes. Depending on the quality of their warships, a fleet could travel between realms anywhere from a few hours to a few days.

The council, of course, had not been pleased with Thor's decision. Though seeing as most of the edicts Thor and Helblindi had agreed on required working docks for the Æsir ships at least, they had little to argue with. And Thor had put his foot down on the matter before it got out of hand. Probably not a moment too soon, either.

Only last month, Heimdall had reported that the first Æsir trade ship had arrived, trading Æsir cattle for Jotunheim's gold. The Æsir cattle, despite being some of the largest they could find, were still significantly smaller than Jotunheim's herds, which were said to descend from the first cow Auðumbla herself. More ships had arrived since, some from Asgard, and even a couple from Niðavellir.

Every fifty feet of the docks, there was a partition for each trading ship, and several of the compounds already had a gleaming gold ship in their icy blue depths, the shine startling in the dark realm. Compared to Asgard, and most of the realms, the docks were tiny, barely functioning. But better than anything Jotunheim had had in a thousand years.

Less impressive, however, were the shipyards. Thor had been adamant about them being built, but somewhere down the line, the shipyards had been delayed. Next to the docks, stretching about as far in length, only the skeletal outline of the building could be seen. Bustling about the plain, lugging stone and metal, were the labourers. Half were Jotnar, their skin nearly blending into the blue of the ice. The other half were Æsir, bundled in heavy clothes as dark splotches against the snow.

Thor could tell it was nearly half and half because the workforce seemed to be split evenly down the middle. On one half, the far side, the smaller Æsir scurried about, while the Jotun remained closer to the docks. In between was a strange sort of no-man's-land, where one only went if necessary.

Which was...not as Thor had hoped. At all.

Yes, most of the labourers had not volunteered, but there were a scant few that had come of their own will. And after months of working together he had anticipated something – something that was better than this.

“It is not quite as hopeless as it looks, King Thor,” Helblindi rumbled from just beside Thor, startling him. Like Loki, Helblindi seemed to have the annoying habit of reading his thoughts. Which, if Loki's mocking words had any truth, was not terribly difficult as they were written on his face.

Helblindi had dismounted, his head coming to be nearly level with Thor's, so there was no difficultly in craning his neck down when Helblindi turned to look at him. “True, it is not as it once was, and the ice in surrounding areas has weakened too much that building on it would be folly. Yet we are a far cry from where we were a year ago.”

“But the two sides avoid each other still.” Thor did not bother to hide his frustration. “I have heard reports that fights break out at least twice a month. I suppose the fights have diminished in scale, at least,” he added doubtfully.

Helblindi gave a small smile, his sharp teeth barely peeking over blue lips. “And yet Býleistr told me that just last week, he spotted some of our warriors sharing a meal with a couple of yours.” He gave a nod at the docks. “You know not what our realm is like. You know not what our people are like. This rebuilding, this chance at greatness once more...” He looked at Thor. “It has inspired hope in those that had none. And I can see the changes that occurred in my absence.”

Thor inclined his head. Considering how little he had known of the realm – how little he still knew – it would be arrogant of him to scoff at Helblindi's words. “Then I must take your word for mine and your labourers' growing friendship.”

Helblindi gave him a smug grin that Thor had seen enough times on Loki's face. It was a grin that said of course you will, because of course I'm right.

It was a grin that sent a spike of loneliness through Thor's chest, because it had been months since he'd seen that grin on his brother's face.

To cover his sudden grimace, Thor nudged his mount, making the beast turn. “Shall we head down, then?” he asked. “I am sure Býleistr would enjoy informing me just how short I am for a king.” And Thor fulfilling his promise of sharing more stories of Loki.

“Aye, I am sure he would,” Helblindi answered, smiling. “But do not take his words to heart. He only–”

A bird's shriek from the sky drew their attention, cutting Helblindi's words short. They looked up, and a giant kyla eagle swooped down and landed on Helblindi's outstretched forearm. Attached to its white, rime-frosted claw was a message ball. Helblindi pressed the rune to open the ball, and in silver letters the message appeared above the ball.

Thor wished to inch his djurisk forward, but he could see the animal eyeing the kyla eagle hungrily, so he kept the reins tight in his fist. “What does it say?”

The silver letters vanished in a puff of frost as Helblindi turned to him. His mouth was set in a grim line. “Your Lady Sif requests us back at the palace. She says it's urgent. And there's been another disagreement.”

Thor held in a curse, and turned his djurisk around. He could not help but take a last, wistful glance at the shipyards. But he was king, and a king had responsibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a swift ride back that was still much too long for a matter considered “urgent”, Thor rushed into the palace's court behind Helblindi, the sound of shouting only a boon because it meant a fight had not started. Yet.

Sif, the Warriors Three, and one young Ás noble dressed in the clothes of a page boy were on one side of the court, the page boy nearly cowering behind Thor's friends. Which was to be expected, as across the room, three Jotnar were shouting at them, while the four hollered back.

“He should not have brought another–”

“We have a right–”

“You let these thieves take everything–”

“We are here for you–”

“What is the meaning of this?” Helblindi demanded, striding into the court. The Jotnar stopped immediately, turning to their elder prince.

“I would ask the same as well,” Thor said disapprovingly, marching towards his friends and the frightened page boy. “You are not comporting yourselves as proper representatives of Asgard.”

“And you three,” Helblindi said to the Jotnar. “These Æsir are guests in our kingdom, and we treat them with the respect due to their station.”

“Then they should treat our kingdom with respect,” one of them growled. “Yet they act as if they may come and go as they please, stomping around the ice as if it is theirs.” The frost giant glared at the page boy, who gave a little squeak.

“He has a message for the king!” Sif shouted, her eyes narrowed. “It is his duty to deliver it as quickly as possible, especially when expressly commanded by Heimdall!”

“Not at the expense of our people,” another Jotun shouted back.

Helblindi looked askance at the Æsir. “What exactly did they do?” he asked.

It looked like the Jotnar were about to start shouting all at once again, but one of them stepped forward, his teeth gritted. “The Ás-messenger asked Fasolt's,” he gestured to the Jotun in the middle, “child to escort him to King Thor, and threatened her when she could not, and when those four found him in the palace,” he pointed to Sif and Warriors Three, “he was attempting to enter private quarters.”

Thor rounded on the page boy. “Is this true?” He did not try to keep the anger from his voice. It was common knowledge on Asgard, after Thor had dealt with those who had defied his order, that Thor would not accept any injustice against the Jotnar.

The boy licked his lips nervously, eyes darting from the Jotnar to Thor. “I-I'm sorry, my king, I thought it–she was a runt like – like Prince Loki, and I was perhaps more rude than I should have been – but I did not threaten her.” The boy added hastily, quailing under Thor's gaze. “And I had to give you this,” he waved a scroll in one of his hands, “because Lord Heimdall said it was urgent, so I simply doing my duty, my king, when I entered the palace. I didn't know which doors I was entering, I swear, I was only trying to find you.”

Thor wanted to sigh. But in front of the three Jotnar, and however many were listening in from just beyond the corridor leading to the court, the Æsir king was not allowed to show indecision. Or weakness.

Addressing Helblindi, he said, “Have a Jotun escort the boy to the Bifrost site. I will order my people to remain at the site until a proper guard arrives, if you can arrange a proper escort.” Helblindi nodded, and Thor thought he could already see the wheels turning in the prince's mind; neither wanted another war just because of what could have been a misunderstanding.

“And you,” Thor said to the page boy, “you will apologize to Fasolt and his daughter, and make payment to them in proportion to whatever insult you gave.” He did not know if the boy's rudeness had been spurred by hatred of the Jotnar or simply nervousness, but Thor would not take any chances. “Then Prince Helblindi can have someone take you back to the Bifrost site.”

The page boy nodded his head in what looked more like a spasm, then knelt, presenting Thor the scroll. “Yes, my king.” He did not rise until Thor took the message from his hands.

Thor took the rolled up and sealed note, then nodded at the boy to stand before turning on his heel and leaving to his chambers. If it was from Heimdall, the fewer prying eyes on him the better.

Although Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Helblindi did not seem to have the same idea.

“What is it?” Fandral asked, slinging an arm around Thor's shoulder. “Did one of your councillors get into a brawl with one of the Jotnar?”

“Now that would be a fight to see,” Volstagg chuckled.

“Do not joke about that,” Helblindi scowled, coming around to Thor's other side. “It would not end well for our people.” As Fandral and Volstagg shared guilty looks, Helblindi turned his attention to Thor once more. “Is it truly urgent, or do you wish to resume our travels?” he asked.

Thor looked at the little note in his hand. Glancing about to ensure that no one else had followed them down the corridor, Thor shook off Fandral's arm and broke the seal. “Heimdall would not have sent down a scared boy if delivering the note had not been a priority,” Thor answered, drawing ahead so if it happened to be sensitive information, his friends could not peer over his shoulder.

Carefully, Thor unrolled it, eyes skimming the hurried words.

And he stopped dead in his tracks, feeling as if ice had frozen his lungs and crept over his heart.

“Loki,” he breathed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony was the first to arrive in the tunnels beneath the abandoned military outpost. Because compared to the suit, SHIELD's Quinjet was basically a cardboard go-cart, rolling down a hill on lumpy wooden wheels.

Neither Barton nor Captain Star-Spangled seemed to appreciate the comparison.

“If you're not going to wait for back-up, then don't take any unnecessary risks,” the dear Captain was saying, disapprovingly. Stark wondered if that was his default tone of voice. “We're already one down, and we can't – we shouldn't lose any more.”

Okay, that was actually a valid point. Stark gave his normal cocky grin anyway, which was unfortunately lost on Rogers and Barton over the comm. “Don't worry, Capsicle, I'll be careful,” he said as he half-flew, half-walked down the tunnel towards one of Loki's tracers, the mechanical noise echoing in the tiny space. “And that thing probably can't get through the helmet anyway.”

He cut off the comm before Cap could be disapproving at him some more. Honestly, the guy couldn't be more annoying if he tried. At least Barton didn't seem half-bad. After reading “Hawkeye's” file, Tony had been worried he would get another Natasha clone, but at least there was one good guy on the team – maybe two, if Loki returned from being MIA and he could convince the god that deleting the files was only an act of protection.

Honestly, there had been nothing too in-depth, but seeing as Tony hadn't actually ever spoken about what went on in Afghanistan, and especially to SHIELD, that little file knew way more than it was supposed to. Enough to connect the dots about “coercion”, and how he had managed to get a glowing electromagnet stuck in his chest. Tony had – admittedly – panicked, but it was too late now and Tony didn't really do a lot of apologies. Mostly explanations.

It wasn't like the Star-Spangled Man was happy with his file either. Although Tony didn't exactly know the extent of what SHIELD had given him on Rogers, seeing as he had only read enough to realize yes, this was the same Captain America and yes, he survived being frozen before Tony deleted the whole thing. Still, Tony probably knew more than SHIELD did anyway.

Natasha's, on the other hand, had been so insultingly small, he was pretty sure she had edited it herself. And then Loki's, and it was a crime against science that his file was so short because Norse fucking gods, seriously? And one who had been living on Earth for over a year.

There was no way Tony wasn't going to hack into SHIELD after that. If only to see if they had Bigfoot on the payroll as well. And if Natasha was actually an android, and other of SHIELD's juicy little secrets. Luckily, he'd managed to sneak a little bug on the command console right under Fury's eye-patch before the director tried to kick him off the bridge.

Something else the righteous Captain America would probably disapprove of, along with running around possibly-alien-infested tunnels after dark. Tony didn't exactly need anyone to repeat the doubts running through his head: whether a helmet and an armoured suit would stop that double-thumbed hand from reaching into his head. Because whatever it did to Loki, even before it pointed that glowing stick at Loki's chest, to make Loki scream and whimper when only a few minutes before he had been bantering with Tony–

Tony shuddered. Suddenly, he wished his suit didn't clank so much in the (hopefully) empty tunnels.

“Hey, Jarvis, wanna put on some music?” he said as he carefully checked around the corner for creepy aliens who were into blindfolds and gold face masks. “Maybe some AC/DC – no, let's go with Aerosmith–”

“Do you really think now is the time, sir?” Jarvis asked, the doubt in his voice spelling out just what he thought of that idea.

“Hey, I get enough criticism from the good old Captain. I don't need it from you too.” Tony whined, but didn't press the issue, because he was coming up on the tracer Loki had managed to leave before joining the herd.

Opening channels to SHIELD, he said, “I'm about fifteen metres away from the room with the second tracer, and everything's been pretty empty so far. The suit's not reading any life forms, humans or aliens. If aliens even register.”

“Careful, Stark,” Fury warned. “We don't know the extent of Loki's power, or what his magic can do. And now that he's batting for the other team...”

Finishing off the thought, Tony said, “He could be right behind me, ready to pop up like that thing in Alien.” Or just like half an hour ago. And no, he was not looking behind him for one so-called god of mischief with blue eyes and a knife instead of vaguely sexual innuendos and laughter.

Maybe he should have gone in with backup.

But regret was a lot like apologizes, and it wasn't a bit too late to change his mind now. As he came up to the room where the Chitauri and brainwashed humans had been building their new portal of doom, he said, “Hey, Captain Righteous, you seen Alien yet?”

“No. And if it's about aliens–” Cap said quickly before Tony could comment, “–I think I've had enough for now.”

“Yeah, but then you're missing out on Sigourney Weaver fighting aliens in her underpants,” Tony said as he crept – as quietly as he could in the suit – towards the main room. Sidling along the wall, he carefully peeked his helmet around the corner and into the room.

Nothing.

Nothing by eyesight, by infrared, by sensors, only barely detectable traces of some forms of radiation, but Tony was pretty sure a microwave would leave behind more energy.

“No way, man,” Barton said. “It's the power-loader scene that you just can't beat.”

“Shhh, you're spoiling it for gramps.” Tony ignored Cap's affronted sound, took a deep breath, then leapt into the doorway, his repulsors sweeping the room.

Still nothing. No machinery, no aliens, no blue-eyed people, no magical brainwashed gods. Tony waved his arms in front of himself, just in case, because Loki had been invisible, not intangible. “And that was in Aliens, not Alien.”

“Whatever,” Clint snorted as Tony walked forward, his arms in front of him like a sleepwalker, waving them about in case they whacked into anything. “You can't watch one without the other.”

“True,” Tony admitted, approaching the little room that had housed the Tesseract. The room where pretty much everything had gone to shit. “But the next ones are optional.”

Before Tony could think about how much this might be a bad idea, he burst in, repulsors ready to lock onto anything that moved.

It was just as empty as the other room. Tony even waved his arms about to make sure. The only thing left, besides the bench Dr. Selvig had been working at, were again those faint traces of radiation.

And on the floor, by the wall, four little devices crushed into the cracked stone.

Tony leaned down and picked up what had probably been the mic, though now it was nothing more than a few tiny pieces of metal and maybe a wire or two. It was long past recording anything now.

Not that Tony particularly wanted to remember the last things it had picked up. He had thought the screams were bad enough, but it was the laugh that kept worming its way into Tony's mind.

Honestly, it would have been better if that laugh had been snide or evil, a Mwa ha ha or something.

Not...happy.

Like all Loki's dreams had come true, and they involved being covered in puppies and kittens and bathing in chocolate. And Tony had seen the footage of the destroyed base; sure, there'd been a few smiles after having their mind sucked out and replaced by the glowstick of doom's glowing stone, but nothing like that.

“Stark?” Fury's sharp voice cut into Tony's thoughts. “You got anything?”

Tony jerked up, dropping the mic back on the ground. “Nope. Everything's empty. Loki must have cleared it out pretty fast.” Or rather the Chitauri with no sense of personal space told Loki to.

He walked back out into main room. “I'm going to check Loki's other tracker – maybe your agents got left behind in the move – doubtful, but hey, you never know. Or they left behind something else useful.” Like a helpful little note, or maybe an itinerary: Day one for stealing a very important artifacts and bunch of human's brains, day two for stealing a god's brain, day three for recreating Independence Day.

“Keep us updated,” the Captain said. “We're about five minutes out.”

“Roger, Rogers.” As Cap heaved a sight, Tony smirked into his helmet. It really was too easy to rankle that ancient blond head.

Repulsors at the ready, Tony made his way around the dank tunnels, the first tracer Loki had left growing steadily closer. The continual appearance of absolutely nothing was starting to get on Tony's nerves. He might have appreciated an alien at this point.

Then, as he reached by the tracer, he heard a groan to his right.

Tony looked over to see...more nothing.

Because the fully three-dimensional rendering of empty space apparently continued to function even after brainwashing.

Honestly, Tony was going to have to ask Loki about shit like this if – no, when things got back to normal. Even if he had to drag him to Stark Tower using Dr. Foster as bait.

Kneeling, Tony reached a hand towards where he had heard the groan. Infra-red and thermal was giving him nothing – which, considering how close he was to two bodies – or one body, at least – was pretty cool. Magic was just getting better and better.

Close to the wall, Tony's gauntlet seemed to become enveloped in a gold mist and disappear. Then metal fingers met something soft and squishy.

Feeling around, Tony grabbed a fistful of suit and pulled, and a man in a suit emerged from within a mist of gold. Keeping the man where he could see him, Tony poked around the golden-misty-hologram until he found more suit. As he pulled brainwashed-agent number two out, the first one groaned again and began to lift a hand to his head.

Tony thought it was probably a good thing the man didn't reach for his gun first, which would have been rather annoying, especially since Tony would have to do his best not to hurt him. With that thought, Tony reached into the man's jacket, grabbed his gun, and tossed it away, hearing it skid across the concrete.

“Sorry about this, Agent-I-Can't-Remember-What-Fury-Called-You,” Tony said as he knelt next to the agent and grabbed the man's hands, encircling the agent's wrists in his own iron (or gold alloy) grip. “I don't exactly have any restraints with me, so we're going to do this the hard way until SHIELD figures how to get your head back to normal.”

The agent's eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling with a confused expression, as if wondering where he was.

Well, even brainwashed, Tony guessed an invisible god smacking you in the head had to be quite a confusing–

Except the agent's eyes weren't blue. They were a deep dark brown, with no hint of a glow beneath their surface. Perfectly, absolutely normal human eyes.

The man's eyes widened the rest of the way, staring up at the ceiling as if suddenly shown the truth.

“Oh God–” the agent choked out as he tried to sit up. He didn't get far with Tony's hands holding down on the agent's chest. The man's gaze switched from the ceiling to Tony, his face slowly becoming overtaken by horror. And guilt.

“I tried to fight it – but, the blue – and that thing–” the man stuttered out. This time, when he tried to sit up, Tony let him. Slowly, Tony stood up, and watched with something like pity gnawing away at his stomach as the man looked at him imploringly. As if Tony could forgive him for not getting out of the way of a mind-control spear fast enough.

“It didn't feel wrong, it just–” The agent's hands were clenching and unclenching rhythmically. The man didn't seem aware of it. “It just – it felt like we were just following orders.”

Tony was glad the faceplate meant he didn't have to try his best to make his face seem reassuring. Especially since he was pretty sure his face was stuck somewhere on horror.

But Tony couldn't just leave the guy looking at him like that. Even if consoling people in their time of need just wasn't his thing (it was usually people consoling him instead). As gently as he could, Tony put his gauntlet on the agent's shoulder in what he hoped felt like comfort. “Well, I guess now you can stop,” he said, trying to sound confident, like 'everything's going to be alright, son, your brain just got messed up by an alien, but that happens to the best of us '.

Where was Captain America when you needed him?

And why wasn't Tony already calling him?

Opening his comm up to the SHIELD and the Quinjet, hand still on the agent's shoulder, Tony said, “Hey guys, I found something.”

“Good, we've just landed,” Barton said. “Keep an eye on it, wilya?”

“That won't be a problem,” Tony said, watching as the other agent started to stir. Capsicle had better hurry; if there could be one thing that could make any red-blooded American feel better, it was being told you did your best by the Captain himself. “Also, I think Loki solved our mind control problem for us. If we can figure out how to knock out a god.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki had rarely felt anything as delightful as when his master listened to Loki's advice, weaving Loki's plans in with his own, smoothing over Loki's doubts with confidence Loki knew was earned. The closest comparison Loki could make was the glowing pride he had felt in his earlier days in Asgard's court, whenever Odin had acknowledged Loki's ideas as useful. Not that Odin had done so in a couple of centuries at least.

It was almost a surprise when no pain accompanied that thought.

Almost.

Loki knew better now, than to expect such thoughts and memories to hurt him still.

The only pain he would receive would come from disobedience.

And even though teleporting humans, Chitauri, and the Tesseract halfway across the nation had been taxing, even though his mind had been sent far beyond the reaches of the nine realms and back, it would be disobedience to rest.

Chapter Text

Thor struggled with his cloak and armour, taking off the more ceremonial pieces, fingers fumbling with clasps and laces; he didn't remember his clothing being this much of a nuisance before.

“How much more did Heimdall tell you?” Sif demanded, her hand on the pommel of her sword, as she lingered next to the large writing desk standing at the opposite end of the room. She, the Warriors Three, and Helblindi had followed Thor's hurried rush to his quarters, their questions flurrying around Thor like a snowstorm.

“How did Chitauri arrive on Midgard?” Fandral asked as he sidestepped the heavy fur cloak Thor tossed onto his bed. “And what do they want with Loki?”

“Is he their target?” Volstagg fretted, taking one of the ceremonial gauntlets from Thor's hands and handing him battle-worn ones, though they were somewhat more ornate than the ones he had worn as prince.

Hogun grunted from across the room. “If we were meant to know, the message would still be with us.”

The note had vanished not long after Thor had finished reading it – which was normal for messages containing sensitive information. The kind not meant for eyes other than the king's. It would likely not have opened if any but Thor had laid hands on it.

Thor said nothing, eyes focused on his gauntlets, which for some reason simply were not clasping together correctly. His scrabbling, sweating fingers kept slipping from buckles – odd, as his fingers had barely warmed from the ride.

“Thor?” Helblindi's voice came from next to the door, where the Jotun had not moved since entering, his hands clenched by his side as if restraining himself from departing Jotunheim right that moment. Sounding more subdued than usual, Helblindi asked, “Did your Gatekeeper say anything more about Loki? More than his abduction?”

Again, Thor was silent. Then, finally fitting the left gauntlet on, he answered, “There was...little.”

Which was only true in that there was too little for Thor's comfort.

Heimdall had written that the Tesseract – stolen away by mortals from wherever Father had hid it over a millennium ago – was in the hands of a group of Chitauri. The Tesseract was probably the mode of their arrival as well, though the gatekeeper had not been looking upon Midgard when the Chitauri had appeared. Nor had he seen when the mortals of SHIELD apparently called upon Loki for aid in retrieving the Tesseract. Only once SHIELD began shouting for him had Heimdall known Loki was missing. The rest, the Gatekeeper had gathered from whatever information he could see or hear from SHIELD's base.

Yet that was not all. Heimdall reported that he had not seen Loki nor any Chitauri when he turned his gaze to Midgard, despite searching much of the land where Loki had settled. It could simply be that Heimdall had not spotted him by the time he wrote the message. Or it could be something worse.

It could mean, for whatever reason, Loki was hiding himself from the Gatekeeper's eyes.

(Forced – he could be forced into hiding his captors, hiding himself away from rescue.)

It could mean the Chitauri had found a way to hide themselves; an unlikely prospect, seeing as they presumably did not even know of Heimdall's existence, let alone how to shield themselves.

Or it could mean that Loki had been stolen away from the nine realms. That he was somewhere beyond them, and beyond the reach of Heimdall's gaze.

He could be anywhere, out in the universe. With no way to find him. Lost and trapped, beyond help.

(If Thor couldn't find him, if the Chitauri had taken Loki and the Tesseract and vanished–)

And Thor could speak of none of it. Not to Helblindi, at least. Perhaps not even to Sif and the Warriors Three. Thor did not know how much the Jotnar knew about the Tesseract and its location, but he had no wish to reveal it now. Neither did he wish to reveal to them that Heimdall's gaze had any limits.

Glancing at Helblindi, and hating himself for the words, he said, “It is...a matter to do with Asgard.”

The room was silent for a moment as Thor struggled to remove his right gauntlet, the straps becoming a puzzle under his fingers. He knew Sif would be staring at him indignantly, if with grudging acceptance, Fandral and Volstagg glancing at each other in bewilderment, and Hogun as unreadable as before. But it was Helblindi's resigned voice that made him freeze.

“A matter that you would not tell a Jotun?”

Thor sighed and turned, looking up at Helblindi. The Jotun covered his hurt well, but those red eyes still had a gleam that did not normally belong in Helblindi's placid expression. And Thor had had centuries of practice with Loki.

Maintaining Helblindi's gaze, knowing his regret was written on his face, Thor said, “It is...something I wish I could tell a friend. And a brother of my own brother. But–” Thor gritted his teeth and looked to the side. If he and Helblindi were simply friends, not princes and kings, not forced to make every decision with a realm in mind, there would be no need for such secrecy. No need to keep the news of Loki from a brother. Quietly, Thor said, “But it is not something that can be told to a prince of another kingdom. And not in the palace of another king.”

For all that Thor may trust Helblindi, he could not trust Laufey. The Jotun king would not let Thor into his realm without doing his best to spy on him. Even then, Thor knew, that for all their friendship for the past year and a half, Helblindi was loyal to Jotunheim. And Jotunheim was Laufey, as long as he ruled it.

Thor would not force Helblindi to break his word to his realm, as well as father and king, on Thor's behalf.

(And there was a small voice in Thor's mind that said he should not to trust Helblindi. That knew if loyalty demanded Helblindi use knowledge of the Tesseract and Heimdall's blindness, then Helblindi would not hesitate. Thor did not know if quashing the voice was wise or not.)

Thor's gaze had returned to his gauntlet when Helblindi's voice broke the silence. “I understand,” he said, sounding weary rather than carrying carefully concealed hurt; hopefully that meant his words were true enough.

“Thor...” Sif spoke up abruptly as Thor removed his troublesome piece of armour at last. Her eyes burned fiercely. “If you cannot say, you could still let us go instead. Or at least help you.”

“Aye, we can be in and out before the council has a chance to complain,” Volstagg added, handing Thor his right gauntlet. “Or Jotunheim notices our absences.”

But Thor shook his head. “Jotunheim is why I need you here,” he argued. “We have an accord, and I will not have come this far simply to break it.”

Which was the truth, even if Thor did wish for his friends' presence, so it could be just like old times, he and his five companions rushing into battle on some great quest. Or for their reassurance that all would be well, as it had always been each time they had ventured out.

Even if there would only be four companions. Even if Loki was the quest.

“And your absence will be noticed,” Helblindi warned. “You are not exactly a subtle sight in Jotunheim, and our people will not be pleased at your departure.” He seemed about as happy as Thor about this conclusion. “And you too, King Thor. If you–”

Helblindi abruptly fell silent, and just as Thor glanced up from his right gauntlet to send the Jotun a puzzled look, he heard a heavy knock at the door.

“King Thor?” a deep voice asked, much too deep to come from an Ás. “I am Elder Fornjót. I come to speak to you on behalf of King Laufey.”

Thor stiffened, holding back a curse. For Laufey to send a messenger now of all times – when before Laufey had been perfectly content to let Helblindi do the work – was no coincidence. Evidently, the page boy and the subsequent shouting match had drawn more Jotnar than Thor noticed; Thor remembered his first disastrous appearance on Jotunheim, when the Jotnar seemed to nearly melt out of the ice. For giants, Jotnar could be tremendously light on their feet (like Loki).

Or perhaps one of the three Jotnar involved in the argument had informed Laufey. No matter the culprit, however, the visit could only bode ill.

Doubtlessly, his friends had had the same thought, for they all turned warily towards the door, movements careful. Helblindi only looked exasperated as he watched the doorway.

Thor drew himself up straight, facing the door as well. Clasping his hands – and the loose right gauntlet – behind his back, Thor called, “Enter.”

The door opened, and a hefty Jotun ambled into the room. He gave a bow to Thor and Helblindi in turn. Neither were quite as deep as required for ones of their stations.

“King Thor, First Prince Helblindi,” the Jotun greeted, voice impeccably polite. “The King has been informed you had an urgent message from Asgard. We had thought it would not interfere with your plans here. Although now it seems...” The red eyes flicked about the room, taking in Thor's armour strewn about, the cloak tossed aside, and finally Thor himself, caught between two different styles of plating. A frown creased Elder Fornjót's brow. “You leave without informing King Laufey.”

Thor's jaw clenched, though internally he berated himself. He had hoped to do without the formalities of a farewell and a sufficient enough explanation for leaving. And hopefully while skirting the subject of Loki, for Thor had not the slightest clue how Laufey might react to mention of Loki's name. And Thor did not particularly wish to find out; if Laufey's words were anything close to what Helblindi claimed...

Thor's patience had already been tested enough today.

Hands clenched, Thor was about to answer when Helblindi swiftly stepped in front of Fornjót. “I can vouch that King Thor's business is–” he began.

“Do you speak on behalf of Asgard now, First Prince?” There was a brittle note in Fornjót's voice, and an innocent tilt to his head that was anything but.

Helblindi's face darkened to a slight purple colour, which Thor knew to be the equivalent of a blush or a flush of skin. Yet the way his eyes skittered away from Fornjót, the slight way his shoulders hunched, was utterly foreign. Thor did not like it. Nor did he like the pleased look in Fornjót's eyes as he watched Helblindi's reaction.

Striding across the room to the two giants, Thor interrupted, “I apologize to King Laufey for any slight I have given him. My gatekeeper's message told me I could not afford any delay.”

Fornjót turned away from Helblindi and looked down his nose at Thor – not a difficult feat for the Jotun.“And what draws Asgard's king away from our realm on your esteemed visit?”

Thor swallowed a growl. “I have private business concerning Midgard, and it must be attended to at once.”

For some reason, rather than retorting, Fornjót seemed dumbstruck, his red eyes widening in surprise. Then they narrowed. “Is this meant to be a warning, King Thor?” he said, voice bordering on a hiss.

Thor blinked, taken aback. “A warning?” he asked. A warning for what? Confused, he cast his gaze about his friends for an explanation, but Sif was concentrating on the two Jotnar, and Fandral and Volstagg only shrugged. Hogun, however, scowled and mouthed “War.”

Thor was puzzled for another moment. Then it came to him, and Thor could have cursed himself for such obtuseness. The war with Midgard – of course it still haunted their memories, when it had caused so much strife in the past thousand years. For Asgard, it was simply one of their many stories of war, of Asgard defeating monsters, as was their right.

Abashment flooded Thor, but before he could speak, Fornjót was already replying.

“Yes, a warning,” he growled, voice cold. “After all your talks of peace have you–”

“King Thor meant no such offence,” Helblindi cut in. His face had not entirely lost the purple tinge, though he looked Fornjót in the eye as he said, “Asgard has been increasing relations with Midgard since King Thor's meeting with myself and War Commander Járnsaxa in that land, and they have made some allies that they occasionally commune with. That is all.”

The two frost giants eyed each other, neither face giving anything away. Then abruptly Fornjót swiveled back to Thor, his suspicion not entirely vanished. “And what of your visit here, King Thor, when your business is concluded?”

Thor raised his chin. “Once the matter is taken care of, I will return to Jotunheim again,” he vowed. “I will finish my visit to your home, as planned.”

“And in order to ensure King Thor's business is over quicker,” Helblindi added, glancing between Fornjót and Thor, “I can inform my father of the reason for his departure before I return to Asgard.”

Fornjót glanced at Helblindi with displeasure. “King Laufey would hear the reason from one of the Æsir–”

“Then I–” Sif started to say.

“And surely you are aware, King Thor,” Fornjót continued as if Sif had not spoken, “of the importance of your visit. It would be untoward if you didn't pay your respects before leaving.” An angry glint entered Fornjót's eyes. “Or are we not worth that courtesy?”

Thor started, an immediate reproach coming to his lips. But he stopped. Elder Fornjót was right, and if Thor leapt from his window right now, Mjolnir in hand and flying towards the Bifrost, it would be seen as a slight against Jotunheim's King. And its people.

Though the urge to grab Mjolnir and jump was strong; this talk was wasting whatever precious time Loki had.

Still, he attempted to pull the same mask over his face that Loki had perfected eons ago. Nodding, he said, “Yes, I will inform King Laufey of my intent. And then I will depart.”

Fornjót smiled, and bowed his head. “Allow me to escort you to the throne room, then.” He held a hand towards the door.

“I will need a moment, however.” Thor gestured to his gathered friends. “For a farewell.”

The Jotun hesitated, as if weighing the risks of denying a king versus allowing Thor to speak alone. At last, with a scowl, he agreed, “A moment.” He slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

The Jotun could undoubtedly still listen in, but that did not stop the room from exploding into a cacophony of noise.

“Thor–” Volstagg began, a troubled look on his face.

“I still say we should go,” Sif interrupted, hands clenching as if itching to grab her sword.

“Besides, Laufey's only bitter and would like nothing better than to spoil Asgard's plans – no offence.” Fandral addressed this last part to Helblindi.

But Helblindi only sighed. “No,” he said mournfully, staring at the door. “I will not deny there is truth to your statement.”

“Meeting Laufey is still proper, nonetheless,” Thor added, finally clasping his right gauntlet on with shaking fingers. Whether they shook from fear, rage, or simple impatience, he was not sure. He supposed it did not matter.

Staring up at Helblindi, he asked, “You will return to Asgard? Truly? After everything?” After all the stress caused by the negotiations, the shouting and the rumours, Helblindi was ready to go back?

Helblindi attempted a smile. It was a poor effort. “There is little I can do to help here,” he said, head bowed. “If it is only for a few days, I can manage. And it would be...unlikely that news would arrive as readily here.”

Thor stared at the Jotun, as Helblindi tried another smile, this one regretful. It occurred to Thor that he was robbing Helblindi of his chance to help his brother. To help Loki. All Helblindi could do was sit and wait. Even if it meant returning to a realm that was wearing him down bit by bit.

(If the same ever happened to Thor, he would rage at the Norns until they gave in.)

But there was nothing Thor could do. Even if Thor could tell him, a Jotun on Midgard would cause a panic. More delays. It would be worse for the both of them if Helblindi came.

“How are we going to get news, then?” Volstagg huffed, and the others voiced their agreement.

“If there is trouble, or you need help, you will need us,” Hogun said. He did not have to add that, where Loki was involved, there were not many who could help. Or would be willing to help.

Thor turned to his friends, heart swelling with gratefulness. Sometimes, after long days enduring the council, after hearing hateful whispers that always ceased if he drew close enough, Thor despaired that Loki could ever return home. There were so few that cared if Loki lived, let alone that would deign to protect him. Not to mention those Thor knew that would think Loki better off dead. But Thor knew, if the need arose, his friends would fight to the death for Loki's life.

A real smile tugging at his lips, Thor said, “If need be, I will send Munnin to you.” The raven would not be overheard by Laufey, and Huginn had remained with Mother on Asgard. If Heimdall could not reach them, then the raven would be the fastest method of communicating with his friends. “And I hope not to be away that long.”

“Thor.” Sif made an abortive step forward, a grimace passing over her face. “Good luck.”

Thor dipped his head. “Thank-you,” he replied softly.

(He did not feel lucky, with his heart hammering in his chest and his palms sweating as he lay a hand on Mjolnir's grip.)

(He felt scared.)

“Farewell,” he said, meeting each of his friends' eyes in turn, from Æsir to Jotun. Then he strode out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jane thought it would be for the best if she turned in early. Although she probably wouldn't sleep anyway; her mind was too awake for that, but too distracted for work. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Erik – like where he was, if he was injured, what the hell he'd been doing to get in trouble in the first place. It had been nearly a whole day, and so far there had been no news from SHIELD or Loki.

Maybe SHIELD had stolen Loki's cell or something. Or maybe Loki was busy. Or maybe he was hurt and Jane would be partially responsible for getting her friend killed. Or maybe–

Or maybe she just hated being out of the loop.

At least Darcy had decided to go walk off her troubles. Well, she had said walk, but Jane thought a trip down to the local bar had been in her plans, even though she claimed their beer was crap and their wine even worse. It probably beat being here, at least.

Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, Jane turned back to the misshapen objects on her desk, surrounded by tools, screws, scattered notes, and, pushed to the very edge of the desk, her laptop. She had long past given up chipping away at her designs; with the way her mind was preoccupied as it was now, she'd end up with something more likely to explode than create a wormhole. Instead, she had absentmindedly started tinkering with her walkie-talkie-shaped “Rainbow Detector” – christened by Darcy, of course. She'd chosen that name after hearing Loki's stories of the “Rainbow Bridge”, and how the Bifrost generated a rainbow effect whenever it landed (and Jane still wasn't quite sure how that happened. Though she was working on it).

Rather than just looking for wormholes in general, Jane had begun developing a device keyed specifically to the Bifrost's energy, using the tech in her van as a base-line. And all of SHIELD's data as well, seeing as they were right next to the event. After Thor, his and Loki's mother, and the giant she supposed was Loki's other brother had all come down, SHIELD had given her the information as she had asked. Enough to do a whole lot more than she had planned.

Nearly two weeks later she had called Loki to the roof just after the sun had set. Once Loki had climbed the stairs as he she keeled by the machine's readout – it had been a lot clunkier in those days – she had told him, “You have a letter from Asgard.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished could take them back. Loki immediately perked up, and even in the dim lights she had strung out on the roof, she could see his face brightening. “Where is it?” he asked as he pulled her to her feet, eyes casting about the rooftop for a telltale off-white scroll. “I did not hear their car outside – did they call you about it?”

“No, I–”

“Is it urgent?” Now his eyes were growing worried. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I mean I know that you have a letter,” she corrected apologetically. “Not that SHIELD has delivered it yet.”

His face fell, but only marginally. Thankfully. Loki had been morose ever since his family had left, drifting about aimlessly from room to room, and even Darcy's cheer hadn't helped. Jane had thought of trying something else.

“You mean your equipment detected the Bifrost opening,” Loki surmised, eyeing the box at her feet. Back then, it was still about the size of the one in her van, about three feet by three feet, and a whole lot less streamlined. Frowning at her, he said, “I thought you could already do that.”

“I can. But this,” she nodded down at the box, “does something new.”

He tilted his head, waiting for her to continue. Unable to keep the smile from her face, she began, “Okay, so every time a letter lands, both my equipment and SHIELD picks it up. But when your family landed, I compared the data from all those letters to them. And–” she knelt and poked a finger at one of the screens on the front of the box, where there was a series of numbers running down the side. “–Turns out there's a lot of difference between a letter and three gods. Or two gods and a giant.”

She realized with a start that maybe the “giant” thing had been the wrong thing to say. But as she watched him kneel beside her, looking at the screen as well, he seemed to ignore the comment. Instead, when he turned to her, there was something achingly hopeful in his eyes. Although he was doing his best to hide it, since as he spoke his voice remained calm and level. “So you would be able to tell if they came back?” he asked.

Her smile grew wider. “Yes, I would.”

That answer brought a pleased look to his eyes, one that did not leave for the rest of the evening. And Jane could not help the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever she caught that look. It was not often Jane's research helped someone other than herself; her work was much too theoretical and specialized for that. And while she would never give up the giddy feeling of triumph when one of her experiments panned out, she thought the almost-eager glances Loki kept directing towards the darkened desert outside the windows was pretty good too.

These days, Jane usually kept her “Rainbow Detector” in her RV. Once, after she had managed to cut off a few bulky bits here and there, she made the mistake of keeping it in the house.

That only lasted about a week, because she happened to bring it down not long after Loki had sent a letter. And he would check it obsessively. There had barely been an hour – except for when he was sleeping – that he wasn't looking over at where it had sat beside her desk, and at least twice a day he would ask if she was sure it was working.

She thought taking it to the RV was for the best, even if Loki seemed disappointed by the move. But she promised to tell him if one arrived.

Or if something larger than a letter came down.

Now, as she poked and prodded at the thing, the screens were blank. Jane had shut it down to tinker with it, And though since she had started going at it after lunch, she hadn't done anything other than tweak a few aesthetics.

At least it looks prettier, she thought to herself, then sighed. It wasn't as if anyone but her would be using it. Maybe SHIELD, but she doubted they cared.

And if they did, she wasn't about to make their life easier.

Rubbing at her eyes again, she turned the device back on. With a quiet hum, the screens flickered to life, each showing no activity. Then she stood, chair squealing against the floor, and stretched out her sore back. Yawning, she went to turn off the lights. Even if Darcy returned a bit tipsy, she could still flip a switch in the dark.

As soon as her hand touched the switch, rendering the room dark but for the stars outside and the pitiful streetlamp at the end of the block, a series of three quiet beeps sounded from her desk.

Jane jumped, hand going back to the light, before she realized it was just the Rainbow Detector. Although it didn't make that sound for letters, and this was around the time they arrived. Thinking she had maybe broken the device, Jane turned back towards her desk.

And whacked her forehead into something solid that hadn't been there before. Something covered in leather and metal that had all the proportions of a man's chest, for all it hurt like a block of steel. Something that was recognizable.

Even in the dim light, Loki was hard to mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor arrived on top of the mortals' flying fortress in a burst of gold from the Bifrost, startling the young woman sitting next to a doorway, hoarsely saying “Heimdall” every minute or so.

“My lady, you are free of your duty,” he told her. Heimdall had informed him she was the fifth agent that SHIELD had sent up, and he found the incessant noise quite annoying.

She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, and saluted. “Sir – er, I mean, Your Majesty. Director Fury requests your presence in the helm. Uh...would you like me to take you there?”

“If you would, please,” he said warmly, trying to put the young woman at ease. She nodded, looked as if she was about to say something else, then turned to open the door next to her as Thor glanced about the fortress's deck, lit by the early-morning sun. It had a variety of other, smaller ships on top of it, and Thor worried this meant the mortals were planning to go to war with the Chitauri.

“Just, um, follow me then,” the woman said, and delved into the darkness of the ship's innards.

Thor followed, hoping this quest would not end in a battle such as the one the mortals were prepared for. While he had much respect for the mortals' technology, they were far behind what the Chitauri could accomplish, even if there were only a few. A war on Midgard would cost the mortals heavily, and Thor would have to draw Asgard into the battle to keep his oath as king.

Not to mention Thor had not bothered informing anyone on Asgard but Heimdall that he was heading to Midgard on his own. He had wasted enough time dealing with Laufey.

As Thor had suspected, Laufey had asked him line after line of delaying, useless questions as Thor's temper had grown shorter and shorter. But he kept a tight rein on his fury even as Mjolnir began to thrum beneath his grip. Thor would not bring her rage down on Jotunheim again.

Or let Laufey know just how much he had succeeded in irritating Thor.

“Is Midgard more important to the Nine than Jotunheim, so that it calls your attention from here?” Laufey had asked. His face had been blank, almost frozen like the realm he ruled.

“Nay, King Laufey,” Thor replied evenly. Or as evenly as he could with Laufey staring down at him from the throne. They were alone in the throne room, even the guards gone. If there were any in the first place. “It is simply that Midgard is one of the weaker realms. It requires aid more readily–”

“I am well aware of Asgard's need to protect Midgard, King Thor.” Laufey's voice was flat, yet his eyes burned with a cold rage as his hands curled about the armrests of his throne.

Thor winced. Another blunder, just because he mentioned Midgard. And for Laufey, out of all the Jotnar, it must still sting considerably.

(As it should, Thor could not stop himself from thinking.)

“Why,” Laufey continued, leaning back in his throne, “after all these years, have you decided to intervene again? And why not just send someone else? I'm sure any one of your Æsir–” Laufey's lips curled, as if the very name of Thor's species was poison in his mouth. “– would be glad to go down to Midgard and be worshipped again. For is that not what you Æsir do?”

“My presence will be discreet,” Thor retorted, doing his best not to rise to the bait. “And I will go because out of all my people, I have spent the most time on Midgard in recent years, and know it better than most. I have learned more of the mortals, and wish to give my help if it is needed. As it is so with Jotunheim.”

Thor stared down Laufey, waiting for the Jotun's reply. For him to acknowledge that Thor was playing favourites – he was only doing what he must.

Yet Laufey still did not look pleased or sated at Thor's answer. If anything, he seemed to be holding back just as much fury as Thor.

Finally, in desperation, Thor said, “If it would recompense you and your realm, I could spend a few more days than planned in Jotunheim once I return. It would be little trouble.”

“No,” Laufey said abruptly, “I think the length of your visit appropriate.” He eyed Thor with distaste, as if he was a bug splattered on the clean, ice-white floor of his hall. While not the reaction Thor had been expecting, he thanked the Norns he had made his offer when Laufey's next words were, “I thank you for informing me of your intent, King Thor. I hope your visit to Midgard pleases you.”

His face seemed to suggest the opposite.

Yet if Laufey wished Thor gone from his realm as quickly as possible, then in this case, Thor would be happy to oblige.

Thor had barely stayed long enough on Asgard to ask how Mother had taken the news. Heimdall assured him that she was strong, still carrying out her duties as Queen, and Thor had trusted Mother and Heimdall to take care of the rest. As well as inform any who need know, for Thor would not be delayed by his councillors arguing who else would be sent to accompany Thor. Not when they knew so little. Or when helping Loki would hardly be a priority to most of them.

Walking down these grey corridors, agents turning to stare at Thor before returning to their duties, Thor hoped the mortals could tell him more than portents of threats.

Eventually, the young woman finally brought him to the helm. There were agents rushing about, and others sitting in front of computers in the lower portion of the helm. Standing still, looking out over the agents in front of what was clearly a control panel, was a man in a long black leather coat. When Thor entered the man turned, and Thor was surprised to see the man wore an eyepatch, though it was much more utilitarian than Father's had ever been.

“So they sent you down, did they? Or I guess you sent yourself,” the man said in way of greeting. He made his way towards Thor, dismissing the young woman with a nod. “I'm Director Fury, head of SHIELD,” he said to Thor, the only sign of deference a duck of the head. “No need to tell me who you are.”

“Greetings, Director,” Thor said, trying to measure up the man in front of him. Fury acted confident, almost arrogant, without a hint of abashment that Loki had been taken while under his care. “I am here for my brother and for your realm. My Gatekeeper informed me you were in possession of one of our artifacts, and were attacked when the Chitauri took it from you.”

“Oh? What else has your 'gatekeeper' told you?” Fury asked, hands clasped behind his back and looking as if he wasn't pleased his organization could be spied on that easily.

“I know that you called upon Loki for aid,” Thor said, unable to keep a judgemental note from his voice. Loki had come down to Midgard for peace, and he hoped the organization had not told him his help was a contingency for his continued stay. Fury only returned a hard look, unimpressed. Deciding there was little point in accusing the man, Thor let his worry bleed into his voice as he said, “And I know that he was then taken by the Chitauri. Where is he? Have your agents found him yet?”

Fury grimaced. “No, as of yet, we haven't. And he was not necessarily taken.” The man looked as if he were about to say more after that cryptic remark, then began striding towards the corridor Thor had just exited, as if expecting Thor to follow behind. “There's some things we must discuss before–”

Thor was having none of it. He strode in front of Fury, forcing the man to stop before he walked into Thor's chest. Glaring down at the mortal, he growled, “Tell me what has happened to my brother.”

Thor watched as Fury looked Thor up and down, as if judging how willing Thor was to back down.

Fury must have judged correctly, for there was a minute change in the man's posture, from confidence to weariness. “Loki was not imprisoned,” Fury said, his one eye looking flatly into Thor's. “He was...compromised.”

“Compromised?” Thor moved back, his mind racing as he tried to unravel the mortal's claim. “I do not understand. What could have compromised him?”

Taking advantage of Thor's surprise, Fury moved past Thor and out of the helm. “Come with me, King Thor. We have a lot to talk about. And you're probably going to want to be sitting down for it.”

Thor followed, dread pooling in his stomach. What on Midgard could possibly compromise his brother? Surely not Jane or Darcy, or else Heimdall would have mentioned their plight. Unless there was another threat, and Loki was forced to give in to the Chitauri. But then Loki would have a plan in mind, a plan to escape from the Chitauri's clutches, and bring those creatures down in the process.

Because Loki always had a plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck,” Jane swore, clasping a hand to her aching forehead. Though as she peered up at Loki through eyes squinted in pain, something else burned on her chest, on top of her breastbone.

“Taking a page out of Darcy's book now, are we?” Loki asked, and Jane could almost hear one eyebrow rising in amusement, though his face was in shadows. Only the sheen of his eyes was visible.

Ignoring the Rainbow Detector as it petered of into silence – she would check on it later – Jane asked, “Loki, what are you doing here? What happened? And what happened to Erik?” She lowered her hand from her forehead to her chest, rubbing at the burning sensation. It had flared right beneath the necklace Loki had given her in his first on Earth. Reaching her other hand behind her, fingers fumbling to turn the light switch back on, she caught sight of the thing in Loki's right hand. “And what is that?”

That, whatever it was, looked like a spear, but there was a stone in its head that actually glowed. She leaned forward to try to get a closer look.

“This?” The spear bobbed up and down, as if Loki had casually shrugged. “I simply borrowed it. And don't worry about Erik, he's fine.”

“Oh thank god,” she breathed out in relief. Her hand caught the switch at last. As light flooded the room, she looked up.

Loki looked back at her, smiling, his eyes a bright lightning blue. They were somehow both glazed, yet incredibly, reverently focused. On her.

Before her mind could figure out what was wrong, her stomach lurched in a sickening fear. A startled gasp passed between her lips as she caught the spear blur. And its tip came to rest in the centre of her chest.

The world turned on its axis, and all she saw, all she thought, all she felt was drowning in a sea of blue. For a moment, there was a spot of resistance in her mind – a drawn-out scream and a bright spark of gold and the burning sensation against her chest blazed. But even that was swept away.

Then it was over. The blue disappeared. The world was the same, but everything Jane thought she knew had changed. She could feel her mind had flowered, opened upwards, revealing things to her that were so incredibly obvious, it was a wonder she hadn't realized them before. All the physics she had studied before, everything she had spent her whole life researching, were dwarfed in the face of the what she knew now. She could see where there were holes, where she was right and just on the cusp of unravelling the secrets of the universe.

And what she needed to do.

She looked up at Loki and his soothing blue eyes. “Loki, I – this is amazing,” she breathed.

Loki lowered the spear, smiling like he'd just given her a birthday present he knew she'd like. “I know,” he crowed. “That's why I found you.”

She grinned back. “Thank-you, Loki. I mean it, really.” Then she pushed away from the wall and towards her desk. She scooped up the notes scattered over her desk, shuffling them into some semblance of order. “Right. These'll probably be good, and this, and...” She flitted around, grabbing every little device she could get her hands on, everything that might be useful. Or her boss might find useful. She wished she had a bag, or maybe a shopping cart, as she tried to balance the Rainbow Detector on top of her laptop, without knocking off the particle wave scanner. Loki took pity on her and grabbed her laptop and notes, but it was still a mess. Honestly, she should have organized all of this ages ago. She and her work were needed, and because she couldn't be bothered to put things in their proper places, she might have forgotten something or–

Her phone rang.

Jane and Loki both looked down at her cell where it lay on the now-empty desk. Just like yesterday, there was an unknown number and name calling.

To answer or not to answer? she thought, gnawing at her lip. Which would be more suspicious?

“Here, take these,” she decided, shoving her armful of equipment towards Loki. Once he took it all, she grabbed the cell and put it on speakerphone. “Hello?” she answered.

“Dr. Foster, this is Agent Coulson again,” the agent said in a rush. “There's been some complications since yesterday, and for your safety, we think it best if you and your assistant took a short vacation. We're going to send you to an observatory in Tromso, Norway. ”

“Oh,” Jane said, mind working. Damn it, what would she normally say? “What do you mean? What complications?”

“That's classified. But it will be sorted out soon. Also, have you seen Loki since yesterday?”

Jane felt a flutter of panic. She had always been awful at lying, and didn't think the past couple of minutes had changed any of that. Looking over at Loki, she caught him rolling his eyes, then he began mouthing words carefully.

Catching on, she repeated Loki's mouthed words and said, “I...what? Of course I haven't seen him, I thought he was with you people.” She tried to put the right amount of surprise, irritation, and worry into her voice. Loki was doing his best to put it into his expressions, so she might as well use his directions.

Coulson quickly said, “Yes, but he's gone off-grid. If you see him, do not approach him, and re-dial this number immediately.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, mimicking the alarm and surprise Loki was doing his best to convey. “Why?”

“That's...classified again. Just stay there. Someone will be along to get you soon.”

“I – I'm sorry,” she said, watching Loki's mouth. Say you are leaving, he said.

Mind spinning, she continued, “But you just caught me on my way out. My instruments caught something out near the border, and I'll be driving down there to check it out.”

“We can check it ourselves. Just tell us the location–”

“And what, you'll take my van with you?” Jane snipped. This time she didn't need Loki's help. Her work was important, to her boss now and to herself then. It wasn't difficult to recall the hopeless anger as they took her research away. Or imagine it happening now. As that thought caught her, the idea of those black-suited men barging in and stealing her work away from her boss, away from his needs, she growled, “And my equipment? Again? I don't think so.”

“Dr. Foster–”

“If it's so important, you can pick me up there. I'll call when I'm done.”

“No, listen, Dr. Foster–”

“No, you listen,” she barked, eyes on Loki as he mimed something else at her. “You know what? I'm done dealing with you people. You give Darcy your number if we really need to go to Tromso, and I'll get her call when I'm finished with my work.”

Wishing she had a real phone to slam down, she instead firmly pressed the end call button upon Coulson's protests.

“Well, that felt good,” she said. She turned the phone off then flung it carelessly into the trash can by the table. It sunk beneath the crumpled papers and pencil stubs.

“It looked like you were having fun,” Loki commented, voice filled with amusement. When she turned back to him, a pleased grin had spread its way across his face as he looked at her appraisingly. “You lie better than I had thought.”

Jane shrugged as she grabbed her notes, laptop, and Rainbow Detector back from Loki, carefully balancing them in her arms. “I had some inspiration. Are we ready to go?”

Smile growing wider, Loki grabbed one of her wrists. A tingling feeling went through Jane, like she was riding a roller coaster down a loop. And then her desk, the walls of her house, and the dark vista outside her windows disappeared in a shimmer of gold.

Chapter Text

Loki had not been on Midgard long when Darcy established that every Saturday would be movie night.

Well, technically, the thing that made Saturday “movie night” was that it included Jane, since she actually had to work, while Loki only assisted in that work whenever she needed it (though they often got distracted and began talking about Midgard's science and Asgard's magic, spending half their time translating for the other). But Loki did not need to work for payment, for his funds came from Asgard, and Darcy insisted that her moral support and charm was good enough for Jane (or rather SHIELD) to pay her, so Loki would watch movies with her whenever she requested.

Whatever the circumstances, Loki enjoyed most of the tales, sagas, or plays that fit into a few hours' time. It was certainly interesting to see how mortals had taken such tales and allowed them to be distributed to the masses. Though considering the size of Midgard and its population, Loki supposed it was only natural for the species to find a way to share their stories.

Although what he found most perplexing were the concepts of 'sci-fi' and 'fantasy', for of course spaceships and automatons like 'robots' were quite real, as were dragons and unicorns and magic and space travel. There was even one such movie that had the gall to call Asgard and the other realms themselves a fantasy, as if they only sprung from the mortals' imaginations. After Loki's ensuing rant, Jane and Darcy had carefully explained that no, humans didn't know these things were real and existed just beyond their little dome of atmosphere, and not everyone punched dragons every day before breakfast. Loki told them Thor had only done that twice, and both times had been disastrous.

Three weeks after Mother, Thor, and Helblindi's visit, it was Jane's turn to pick. She and Darcy seemed to have a competition running for who could pick a movie Loki would enjoy the most. Or Darcy had a competition running and Jane was forced to be her only competitor.

It being Jane's choice, she was also the one who had to put together snacks while Loki and Darcy relaxed on the new couch in front of the also-new television (products of a SHIELD paycheck, Jane had said). Though perhaps “relaxing” was not entirely the correct word.

“Ugh, my feet hurt,” Darcy complained, collapsing on the opposite end of the couch from Loki, leaning her head back against the headrest. “Jane,” she shouted, twisting her head around just enough to glare at her. “Next time you tell me you need to look for cosmic strings or whatever–” Darcy suddenly leaned forward and tugged off one of her shoes. “–And you forget to tell me it means standing on the roof for hours holding one of your stupid devices–” the other shoe came off, “–you can make Loki do it.” Both shoes went flying over the back of the couch.

“Mmmm,” Jane said distractedly.

“No,” Loki said.

Darcy made a face at him, then stretched out over the couch so her sweaty, sock-covered feet settled right in Loki's lap. When Loki snapped his head around to her, she grinned and leaned back over the armrest of the couch. “Since you spent all day in the house,” she said, wiggling her toes in their worn pink socks, “you can rub my feet for me.”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “I think not.” Pushing off the offending limbs, ignoring Darcy's cry of protest and the thump of her feet hitting the floor, he shot her a grin back. “I'm the prince here,” he said as he vanished his boots with a twinkle of light. “You should rub mine.”

Darcy didn't have time to scramble out of the way before Loki swung his feet onto her lap, and she let out an, “Oomph,” as they landed. Pushing at his legs, she squealed, “Get them off, get them off, your feet are fucking heavy.”

Guiltily, Loki remembered he couldn't roughhouse with her the way he might with Thor, or even Sif. Even as he let up some of the weight, Darcy twisted her head to look over the back of the couch again. “Jane,” she whined, drawing the word into several syllables. “Loki's being an ass.”

“I don't care,” Jane answered, a sing-song note in her voice. “You're both children.”

“Excuse you,” Darcy said, looking affronted at Jane as Loki let her push his legs to the ground. “I have a license and several years of drinking behind me that say I'm a certified adult. I dunno about Loki here though,” she said gleefully, poking Loki's feet with her own. “Maybe in Asgard he has to wrestle a dragon with his bare hands or something before he's allowed to join the adult world.”

She waggled her eyebrows, and Loki rolled his eyes at her. Dryly, he said, “I assure you, I passed the age of manhood long before you were born.” Though he neglected to mention that on Asgard, adulthood was passed at the equivalent of two or so years earlier than the mortals in this country. But that didn't mean he was entirely wrong.

“Ooooh, 'manhood' brings something different to mind,” Darcy said, her eyes gleaming.

Loki smirked. “Oh, does it?”

Then a smile evil enough to rival one of Loki's own split her face. “Like when I walked in on Thor in the shower once–”

Loki felt his stomach twist in horror as his jaw dropped.

“–And saw–”

“Don't you dare–” Loki hissed, leaning towards her.

“I–” Jane interrupted, sitting down between the two with bowls of popped corn in her hands, forcing Loki to abort his movement, “–Am pressing play. So both of you stop acting like ten-year olds – or whatever-year-olds for you, Loki – and settle down.”

“C'mon, Jane,” Darcy protested. “Don't you want to hear all about–”

“Pressing. Play,” Jane gritted out as Loki glared at Darcy over her head. He was already trying very, very hard not to think of all the times he had accidentally walked in on Thor naked, because Loki had very little care for (other people's) privacy and boundaries, and Thor had very little care for clothes on summer nights. Or when he had women over.

Through the first few opening shots of the movie (one of those 'sci-fi' ones, Loki figured), Darcy kept shooting looks at Loki. Loki just stuck his tongue out at her.

Suddenly, in the middle of making a face at Loki, she glanced towards the screen, where a man in a wheeled chair – like the one Loki had been forced to use when he first arrived – talked to a large man strapping himself into a weaponized automaton. Her eyes widened and her hand shot out to grab Jane's arm. “Jane,” she gasped. “Are you–”

“Best I could think of,” Jane answered, biting her lip. Her tone was somewhat hesitant.

Loki hadn't the slightest clue what they were talking about, so he continued contemplating suitable acts of revenge.

Until he saw the large blue creatures on screen, with long, braided black hair and paler blue markings across their skin.

Then he could not stop paying attention to the film.

The creatures were just different enough from the Jotnar not to give rise to any disgust, not close enough to send Loki's mind into a complete panic. There were no black nails, their skin a darker shade of blue, their eyes not a cold blood red. Their faces and movements were cat-like, not the creaking, lumbering movements of the frost giants. And of course, their realm was not one of ice and cold, colour bleached out in favour of an endless pale blue, but a world of vibrancy and life, like the forests of Alfheim in their density.

When it was over, Loki sat stock still, eyes staring blankly at the screen once Jane shut off the device. He could feel Jane and Darcy's heavy gazes on him.

“Well...” Jane said eventually, her voice straining to convey a casualness Loki knew she did not feel. “What did you think?”

Slowly, Loki turned his head towards her and Darcy. Jane sat straight and proper, hands curled in her lap, while Darcy was curled on the opposite end, huddled against the arm of the couch. Jane's throat bobbed in nervousness, but her eyes were shone with expectation.

(With whatever she expected of him.)

“Do you know what the Jotnar have done?” Loki's voice was emotionless. Cold even, though he had not meant it.

Jane blinked. “I–”

“There was a war?” Darcy interrupted. Behind her glasses her eyes were shuttered.

The nod Loki gave was slow, mechanical. Tone detached, he said, “Yes, there was a war. Between Jotunheim and Asgard.”

Jane's nods were much more enthusiastic. “And in war, enemies dehumanize each other – or degod-ize or...or whatever. But it's just like in the movie.” She gestured widely, not quite looking at Loki except for a few darting glances. “Like with humans, whenever we encounter something new, we think they aren't people but they are. And when Darcy mentioned to your mom how you acted around Helblindi–”

“She didn't say very much,” Darcy muttered, fingers playing with a loose thread.

“–I thought, well, you should know that this happens. But it's not true.” Jane finally looked up at him, her expression stalwartly earnest, though her hands were knotted in her lap.

Loki smiled. It cut his face like a knife. “Do you know why Asgard went to war with Jotunheim?”

Jane glanced at Darcy. She shook her head. They both stared at him. Apprehensive. Waiting.

The smile on Loki's face felt frozen even as his body shook. “Jotunheim saw a realm, weaker, more primitive compared to themselves, with land that they wanted. And the people, innocent, helpless, and stupid in the face of their threat.” He stood abruptly, looking down at them as he pronounced each word carefully. “Jotunheim saw Midgard and wanted it. What happened between you and them was not war. It was slaughter.”

It was simply amazing how humans could paint themselves such monstrous creatures, when they knew nothing of the monstrosities of the universe at large, and how pitiful their crimes were compared to any of the worlds out there. Then there was the human man of the tale, who wanted to be a giant instead. Because if humans were the monsters, why choose to be one of them when you could be something better?

“They were the invaders, and you the natives, whose lives and homes were simply in the way,” he spat as Jane stared at him, her lips parting in a small “oh” of surprise, Darcy unmoving at the far end of the couch, eyes wide. “They were conquerors, freezing and murdering your people and they would have turned Midgard into a ball of ice had they had their way, and neither you nor your ancestors would have even been born.”

He ended the last word on a snarl, and both Darcy and Jane were staring at him, shock and something else on their faces. In the back of Loki's mind, he wondered if they might be afraid. If he was frightening them–

(He should stop, he should have stopped long ago. He should have never started this, just thanked them and gone to his room–)

Then Jane shook her head. Slowly, she said, “But they aren't doing those things now. They aren't and it doesn't matter what Asgard thinks.” Loki thought she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself.

A laugh tried to bubble up out of his mouth, itching to creep from his mouth and fill the room, though he was not sure what was quite so funny. He barely held it back as he growled, “You want to know what Asgard thinks? Asgard doesn't think of the Jotnar as people. They would be more like–” His mind searched for a human comparison, but he knew so little of their history, the intricacies of their strange hatred for some of their own species. So he recalled another movie, one he had seen not long before he set eyes on Helblindi for the first time. Teeth bared, he bit out, “Like the orcs, of the movies about destroying the ring. Beasts bent only on destruction, what little mind they have ruthless and conniving, their only worth in how many can be slain by the heroes. Things with no sophistication, no empathy. Selfish, disgusting, inferior creatures that–”

Jane shot to her feet, shouting, “Stop, just stop and listen–”

“To what? To hear you say that Asgard is like you humans?” Loki snapped. “Because Asgard would never conceive of dealing with the Jotnar, the way the humans did those creatures. They would not be considered worthy of it, and no Ás would debase themselves to look like one of them–”

“And what about the other way around?” Jane said sharply, stomping closer. “What about you looking like someone from Asgard? Shouldn't that mean something?”

Loki froze, gaping down at Jane. As she scowled, he realized what her words meant. A spike of panic drove through his lungs as his stomach lurched, and he wanted to be sick.

Jane knew what he looked like, under the pale pink skin. They both did. After Helblindi came down, even though Loki hadn't said a word, it wouldn't have taken them long to guess. He didn't know why he had thought they wouldn't know, as if when he had pushed it as far from his mind from as possible, then they would have too. As if it wouldn't be obvious the first time they laid eyes on Helblindi and saw the difference themselves.

How could they stand it? How could they stand looking at him, touching him, without feeling the bile that was rising in his throat even now?

Jane's scowl disappeared as the silence drew on, a frown instead creasing her brow. “You do look like them, right?” she asked, seeming suddenly unsure. “Like Helblindi?”

Loki felt himself take a step backwards. “I–” he rasped out, not sure what he was going to say. He couldn't say yes, didn't want to, but it would be foolish to lie.

(His skin was lie enough already.)

“You could show us, you know,” Darcy said quietly. Both looked round at her, where was still curled up on the couch looking at them, though her body was tense. “We'd be fine with it.”

Jane nodded in agreement turning back to Loki. “We're not like Asgard. We don't care what you–”

“No.”

The word was ripped from Loki's throat. No, no, no, that would be worse if he truly showed them, made it real – And if he saw that blue again–

Loki took another step back towards the doorway as Darcy said, “Look, we were totally cool with Helblindi, okay? It's not like we'll run away screaming from you like a – a bunch of stupid vikings. Or Asgardians or–”

“I said no,” Loki snarled.

Darcy blinked, stopping mid-sentence. She and Jane stared at him, hurt in Darcy's eyes, utter confusion in both their faces.

And why wouldn't they be confused? They were both right, it wasn't his skin that made him a monster. It didn't matter what Asgard said. He knew that.

But Loki, the one who had betrayed his realm, his brother and Father and Mother–

(Had killed his father.)

–the one who had wished all the Jotnar dead, and had begun to plan it all out–

It was not being Jotnar. However revolting it may be, it was not the skin at all that made him monstrous.

But Loki could not see that skin again.

That disgusting pale blue, stained with red, or those vile eyelids sliding down in the too-bright light. Or that skin beaten to a dark purple, charred to a black that he smelled through the metal tang of blood, crushed and mangled until he could see the white of bone poking through it. Torn, burnt, ripped, raised markings sliced open, a bloody mess at the ends of his fingers–

If he didn't have to look down and see the weak, broken Jotun body in place of his own, then it wasn't his. It didn't have to be his.

And he could never explain that to Jane and Darcy, so human. So far from the danger of the realms and the deepest of Asgard's dungeons. So shocked to see Loki standing there with his hands clenched, teeth bared, and scared of a memory.

Without another word, Loki straightened, turned from his friends, and walked down the hall to his bedroom before closing the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying on his bed, staring up at the off-white ceiling, Loki thought of charming the room to keep outside noise out completely. Or teleporting somewhere else completely (as if he had anywhere else to go). Through the thin walls, Loki could hear Darcy's voice, low and rough.

“Colossally bad idea, Jane. Should've run it past me first. That's what you have lab partners for. Or lab monkeys, at least.”

“I know,” Jane's voice snapped. She was pacing. “I – where are you going?”

“Out. Somewhere. Someplace less angry.”

“Darcy–”

There was the slam of the door over Jane's protests, then quiet. Even Jane's footsteps stopped. Until, broken only by the small noises of the town and the faint hum of electricity, there was only the silence filling his room.

Loki decided that was worse. There was nothing to hear but his thoughts, and nothing to stop the heavy weight of guilt from settling in his stomach as the sick fear drained out of him.

He shouldn't have yelled at them. It would have been best if he hadn't said a word. If he had just thanked Jane and left. Because they were only trying to help, as little as they knew about the realms and their history, and Loki had snarled and growled at them like a cornered animal, offering no clear answer.

(Like a mindless, stupid beast.)

What if he had scared them? What if Darcy hadn't just left out of anger, and Jane's pacing wasn't just frustration, what if it was something else? When he shouted, had he caught a flinch from Jane? Or when he snarled, had there been something worse than distress in Darcy's eyes?

It was not as if it was their fault they knew so little. For the mortals, the war might as well have been eons ago; likely, any record of it had fallen into legend, like the gods that protected them, and this part of the realm was halfway across the world from the battle anyway. And neither Loki nor Thor had bothered to tell them about the war. Loki hadn't bothered to tell them anything. As if leaving them in the dark would also stop them from puzzling it over, thinking about it, just as much as Loki tried to.

It was a wonder this hadn't happened sooner. With Jane's curiosity, Darcy's ability to poke and prod, they must have been itching to ask long before they set eyes on another – proper – Jotun. Although he couldn't fathom why, after seeing Helblindi, they wanted to see Loki the same way.

Couldn't they just be happy with the lie?

Then, with a hiss of self-loathing escaping through his teeth, the absolute cowardice of that thought hit him. He turned on his side, hands twisting in the sheets as if they could take the brunt of his anger.

Of course they weren't happy, they deserved the truth. Didn't they have a right to see his true skin, after bringing him in, granting him shelter and safety? Now this skin, his body, was lying to them just as much as it had lied to Asgard (had lied to him). This was no repayment for their kindness.

He would have to show them, he thought, and his heart beat in horrible thuds against his chest, breath coming in gasps as nausea roiled his stomach. Jane and Darcy needed to see.

And they were not the only ones.

Helblindi – his brother – would have to see as well. Loki couldn't forget the hope in Helblindi's eyes, or the hurt – he had probably wished to see Loki in his Jotun body as much as Thor and Mother preferred his Ás one.

He wanted to be Loki's brother – brother to the discarded, pitiful runt that couldn't even keep his bearing around another Jotun. The least Loki could do was try.

Loki untangled one hand from the blankets. Slowly, he stretched the fingers, raising it in front of his eyes. The sun had long set, night casting the room in darkness, and his hand was only a shadow against a pale wall. He could remove the glamour now and not even notice, only feel it when the temperature rose, as the scarred ridges brushed against his clothes.

Except his Jotun eyes, meant for the gloom of Jotunheim's winter, would see the blue in the poor light leaking from under the door.

A shudder went through him, and his knees curled upwards. His breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling a bit too fast. But he did not lower his hand.

Biting his lips, refusing to let out the small sounds clambering up his throat, he focused on the hand (not his hand). And peeled back its glamour.

He saw nothing change. The hand was still there, just as shadowed, shaking as it hovered above the bedsheets. Perhaps it felt warmer, perhaps there were rough ridges of skin brushing against his shirt-sleeve. Or perhaps it was only in his mind.

Though it would not be for long.

Loki withdrew his other (normal) hand from where it was pressed against his knees, raising it closer to the other one. Carefully, forcefully, Loki made his breath slow, to calm the heart racing in his chest.

Then, with a whisper of magic, light flared to life in the palm of his hand, chasing the shadows away.

There, at the end of his white sleeve, was a Jotun's hand, with Jotun-black nails, a Jotun's jagged, unnatural scars wrapping about the skin. With the same long fingers as Loki's, the same shape of hand.

The same hand that he had seen at the end of his manacles, had watched as its nails were pulled from their beds, that had reached towards Mother through metal bars. And on Jotunheim, when the Jotun had grasped his wrist and instead of blackening with frostbite it–

Before Loki could figure out what was happening the light went out and a quiet crack split the silence of his room. Loki scrambled up, a spell lighting up the room, though as he sat one of his hands felt heavy, cold.

Blinking in the sudden brightness, Loki looked down. His hand, the one that had been blue, was back to pale, unblemished pink. And encased in a thin sheet of ice, freezing his sleeve to his skin. Even now the ice was melting, dripping away in the warm night air and from Loki's Ás skin.

He didn't remember calling on the ice. On his - his Issjä, as Helblindi had called it. He'd never done that before.

Was that normal? Was something Jotun waking in him now that he finally learned the truth, had started using this body? Would the ice would without control, without summoning, every time he tried to change skins?

Or had it been by accident? Did that happen?

Did Jotnar call on the ice when they were afraid?

Loki shook his head vigorously, and with a thought vanished the light, then the ice with a spell, as he didn't know how the Jotnar undid their ice. He didn't know what called on it in the first place.

Huddling his legs to his chest, he lay his head against his knees, hands buried in his hair. This was ridiculous, he couldn't even look at his hand without something happening, without his mind tripping over its memories and his Jotun body doing something it shouldn't–

There was a light knock at his door. Before Loki could say anything, Jane's voice, somehow both sharp and hesitant, came muffled through the wood.

“Loki? I just...Look, I just want to talk, and I know that if you don't–”

Loki quickly uncurled himself from his ball, smoothing over his hair though she probably couldn't see it in the gloom. “Come in,” he called, pleased that his voice seemed so casual, not the slightest hitch noticeable.

There was a surprised silence, then with a creak, the door slowly opened. Jane did not approach, remaining framed in the doorway, the light at her back keeping her face in shadows. But he could see her hands, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. As a jolt of nervousness went through him, Loki realized he had been in this situation before, with the exact same fear on his mind.

But Jane hadn't forced him out last time. After all these months, she would hardly ask him to leave now.

(Though he had not frightened them before.)

“'K, um,” she started, head looking towards the desk on the other side of the room. “I didn't think that – well, that's not the point.” Her face turned in the direction of his bed. “I messed up. I should have told you about the movie beforehand. Or talked to you. Or had Darcy talk to you – and Darcy didn't know, by the way. It was all me. But I shouldn't have just...dropped it on you like that.”

He heard the grimace in her voice, and he abruptly shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I should not have lost my temper.” Shouldn't have overreacted, snarling at them. “I...I knew you did not know about the war.”

Jane let out a huff and brushed a hand through her hair. “Yeah, um, that was...did that really happen? They tried to conquer us?”

“Laufey did.”

The silence was enough, even if Loki could not see Jane's face. Eventually, voice worn, she asked, “Why?”

Loki shrugged. “If you do not trust Asgard's tales, then you would have to ask Laufey himself.” As if either one of them could walk up to Jotunheim's throne and ask. Loki wasn't sure which of them would have better luck getting the answer: the frail mortal who Laufey wouldn't care less about, or the son who Laufey had decided was better off dead.

But Jane had caught something else in his answer. “And do you trust Asgard's tales?” It was a challenge as well as a question.

Loki leaned his head back until it hit the wall. “Not anymore,” he said. It was more-or-less true. He didn't trust them, not after what Thor and Mother told him. But that didn't mean he could forget.

Jane made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “Well, that's good. And while I'm glad we're not all dead, that doesn't mean I hate the Jotnar, or Helblindi. Or you.”

Loki startled at the statement, though he did his best not to show it. Of course, why would he expect her to hate him for something that happened before he was born? And a thousand years before she was? Trying a smile to cover up the surprise, he asked, “How about Laufey?”

Jane snorted. “I haven't exactly met him, but he doesn't sound like the greatest of guys. Or dads.” She winced. “Oh God, I'm sorry, that was–”

“It is fine.” Loki replied quickly. Although there was a small twist beneath his breastbone that told him he was lying. “It is true,” he said, “and I learned of it long ago.”

“Yeah, well.” She let out a heavy breath, running a hand down her face. “I'll just...let you be. Before I say anything worse. Goodnight, Loki.”

“Goodnight, Jane,” he said, and watched as she closed the door behind her. The room was dark once more.

Not long after she left, as Loki sat motionless staring at the wall, his phone buzzed. Loki glanced at his bedside table, and saw it had a new text message. From Darcy. He reached over and dragged the phone closer, lightly pressing the “New Message” symbol. A green box sprung up on the screen.

Jane said you apologized to me and now I have 2 apologize 2 you. Also said we're out of milk. Also you're the most frustrating person in the world 2 talk 2. Btw, saw this and reminded me of u.

An image popped up under the text. It was a picture of a cat, with wild black fur and skinny sides, peeking its head out from under a car. It seemed wary, slitted eyes staring at the outstretched hand in the photo, which held a slice of what looked like fish pinched between two fingers.

Loki put his head in his hands and wondered if that counted as an apology or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, as the sun began to creep over the horizon, Loki invited Jane and Darcy to the rooftop. He stood beside Jane's box-like equipment, the one that could detect the Bifrost's opening, and did his best not to glance down at it; he hadn't even sent his reply back to Asgard, so it would there would be no need for the Bifrost to open now. Instead, he waited as the two women climbed the stairs to the roof, attempting not to pace in impatience.

“Is this a punishment for something?” Darcy grumbled. A quilt was wrapped around her shoulders and she scowled blearily at the sunrise as if it had killed a beloved pet. Jane was actually awake, with coffee cup in hand and an intensely curious expression on her face.

“Nope,” Loki grinned. “Just a bit of fun.” Normally he wasn't a fan of early mornings, but today he would make an exception.

He gestured to a large baking pan with a thin sheet of water that he had set carefully on one of Jane's miscellaneous crates. As Jane and Darcy ambled over, Loki tapped the edge of the pan, and the water within shone with a layer of gold before resolving into a scene out in the desert, not far down the road. Usually a deeper bowl of water was necessary for scrying, but considering the distance, the thin layer would be adequate.

He stood back and watched as they peered into the pan.

Darcy began to cackle. Jane just gaped.

“Oh my God. Is this real?” she demanded, eyes tracking the movements below her.

“It is, although the trees are not.”

Jane glanced up at him as if she couldn't believe he was telling the truth, then back to the scene unfolding before her. Then Jane started to laugh as well.

Loki couldn't help his own smile. If he was lucky, this would distract them from whatever questions they might have had about two nights ago; Jane would want to know how the scrying worked, while Darcy would be more fixated on the 'who'.

And Loki would have to be more careful around the two mortals. They were certainly not the ignorant beings he once thought Midgardians to be, but while Jane would be older than him in mortal years, they were both still so young, only decades old. So sheltered in this little town (no dungeons, no hateful eyes on him wherever he went). He would have to keep his temper in check, for what happened that Saturday could not happen again. He wouldn't let it, and he wouldn't let himself frighten them, or hurt them again. Even if he had to keep them safe from himself, if he ever acted like he had in Before.

(Like a monster.)

But from the way Jane's face was lit up and Darcy was positively doubled over laughter, he thought tricks on SHIELD agents were safe enough.

It had been so long since he had played one, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The SHIELD base had been in a panic when one of the junior agents on night duty discovered that their base had been inexplicably covered by humongous trees. Then they had been trying to figure out why their sensors didn't detect anything, and which of their enemies had the power to create a hologram like that, and why one of them would want to.

It wasn't until one of the agents saw the weird, tall, spindly-legged horse-like creatures, and another remembered seeing what Dr. Foster had put in her NetFlix queue, that they put two and two together.

It still didn't make the trees disappear until mid-morning, though.

“And it even had to be on my last day,” Clint finished off with a bit of a whine. Natasha only snorted before laughing harder.

“Oh come on,” Clint said, strapping on a parachute. “You would have freaked out too. I thought I was about to get trampled by one of those horse-thingies.”

“Really?” Natasha raised her eyebrows at him as she pulled on her own chute, and Clint had to admit to himself that no, she probably wouldn't have. She probably would've figured it out in about two seconds, then calmly sipped a cappuccino right in the middle of the illusion, taking in the sights while she could, no matter what creepy animal crawled past her. Then called Loki and told him to inform her next time he tried it, so she could take pictures.

She must have seen the answer in Clint's expression because she smirked, then said, “Are you telling me you've never seen Avatar?”

Clint made a face at her as he grabbed his bow. “I'll have you know I was in the Savage Land when it came out. I've had enough of jungles and giant monsters trying to eat me to last me a lifetime.” He shuddered, glad Loki hadn't gotten ideas from Jurassic Park instead.

Natasha made a sympathetic face, which Clint thought might be half real, then led the way to the back of the tiny spy plane. Then he realized it must have been fully fake when she looked over her shoulder and said, “You're really going to complain, Clint? While I had to work with Stark, you got to meet gods and giants, Clint. Alien royalty.” Her smile turned evil. “And then there's Queen Frigga...”

“You said you wouldn't tease about her,” Clint huffed. Maybe he shouldn't have rambled to Tasha over the phone about how regal she looked, like the perfect fairy-tale magical queen, except he was pretty sure she would mince someone to pieces with a knife just as much as she might exude that perfectly motherly sense.

“Alright, fine,” she agreed, though he still didn't like her smile. “But he's supposed to be a trickster god, Clint. Honestly, you should have expected it.”

Clint pouted. “I would have preferred a thank-you basket.” Which wasn't entirely true, unless, of course, it included magical goodies from Asgard. Apart from the early days, and the one time the royals had decided to beam down, the trees were probably the most interesting part of the whole stint. Usually he was either getting letters, or making sure any internet chatter on the place stayed about as boring as the town, or waiting for hours while discreetly monitoring Loki in case he did anything cool and magical so it could be reported back to Fury (and also maybe appreciate for himself). Like the with trees.

But complaining was a matter of principal, so he said, “Besides, he hadn't played a trick on us before then.”

Natasha stared at him. Her face didn't move but he knew that expression. Without inflection, she said, “You know things like that take time.”

Clint knew what she meant. He remembered the early years of her recruitment almost as much as her. “Tasha–” he said.

She shook her head. “You're probably lucky you got off when you did,” she grinned, and opened the plane's door. As air rushed in, her voice was heard more over the comm when she said, “First one to the ground chooses the take-out.” Then she jumped out the plane and into the Paris night sky.

“You only say that when you go first,” Clint griped into the comm, and jumped after her.

Chapter Text

 The room where Fury lead Thor was not overly large, yet still fit several chairs around the blue-transparent table in the middle, one which looked quite similar to the one in the ship helm. Once Thor took a seat, Fury made on screen appear on the table's surface. Then Fury stood back and waited as Thor viewed the Chitauri's entrance to Midgard.

Thor watched avidly, concentrating on the Chitauri leader and the staff it held. At first, Thor thought the most he had to worry about was the creature's swiftness and its weapon's strength; his mind spun, concocting scenarios where Loki might have been cornered, or injured, too weak to escape before he was kidnapped.

Until he saw how Erik and the other mortals were taken. Until he saw, with a touch of that staff, they no longer followed their own will. As Thor watched the humans attend the Chitauri's whims, an aching, trembling sense of dread constricted about his stomach, creeping outward to his limbs, and Thor was grateful Fury had offered him a seat. For Thor began to have an idea of how Loki had been “compromised.”

(Still Thor had the utterly selfish and shameful thought that Erik was the only reason Loki was endangered. That whatever friendship he may have felt for man had prevented Loki from acting against the Chitauri, that Loki had had no choice but to give himself up.)

Thor held his tongue, and did not ask the director for the truth. Because if he didn't hear it, he could still hope. Yet when the footage ended and the director began to speak, Thor's hands were clenched in lap until his knuckles turned white, and something terrible and cold was clamped about his heart.

Fury told him how SHIELD had called on Loki to help find the Tesseract, Loki's eventual success, and the team Fury had put together in the meantime. Then Fury told him of Loki's plan, why Loki claimed he had to go in alone, and Thor struggled to keep his face blank. Though if his face twitched in surprise before he attempted to cover it, the director was too busy pacing the length of the table to notice.

“We were planning on sending one or two of our agents with him, as back-up,” Fury growled, his coat snapping out behind him walked. “If we'd known he would have been caught anyway, we'd have sent the whole Goddamn team and at least gotten the element of surprise.”

By now, after over a year spent arbitrating disputes, listening to councillors, and forced into political double-talk where half the remarks were left unsaid, Thor could tell that Fury was making it clear he was not to be blamed for the situation. That Asgard should not come after him for losing their prince under his watch.

And Asgard shouldn't. Thor already knew who was at fault.

Staring at the ground, hoping not to draw attention in case he gave something away, Thor managed to cover the tremble in his voice as he said, “You could not have known that he would be detected, Director. You only did what you thought best.”

Only someone who knew Loki well enough, or one with a basic knowledge of magic, would have seen Loki's explanations as brazen, unabashed lies.

Loki was perfectly capable of concealing more than solely himself – how many hundred of times had done so on quests with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, usually with a few sarcastic words or a roll of his eyes? And it was not just sight Loki could hide others from either – once, when they had needed to sneak past the great wolf Mánagarmr, despite Thor's protest that killing the thing would be a boon to the realms, Loki had hidden the six of them from the beast's hearing and keen nose. Certainly it was more difficult, Loki had claimed, but nowhere near impossible. Not to the extent Loki seemed to have made it out to be.

No, Thor knew that Loki had assured he would face those creatures alone. Stranding himself far from any who could help.

Thor's fists clenched tight enough to shake, and his body began to tremble with the sort of helpless, enraged frustration that could only be come from being Loki's brother.

Why? Why would Loki do something so foolish? Why would he risk himself so, after everything that he had been through? Loki had always been the one to tell Thor to think before leaping into the unknown. To think, to plan.

What had Loki's plan been now?

It was everything Thor could do, as he listened the rest of Fury's speech, to hold his thoughts from his face. Thor would not endanger Loki's friendship with the humans by admitting to the lie, unless there was no other option. Though Thor caught the man's eye flickering towards him from time to time with an evaluating look, he hoped Fury attributed anything amiss solely Thor's worry for his brother.

Perhaps Fury did, for he did not comment on Thor's behaviour once he finished recounting the events up to an “Agent Romanoff” preparing Loki for the mission before Loki departed. The director only went to the table, pressed a few buttons, and began to play back the footage of Loki's venture into the tunnels.

Thor was caught between relief and fear as he watched Loki's progress through the tunnels; relief, that Loki sounded nearly back to his old self as he conversed with Fury and another mortal, the teasing and biting words that Loki seemed to have forgotten after Thor carried him from the dungeons. And fear, because Thor knew what would happen next.

He held himself still, arms crossed on the table, hardly daring to breathe, as the Chitauri leader appeared in Loki's vision, along with Erik looking exhausted and dishevelled as he worked on the Tesseract. As Thor listened, trying to parse through Loki's excuses for a hint at his plans, Thor waited for Loki to misstep, to accidentally reveal himself to the creature. He waited for the spear its blue stone to be touched to Loki's chest.

He did not expect the hand that wrapped around Loki's head. Or for Loki to begin screaming.

As the flurry of noises erupted out of the table's speakers – Loki, the creature, the frantic humans – Thor could hardly bear to look at the screen, at the Chituari who filled the image, without reaching for Mjolnir's handle. His instinct was to smash, to hunt down the creature standing so triumphantly over Loki's body and tear it apart. But with slow, careful movement, he lay a heavy hand on Mjolnir to curb her fury, so his rage would not bleed out into the skies. As it was, he could not help the rain that pattered against the fortress's window, nor the winds that buffeted its sides.

All he could do for now was watch and listen. And figure out how to stop the Chitauri when Thor found it.

Thor did not know what the Chitauri had been doing to Loki's mind to make him scream. He could guess, from the way the creature had seemed to figure out Loki's identity, and how Loki had babbled that “Loki was dead”. He knew there were creatures with such powers in the universe, that could look into one's mind with a touch. And this one must be exceedingly powerful to have the strength to tear into a god's mind, let alone Loki's with the magical defences Thor knew that Loki practices.

And while it made his breath stutter as he forced down a sob, Thor understood why Loki had said “Yes” to the creature's offer. Loki had wanted as much in the dungeons during those terrible days. If the creature had sorted through Loki's memories, it may have dragged forth the time when Loki would have agreed to death.

(At least, Thor hoped that was all it was. He could not bear thinking that Loki stilled wished for death. Or that Loki would be in such pain, after months away from Asgard.)

What he could not understand was why Loki believed he had hurt Father. Perhaps the creature had warped Loki's memories, or made him see things that were not there.

Thor might ask the creature, before he crushed its skull beneath Mjolnir's head.

After a long silence, where the only noise was the rain and the hum of the fortress's engines, the director finally spoke again.

“One of the compromised agents had an uncle who used to work for the man that built the tunnels you saw,” he said, standing off to one side of the table, as Thor stared down at the now-blank table. Fury's voice was neither harsh or demanding, but quiet; while the mortal seemed ready to return to business, he was not without empathy. “We believe that's why the Chiaturi decided to use them as a base. We're checking through all the agents' histories, to find if there is anywhere else they could have retreated to. Which could take days, and for all we know, Loki could have taken them to Sweden.”

Thor's head jerked up, a sudden jolt of fear burrowing through his chest. If Loki could be anywhere on Midgard–

“But we think we still have a few ways of tracking the Tesseract,” Fury continued. “We brought abroad a scientist named Dr. Bruce Banner. He's Earth's leading scientist in a certain type of radiation that the Tesseract emits. He should find it soon enough.”

“Are you sure?” Thor asked. If there was any doubt, then Thor would have to find another way, even if he had to search the realm himself.

“Agent Romanoff said he was telling the truth when he thought he could find it, and I trust Romanoff's judgement,” Fury said. Then he walked towards Thor and leaned heavily across the table, bringing his face nearly level with Thor's. “However, I was hoping you could tell us a bit more about the Chiaturi – the one with the staff in particular. Because we have no idea what we're up against, and it seems neither did your brother.”

No, of course Loki hadn't, Thor thought as he slowly shook his head. Because if Loki had, he would have been careful.

“I am sorry,” Thor said, “but there is not much I can tell. The Chitauri were a much stronger race a few centuries ago, but have since fallen out of power. That may be why they wish for the Tesseract.” Thor looked down, a wave of helplessness rising inside of him as he considered what little he knew. What little he could do for now. “I know they have a Queen, so the Drones are not acting on their own. But I know not what other powers this creature may have.” Or what else he might do to Loki.

“So we're walking in blind against an enemy that could do God knows what.” Fury let out a frustrated sound and stood, crossing his arms over his leather jacket. “Do you know why the Chitauri thinks your brother will be so useful?”

Thor did not raise his head, speaking instead to his reflection on the table. He felt that if he moved too suddenly his rage would break through his control, stirring up a storm that could tear the ship to pieces. “There are many reasons,” he said quietly, voice a low rumble. “Loki is of Asgard, and may know more about the Tesseract than the Chitauri. He is a powerful sorcerer, and may assist them in whatever plans they have devised. And he knows how to move between realms without aid of the Bifrost.”

Fury was silent for a moment, then a small beeping sound came from Fury's coat. Thor looked up, confused, and saw the man take an object from his jacket, an object Thor recognized as a phone. The director's eye skimmed over something on the phone for a moment, and something in his face seemed to ease.

“We've got some good news, at least,” Fury said, putting the phone back. “We're pretty sure we found a way to reverse the mind-control.”

Thor blinked in surprise. He had certainly not expected a solution so soon; he hadn't even begun wondering how to stop the curse that had invaded Loki's mind. “Is it difficult?” he asked, giving the mortal his full attention. “Can we do it from here?”

“Sort of and no,” Fury answered, pressing another button on the table. The image of a white room appeared, on the wall this time instead of the table, with people busily walking back and forth in front of it. “Some of our people found the two agents Loki knocked unconscious,” Fury explained. “When they awoke, they seemed normal again. We've only had them back for a few hours so far, but from what we can tell, the blow to the head reversed whatever the Chitauri did to them. As long as we can get to them, curing our people won't be too complicated, though I'm guessing we'll need something a bit harder for your brother.”

Heart in his throat, Thor nodded in understanding. A human would have great trouble hurting Loki, let alone knocking him out, but if Thor could get close enough...

Perhaps the situation was not as hopeless as he had thought. Perhaps, between this Dr. Banner and SHIELD's help, Loki might be returned in a matter of days, if not hours.

“Rogers, Barton, Stark,” Fury called in the direction of the screen, interrupting Thor's thoughts. “Can you give me an update?”

Abruptly two blond men darted onto the screen, one in a very tight, flashy costume of blue, white, and red; and the shorter one in a uniform of black and purple who Thor thought looked vaguely familiar.

Fury frowned. “Where's Stark?”

“Went to play with Banner, sir,” the shorter man said. He rocked on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting now and then to Thor.

Fury made a sound very much like a sigh, then half-turned to Thor. “Alright. King Thor, this is Captain Steve Rogers and Agent Clint Barton,” he said, indicating each man in turn. The one called Steve abruptly bowed and the other hastily did the same. “These men are part of the team I had put together to retrieve the Tesseract – along with your brother.”

“Greetings,” Thor said, dipping his head. With a fragile hope growing in his heart, Thor nearly smiled as he said, “Please, there is no need for bowing or titles. I ask for no such formalities here.”

“Oh, thank God,” Clint breathed, and Thor noticed his formerly ramrod-straight posture slump a little. Steve nudged him, but he too seemed relieved.

“Any progress on Desmond and Blake?” Fury asked, ignoring both their reactions.

“They're awake,” Clint replied, “and apart from having their heads knocked over they're fine.” He chewed his lip, then added, “-Ish.”

“Physically, they'll be fine,” Steve clarified. “But I've been speaking with them, and...” Steve hesitated, then after glancing around, leaned closer to the screen. “They blame themselves for not fighting the – the 'blue' they call it,” he said in a quieter voice, a crease appearing on his brow. “They want to help catch the Chitauri when we head out, but the doctors say they should be kept here a few days to find out if there are any side effects.”

“Side effects?” Thor asked, alarmed.

“There's nothing that we or the doctors can see so far,” Steve said, giving Thor a small, reassuring smile. “And they'll be bringing in some psychologists – er, mind doctors,” he amended at Thor's look of confusion. “To make sure that their heads will be okay as well.”

“I see,” Thor said, but his new-found optimism refused to dissipate. Norns willing, Loki would not have to suffer further once Thor found him (if Thor found him, a horrible voice in Thor's head whispered, and Thor did his best to quash it). “And do they – do the two agents know anything more about how we can find Loki?” he asked. If there was more information, perhaps they might not have to wait for Dr. Banner...

Steve shook his head. “I'm sorry, they couldn't tell us anything about where they might go next, or any of the Chitauri's plans.”

“We think the Chitauri work on a need-to-know basis, and these two didn't need to know,” Clint said, his hands fidgeting. “All they can tell is they think they were building another device to open a portal. And they were to defend the Chitauri leader's life at all costs. We'll keep asking if something comes up...”

“You'll be the first to hear,” Steve promised, and the look in his eye gave Thor little reason to doubt him.

Before Thor could say anything, Fury stepped forward, bringing the two men's attention back to him. “When you two are done, get some rest. I want you ready and alert when Banner gives us the coordinates. Stark too. If he's part of the team he can't live off of caffeine and alcohol or whatever that man does.”

Steve pressed his lip together as if he was trying not to smile.“Actually,” he said, “I think Stark took a nap in the suit.”

“He snores,” Clint added, smirking.

Fury made another frustrated noise. When he didn't add anything further, Thor leaned forward in his chair. Looking both the mortals in the eye, he said, “Thank-you both. For telling me what you know.” Since his days as king began, few were as honest or as open with him as these two mortals.

Barton's smirk transformed into a genuine smile. “Hey, he's your brother – and you're the king. You should know.”

“Loki did his best for us,” Steve agreed, face resolute, and Thor tried to not give anything away as he remembered Loki's lie. “We won't leave him behind.”

The screen went blank, and Thor turned to Fury. He was about to ask to leave to see this Dr. Banner when he caught sight of the expression on Fury's face.

“What is it?” Thor asked. He had not heard another noise from Fury's phone that would indicate he had received more news – news dire enough for the grave look Fury was giving him.

“There's something else I need to discuss with you. And another reason why I wanted this done in private.” Fury turned away for a moment, his shoulders slumped as if they were weighed. Then, looking back at Thor, he said, “You have to understand that we're in a delicate situation here. We don't know what's going on, what our enemy's agenda is, and if or when any more of them are coming. If this situation escalates, it may even put more than just SHIELD personnel at risk, and I'm already under pressure to end this as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

Foreboding flickered through Thor, and Fury paused, seeming to gather himself. After a moment, Fury said calmly, “If Loki poses a threat to us, if we have no other choice...do you give us permission to kill him?”

“What.” Thor shot from his seat to face the Director, and thunder boomed across the sky. The hope that had burst into his heart was crushed under hot rage. How dare he. How dare this mortal – “You would send for his aid, then kill him when he requires your help? Did not your agent just say that you–”

“Steve Rogers is not an agent of SHIELD, nor does he speak for it,” Fury countered, face stony.

“Perhaps he should, if you would murder Loki–”

“Do you think I want to kill him? Do you think I want him or Dr. Selvig or any of my agents dead?” Fury snapped. “I would very much prefer to have them all back, un-brainwashed, and those aliens blown off my planet without any more losses. But if that's not possible, then there will be sacrifices we will have to make. All of us. I think, as a king, you should understand that by now.”

Thor stood, gaping, anger building but mind blank of a retort, and something in Fury's demeanour deflated. More subdued, Fury said, “We don't want him dead. I don't want him dead. All I'm asking is that if we have no other option, you won't go to war with us because we decided to take the kill shot.”

Thunder shook the floor, and Thor was going to say no. Thor wanted to say no, to tell these mortals that he was a god and king, and he would not let his brother die. Loki had survived prison and torture, and had begun to heal. Loki could not have gone through all of that pain, only to be killed. And Thor could not lose Loki, not now, not so soon after Father. Loki could not die.

Except Fury was right. Thor had thought it himself: he was king. And kings must make difficult choices. Could he let Loki live, if it meant the death of those he had sworn to protect?

(Could he let Loki die?)

If Father were here, if Father were still king, what choice would he have made?

Thor already knew. Father would do what was best for the kingdom. Not his family.

And any other choice would not be fit for a king.

Thor sat wearily back in the chair, anger leaving him in a rush that left his body empty. “I do not want him harmed.” And if Thor had Loki's sense of humour, he might laugh at how much of an understatement those words were. “But if he...” Thor swallowed, his throat dry. He did not know if he could get the words out. “If there is no other choice, you–”

The wind and rain stopped. The ship seemed to be engulfed in silence.

“You may kill him.”

Mjolnir felt as if she may fall from his belt to the floor, never to be raised by his hand again.

Thor wished she would.

(It would mean that no matter what, Loki should be allowed to live.)

There was a sour taste in his mouth, like vomit. As if his body was rebelling against his words.

(Why should it not? Had he not just signed his brother's death warrant?)

But Thor would make sure it would not come to that. He had to. Thor would do all he could to see Loki alive and free from harm. And whoever this Chitauri's master was, Thor would not let him carry out the promise of death.

In the vacuum of noise left by Thor's release of the weather, his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“I would see Dr. Banner now, if you would have an agent escort me,” he said, not looking in Fury's direction. And he walked out of the room without waiting for Fury's assent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor did not head off to see Dr. Banner immediately. He needed a moment, just someplace alone to calm himself, someplace to think.

He asked the agent guiding him to show him to a place that was quiet, secluded, and the agent hurriedly lead him to a room far within the ship. It was a small room, and from the shelves and crates, likely some sort of supply closet. The agent seemed embarrassed but Thor thanked him anyway. Before closing the door, Thor told the agent to stay just outside of the room, for he did not want to be far from any new information.

If they found Loki, if Fury decided Loki was too much of a threat, and if Thor was too late in arriving–

No. No, he would not believe the mortal would be so hasty, so impulsive. Not with Thor around, not with Heimdall watching, not when the director had his own men under a geas as well. Fury did not seem so callous or cruel.

But Thor also believed the director's resolve, that if there was no other choice...

As king, you should understand that by now.

Thor slumped against the closest wall and slowly slid to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, shutting out the bright overhead lights.

Yes, he understood. But he did not wish to be that sort of the king.

(But was that not the sort of king Father had been?)

A strange feeling curled through Thor's stomach at that thought. He pushed it back, but as he did, his mind latched onto another idea, one that had Thor slowly raising his face from his hands.

If Father were here, and Loki were missing, what would he have done instead? Send Huginn and Muninn to look for Loki? Although Loki had began teaching himself to hide from those birds since before he came of age; Thor doubted they would be much use now.

And for another thing, Thor doubted Father would have come to Midgard himself. He would have sent Thor instead, or Thor would have volunteered. And maybe even Sif and the Warriors Three as well, as a precaution, and as support.

Yes, if Thor called for the four of them...then he need not worry about being cut off from SHIELD, since at least one of them would be nearby when Loki was found. With more warriors looking over Fury's shoulder, he might hesitate to make his decision, not to mention the mortals might be more confident with more Æsir warriors on their side, less driven to panic. And Thor could almost imagine the look on Laufey's face when the four informed the Jotun King that they were leaving; the thought nearly brought a grin to his face. Nearly.

Yet Thor could also imagine the look on Helblindi's face, when the Jotun realized Thor had pulled those publicly acknowledged as the King's closest friends from Jotunheim, a few days after the King himself left. He could imagine all those Jotun Elders, Jarls, and nobles he had met over the past year and a half, the ones that doubted him and his commitment to help Jotunheim; the ones that would feel justified in their bitter knowledge that Asgard cared more for Midgard than for them.

So not Sif and the Warriors Three. And no simple guard from the palace either; Thor would not tempt their hatred of the Jotnar or even enmity they may hold towards Loki. But there were the Einherjar Thor had intrusted to help the Jotnar, the ones he had thought of offering Loki before Loki had...before Loki left. Thor could ask Heimdall to send a troop of them down–

Except, if the choice came between protecting Thor and harming Loki's, between saving their king and following their king's orders, how would they decide? What would their loyalty compel them to do, if their king was at risk? Would Thor have the same worries with them as he did with Fury, always fearing that if he were a moment too late, too slow, Loki's life may be lost?

Thor dropped his head to his knees and growled. What kind of king was he, that he could not trust his people? What kind of a brother was he, that Loki was missing, and Thor could do nothing but sit here and fret?

Father would probably have known what to do. Father would have probably solved this by now. Perhaps he would have even sent Thor to retrieve the Tesseract from Midgard before the mortals began their foolish experiments with it, preventing all this trouble in the first place.

But Father was gone.

Father was gone, Loki was taken, Mother was needed in Asgard, and his friends needed in Jotunheim.

Thor only had himself.

And the mortals.

Thor rose to his feet. Brushing dust from his cape, he opened the door of the storage closet, and asked the agent who abruptly snapped to attention to take him to Dr. Banner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor could not help but feel the slightest bit unbalanced when, upon entering the room the agent had directed him to, a short, loud, and swaggering mortal tried to offer him a packet of fruit.

“Are you the scientist Banner?” Thor asked, unsure, looking down at the man. The mortal's voice sounded oddly familiar.

The man huffed, lowering the packet as a quiet voice farther back in the room said, “Ah, no, that'd be me.”

Thor glanced towards the voice, and saw another small man, this one beardless and with dark curling hair. He was standing next to a low desk at the far end of the room, ducking his head around a translucent screen hanging from the ceiling. Thor moved past the man with the fruit, who was now scowling and muttering something under his breath.

“Greetings, Dr. Banner. I am Thor, of Asgard,” he said as he approached, dropping the title in case it intimidated the man. “I have heard you can find my brother for me.” He spoke quietly, to keep his voice from breaking.

Banner obviously heard anyway, and shot him a sympathetic look. Then he tried to execute a rather sloppy bow, revealing Thor's efforts had gone to waste as he said, “Um, greetings, King Thor. Though it's not quite your brother that I'm looking for. But I can find the Tesseract,” he added, gesturing to his screen. “And hopefully your brother shouldn't be far away.”

“That is what I was told,” Thor said, angling for reassuring. The man seemed rather relaxed despite Thor's presence, though not to the point of indifference. There was a definite hunched cant to the man's shoulders, tensed as if he was being hunted. “And you need not worry about bowing, here on Midgard. I would only ask –”

Now Thor's voice did break. He glanced away from Banner's startled, worried look, and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “How long might your search take?” he finished off. The equipment here seemed frightfully ancient; it was a wonder Loki had managed to work with it at all. Though of course, Loki had always been more interested in the banal parts of history; perhaps he had taken it into his head to study these types of machines one day.

Thor almost wished he hadn't. But that was a selfish wish, to ask for mortal lives to be taken in exchange for his brother's safety.

“Well, I'm thinking...” Banner started to say, adjusting his glasses as he squinted at some information on the screen.

“Bruce here–” the man with the fruit abruptly cut in, slinging an arm around Banner's shoulder. Banner seemed surprised at the contact, but only smiled as the man went on. “–He thinks it won't take more than a day, tops. Then we just have to blast a few aliens, take out the big guy, and we'll have your brother and co. back in no time.” The man grinned, though the humour didn't quite reach his eyes. “Tony Stark, by the way. Aka Iron Man. Maybe you've heard of me?”

“Stark.” Thor recognized the name, as he remembered where he had heard the voice. “You were the man asking my brother about his magic.” Loki must have enjoyed that, especially considering how taken he was with Jane's curiosity.

“Yep, that was me and – wait, you can't do the same, can you? Magic?” Thor shook his head, and Stark frowned but didn't seem overly disappointed. “No? Huh. Well, I guess that doesn't matter, though it would have been great if you could explain how he did his whole computer-hand-thing. That might have been some help.”

“A few notes would have been nice, or some sort of ground work to expand on,” Banner agreed. “I can't exactly stick my hand into a computer screen to find the Tesseract the way Loki did.” At the look on Thor's face, he said, “Not that I'm lost, of course. I've almost got the algorithm down. Once I've got that set up, it'll scan for the Tesseract's emissions until it locks onto something. Once I've found it, it's up to you guys to do the rest.”

“Hey, 'us guys'?” Stark sounded affronted as he turned on Banner. “What about you?”

The look on Banner's face was more grimace than grin. “I don't think you'll need me.”

“Are you a warrior as well?” Thor asked. Banner looked about as intimidating as Stark, though he knew that by now humans had weapons that did not require physical prowess.

“No, not really,” Banner muttered at the same time Stark said, “Yes, he is.”

Thor glanced between the two of them they as eyed each other. Then Banner shook his head, turning back to the screen as Stark sighed and slumped against the desk. “Anyway, that's it,” Banner said, ignoring Stark's plaintive looks. “Nothing too complicated.”

Not sure what exactly to make of the two mortals' exchange, Thor nodded. He considered questioning further, but a sudden wave of weariness overtook him. Waking up on Jotunheim to ride out on the djurisk seemed an age ago now, though it could not have been more than a day.

Waving towards a corner near the front of the room, well out of the way of the two men, he asked, “Will I interfere if I wait here? I would like to know when you find Loki – and the Tesseract.”

Banner glanced away from his work in surprise, then his face softened. “No, you'll be fine. It just won't be very interesting.”

“Though I could make it interesting,” Stark spoke up. “I could dance. Put on a little show.”

Banner huffed out a laugh. “That might be a bit distracting.”

“Oh, so you'd find me distracting? Hmmm, I might have to call Pepper. She could get jealous...”

Thor let their voices wash over him as he ambled to the corner, propping himself up against one of the desks. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back, his exhaustion warring with his guilt, the heavy feeling that sitting here was doing nothing but wasting time; he should be moving, scouring the realm until he found Loki. But there was little chance that his searches would do any good. There was nothing else Thor could do but wait.

The spot was certainly not ideal, with the two men chatting across the room, with no seats available to rest upon. However, Thor dared not find a place more secluded, or unreachable. Not if Thor had only himself to rely upon.

But as Thor listened to the two men's low voices, their conversation turned to science, he was reminded of those days when he used to try to help Loki with his magical studies. Loki would end up chattering away, talking to himself as much as he was talking at Thor, wandering about the room while Thor sat or stood and tried to listen. Usually Thor would end up daydreaming, or, if he felt like he did now, falling into a doze until Loki exclaimed something. And then go back to sleeping as Loki rambled on to himself, sometimes even humming while searching through notes and books and scrolls...

Memories filling his head, Thor's exhausted mind began to cloud, and he drifted slowly off, with the two men murmuring in the background.

Chapter Text

Loki strode back and forth, waiting for his master to finish speaking with the Drones. His pacing did not take him far; in such an important case as this, Loki would prefer not to stray. Though he could not fathom what the Drones had to say that could take up so much of his master's time. Or why his master couldn't simply do it faster; time was of the essence.

Although if his master had reasons for the delay, then Loki would not question him. Besides, with Jane's help, things were moving along quite a bit faster than before.

Boots squeaking on the drab metal floor as he turned, Loki glanced across the warehouse towards where Jane and Erik sat. The two of them were spots of colour in the otherwise endless grey of their new quarters, which one of the SHIELD agents had termed a “hanger”. So even admist the rushing about of Drones and humans, surrounded by the large hunks of metal and wires that were quickly coming together, they were quite recognizable.

After Jane and Erik's initial greetings, complete with hugging and excited shouting, they had not moved more than a few feet, absorbed as they were in their work. They sat at a large table – one that Loki had needed to scrounge up from somewhere, as the warehouse was not as accommodating to come with one already – with their notes and equipment spread out before them. The metallic clangs echoing through the chamber should have been disruptive, but when Erik had complained about the noise, Loki had put a muffling spell over their part of the chamber. An extravagance maybe, but the small bout of lightheadedness was worth Erik's and Jane's productivity.

Though if it was Loki's job to remain so close to the Tesseract, he doubted he would wander all that far from her, either. The Tesseract sat in her case in the middle of Jane and Erik's table, her elegant song still weaving through his mind, her taste cloying in his mouth.

And yet there would never be anything quite as beautiful as the pulsing, gleaming blue embracing Loki's mind. Loki snapped his head around back to his master and the staff held upright in the Other's grip, the stone glittering in its golden clasp. How he had once thought that blue to be bitter, Loki hadn't the slightest clue. Now that the taste filled his mind, it nearly drowned out the Tesseract with its succulence; the song, while nowhere near the Tesseract's roar, beat in rhythm with his heart.

It had been an honour to carry the staff for his master when he convinced Jane to join them, though of course he had given it back as soon as he had returned. The staff was not his, and he would never keep it from his master.

In fact, borrowing the staff had felt very much like holding Odin's spear for those few short hours. Although this was much better, since the Other had handed Loki the staff himself; it had been Frigga's choice, not Odin's, to gift Gungnir.

Loki didn't bother wondering if Odin would have given Loki the spear himself, had he been able. It didn't particularly matter. To think there had been a time when it did, wasting all those days fretting and snivelling and brooding when his efforts could be much better spent...it almost made Loki shudder in disgust. This was much better. Freeing, to not be cowed by silly little doubts in his mind.

Loki smiled, just as his master turned from the Drones at last.

“Master,” Loki began, sliding in front of the Other and bowing.

“You believe enough time has passed?” his master interrupted, guessing Loki's intent.

Loki nodded firmly. He thought this step extraneous, but in circumstances such as these, caution would be for the best. “If you wish to assure–”

“Yes.” The grin beneath his master's masked eyes filled him with glee. “I do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The obscenely bright sunlight scattered across Darcy's bed, past the covers snuggled up to her neck, and into her face. Specially, into her eyes, which she kept screwed shut, though to little effect. Darcy supposed it was only her comeuppance for not closing the curtains when she stumbled into bed sometime last night. And that was in spite of managing to turn off the light in the main room that Jane had forgotten, even though that dinky light was nothing compared to the sun that seemed intent on stabbing her head through her eyelids.

Although she had been incredibly brilliant earlier in the night, if she did say so herself. When Agent Coulson had called, she'd been sober enough not to shout “What?” at him. Especially when he asked – nay, ordered – her to change Jane's mind about heading to the border so SHIELD could take them to Norway instead. As if Darcy could change Jane's mind about anything science-related, let alone something that didn't actually exist.

Which is what Darcy told Coulson, though without the “didn't exist” part. Because if Jane wanted to spout some bullshit story to SHIELD about running off to Mexico to find rainbows, Darcy was one hundred percent behind her. Though heading to Norway in a SHIELD jet sounded cooler than driving through New Mexico's desert, but as long as Jane's story remained fictional, Darcy wasn't about to complain.

Besides, Jane would probably prefer to wait until Loki got back anyway, so he could tell them what had happened to Erik; Jane's fidgeting and worrying had been half the reason Darcy had left the house, and Darcy sincerely doubted Jane would get any work done if she thought Erik was still in trouble.

Coulson had seemed to believe her, as there was a very tired groan, then he told her his phone number and asked Darcy to call him when Jane's science expedition was done.

“Why don't you just get Jane to call you?” Darcy asked, scrawling the number on her arm. “Hey, and what's happening with Erik and Loki? Because if you say 'it's classified', you should know that Loki's gonna tell us everything when he–”

“Ms. Lewis, please,” Coulson interrupted, sounding as if he was about to bang his head against the wall. “Just leave as soon as you can, okay? And...try not to broadcast where you're going.”

“Why–”

“For your safety.”

“Our safety?” The phone abruptly went silent, of course. Darcy considered calling back with the blue smudged number on her arm, but decided against it, in case the agent used his SHIELD-powers to figure out that she was lying. Instead, after entering Coulson's number into her phone, she called Jane to inform her not to worry, her ass was covered, although a little warning would have been nice next time.

Darcy had been a little miffed to get voice-mail, after all the effort she had put into the lie, but delivered her message anyway. And if Jane still hadn't gotten it this morning, then Darcy would be more than happy to repeat it. And maybe impart a few tips on how to pull one over on SHIELD, because Jane was about as awful at lying as Erik. Maybe Darcy and Loki would have to give them lessons sometime. It was a wonder that Jane had even managed whatever it was she told Coulson in the first place, let alone making him believe it. Coulson must have been really distracted, or maybe Darcy and Loki were rubbing off on Jane more than Darcy had thought. Either way, Darcy felt a spark of pride for Jane and her success.

Contemplating Jane's lying abilities, however, was not what Darcy particularly wanted to do at the moment. Going back to sleep, on the other hand, now that sounded like the perfect plan. Or maybe developing telekinetic powers and closing her curtains without having to get up. Especially since she was pretty sure a headache was on its way, even though she hadn't been that drunk.

Groaning, Darcy rolled over and flopped a hand onto her bedside table, where she distantly recalled leaving her phone. Her hand scraped over wood until it encountered a plastic phone case. Scooping it up, she turned on the screen and brought it close to her face. And groaned again, dropping the phone on top of the covers and draping an arm over her face. It was barely past seven; only Jane would be up at this hour. Even Loki, with his stupid godliness that meant he could probably go forever without sleep or something, preferred hours closer to the double-digits.

Around this time Jane should be getting the coffee ready, bumbling around the kitchen, chomping on her cereal without thinking that maybe someone was trying to sleep just down the hall, someone who didn't have magic and could make all the crunching, grinding noises disappear...

Except the house was silent.

Darcy lifted her arm off her face and opened her eyes. Squinting, she checked the phone again. Definitely after seven. Which meant, at the latest, Jane would just be stumbling in from her RV.

Darcy still didn't hear anything.

After several minutes of indecision, wavering between the warmth of her blankets and the growing worry that Jane had been struck with a horribly debilitating disease and she was dying alone in her trailer because that was one of the few reasons she wouldn't come into the house to do science, Darcy rolled out of bed. Then her head decided to start pounding. Darcy decided that Jane had better be dying of a horrible disease, or else she owed Darcy, big time. Or at least a headache cure.

Attempting to pry open her burning eyes with her fingers, Darcy lurched down the hall into the main room. There was no Jane. Not at the table, not at her desk, not on the couch.

Darcy turned towards the glass doors. Then stopped, and looked back at Jane's desk.

It was empty.

No, not quite empty, Darcy saw, as she staggered closer, leaning against the top of the desk on her splayed hands. A worn-down pencil and stubby eraser still sat there, along with a couple of pieces of blank paper. But there was no laptop, no scattered scribbles of notes, not even one of Jane's weird scanners or detectors or whatever.

Darcy straightened so quickly her head swam. She glanced about the room, to all the odd places Jane sometimes dropped her stuff, leaving it for Darcy to trip over or for Loki to preternaturally avoid without looking up from the book he was reading. The kitchen counter only held dishes and a basket of fruit, the floor was cleaner than usual, and when Darcy jogged over to check, the couch only held crumbs and the remote.

“Okay, don't panic,” Darcy muttered, backing away from the couch. But her heart was jumping in her chest, her pulse throbbing in her neck, and her throat clogged with something very akin to panic. Because if Jane's stuff was gone, then Jane would do her damnedest to go with it. Even if it meant enlisting a possible crazy person calling himself the god of thunder. Or leaving Darcy behind, alone, with no note, not even a text to say that she had decided to abscond with all her stuff and–

Mexico. Coulson's message last night. What if that had been the truth? What if Jane really had driven down to the border? And she hadn't bothered to tell Darcy because Darcy was a shitty assistant with a poli-sci degree and Jane could probably work faster without her in the way–

But that didn't make any sense. Jane wouldn't just leave her. Or Loki, or Erik. That wasn't Jane.

Darcy spun on her heels and ran out the glass doors in her pyjamas and bare feet. Sand and grit clung to her feet and she knew she would have to wash it all off later, but she didn't stop until both the van and the RV came into view, gleaming in the early morning sun.

Darcy gave herself a moment to sigh in relief. That was one useless fear down. Then she rushed up to the RV. “Jane,” she shouted, and banged on the door. “Jane,” she yelled again, and waited for noise from within. There was nothing.

She banged on the door again. When that only resulted in Darcy's fist beginning to ache, she did her best to peer into the windows. Even from the few glimpses she saw as she jumped up and down, she could see the RV was empty.

In a last desperate bid, she tried Jane's cell. It went straight to voicemail, just like last night.

It was only when her phone chirped at her as she tapped it against her lip, did she fit it all together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of Thor's name first woke him from his doze, breaking through the hazy grey clouds of half-sleep.

“Between Thor and the rest of you, do you really think I'm necessary?” Banner was saying as Thor drew closer to consciousness. “Bit of overkill, I think.”

“And I think you're making a big mistake, sitting this one out,” Stark said. There was the sound of two pairs of footsteps, one following after the other. Thor wondered if he was accidentally overhearing something private, and whether he should try to drift off again or discreetly cough to indicate that he could hear them. “What if we need your help?”

“And what about the SHIELD agents?” There was a horrible desperation in Banner's voice as Thor heard the footsteps stop, a desperation that had Thor cracking open his eyes to see the two men standing facing each other, bodies tense. “Or the scientists? Or Loki?” Thor jolted fully awake, staring at the two of them in confusion as Banner continued, looking away from Stark, “The big guy won't tell the difference.”

“You're treating him as if he's not a part of you.”

“What if I don't want it to be part of me–”

A loud beeping noise cut through Banner's words, and the three of them jumped as Fury's voice blared from the ceiling. “King Thor,” his voice said, frustration seething beneath the surface of his polite tone. “Get up to the conference room, please. We need you to take care of something.”

Both of the two men stared at Thor, and from the nonplussed looks on their faces, they seemed to have forgotten he was there – an unusual occurrence for Thor, even before he became king. Then Banner turned away, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Thor did his best to quietly excuse himself. He hoped whatever the trouble was, it was important, if Fury sought to draw him from the one hope he had of finding Loki.

Thor found his way to the conference room easily enough, despite the detour he had taken on the way Banner's room. But for all the urgency in Fury's voice, Thor thought the conference room was quite still when he returned. Steve and Clint, whom he recognized from the video screen, were sitting around the table, staring at a phone that lay in the middle of the table. To Thor's surprise, opposite them sat Agent Coulson, looking about as irate as Fury had sounded. A red-headed woman to his left was speaking in low, soothing tones towards the phone. Fury, Thor noticed last, seemed to be in the middle of running a hand over his face when Thor walked in.

“Finally,” Fury growled, dropping his hand and striding over to Thor. “We've got a bit of a situation here.”

“What is it?” Thor asked, glancing to the phone on the table. It seemed the only possible source of Fury's concern. “Why have you–”

“No way, Agent,” the voice on the phone squawked out, the sound seeming to come from the table rather than the phone's tiny speakers. It also happened to be a voice Thor recognized. “Just because you're a lady doesn't mean I trust any more than Agent Phil here. What did you – I'm not telling you a thing until you listen–”

“Darcy?” Thor gaped at the phone. There was no mistaking her voice, or the anger in her tone. Ignoring Fury, Thor ran to the table, nearly careening into the red-haired woman.

“–I want my friends back, out from whatever hole you shoved them into. If they're in trouble because of you people, I swear–”

“Darcy,” Thor said again, towards the space the woman had been speaking at; there seemed to be listening devices in the table itself. The woman leaned back in her chair to give Thor more room as he asked, “Darcy, what is happening? Who is in trouble?”

“Thor?” Darcy sounded just as surprised as Thor had moments earlier. “Thor, you're there too? Why didn't you just come here instead?” The hurt was plain in her voice, and Thor felt guilt tugging at his chest. He hadn't thought of Jane or Darcy since he came down, and how they might feel about Loki's abduction. Or Erik's.

“I didn't know that you needed me there,” he answered truthfully. “What is wrong, Darcy?” Did SHIELD not tell her and Jane about Loki or...

Thor realized that Darcy had said “friends”. And Loki and Erik were already gone – Erik over a year ago, and Loki days, so for Darcy to call now rather than when Loki first left, and for Darcy to call instead of Jane–

With his heart beating sickeningly in his chest, Thor asked, “Did something happen to Jane?”

“Something happened to everybody,” Darcy growled. “And if you're with them, then they should have–”

“I know what has happened with Erik and Loki,” Thor interrupted, doing his best to sound soothing, though fear had snaked its way into his stomach, constricting his throat. “And it is not SHIELD's fault.” Not more than playing with objects they did not understand. But Thor would save his rebukes for later. Leaning closer to the phone he said, “Please, tell me what happened.”

“Jane is gone, Thor, that's what happened.” Underneath the anger, her voice was thick with tears. “She and all her work and even her notebook – they've been gone since last night. When SHIELD called me.”

A chill spread through Thor's veins. Before he could say anything, the red-haired woman leaned past him. Though her face was tight she asked calmly, “When you say Dr. Foster and her work are gone, do you mean as in, she left with her work, or as in she was taken with it?”

“As in you people took her!” Darcy shouted, her voice blaring through the speaker, and the woman drew back with with a wince. “The RV and van are still here, and it's not like she walked out into the desert with all her stuff!”

Thor swallowed, then looked up at Coulson and Fury, hoping that they had done as Darcy suspected. But Coulson shook his head, and Fury, standing just beyond the edge of the table, said quietly, “It wasn't us.” His face was stony, arms crossed. “That's why I wanted you up here. From Ms. Lewis' threats, Dr. Foster seemed to be missing, but we couldn't be sure and Lewis wasn't talking.”

Thor nodded slowly in understanding as glanced down at the phone. A horrible suspicion was rising in his gut.

The Chitauri had needed Erik and the other scientists for the Tesseract's sake. And Jane's work was not much different from the Tesseract's purpose.

Who else could steal Jane and her work away without little disturbance, without need for a vehicle, other than Loki?

What if Loki had hurt her?

Or...what if Loki hadn't? What if the staff–

Thor turned his face away from the table, a hand covering his mouth. If the choice was between Loki harming Jane or stealing her mind, Thor could not be sure which was better. Which would hurt her less, in the long run. Either of them.

Thor heard Darcy's voice shake as she said, “Look, I don't know what trouble you put them in, but you call Loki and you–”

“We what now?” Clint murmured from across the table. Thor glanced up to see Clint's eyebrows rise in surprise, while Steve frowned at the phone.

“Ms. Lewis,” Coulson said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “if we thought calling Loki would help, we already would have.”

She scoffed. “Have you even tried? He's not answering my calls or texts but if you–”

The woman beside Thor nearly shot out of her chair, while Coulson's eyes bulged. “You texted him?” Coulson spluttered.

“Well, yeah! He texted me first!”

Silence. Thor looked up to see shock on everyone's faces, and Thor dug into his memory of that one week on Midgard, trying to figure out what Darcy had told him about 'texts'.

A memory popped up of a cell phone's screen, with bubbles of white and green text. Like the 'emails' that Loki had once described in his letters home, but shorter.

Hope flickered in Thor's mind. If Loki was communicating with Darcy, then perhaps Loki was fighting whatever geas the creature had put on him. Maybe he had taken Jane somewhere for safety, rather than into the Chitauri's clutches. And there would be no need to kill Loki, to hurt him, if Loki had already freed himself.

He had no idea what the humans were thinking, whether they shared the same idea, but the woman was the first to recover. “When was this?” she demanded.

“A few minutes before I called, I think? It's really weird, since he only uses winky faces when he's really, really happy, which is pretty much never. Does he need an extraction plan or something? What did you do with him?”

“Ms. Lewis, we're going to need a screencap of that text,” Coulson said instead of answering.

“I–”

“Darcy,” Thor said, before Darcy could protest. His hands gripped the underside of the table, but he felt as if he might break it in two, so laced them together instead, clenched under his bones creaked. “Darcy, please listen to me. SHIELD has done nothing to Jane, or Loki; if they had, I would not be aiding them. But it is not safe for you there.”

If Loki had taken Jane for her protection, then Darcy may still need that same protection. And if not, if Loki had stolen away Jane's mind and was planning to take Darcy's...at least SHIELD was better than nothing.

“I–” Darcy repeated, then cut herself off. Voice nervous, she asked, “Thor, what's going on? Is someone after us?”

“I do not know.” He hoped, with all his heart, that the Chitauri did not need Darcy as well. She was not a scientist like Jane or Erik, and did not have Loki's power, magic, or knowledge. “But SHIELD is helping, and it would be safer if you went with them.” He glanced up at Coulson and Fury. Both nodded.

Although Thor supposed they could not very well deny him.

There was a sighing noise from the phone, then a groan. “Okay, fine. I get it, helpless intern can't really take care of herself if someone tries to kidnap her. Even if she has a Taser. But Thor, if they do anything fishy, I'm calling for Heimdall.”

“That would acceptable,” Thor said, relieved that he did not have to try to convince her any further. Although she might wear on Heimdall's nerve if he truly decided to open the Bifrost for her.

“And I want an explanation as soon as I get there.”

Coulson frowned, seeming about deny Darcy's request, but Thor quickly said, “SHIELD will tell you what they can.” Darcy deserved to know what had happened to her friends.

“'What they can' – I bet that's close to nothing,” she grumbled, then her voice became softer as she said, “Bring them back Thor. Soon.”

The phone abruptly went silent even as Coulson was opening his mouth to say something else. He shut his mouth with a snap, then muttered something under his breath. For a moment nothing happened, and then the phone on the table made a pinging sound. Coulson pressed another few buttons on the table, and a picture appeared.

Beside a little box showing Loki's grinning face, was a little green bubble of text. It said, “Darcy, would you please have Shield call me at their earliest convenience? It's a manner of great importance. Thx ;)”

Chapter Text

When Loki heard the “Oh shit,” from Darcy's room, he thought nothing of it. Especially since Jane was explaining to him how Midgard's shape and temperature allowed for a certain form of atmosphere, so Asgard's couldn't be same.

Nor, a few seconds later, did he take heed of Darcy's shouts.

“But how can you have a uniform gravitational field if it's...a cone, or whatever? Where's the centre of gravity here anyway?” Jane was asking, poking at the scaled-down image of Asgard Loki had created for her. It hovered just over her desk, and Jane was sitting opposite Loki, staring at the illusion as if it was the source of all her frustrations in the world. At the moment, it was.

“Well, it lies in the base and at–” Loki began, pointing.

“Hey, Jane!” Darcy's shout interrupted him. “Do you know if there's tailor's–”

“In a minute, Darcy!” Jane called back, before returning her attention to the illusion. “Right. Forget about the centre for now, I'll figure it out myself. Just, what's the force of the gravitational field?”

Loki shrugged. He couldn't understand why Jane found Asgard so vexing in its shape. “It's normal, for one of the Nine.”

Jane stared at him as if she wasn't sure if he was joking, but before she could say anything, Darcy called again, “You know what, never mind. I'll do it myself.”

“Okay,” Jane snapped down the hall, then turned her glare on Loki. “Normal? Like Earth normal? Or like – no, that doesn't make any sense, because this is nowhere near the size of Earth...”

Half an hour later, Jane still didn't understand how Asgard's atmosphere functioned, and Loki didn't understand why it was so important, but somehow they had managed to get dinner together while arguing – or Loki used magic and some distracted culinary skills to finish what Darcy had started, at least. And Darcy wasn't answering their shouts to come, so she was probably listening to music again (“Because your science-magic talk would be cool if I understood it,” Darcy had complained when they asked why she tended to listen to her iPod whenever Jane and Loki got into their discussions. “Instead it just puts me to sleep.”)

When he walked into her room, he saw her sitting on her bed muttering angrily to herself, curled over what looked like a shirt. One hand was holding the fabric down, the other was pulling a dark thread upwards from a tear in the front of the shirt.

Between her fingers was the needle, glinting in the electric overhead lights, dark thread trailing behind it, coming down to push through the folds of the fabric.

The needle, dripping with his blood, dark thread trailing behind as it pulled upward in the completion of another stitch, pain lancing through his lips and his mouth and tears were falling from red eyes that someone was forcing open. The needle, coming down to push through his lips, gathering flesh as if it was cloth, needle scraping against teeth and gum once it punctured his skin. The thread, black against blue skin–

Blood dribbling down his chin and down his throat and crisscrossed smears of it over the rest of his body where they sewed the flesh back together. Blood choking him and he wanted to scream and tell them to stop stop stop, but then they would ask him HOWDIDYOUKILLYOURFATHER and Loki would not answer that because if he did then maybe he would make it true–

Lips that were painful to move, but he still had to answer their questions so maybe they would finally kill him, and when he brought his heavy, throbbing, shackled, blue hands up to his mouth he had felt bloody wet flesh between stitches of threads, before the bright burning pain when he touched his lips and the aching strain of lifting his hand became too much and he let his body collapse against the dungeon's floor–

“Loki! Loki, what's wrong?” A frightened voice – Darcy, was shouting. Darcy was here (in the dungeons?). “JANE! JANE, COME HERE!”

“Darcy, what– ” A sound of something clattering to the floor and running feet. “Darcy, what happened – what did you do?”

“I don't know, he just walked in and he just–”

“Okay, okay. Loki, can you – whatever you think is happening, it's not. You're safe.”

“You're here on Eart-Midgard, remember? With us, with me and Jane.”

Safe, safe (how could he be safe, how could he ever be safe with his skin and the truth out there for everyone to know and he would never be safe again), safe on Midgard.

Safe with Jane and Darcy.

Not in the dungeons.

The hands clamped tight to his mouth, muffling the pitiful whimpering sounds, did not feel any thread beneath their palms. No blood, no torn flesh.

“Loki, can you tell us what's wrong?” Jane asked, crouched beside Darcy just in front of him, brown eyes wide and scared, panicked, her hand tentatively resting on his shoulder. “Can you tell us what happened?”

What happened – what happened to send him curled up in the hallway, back against the wall, facing Darcy's room. He could see the foot of her bed, and just past the edge of her doorway, a dark lump of fabric.

Except he couldn't see it, if it was buried by the clothes or maybe just out of the line of his sight.

(Or in one of the torturers' hands, and when Loki was too weak to lift his head to look, they would lift it for him so he could watch as they sewed the blue skin back together.)

“It's fine, Loki–”

“What's wrong–”

“Needle,” he choked out, but his hands on his mouth rendered the word nothing but nonsense. He tried again, taking his hands from his mouth (no thread, he would feel if there was thread, Jane and Darcy would see if there was thread) and clutched them tight about the knees of the legs drawn up to his chest instead. “It's the needle,” he whispered, voice clotted with tears and panic and nothing more.

Darcy and Jane looked at each other, Jane's face questioning, Darcy's slowly growing horrified. Then Darcy stood and ran into her room, closing the door behind her as Loki struggled to breathe normally, to blink away the tears that threatened to fall even though there was no danger.

Jane gripped his shoulder, saying softly, “It's okay, Loki, it's okay, just breathe.” A few seconds later Darcy reopened the door, and the lump of fabric on the floor had disappeared. She sat back down, putting her hand gently on Loki's arm. “It's gone, Loki, don't worry,” she said, sounding as if she was about to start crying herself. “It's gone.”

Loki nodded, breath still coming out in shuddering gasps, hands clenched about his knees so tight he heard his bones creaking.

They stayed like that, sitting and crouched against the wall for what must have been minutes, but felt like hours, Jane awkwardly rubbing his shoulder and Darcy just holding his arm, her face screwed up in misery, occasionally sniffling and swiping a hand across her eyes. They didn't seem to know what to do. Which made three of them. Loki didn't know how to stop shaking, how to make his lungs work properly so he would get enough air, how to stop the memories and fear running through his head.

But his body stilled eventually, except for the regular, deep breaths inflating his chest. His hands loosened on his knees and his heart slowed to a steady thump thump thump instead of the rabbit-fast beat of before. There was silence, and Loki could hear the ticking of the clock down the hall, could smell the meal he had prepared in between discussing Asgard's gravitational properties with Jane. And Loki decided there was something the three of them knew how to do.

“We should eat,” Loki said, standing up abruptly, Jane and Darcy's hands falling away. His voice rasped and nearly cracked. For a moment he thought his legs wouldn't support him.

“No, no, it's fine, we can heat it up later,” Jane said, standing up as well, her hands held out placatingly. “If you want to stay, or...” She made a helpless gesture towards the wall.

Loki didn't want to stay and sit against the wall. It was too quiet. Too boring outside his head to stop what was inside of it. “We should eat,” he repeated, and with movements that felt almost dream-like, he walked past the two women, down the hall, to the table in the front of the building. And stopped, staring, rather than sitting down.

Jane and Darcy didn't follow at first. He heard a flurry of heated, broken-off whispers, and then Jane's footsteps made their way down the hall, and Darcy's a second later. But whereas Jane pulled out her chair and sat, Darcy stopped by the kitchen counter.

“I didn't know,” Darcy said quietly, her voice sounding on the edge of breaking. “If I'd known I wouldn't have–”

“It's not your fault,” Loki said.

Needles. Who would expect a god to be afraid of needles?

Loki sat as well, drawing his chair closer to the table. He stared at the three plates on the white tabletop, a simple meal of rice, chicken, and vegetables. Nothing compared to the feasts on Asgard. “You didn't know because I did not tell you,” he said.

He put his hands over his knife and fork but didn't pick them up. He heard the clinking of cutlery as Jane began to cut up her own food, the sound of the tap running as Darcy poured a glass of water.

Loki picked up his fork and stabbed it into a piece of chicken. The metal prongs met with resistance at first, before piercing into the flesh. Loki's stomach churned. He set the fork down again.

Looking down at the plate, he said, “They sewed my lips together.”

The other sounds stopped.

There was a clink as Jane put her cutlery down.

Loki knew he shouldn't be discussing this over dinner. It would ruin their appetites.

“I'm sorry,” Darcy whispered.

(Sorry? Sorry for what? She had nothing to be sorry for.)

Loki studied the hunk of meat embedded on his fork, the way the prongs cleaved through browned, seared skin. “Every night, before they locked me up in their cage, they would sew my lips together, and cut the thread open the next morning.” He pulled the fork out of the meat, watching the metal slide out, the flesh remaining parted with four distinct holes. “When they sliced my skin open, or tore it off, sometimes they would sew it back together so I wouldn't bleed out.”

So he wouldn't die. So they could hurt him the next day.

He set the fork against the plate and let go, in case he accidentally bent it in his grasp. Voice so quiet, it may have been a whisper, he said, “They made me watch, when they could.”

No one said anything. He didn't look up to see what Jane and Darcy were doing, whether there was disgust on their faces, or horror, or pity.

He pulled his chair backwards and stood. “I'm sorry. I'm not hungry.”

“That's fine,” Jane said, pushing her plate back. “I don't think any of us are. Loki, if you want–”

“I want to go to bed,” he said shortly. He hadn't known that was what he wanted to do, but now it sounded like a good plan. He wanted to crawl under the covers and let sleep take him. He wanted his mind to stop playing images of ragged blue skin and black thread over and over. He wanted to open the glass doors and walk into the desert, keep walking until he was too tired to think and his legs gave out.

Jane and Darcy were exchanging glances. Like Mother and Thor always had, when they and Loki had time to be in the same room together. Looking at the only other sane person in the room, wondering what to do with the one that wasn't.

Sure enough, Jane said, “I could talk to SHIELD. They could find someone to help you, if you want.” She wasn't quite looking at Loki as she spoke, but her face was tense, and the flashes of her eyes that Loki caught were earnest, anxious.

Loki shook his head, already retreating. “I'm fine. I just want to rest.”

They were glancing at each other again, but neither stopped Loki as he strode back down the hall, his movements feeling jerky, clumsy.

What if they didn't stop looking at him that way? What if they didn't stop trading those worried looks, finding out if the other one was just as concerned as themselves by whatever their crazy, broken guest was doing now?

He might as well have stayed in Mother's rooms in Asgard.

Except he knew that wasn't true. He couldn't have stayed in Mother's rooms, because then he would never be able to leave. Not without his life being put in danger. Not without being hurt.

Here, he only hurt others when he left his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day there was an email in his inbox from one Agent C. It was a polite reminder that SHIELD would be happy to help Loki in any way, as long as it fell within SHIELD policy, and especially if it would aid the rest of Loki's royal family. Loki responded with an equally polite and diplomatic decline. He wondered which of the two women had decided to contact SHIELD, and what exactly she had told them. Loki didn't ask, and neither of the women mentioned it.

Two days afterwards, he caught a glimpse of a website on Jane's computer that had the header “PTSD and Other Mental Trauma” before Jane hastily switched to another page, doing a very poor job of hiding her guilt.

Loki knew what PTSD meant. He had stumbled upon it one day on the internet's “Wikipedia”, read with a horrified, stomach-turning fascination for a couple of entries, before exiting the page. He didn't go back to it, and he wasn't sure how he felt about Jane looking into it.

Jane hadn't given him given him time to think. Recovering from her guilt, she had swivelled in her chair and caught Loki by the sleeve before he walked away. “Loki, wait,” she said. When he turned to face her, she said, “Look, when you first arrived here, I said we could always talk, if you needed to. Nothing's changed. If you want–”

“I did talk. I told you what happened.” Loki's voice was harsher than it had to be, and probably didn't help persuade her. Softening his tone, he placed an hand over her own and said, “Please, Jane, I'm fine now.”

The look Jane gave him was one of flat disbelief. Beneath it, the ever-present pity, worry, sorrow, that had always been on Mother and Thor's face, even when they tried to hide it. The look he come to Midgard to escape.

It grated at him, sparked an irritation somewhere inside him like a flame he wasn't sure how to douse.

“I'm fine,” he repeated, though for whose benefit, he wasn't sure. He dragged his sleeve away from her's, and she let him go. When he returned to his room only to stare blankly at a page of a book Darcy had lent him, he wished Jane hadn't.

That same day, Darcy asked him if it was only the needles that disturbed him, or if there was anything else she needed to put away. She didn't stop fidgeting guiltily the entire time she spoke, and her eyes never once met Loki's. Loki told her there wasn't, though he wasn't sure if it was a lie or not.

He tried to tell her the needle wasn't her fault (he could no more blame her than his own mother for the slip, and his mother had been aware of it in the first place), but she avoided him in favour of Jane or her own company. She didn't offer to show him videos on the internet, or go “people-watching” at the diner where mortals would stop for refreshments on long trips on the road. Jane would wave Loki off from helping her with her research, claiming Loki needed time for himself (but Loki didn't need more time with his thoughts, he needed to make them stop). She didn't even want to discuss Asgard's atmosphere again, though Loki had done his best to research why humans thought it was so important.

Jane and Darcy tiptoed around him. As if he might break. Loki didn't understand why they had been fine with all of his nightmares, with his outburst about the Jotnar over two months ago, but this had to change everything.

For the first time since he had arrived, he considered leaving not because he was inconveniencing them, but because he couldn't live like this. Left alone out of pity, with only his gnawing, circling, never-ending thoughts for company. Being treated as if he was damaged. Useless.

(Even if he was.)

But a few days was all it lasted. By the end of the week, Jane and Darcy had stopped hushing their voices whenever he was around them, as if he was a wild animal and any loud noises might startle him. They stopped darting worried glances at him if he talked too little, or talked too much. They stopped sharing knowing, upset looks whenever he said something that might be misconstrued as references to the pain he had felt. Jane finally took him up on his offer to discuss Asgard's atmosphere, and Darcy asked him if he wished to “binge-watch” a show with her.

Whether they couldn't live with caution either, or the event drifted far away enough in their mortal memories to soften their worry, or something else, he did not know nor particularly care. He only cared that they stopped.

It was five days later, as Loki prepared for bed, when Darcy waltzed into his room without knocking – her usual method of entering, which annoyed him less than it should, because at least she wasn't treating him like a potion that was about to explode if she rocked it the wrong way.

“Why yes, you can come in,” Loki said as she took a seat on his bed. He closed the drawer that he had begun to open, the one where he kept his sleepwear.

“Your door wasn't closed,” she answered with a shrug. She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned back with her hands spread on the bed behind her. “And besides, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Which was change from them not talking to him. Or only talking to him to ask if he was “okay”.

“Alright,” he replied, leaning back against his chest of drawers.

Darcy gnawed a lip, the ease with which she had breezed into Loki's room evaporating. “Um, well, I've been doing a bit of research – which is shocking, I know – although it wasn't just research. I have a cousin who has OCD – and you don't know what that is, so never mind about that part.” She looked up at him, her usually cheerful face serious. “I don't think you want to be afraid of needles for the rest of your life, do you?” she asked softly.

Loki felt his jaw clench, and he looked away. “I don't want to be afraid of them at all.”

“No, I know, but we have a thing here on Earth that I don't think you have on Asgard, and um...it's called exposure therapy,” she said nervously. Her hands bunched up blankets in her fists. “I know you freak out when you look at needles, but what if you could get used to looking at them? So you wouldn't be so afraid next time you saw one?”

Loki stared at her, frowning. “What do you mean?” He had hoped it would go away with time, but to go so far as to say the next time seemed far-fetched. Unless he wasn't going to set eyes on one for the next few years.

“I mean...start small. Maybe look at pictures of needles – or if that's too much, pictures of things that look like needles. Until you stop being afraid, and then move to the pictures of needles. Then eventually...” She smiled up at him. “Maybe real needles.”

Loki blinked. That sounded...ridiculous. Looking at pictures – How mortals even came up with these ideas was beyond him.

(Was it any more ridiculous than being frightened by a memory?)

But if it could help him...and it didn't sound all that difficult, or a waste of his time, or humiliating–

(Humiliating? For a prince of Asgard, a prince that was so weak that looking at tiny silver of metal sent him quivering with fear, whimpering like a frightened pup...that was humiliation enough.)

But Jane and Darcy – and Mother, he remembered – did not think that fear weak.

He returned Darcy's smile. “I will...think on it,” he answered, gesturing to the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five weeks later, a year into his stay, SHIELD wished to do a medical examination on Loki. They said they only wished to know some basics about Loki's body, nothing too intrusive. Loki was not sure how much he trusted them, though they had been entirely civil and helpful so far. But it had only been a year, and it wasn't as if Loki didn't understand he was an anomaly on Midgard. Or that, from what he'd learned during his time with Jane and his own research (and the various alien-encounter movies Darcy had made him watch), that humans might hope to do something more with his body.

Neither Jane nor Darcy entirely trusted SHIELD about their promise either, and Darcy kept muttering something about them probably being behind Area 51. So they decided to accompany Loki to the better-equipped SHIELD facility in Dallas, seeing as they were actually familiar with Midgardian equipment and might spot something suspicious quicker than Loki.

Although when Loki teleported himself, Jane, and Darcy to the innocuous-seeming clothing store he had been directed to, nothing unusual happened. Well, the agent behind the counter jumped a foot in the air and began reaching inside his jacket for a weapon before he seemed to recognize Loki. He then pressed a button, said, “They're here,” into the cash register, and waved them through a door that opened behind a shelf of socks.

A flock of mortals in white coats immediately swarmed towards him, each with a tablet in hand, all looking as excited as Jane when she had typed up the period to her last sentence on her theory.

It was somewhat of a surprise to realize the excitement was for him. Or for his body, at least.

They brought him down to a series of white rooms with black eagles painted on their walls, and had him do something different in each. In one they stuck something in his mouth that recorded his temperature, wrapped something around his arm that recorded his blood pressure, put something onto his chest that would listen to his heart and lungs. Each time, Loki thought the object might be something sinister (because all this poking and prodding and touching seemed so primitive compared to the technology Jane created with her own hands) but each time he glanced at Jane and Darcy they gave him an encouraging nod. Darcy also looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, which was annoying, but assured him that nothing untoward was going on.

With the device they stuck in his mouth, however, he took care to vanish his saliva with a quick spell once they finished recording the temperature. Even if the mortals had yet to understand magic – anything that was part of the body, especially given willingly, could be used in very potent spells – he had read enough about basic biology to know he did not wish to give away what they called “DNA”.

In another room they had him run on a machine with something latched onto his chest and the pulse at his neck in order to measure his heartbeat – a test which Loki thought went on for far too long, even if he enjoyed the exercise; as sand was not entirely suitable for running, he did not often run around Puente Antiguo's deserts, and if he ran in the little town, the humans had a tendency to stare.

In the next room, they wanted him to grasp onto a machine and push it to measure his strength, though it was not particularly well-designed for it broke all too easily. Though from the mortals' surprise, that was not supposed to happen. They seemed pleased, but Loki decided that if they put him through any other tests of strength or endurance, he would have to hold back. While the mortals might want to know everything there was to know about him, Loki knew better than to reveal the full extent of his power. Especially to an organization like SHIELD.

Next, they had him take off his shoes, stand up against a wall, and they recorded his height. Then they made him take off his jacket, shirt, and pants and stand on a device that weighed him. Loki was not very pleased with the request, but the way a couple of the female Healers, and one of the male ones, ran their eyes over his body in a rather less than...scientific manner alleviated some of the discomfort.

After they all recorded the number on their tablets, they rushed Loki into another, smaller room and asked him to lay back in the table on the centre; it had wide metal half-circles at each end, and was apparently specially designed for SHIELD so they could record variations in skin temperature, take some “x-rays”, and do a “cat scan”. It took some back-and-forth debating between Jane and two of the scientists until Jane decided it was fine, though Loki made her swear to explain each test as it happened before he approached the table.

He slid on midway between the half-circles over the table and turned length-wise as a woman in a white coat directed him. He lay down, his back hitting the hard, metallic surface and–

Poison-barbed clamps were snapping around his wrists and ankles, holding him in place but he didn't know why they bothered because he was too weak to move, his limbs turned to a bloody pulp while the poison coursed throughout his body, never-stopping, never-ending. His torturers were smiling down at him, asking question after question after question as they pressed a button that set his back on fire, his blue skin was turning black as it peeled off, leaving the flesh beneath to burn–

When Loki opened his eyes (he didn't know he had closed them), he was standing in the middle of his bedroom in Puente Antiguo, still in only his smallclothes, and with no memory of how he got there.

(Maybe he was dreaming, imagining the soft, rumpled bedsheets, the sunlight streaming down from the window, and he was still chained into that table, thinking of a freedom he could never have–)

Loki's phone was ringing.

Not that it could be heard by any but himself, being not currently in the physical realm. He flicked it into existence between fingers he had not known were trembling, and answered when he saw Jane's face on the screen.

“Hello–”

“Loki, oh my God, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I'm at your house,” Loki said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, heartbeat only slowly beginning to calm from its fear, his limbs shaking and jumping.

And yet he felt simply tired.

“What happened?” he asked, and he knew his voice sounded as exhausted as he felt.

“I – that's what I was going to ask you. You were starting to lay down on their table, then you made this sort of choking noise–” which Loki did not remember “–And before anyone could do anything, you...tore the recording platform off and threw it at their computer banks before vanishing.” Loki could hear the wince under the worry in Jane's voice, and Loki felt like joining her.

He buried his face in one of his hands instead. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked, hoping he had not accidentally killed a mortal just because of his fear, his weakness–

“No, they're all fine. Just a bit frightened.” From the quaver in Jane's voice, just like she was frightened. “We just want to know that you're alright.”

“Yes, I'm fine now,” Loki lied, putting all the reassurance in his voice that he could.

When he returned to the SHIELD base, the mortals let him redress himself with a quick spell in silence. Nor did they object, or ask to continue their examination, when he grabbed Jane and Darcy's hands and teleported back to the desert.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the incident in Dallas, SHIELD requested, politely but firmly, that Loki should see a therapist, one who would be brought to their Puente Antiguo branch.

Loki probably would not have gone, if Jane and Darcy had not encouraged him as well.

(Because they did not want him to be a burden, to be someone they had to take care of when he was too pathetic to do it himself.)

(Because they were afraid.)

Darcy drove him, since Jane had work to do and Loki had no wish to teleport alone into the middle of the SHIELD base this time.

An agent led him into the depth of the building and opened the door to a small room in which there was a squat, glass-topped desk with hard-looking chairs on either side, a computer at another desk, and a tall brunette woman with glasses waiting by the door.

“Loki Odinson, is it?” she said, smiling at him as she gestured to the interior of the room. “Please, take a seat.”

Loki frowned at the odd pronunciation of his name – Odin's son like Coulson – but decided it was simply a difference of Midgardian custom and took one of the chairs.

The one closest to the door.

If she noticed that his choice was strange, she said nothing, simply taking the other. She picked up a clipboard, along with a pen that she held loosely in her left hand.

“My name is Elizabeth Burrows,” she said in the same calm tone she had greeted him in, “and I work for SHIELD as a counsellor and therapist, and nothing we say in this room will go beyond it without your permission. I have been informed of your background and your unusual status, and I hope I can help you despite our many differences.”

Loki nodded politely, already knowing this venture was hopeless. How could she hope to know of those “differences”, as she put them, having only thebarest of knowledge of them? Having never been off her planet, much less been to Asgard itself? Being only a mortal, who had lived for what looked likebarely four decades, compared to one who had lived for over a hundred?

How could she hope to help him, if she had no possible way to everunderstand?

“SHIELD has asked me to discuss the incident that happened a week ago in Dallas with you,” she said, oblivious to Loki's reluctance. “But before that, I want to ask you if there's anything else you wish to discuss.” When Loki said nothing, she leaned slightly forward in her chair, her eyes bright with a sympathy Loki wished she wasn't getting paid to feel. “I understand that you went through several painful and difficult experiences during your last month in Asgard.”

She left the sentence off at that, obviously waiting for an answer. Well, it wasn't as if Loki could deny having those “painful and difficult experiences”. He only just managed to keep the sneer from his face as he replayed the words in his head. Mirroring her polite voice, he lied, “Yes, that is correct, but most have little bearing on my life now. At the moment, I think the...incident a week ago is more important.”

If she caught the lie, she gave no hint of it, simply nodded and asked, “Would you like to tell me about what happened in Dallas, then?”

Loki took a brief pause as if he was thinking, then said, “I lay down on the table, panicked, tore it apart, and teleported to Puente Antiguo.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” His tone was slightly surprised, his eyebrows raised, as if wondering, how could there be more?

“From Dr. Foster's conversation with you on the phone, you seemed not to remember some of what happened.”

Loki did not let his surprise that SHIELD knewthat show. Instead, he casually shrugged, looking at her placidly. As if it didn't bother him he couldn't recall the memory, or the time with the needle in Darcy's room where he did not know how he ended up sitting in the hallway, or in Mother's rooms while she was sewing his clothes and one moment he was reading the book and the next he was on the floor as Mother held him. “I lay down on the table and teleported to Puente Antiguo. In my panic, I must have forgotten some of the details.”

Burrows gave him an almost inscrutable look, though Loki could see a hint of disbelief behind her eyes. Then she nodded and wrote something down on her clipboard.

A deep, hot flash of hatred suddenly coursed through Loki, one that was not entirely muffled by the deep well of unease the scratch of her pen set off. What was she writing about him – howdare she analyze his behaviour right in front of him, as if he couldn't see her – what could she tell about him from his answer, how did she know about what was wrong with himalready –

“How about what happened to cause you to panic?” she asked, the pen now still as she looked back up at him. “Can you tell me what you remember of that?”

Loki did not like this question. Of course he could remember. But could he actually tell her, as if he had never choked on the words in his throat as he tried to speak, silent on everything for so long, that even Thor or Mother barely knew what had happened in the dungeons?

“Would you like me to?” he asked, voice light.

She nodded, her face seeming open, pleasant. “Yes, I would.”

He smiled. It felt brittle. “I can do more than tell. I can also show you.”

A frown broke her calm expression. “What do you–” She cut off in a small sound of surprise, eyes darting to Loki's wrists, to his ankles. Where it seemed Loki's sleeves had been torn to his elbow, his shoes and socks gone, pants ripped to the knee. And around the base of each limb, a ring of bleeding, oozing, putrid flesh, two inches thick, with darker, black divots spaced in neat little rows across the churned up (still pink) flesh.

Loki had not seen much of his wrists or ankles, seeing as they had been in chains most of the time, but the few glimpses he caught had been enough.

Now though, he did not look down, instead watching Burrows as her eyes widened, her face paled, then she drew herself together and stared back at Loki's face, her calm expression somewhat tighter than before.

Loki leaned back in his chair, crossing his right leg over his left so she had a very good view of his ankle, even if she did not look down. He brought his hands up as well, resting his elbows on the chair's arms and interlocking his fingers just below his neck. He did not lose his smile as he said, “This is what happened, or rather, what I remembered happening, when I lay down on that table. They lay me down on one quite similar to it, every day, for a week.” He was aware his voice was shaking, his hands not quite steady. “They had these interesting manacles, where at a push of a button, sharp spurs would emerge and pierce whatever was in their way, whether that be flesh or bone. They were tipped in a poison that grew stronger with time, especially once it reached the heart.” He laughed, the sound not quite right, even to his own ears. “By the end of the week, I barely noticed either of them.”

“I see,” Burrows said. The pen, once held loosely in her hand, now seemed on the verge of breaking in her grasp. “And by they, you mean the people that hurt you on Asgard, yes?”

Loki almost snorted. You have to be more specific than that, he thought. Which 'people that hurt me'? But he nodded.

She jotted down another note on her clipboard, and Loki wanted to break her pen in half. Followed by her clipboard. Followed by–

“Is that why you reacted so strongly?” she asked.

“Oh no, that wasn't just it,” Loki said, the smile now feeling plastered to his face, like it would not disappear even if he tried. “That was maybe one of the more forgivable of the tortures, if it had not made it that much more difficult to walk afterwards. It was simply how they started the day, strapping me in and holding me down.”

Loki felt his body leaning forward even as the minute trembling began to grow. “Do you know how much damage one of our bodies can sustain, day after day, Ms. Burrows? A human can die so easily, their bodies only taking so much stress before they give out. Before they become irreparable. A human's skin won't heal from a burn overnight–” Now his shirt seemed to be gone and the skin underneath blackened and charred, “–So it can be peeled back the next day.” The skin of his right arm disappeared, just up to his wrist, and Loki began to notice an edge of blue to some of his falsified wounds, the truth of his memories bleeding into the lie.

But it mattered not, and he put his interlaced hands on top of the desk for a better view. He saw Burrows struggling to keep her eyes on his face, her own face paling, and his smile was sharp as he said, “Your nails won't regrow,” and now they were gone too, their black keratin leaving only oozing blood behind. “The holes they drive through your chest won't seal over.” Throughout the blackened and burnt (blue) flesh were bleeding holes, seeming as if Loki could reach in and touch the inside of his body (as one of the torturers had, wriggling his fingers somewhere inside Loki's chest, smiling as Loki screamed and retched but the man only asked more questions).

“Your bones won't heal just so that they can be re-broken.” His (blue) fingers were twisted as he lay his hands flat on the table, his legs at impossible angles even as he uncrossed them and began to stand, the breaks in them making Loki seem as if he were balanced on shattered bone. “You could not have your chest opened up while you looked on–” Some of the blackened skin disappeared, replaced by startling white ribs, slowly inflating lungs, ropes of intestines– “And still expect to live.” Loki could hear himself panting, and realized his smile had vanished somewhere along the way.

“Loki, please, sit down,” Burrows said in that awful calm voice of hers. Her face was pinched, body tense, but her eyes didn't waver from his. “I know this is difficult, that what you went through no one should experience, and I understand that –”

“No no no, you can't, you can't understand, because you're human, mortal, you do not know how long I have to live.” He was sure every mortal in the building could hear him but he didn't care. “Even the Æsir cannot understand because they don't have the ice – the cold, the – they can't have it stolen from their heads and they don't know how it feels, they don't know how wrong that emptiness is.”

There were tears in his red eyes now, spilling across blue cheeks, and he did not quite know when the real skin had replaced his illusion, but it wasn't an illusion anymore because he could feel the raised ridges of skin, the second eyelids against his own.

(He didn't want it, he didn't want it, Laufey could have it back–)

“Because it doesn't matter to them if the thing being cut open and stolen from is a Jotun – a monster.” He was screaming now, but he couldn't stop. “Because they deserve it, especially one that hurt the Allfather, and they deserve it because they–”

There was a cracking sound, and from where Loki's hands lay on the desk, needle-sharp icicles shot forwards, stopping inches from Burrows' neck.

She flinched back, gasping. Her eyes were wide.

Afraid.

Afraid of him. Of what he might do. Of what he could do.

(Monster.)

He could see it written across her face.

(Monster, monster, she was only trying to help and you nearly killed her, you Jotun monster.)

Loki turned on his heel and ran, his illusions disappearing like evaporating steam.

Behind him, he could hear the sound of Burrows standing, the sharp clack of her shoes against the ground.

“Loki, wait, come back–”

Loki did not hear the rest.

He teleported the moment he reached the door, although he did not go far.

Reappearing just inside the entrance to the SHIELD building, Loki turned himself invisible as he carefully returned his appearance to normal. He could hear shouting and the stomping of feet deeper in the building.

He took several deep breaths, then plastered a calm expression on his face and walked outside.

Darcy looked up from her phone, startled, as he opened the door and dropped into the seat beside her.

“That was short,” she said with a frown. “Did you talk about everything you wanted to talk about?”

Loki sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, my first assessment was correct; SHIELD, and mortals, know too little of our realms to be of any true use.”

“Aww, damn it, I'm sorry.” Darcy gave him a quick, half-hug, and Loki did his best not to flinch back, tried not to shove her away, because he didn't know if the ice would come back, if it came back and hurt her. Then she drew back, and Loki could breathe. Eyes large and regretful behind her glasses, she said, “Jane and I really hoped it would work.”

Loki made an understanding sound and leaned his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes. “It has been a tiring day, and I believe I would like to go back now.”

“Alright,” Darcy said, starting the car at last, and as she drove off, Loki could see several figures exiting the SHIELD building, staring at the receding car.

As Darcy drove back along the desert road, Loki tried not to think of Helblindi's words about the ice, about the cold.

Your Issjä is a part of you, something that could be used for good or ill, just as Mjolnir could be.

But Loki had used his, without thought, to scare, to hurt.

Not for good deeds, like Thor, but for ill.

Only a monster would use themselves for monstrous deeds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick Fury sighed as he put down Ms. Burrows' short assessment. She couldn't give him transcripts or any real info – confidentiality still extended to gods – but there were certain relevant things that she could reveal.

Like being a possible danger to others.

“The patient may react with outward violence when triggered by certain memories or thoughts: his memories of his torture, and in reaction to the treatment of his own species of 'Jotnar' by Asgard. Violence directed towards himself, and suicidal thoughts, are a possibility, but not enough time was spent with the patient to confirm.

The patient also revealed he could create and manipulate ice, perhaps even unconsciously, a power which was not listed in his file. An amendment should be in order.”

Even such a short explanation wearied Fury. Why a normal, well-adjusted person couldn't build a robotic suit or turn themselves into a large green monster...Hell, even the initial assessments on Captain Rogers reported PTSD and poor acclimation to the future, not that Rogers seemed any more fond of the therapy sessions SHIELD had offered than Loki.

Only Rogers could probably be stopped if he ever ended up...triggered, even if they had to call in Stark to do it. With Loki...

Fury tapped on his desk, and the computer pulled up the files that SHIELD's Dallas division had sent him last week. There wasn't much of use in a scientific sense, but Fury hadn't just authorized the examination to satisfy a few xenobiologists' curiosity. According to the preliminary tests, Loki's endurance was at the very least on par with Captain America, though the scientist hadn't had the time to pursue the test further. Though Fury strongly suspected it would be quite a bit beyond even Rogers' capabilities.

The strength machine hadn't been of much help either. No, what had been more revealing was what Loki had done to their Radiography machine, or whatever the scientists were calling it these days, and Loki hadn't even done that consciously. His little display had been closing on in Hulk-level strength, and Loki didn't even have Thor's bulk, nor the height of a normal-sized frost giant.

But it was Loki who was on Earth, and Loki who could have taken out a few of SHIELD's top scientist he had aimed the table a few more feet to the left. And SHIELD who had yet to find anything that could stop something like the Hulk when he lost control.

Fury felt a headache coming on, but he drew his eye back to Burrow's assessment. “Create and manipulate ice,” he read again. Another facet of the god's “magic”, he wondered? Or something else?

Fury didn't think the species was called “frost giant” for nothing, and even if Loki wasn't particular giant, how much of the “frost” still remained?

A memory swam to the surface of Fury's mind, from about a year ago, before Loki had arrived on Earth. Back when Thor and the other Asgardians had been talking to the frost giants, one of the tables SHIELD had provided for the negotiations had be scrapped, because the metal had been blackened and warped by what could only be extreme cold. And both spots of damage had been in the shape of very large hand prints.

Fury rubbed a hand across his forehead. The feeling of weariness only grew worse. Then he hit a few keys on his desk again, and began typing.

The first memo he sent to an agent in Hong Kong, who already had tabs on a few meta-humans there, particularly one whose fire-throwing tricks didn't look much like tricks. Then he sent a message to the liaison for Xavier's fledgling “school”, though he doubted Professor X would be much willing to lend Fury one of his own. Last, he sent one down to the R&D department, weapons division. Because if things got messy, he would much prefer to rely on his own agents than a kid who got the lucky with the ability to play with fire.

Fury didn't particular believe in any gods. Yet as he sent out his last message, he hoped the ones he knew existed weren't watching. Because Fury still hadn't quite figured out ways to stop them, either.

But he was working on it.

Chapter Text

Helblindi was in the waiting rooms outside of Queen Mother Frigga's reception quarters, sitting on one of the two chairs that had been hastily crafted for Jotnar. And he had been sitting there since he had exited an important meeting with Elder Skrýmir and some visiting Vanir merchants earlier that day. The guards kept reassuring him they had ordered someone to tell the queen he was waiting, but Helblindi suspected the message had been lost somewhere along the way.

In the past day and a half, he still had not found time to speak to the Queen Mother, though he knew she was one of the few in Asgard who would be both able and willing to tell Helblindi more than vague details about whatever was happening on Midgard. And whatever had happened to Loki. Yet time was one thing Helblindi should have had in abundance – he was still expected to be in Jotunheim, after all, and the rest of the Jotnar had planned to take over for him until he returned. They had actually been covering for more and more of his duties ever since his outburst to the Grand Vizier; not a few weeks ago, Lady Skadi had almost pushed him out of a meeting with a few Æsir sorceresses, telling him to retire early that day. Helblindi would have taken issue with her, if she had not been right; he had needed the rest.

Rest which he was not getting now.

Somehow, ever since he had returned, he found himself wrapped up once again in meetings, arguments, and impromptu discussions on how the treaty was progressing. It made his head ache and his bones feel as if they had been left in the sun to weaken and rot.

His trip to Jotunheim had been meant to help him relax, to help him think, away from Asgard and its heat that refused to disperse even in winter – if it could be called winter. He was meant to be far from Asgard's glittering gold that reflected off every surface, similar to the snow that shone in Jotunheim's summer, yet both too dull and too brassy to be of any comfort; it was a light that tended to make his eyes sting and water unless he closed his second lid. And of course, the trip had meant to get him away from the councillors and nobles, the stares and the whispers in the halls that followed him wherever he went, even after all this time.

(No wonder Loki had left. It was only a surprise he had not left sooner.)

Now, not only had he returned too early, too exhausted, but in worse straights than before. At least when he had left, Loki had not been one of his worries, or not a prominent one. He knew that Loki was on Midgard with his friends, safe and well (even if a desert seemed a worse place for him to live than Asgard). If anything had happened to him, he knew Thor or Queen Frigga would tell him.

Except nothing was supposed to happen to Loki. He was on Midgard for his protection, to keep him well away from any harm that might visit him in the other realms.

(He was on Midgard until he was ready to come to Jotunheim.)

And now...Queen Frigga still would tell him. If he could only speak with her. And if Asgard did not drive him mad first.

The worst part was, Helblindi couldn't entirely blame the Æsir for keeping secrets; he was prince of another realm, and if the matter was as concerned with Asgard's politics as Thor believed, it would be folly to tell Helblindi details.

Not that he wanted any “details”. Asgard could have its damned secrets; Helblindi just wanted news of his brother.

(Except that most of the Æsir probably wouldn't bother to tell him if Loki still lived. Sometimes he wondered if any but he, Býleistr and the royal family cared if Loki did.)

No, there must be something more than just the formalities of politics that kept the Æsir so silent on the situation. It couldn't be because they lacked for information, for the councillors seemed to be receiving message after message from Heimdall, with pages rushing from the Bifrost to the council rooms and back.

In fact, half the times he had asked to see the Queen in between whatever meetings he was being drawn into, the answer had been, “She is with Heimdall”. Which was not entirely unusual – she had been spending much more time with Asgard's Gatekeeper in recent months, which Helblindi guessed was for Loki – but by now, she and Heimdall must know exactly where Loki was and how the Chitauri kept him imprisoned. He wasn't sure why Heimdall had not simply sent Thor and his warriors to free Loki directly; it seemed the best route, and the Chitauri wouldn't see them coming. Something else had to be going on, as the Æsir were not exactly known for their hesitancy.

He supposed, if he managed to slip away before a councillor decided he could be of help drafting a new trade agreement for Vanaheim-Jotunheim relations or something equally tedious, he could attempt to trek down to the Bifrost to ask. If he could work up the courage to speak.

It might be easier if he didn't look directly at the Gatekeeper's eyes. Those gold, star-filled eyes gave him a deep sense of unease.

It was not as if he disliked Asgard's Gatekeeper; in fact, from what he had heard, Heimdall had helped keep Loki safe, and had been Queen Frigga's only ally when the rest of the realm had locked Loki away. Not to mention both Thor and Queen Frigga spoke very highly of him.

But on Jotunheim, there were stories of the golden realm's golden-eyed god. Not frightening stories – at least not of the Gatekeeper himself, for all the golden-eyed one did was watch and listen. Instead, according to the older children Helblindi had played with at the palace years before war broke out, it was for whom the Gatekeeper watched and listened that should frighten him. Because if Asgard's Gatekeeper saw you scheming against Asgard, or insulting its gods, or talking back to your elders (as one of the oldest girls liked to tell him), the golden-eyed god would send for his master.

The more timid children called the golden-eyed god's master the Wanderer. They said he would roam the Nine Realms, choosing a different face on each of his wanderings, sowing deceit and war, turning Jotun against Jotun.

The more bold among the children called him the Hanged One, or the Slain God. They said he had met the Norns and gave them his life in exchange for boundless knowledge, and after nine days and nine nights, the Norns gave his life back as well. Yet even then his hunger had not been sated.

It was the bravest of the children dared to call him the Terrible One. They said that after he had visited the Norns, he quested to Jotunheim, searching after the wisest of Jotnar; once he had stolen their secrets by force or by trickery, he cleaved their heads from their shoulders and kept them all as trophies, so if there were any knowledge left for them to speak, only he might hear it.

They said he had slain Ymir, the greatest and mightiest of all giants, tearing Ymir apart and scattered his body about the realms, refusing the giant a proper death.

They said he wished for thousands upon thousands of souls, enough to fill his halls, and cared not how he got them. Nor how much death he sowed to reap them.

(In Helblindi's head, he was brave enough to call him Terrible One; out loud, though, he only called him the Wanderer.)

Only one child, more foolish than brave, had ever called him “Odin”. The other children always quickly shushed him, because the golden-eyed god would be listening for his master's name, to see if the children deserved punishment.

And what a punishment it would be, the children liked to say. They were particularly fond of telling on dark winter nights after they had snuck out to the mountain caves (and Helblindi had done his very best not to be afraid, especially when he stuck close to another of the children pretending not to be afraid). When the golden-eyed god sent for his master, the older children said, the Terrible One would come down in a scream of blinding light. He would take his spear of fire, and with it he would burn you up, and your family for good measure. After he was done with you, there would be nothing left to return to the ice.

Helblindi spent many sleepless nights wondering if the golden-eyed god was watching, and what he considered a horrible enough crime to send for the Terrible One. Yet he had reasoned that he hadn't actually heard of anyone being burned to a crisp by the Terrible One, and if the Terrible One truly did come down, then Father would put a stop to him. Father wouldn't let the Terrible One into Jotunheim, no matter what the golden-eyed one said. Once that logic had settled into Helblindi's mind, the fear of the Terrible One dwindled.

Of course, when Helblindi was old enough, he decided to turn those tales on Býleistr. Before bed time, he would whisper of the all-watching Ás with golden eyes, who would tell the Slain God if Býleistr was ever naughty – Helblindi would even yell up to the golden-eyed god himself. Especially if Býleistr dared disobey his older brother. Which was a lie, but it had been funny to watch Býleistr squeak and run away whenever Helblindi whispered “golden eyes” in his ear.

Until the war.

After the war, he stopped.

After the war, the children never spoke the tales with the intent to tease.

After the war, the tales grew worse. Even the one foolish child who had dared say the Terrible One's name did not say it anymore. In fact, he stopped talking at all.

(His mother had been lost in the war, Helblindi had learned. The children whispered that they hadn't even found his mother's body. They said she had been burned to a crisp by the Terrible One's spear, far away on Midgard's lands.)

It was only after Helblindi worked up the courage to tell his father of his nightmares – of a looming Ás King and golden eyes watching him from above – that Laufey found out. And his rage had been nearly as frightening as the tales themselves.

He was not angry at Helblindi and Býleistr, at least. Mostly, he seemed angry at Asgard, though that did not stop him from trying to stamp the stories out. Helblindi still wasn't sure if he had entirely succeeded or not.

For Helblindi and Býleistr themselves, Laufey had sat them on his knee and told them of how he had ripped out Odin's eye; he called Odin thief and child-slayer; he told them how Odin had cursed their realm to crumble into nothing as he sat on his throne and laughed.

Helblindi thought Laufey had been trying to make them angry, but more often than not those tales only fanned Helblindi's fear. Although he had always managed to look brave whenever his father launched into one of stories and nod along with Laufey's words (a bravery which he feigned much better than Býleistr, who normally just sat and hugged Laufey's chest with a miserable expression on his face).

As Helblindi grew, though, he began to see his father's rages as just that: rages. They stopped being tales of a brutal enemy, who Laufey had managed to spite one last time, but angry, resentful words spouted out whenever Laufey was in a sullen mood (and Helblindi got much better at reading his father's moods).

He saw Laufey's bitterness as he sat upon his own throne, a bitterness that seemed to grow more bleak each year. He watched as the Elders drew plans to rebuild what little they could of each of their home regions, as they figured out how to survive with so little, while Laufey still brooded over his loss.

He learned not to trust his father's every word. And Helbindi found out that not every Jotun agreed with Laufey.

Once he was old enough to travel alone, Helblindi had asked for tutoring away from the palace - away from those who would only harp Laufey's grim, resentful words - and Laufey had allowed it. Perhaps Helblindi had not always travelled exactly where his father wished him to go, nor studied under tutors his father would have chosen, but Helblindi cultivated some rather adept skills at lying in those years. He thought they worked well enough.

Enough to learn more of the war. Enough to learn more of Odin, of Asgard. Enough to learn how Jotunheim, the once-proud realm of their histories, came to this state.

And his childhood nightmares, of the Terrible One and his terrible spear, withered.

Yet he had never quite gotten over his fear of Heimdall's gaze. It hadn't helped that, not long after he first admitted his nightmares to Laufey, he had asked his father if the stories about Heimdall's sight were true; Laufey hadn't bothered denied them. And so Helblindi had been spent half his childhood worrying that the golden-eyed god was watching him, waiting for Laufey's First Son to commit treason against Asgard, or start another war. Eventually Helblindi decided that they would use him to take something else away from Jotunheim, though without the Casket, they didn't have much left. So he'd begun to worry that they would take Býleistr, a fear which had lasted even after he made his travels outside of the palace.

Helblindi did not miss the irony that the “Terrible One” had taken his little brother. Just not the one he had worried about.

And he was not sure if what happened was much better. Odin had saved Loki's life, yes; but if Loki had stayed on Jotunheim, then the Æsir would not have hurt him. He would not have been tortured, or forced to live in what amounted to exile, if a kind one.

(He would not have flinched at Helblindi's touch.)

If Loki had stayed on Jotunheim, then he would not be at the Chitauri's mercy, and Helblindi would not be forced to wait endlessly on stiff seats in overly-heated rooms for an Æsir guard to listen to him for once, instead of believing he might try to murder the Queen or something equally dastardly the moment they set foot in the same room.

He was still seething over the thought when he heard one of the back doors open, and he lifted his head to see Lord Frey gently closing the door behind him. As soon as Lord Frey caught sight of Helblindi, he jumped as if startled, then smiled warmly and walked over.

“Prince Helblindi, I heard you were back from Jotunheim,” he said, giving him a small bow, as was Ás custom towards a prince from another realm. The smiled faded into a sympathy as he raised his head. “Though it is unfortunate business which cut your and the King's visit short.”

Helblindi nodded, allowing some of his worry to show; with Lord Frey's relation to Elder Gerðr being rekindled in the past year and a half, Helblindi knew he was one of the few Æsir he would trust to some degree. “Yes,” he said, “and it is that business which brings me to speak to Asgard's Queen Mother. Tell me, will she be free shortly? I would wish to speak to her soon, before I must depart for another meeting.”

Lord Frey looked surprised. “I am sorry, Prince Helblindi, but she has been overseeing the training of some of our warriors since this morning. I know not when she will return.” Which, from Frey's expression, seemed the truth.

So there would be more waiting, if he wanted answers. The thought was not without a fair share of resignation. But Queen Frigga being absent was not all Helblindi discerned from Frey's explanation.

“So is there to be battle on Midgard?” he asked, knowing Lord Frey would not be able to answer entirely truthfully, though at the very least Helblindi might learn something.

Sure enough, Frey hesitated. “There may be...a need for reinforcements. Not many, we believe,” he tacked on, as if unsure just how much Helblindi should be told. Still, if anyone other than the Queen would speak to him of Loki, it would be Lord Frey.

Helblindi opened his mouth to ask, when a confident and entirely unwelcome voice said, “We probably won't need more than a regiment.”

Helblindi turned his head to see Lord Hœnir enter the waiting room, and couldn't quite help his expression souring a touch before he carefully kept it blank. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Frey frown deeply. Lord Hœnir, along with the Grand Vizier and Lord Yngvi, was one of the councillors that had consistently opposed all sanctions Helblindi tried to ask for. The Ás also happened to be quite good at convincing others to take his side, making every step of Helblindi's plans just that much more difficult.

And his presence meant Helblindi would be getting no more real information about Loki or Midgard any time soon.

“Perhaps we may not need any at all, and King Thor will take care of the Chitauri before Heimdall notices they have been defeated,” Lord Hœnir continued as he walked towards Lord Frey, the spring in his step almost jovial.

“And Prince Loki is saved as well,” Helblindi added, his voice neutral, as if it was not his brother's life that drove him to sit in this room for hours on end, the reason he had returned to Asgard when he should have been home.

Lord Hœnir did not blink, though he was probably seething inside. Thor had warned Helblindi that Hœnir held no warm feelings towards Loki, even before it was discovered Loki was a Jotun. “Yes, and the Prince. But, even so–” He sighed, as if the weight of the realms was on his shoulders. “–The Queen Mother must do her best to prepare warriors against those who would invade Midgard.” None missed his glance towards Helblindi, as if he had been the one to lead Laufey's army all those years ago. As if the moment Jotunheim grew strong enough, they would march into Midgard once more, when any need they'd had for new land had been destroyed when the Æsir first marched on Jotunheim.

But though anger flared within him, Helblindi did not rise to Hœnir's bait. He simply stood, taking care to tower over Lord Hœnir. “I see. Then, if the Queen Mother is busy, I will take my leave.”

“Actually,” Lord Hœnir said, stepping back casually so he did not have to crane his neck to look at Helblindi, “if I may speak to you a moment, in private–”

“I believe the Prince is rather busy at the moment, Lord Hœnir,” Lord Frey interrupted, coming to Lord Hœnir's side.

“As we are all very busy during these trying times,” Lord Hœnir said smoothly, turning to his fellow Ás, his voice entirely congenial. “I thought you had your own private meeting with Elder Gerðr to attend. How is he faring?”

Lord Frey's face coloured slightly, whether at the implication that Elder Gerðr was male, that Frey had relations with her, or both, Helblindi could not tell. He found both gender and sex more complicated on all other realms – excepting Niðavellir – than it had to be. But he did know that Hœnir had quite deliberately called her the wrong gender; the Ás knew quite well who he had been dealing with for over a year.

“She is doing well,” Lord Frey said through teeth that were nearly gritted. “And I believe there is the price of recent shipment of Alfheim fabrics that I would quite like your opinion on. If you would come this way, Lord Hœnir?” He gestured to the door.

For a moment, an annoyed expression crossed Hœnir's face, before he nodded. “Then we will take our leave of you, Prince Helblindi. And rest assured, Asgard will always look after poor Midgard and its mortals. Or any realm that lies defenceless in the face of attackers, no matter where its attackers may hail from.” The hard look in his eyes made his placid smile anything but reassuring.

“I am sure you will,” Helblindi replied, though he couldn't see why Hœnir bothered with the threats. Laufey didn't care about Midgard.

He cared about Midgard as little as he cared about Loki.

With another hard look, Hœnir turned and followed Lord Frey to the door, and Helblindi thought he would finally be rid of the man's presence. But on the threshold, Hœnir paused. “And one last thing,” he said, glancing back at Helblindi. “I do still wish to speak with you, but unfortunately, I do not believe I will have time for it myself. The Grand Vizier has the details of the matter, however, and he will send for you when you are free.”

Helblindi dipped his head. “I look forward to it,” he said blandly.

He'd rather jump in one of Muspelheim's sulfur lakes.

And he did not like the look on Hœnir's face before he closed the door behind him, leaving Helblindi alone in the waiting room once more.

A weary feeling suddenly dragged at his limbs. Almost against his will, he felt his shoulders slumping, his body curving inward, and he wanted to collapse back onto the stiff flimsy chair. He thought he had been free from this game for a few weeks, this back-and-forth, this hatred.

He wanted to be back on Jotunheim, with its refreshing winds, its soft snows. He wanted to see how his realm was rebuilding, after falling apart for so long. He wanted to see hope in his people's eyes when they saw their land was changing in front of them.

He wanted Thor to return and tell him that Loki was safe once more.

Instead, Helblindi took a moment to collect himself – the Æsir would not see him beaten down. Then he exited the waiting room as well, taking the corridor opposite the retreating forms of Lord Frey and Hœnir. There was no point waiting around when no one would come, and he doubted any Æsir would let him in to see their troops training, even to speak to the Queen. It seemed he was back to listening to rumours in halls, not that they held any real merit. But they had yet to imply that Thor was in any real danger at the moment, which, if the Norns were kind, meant the same for Loki.

Helblindi could only hope the rumours did not grow any worse. If they did, he might have to pay a visit to Heimdall after all, no matter how closely those golden eyes watched him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve, along with the others, watched the back-and-forth between Director Fury, Agent Coulson, and Thor. Steve thought that Natasha and Clint kept their silence because they preferred to judge the conversation rather than jump straight in. With Steve, though, it was simply that he wasn't quite sure what he had to add; not when Thor knew Loki better than the rest of them, and the SHIELD Director knew double-dealing better than Steve could ever hope.

The two of them stood nearly toe-to-toe, Thor's jaw clenched and Fury's hands clasped behind his back; his one eye matched both of Thor's in their intensity as he said, “We've got no real evidence that Loki is using his own free will. This whole charade is probably just the aliens pulling his strings, and I for one am not about to waltz into a trap or give those aliens anything that–”

“It matters not if it's a trap, nor whether Loki has broken free of the geas,” Thor interrupted, arms crossed and his voice a low rumble that seemed to fill the room just as much as the hum from the Helicarrier's engines.

The possibility that Loki had overcome the mind-control had been Thor's first proposal, when he had tried to grab for the phone just after he finished reading the message, but Natasha had tucked the it away into one of her pockets before Thor could touch it. Which had started the whole argument.

Not that Steve couldn't blame Thor, because he'd honestly thought much the same at first. Most of Loki's message seemed like a distress call, like Loki was in danger and had a message to pass on before the Chitauri caught on to his act.

But the closing of the text, the “winky face” and text speech, didn't add up with the rest. It added a strange, almost teasing tone to the message that raised the hair on the back of Steve's neck and gave him an uneasy feeling. If it really was Loki – unmind-controlled Loki – trying to communicate with them, then Steve would have to have a few words about not making light of a situation like this, especially when he was putting a civilian like Ms. Lewis at risk.

And if not, if Loki was still speaking for the Chitauri...then anything Loki was particular happy about couldn't be good for the rest of them.

“If this is my only chance to speak with Loki,” Thor continued, breaking Steve out of his reverie, “then I will take it – whether you wish it or not.” His eyes flashed, and Steve had the sense that if Fury tried to stop him, it wouldn't work out too well for the director. And Steve knew who he would side with. He knew the feeling of having a friend stuck behind enemy lines, just as he knew the helplessness, when it felt like there was nothing he could do.

“It's SHIELD that Loki wants to talk to, not you,” Coulson was saying calmly to Thor. “We don't know what he'll do if you answer, whether that will–”

“Thor's right,” Steve said, and all eyes turned to him. “Even if it's not really Loki, we still have to check to make sure. We owe him that much.” Thor looked relieved, which made Steve wonder if Thor really believed he was the only one planning to help Loki. Pushing the thought aside, he said, “And if we don't take the call, if what he has to say is important–”

“I never said we wouldn't call him,” Fury interrupted, scowling. “It might even be in our best interests. But I'd like to figure out why. And–” he added sharply with a look at Thor, who had opened his mouth to object. Fury waited until Thor gave him a nod before he said, “And I'd like to know if there's anything he could do to us. Has he got a spell all prepared to send us when we pick up? What if he decided to work a little magic on that spear the Chitauri has, and whoever takes up the call gets a jolt of blue to the brain?”

Steve's stomach flipped. He hadn't thought of that, and judging by the uneasy silence, neither had anyone else. Except for Natasha, since her face had the same tense look as Fury's. Or maybe she just hid her surprise better than the rest of them.

“Any strong magic would need a more physical connection to be dangerous,” Thor said, but he sounded uncertain. “That device would hardly be effective enough for the attack you fear.”

Fury heard the hesitancy as well, for he rounded on Thor. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Could you tell me, without any hint of doubt, that I wouldn't be putting us all at risk?”

Thor matched Fury's earlier scowl, though he didn't answer at first, looking instead to the side. “No,” he said at last, his shoulders slumping. “I cannot.”

The answer didn't seem to give Fury any relief; but before he could speak, Clint said, “Um, but wouldn't we be able to trace him if we call? Shouldn't we be doing that sooner rather than later to, say...” Clint drawled out the word, waving his hand about. “...Find out where he's hiding?”

Fury gave him a look that was more weary than irritated. “Yes, but does he know that we can trace his phone? If he does, then he's not about to lead us straight to his allies.”

“He knew about GPS,” Natasha added.

“I know that you can trace phones,” Steve said. At the looks he got, ranging from blank to annoyed, Steve's face reddened. “I've been here about as long as him, so if I know, he might.”

The reasoning had seemed quite a bit clearer in his head than out loud, but Natasha and Fury gave him an estimating look, while Coulson stared at Steve like he had just invented electricity (distantly, Steve remembered that he had several collector's cards to sign).

Clint huffed a noise that wasn't quite a laugh. “Well, I guess that's one way to measure it,” he said.

“Trace his phone?” Thor asked, looking between the three of them. “You mean there is a way to find my brother without searching for the Tesseract itself?” His voice hinged somewhere between confusion, anger, and hurt.

“Not when he's got magic up his sleeve,” Fury snapped.

“He can make his phone vanish,” Clint piped up. Steve stared at him, not quite sure if Clint was joking or not. Catching his look, Clint grinned and said, “No, really, he does this thing where he twists his hand and–” Clint demonstrated, rotating his wrist as he fluttered his fingers more like a street magician than an actual sorcerer. “–It's gone. He can answer it but we can't track it.”

“Until he takes it out,” Fury said. “But I'm not walking into this blind. This is my boat, and we aren't catering to the Chitauri's whims, no matter who they're speaking through. We wait, and we take any measures necessary.”

“And as you wait,” Thor growled, “my brother only suffers further.”

He strode by Fury towards the door, head bowed and red cape snapping out behind him. But as he passed, the glimpse Steve caught of his face was not of a man caught in a rage. He looked more like he was in mourning.

Steve didn't wait for Fury's dismissal. He stood, brushing past Clint's chair as he hurried to the door. Fury's eye flickered towards him, and for a moment Steve thought the director would order him to stop. Instead, Fury only gave him a nod and turned away. Ignoring Steve, which probably counted as approval, he said, “Coulson, I need a phone, re-routed through as many satellites as possible. Get Stark working with the tech team on it – he's got nothing else to do but play with Banner...”

The door shut behind Steve, muffling Fury's voice, though that did not relieve Steve of his frown when he heard Stark's name. Maybe he was being unfair, but from what he'd seen, Stark didn't seem to do anything useful unless it fed his own ego. Though Steve supposed Stark would do whatever job Fury wanted him to, which is what counted. Even if it was only to show off.

A needle of guilt wormed its way into Steve's stomach as he jogged after the ripple of red cape he saw disappearing behind a corner. He probably shouldn't be so judgemental about Howard's son, but it was difficult not to compare the two. Where Howard had poured himself into the war, working with brave men and women, Tony preferred his “one-man army” approach – cutting anyone that wasn't him out of the equation. From what the news reported and Steve had stumbled across on the internet, he wasn't sure if Tony even knew the definition of “team”. Meeting him hadn't done much to persuade Steve otherwise – rushing into those tunnels when the rest of them were still minutes away, after he'd heard what had happened to Loki...

Rounding the next corner to see Thor only half-way down the corridor, Steve squashed those thoughts. “Hey–” he began to shout, then thought that maybe that wasn't the appropriate thing to say to a king. “Wait, Thor,” he amended, though Thor had already stopped at the first shout.

Once Steve had drawn closer, Thor half-turned to him, looking at the grey walls of the corridor rather than directly at Steve. “I am sorry for my outburst,” he said. “It was rude of me, when you have all shown me such hospitality.”

Steve was surprised at the apology. He didn't think that kings were really the type for asking forgiveness, but then again, he'd heard all about Thor's exile here a few weeks before Loki arrived. Maybe kings were different on Asgard.

“Look,” he said gently, laying a hand on Thor's shoulder before he could think that maybe Asgard had rules against touching their kings; Thor didn't seem to mind, though, so Steve didn't remove it. “I know what it's like to have someone...left behind, and hurting, and everyone just wants you to sit back and wait. And even if I didn't, it wouldn't be right to leave Loki behind. As soon as we find out where he is, whether Fury gives us the okay or not, I'll gather up whoever I can to go with you.”

Thor looked up at him, apparently as surprised with Steve's confession as Steve had been with Thor's apology. Steve flashed him a small smile, before his face grew serious. “But if there's some magic Loki could do that could put the ship or anyone else in danger, Fury's right to be cautious.”

“I know,” Thor sighed. He leaned his weight back against the wall, tipping his head to the ceiling, and suddenly he looked old, as old as the thousand years SHIELD's file said he was. “I know this is probably part of the Chitauri's plot. And I know it would not be wise to rush into decision without forethought.” The mournful look, the one Steve had glimpsed as Thor left the conference room, reappeared. “I simply wish we did not have to wait.”

“Yeah.” Steve collapsed on the wall beside him. “I get that.”

Back in the war, there had always been the problem of civilians. A few Hyrda bases had been set up outside of occupied towns, and one had even been dead centre in a small village. Getting the people out without warning Hydra first, or trying to plan the battle so they would stay as far away from the towns as they could, had never been easy. But it was all necessary.

And Steve supposed this was as well.

“It is not only Loki I worry for,” Thor said after a few moments of silence, bringing Steve out of his memories. His voice was surprisingly quiet. “What if Loki wishes to call us about Jane? If not, I can at least ask Loki what state she's in–”

A voice from behind them cut in, “We still don't know if Loki has her for sure–”

Steve turned to see Natasha and Clint walking towards them as Natasha continued, “Although it seems a pretty safe bet, considering the evidence.” She grimaced. “Not that we really have much.”

“Could we get someone to check out what happened there?” Steve asked. Not that he didn't trust Ms. Lewis, but she might not know what to look for if there was any sign of a struggle.

“Sure,” Clint said. “If Coulson isn't on it already, I'll make a few calls. I used to work with the guys down there.”

Thor's eyes widened as he stared at Clint. “You knew Loki? Before?” He squinted, then straightened and smiled. “Yes, I remember seeing you, when Loki first arrived here.”

A joyful, boyish grin lit up Clint's face, though it was not without a touch of sheepishness. “Well, I didn't quite know Loki that well, but, um–” Clint rubbed the back of his neck, obviously trying to suppress his smile at someone in Asgard's royal family finally recognizing him. “Like I said, I'll get them to find out what happened and what was taken.”

“My thanks,” Thor said, dipping his head as Clint only smiled back. Clint seemed to realize that was all he was doing, for he abruptly pulled out his phone and wandered back down the corridor, muttering to himself.

“Thor,” Natasha said, drawing their attention away from Clint. She strode past Steve to stand in front of the Asgardian. “I'm going to need to ask you a few questions about magic, and what Loki can do with it, even though we probably won't be able to do much against it. But we are going to talk to him – or, I'm going to. I might be able to get something out of him, if the mind-control hasn't overridden everything.”

As Thor's face went through a mixture of emotions, mostly relief, Natasha's words sparked an idea in Steve's mind.

“Would there be any way to...talk him out of the mind control?” he asked. “Like, if he was reminded of what happened to him, would he try to fight it?” Steve had no idea how any of this worked – it wasn't even science, or at least not stuff Earth had ever seen. But the other two SHIELD agents – Desmond and Blake, the ones who had been taken – had believed they hadn't resist it enough. Steve had reassured them there wasn't anything they could have done otherwise. And yet if they'd had someone around to remind them of who they were, what they were fighting for...maybe that would have given them something to fight with.

Natasha hummed, then shrugged. “It's as good a plan as any.”

“Yes, I...” Thor looked at Steve with eyes full of a hope Steve hadn't seen yet on the Asgardian's face. “I think it would be worth trying. And if it does not work, then I know what my only other course is.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder, and Steve felt the same type of suppressed strength he'd felt when Loki had shaken his hand, except stronger. Smile bright, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes, Thor said, “Thank-you, Steve, for the suggestion.” Turning back to Natasha, he said, “I am sorry, but I don't believe I will be much help with telling you about magic. That was always Loki's...he knew it better than the rest of us.”

“Don't worry. Even a few basic concepts to go on would be better than nothing.” She started walking down the corridor, indicating for Thor to follow. “Let's start with phones. Is there any comparable device in Asgard that you could think of? Anything that Loki would know how to work or...”

Her voice grew softer as she walked down the hall, Thor at her side. But Steve didn't bother catching up; he would probably just end up confused and asking more questions than Natasha.

He began to turn around, then stopped. Where was he supposed to go from here? He didn't have any tasks, or anywhere that he could be useful. Clint was talking to Coulson; going to Stark would be an exercise in restraint; Fury didn't need him...Maybe he could go check on Dr. Banner – beyond the introduction when Natasha brought him aboard, the two hadn't had time to talk. But Banner had work to do, and Steve would probably only get in the way, like he had with Loki–

“Captain!”

Thor's shout interrupted Steve's thoughts. Steve looked over his shoulder to where Thor had stopped at the end of the hall. Voice loud enough to carry without shouting again, Thor asked, “You said you were here as long as Loki, correct? Arrived from elsewhere?”

“Yeah, I'm, uh, from a different time,” Steve answered. He wasn't quite sure how else to explain it, without getting into being frozen.

Thor seemed to digest that statement for a moment, then nodded. “You said that what you know, Loki might know as well. Perhaps you could help us find out what Loki could do as well.”

Steve sincerely doubted that – he might be able to operate a Stark-phone (bought when he recognized the name), but he couldn't exactly shove his hand into a computer and figure out how to find the Tesseract.

But Natasha smiled and said, “Might as well, if you haven't got anything better to do.” She turned her grin on Steve. “Come on, Captain. Let's get this over with.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jane's eyes were sore, her back ached, and she didn't particularly care. It was like she was in the middle of her thesis, or her theory, and she couldn't stop for anything because she was on a roll. Theories and equations that hadn't even occurred to her before now ordered themselves in her mind, revealing sciences that she had not thought possible. And everything was crystal clear.

She checked formulas, analyzed the Tesseract, devised the proper layouts and designs to get everything exact, and SHIELD's borrowed men and the Chitauri rushed around to build her boss' machine it, or steal whatever materials they needed; Jane didn't think they actually bothered with buying too many of the materials they needed, especially when Loki was around to help.

In fact, just as Jane had finished her and Erik's newly improved design for stabilizing the quantum tunnelling effect, Loki appeared back in the warehouse, a long glass tube held in his hands. In the centre of the tube was a metallic, rock-like structure.

“Oh good, you got the iridium,” Erik exclaimed, standing up from the table so fast he knocked down his chair, and ran to grab the tube from Loki's hands. He then shoved it off to one of the Chitauri, chattering instruction about which port it went in, and how much of it.

“And the guards didn't see you?” Jane asked, as Loki came to sit next to her. For now, the less interference the better.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Illusions and invisibility fool the mortal eye just as well as the Ás eye. And there's one rather important German scientist who believes he spent the night dead drunk.”

“That's good to hear,” Erik said as he returned, clapping his hand on Loki's shoulder. He then shoved some papers at Loki. “Human and Chitauri science is a bit behind on this. Mind giving a bit of your–” He wiggled his fingers. “–magic input?”

“Of course,” Loki said, and began considering the formulas and notes Jane had written out. They could probably figure it out without his help, and Jane still thought that magic was cheating. But the boss needed his Tesseract, and he needed it yesterday; cheating was allowed for now.

As the three of them put their heads together, leaning over the same page of notes, Jane had an odd feeling of nostalgia.

“You know this feels a lot like the early days in Puente Antiguo, back when you just came down, Loki.” She smiled at the god, who nodded absentmindedly back. Back from before Erik had gone off, and Loki had disappeared for SHIELD's work. “Working together, just trying to...” She trailed off, as something in her head felt...wrong. Like something shouldn't be there. Like a lot of a something shouldn't be there.

After Loki had disappeared after that call from Agent Coulson. And then Loki came back, with his crazed blue eyes, and...

Jane realized that beneath her shirt, against her skin, there was a slight burning sensation. She put her hand against her chest, and felt a small, warm stone pressed against her skin.

The sensation, the stone, was interfering with her work. She should take it off. The blue said she should take it off.

The small, pulsing gold in her mind said no.

A deep, guttural voice broke her out of her thoughts. “Just trying to what, human?” the boss asked, looming over the table.

Jane blinked. She put her hand down on the table. “Just trying to publish my theory, boss,” she said, and picked up her pen and her notes. It was time to get back to work.

Her boss tilted his head curiously at her, and if Jane could see his eyes under the wrappings across his face, he would probably studying her. Slowly, his hand began reaching for her head, when Loki nearly jumped out of his chair. The boss whirled to look at him.

Loki bowed low, his face apologetic. “I am sorry, my liege, and Jane and Erik. I need to take this call.” Before he straightened, he had already teleported off.

The boss made a pleased sound. Not bothering to turn back to her or Erik, he ordered, “Return to work, humans. And no more interruptions.” He turned and left without waiting for either of their replies, which was more-or-less typical; the boss had barely spoken to her or Erik since she had arrived, preferring to talk with Loki or the other Chitauri. But it didn't really bother her all that much. As long as they both got the work done, nothing much else really mattered.

Loki's phone call already fading in her mind, she returned to her notes, peering closely at them. So they had the tunneling stabilizers in place, and at the connecting junction there was–

Heat flared against Jane's chest, but she barely noticed it, because her stomach abruptly jolted in alarm. There was a flaw, a flaw in the plan that her boss had overlooked and if they weren't careful, everything would come apart – all that hard work, her boss' plans going up in smoke because of one little oversight–

No, no that wouldn't do, she'd have to fix it. And tell the boss, so he'd know about the changes she'd made–

The warmth against her chest flared again, and there seemed to be a strange pressure in her head.

On second thought, she decided, there wasn't really any need to tell the boss. Not if she could fix it herself.

She grabbed a few new sheets of paper, and began drawing. It would be complicated, but if she rushed, she might be able to put the right connectors in place before they were finished.

The thought gave her a deep-seated feeling of pleasure – no, that wasn't right. It was more like satisfaction. Along with something else, something gold-tinged.

Vindication.

Chapter Text

The phone that Tony Stark carried triumphantly into the room and placed on the table with a flourish looked exactly like the one Coulson had used, but Tony promised it was special. He and the rest of the mortal Avengers, as Natasha had named her team, were in the room where they would be making the call. Thor would have preferred to speak on his own, though he understood the others wished to gather information. His primary concern was that Bruce should be attending his machines, but Bruce reassured Thor that the machines were doing their work. “I already set in algorithm,” he explained, “there's not much left to do now but wait.”

However, they were just in the room to watch – only Natasha and Thor planned to talk to Loki. While Thor had had just as much luck explaining magic as he had feared, still he, Natasha, and Steve had managed to decide what to ask Loki if they could: Thor would put into practice Steve's suggestion of helping Loki fight the curse, and Natasha would handle the rest of the talking. The way she had explained it, she seemed to have a silver tongue much like Loki's.

The room Natasha had lead him and Steve to was very similar to the one where they had taken Darcy's call, except for the plastic box surrounding what Natasha had called the table's receiver. Thor took his seat in front of it, next to Natasha. Apparently, the box meant only their voices, and not the rest of the room, would be picked up by the device. It became obvious why when Tony attempted to take a seat in between Natasha and Bruce; before he could even pull out his chair, Natasha's hand snapped out and grabbed him around the wrist.

“No.”

“But – oh, come on–” Tony sputtered.

“Over there.” She released her hand and pointed the to far end of the table, opposite Steve.

“But–”

“There.”

Tony raised his hands and walked over, scuffing his feet like a sulking child as he went. He took a seat beside Clint, who had likewise been sent skulking away with the words, “Remember Tokyo?” Natasha only rolled her eyes at Tony's pouting face and pressed her finger to her ear. “Director,” she said, “are we good to go?”

Director Fury was listening from the bridge, ready to send out the nearest outpost of men if Loki's phone could be “traced”. Thor didn't hear his answer, but Natasha nodded and asked, “Coulson?”

Coulson, standing by the door with a thin, square device in hand, was ready to relay information between them, Fury, and those in charge of finding Loki without his voice being picked up by the phone. “We're good,” he said, barely looking up from his device.

“Here goes nothing,” Natasha breathed, and pressed a button on the table, one that would dial the phone by a “proxy”, to lessen the chance of attracting any curse.

The phone on the table lit up. A ringing noise emanated from the table's speakers.

Thor held his breath. Maybe Loki wouldn't answer. Maybe he had only been trying to distract SHIELD. Maybe he had truly defied the Chitauri's curse long enough to contact Darcy, and when the Chitauri had found out they had hurt (or killed) Loki. Maybe–

There was a click on the other end. Loki's voice, sure, confident, and calm, answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Loki,” Natasha said, her voice just as mild, though her face was tense.

“Hello, Agent Romanoff,” Loki said brightly. “It took you and SHIELD quite some time to get back to me. I thought you were ignoring me.” There was a grin in Loki's voice, along with a faked, teasing hurt.

Thor's heart sank. The chance that Loki had broken through the geas was slim, yet Thor had hoped...

The strangely flippant tone of Loki's message wouldn't have been the first time Loki had been frustratingly facetious when a serious matter was at hand, sometimes to the point where Thor very much wanted to knock his brother's head against a wall. But this would be taking the joke too far, even for Loki. Not after what happened in those tunnels. Not after what they'd all heard.

“We had to talk it over first. I'm sure you understand, don't you?” Natasha said frankly.

Loki chuckled. “It's a simple phone call, nothing heinous. If I wished to do you harm – well, I already know where your flying fortress is.”

No, Thor knew this wasn't Loki talking to his friends; this was Loki playing with an enemy, like a cat playing with a mouse. Thor had heard that glib tone of voice enough to know.

“Is that a threat?” Natasha asked, sounding more bored than threatened. Thor thought maybe it was not quite a mouse that Loki was playing with. “Is that all you wanted to say? Because that seems a bit much for all that hassle you put Ms. Lewis through.”

“Hassle?” Loki's voice was caught between surprise and amusement as Thor started at the mention of Darcy, until he realized what Natasha was doing; Thor had asked her to find out if Loki had any plans for Darcy, and it seemed this was Natasha's way of asking. “All I asked for was for her to deliver a message,” Loki continued. “If there was a 'hassle', I suspect it would be on your end.”

“There was also her distress over Dr. Foster. You gave Ms. Lewis quite a scare this morning.”

“So you figured out where Jane went!” Loki sounded delighted. “Good. That saves me some time.”

Thor's chest tightened. So Loki's call had been about Jane, and they had wasted all that time talking–

Coulson's voice broke through his thoughts. “New York. We've traced him to New York.” A screen appeared on the table, a bird's eye view of busy grey street tall buildings, cars and people rushing past each other. One person on the screen, a person with a black head of hair and black suit, was lit up while the rest of the screen dimmed. Thor's breathe caught in his throat.

Natasha, without missing a beat, said into the device, “Oh? Is saving time an issue for you then?” as Stark leaned closer to the image and asked Coulson, “Where is this?”

Loki made a humming sound, as if considering Natasha's question, while Coulson clarified, “Around 5^th Avenue and 39^th Street.”

“Well,” Loki said, “some beings do not have quite as much time as one like me–”

Steve frowned. “That's near Times Square.”

“Yeah, and my tower,” Stark muttered, eyes scanning the image.

“–but no, time is not altogether an issue,” Loki continued, oblivious to the conversation in the background. Thor felt half-oblivious as well, as he watched the man on the screen move along with the tide of humans. If Thor was at that height with Mjolnir, it would take but a second to swoop down and–

“I simply hate wasting it, is all,” Loki drawled. “Thor knows that, don't you Thor?”

The room fell silent.

“What?” Thor said stupidly.

How did Loki – who could have told him Thor was here–

“How did you–” Thor asked, then closed his mouth when a boot heel knocked against his shin. From Natasha's wince, she felt it much more than he did.

Loki laughed. The man in the image danced past several slower walkers as he turned a corner. “Jane has built some very useful instruments – the Bifrost is her speciality. It wasn't hard to guess who had arrived. But Thor, just yourself? Really?”

Loki's voice had gone back to teasing, and Thor could almost see his eyes sparkling as he smirked at Thor, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief. Thor, did you really just bring only yourself? If your head grew any bigger, it wouldn't be able to fit through your chamber's doors. We'd have to take out a wall and have Volstagg push.

Through gritted teeth, Thor said, “You would do best to remind your captors that I can summon more in but a moment. Nor should they underestimate me.” And now you're looking to make fitting through Gladsheim's hall difficult. Combined with all that hot air, I'm surprised your head doesn't just float off.

“I'm sure we will all remember your strength,” Loki reassured him. “It's hard to forget, after all.”

“Loki,” Natasha cut in. “I'm surprised you haven't said whatever it was you wanted to tell us. Maybe you don't hate wasting time quite as much as you said?”

“Personally, I'm surprised Thor hasn't said whatever he wishes to tell me–”

Thor almost began to ask what Loki meant by that, but Natasha held up a hand.

“–although I agree. Let's talk business. Is Director Fury there?”

“No,” Natasha said shortly. “Is that a problem?”

“None at all.” From Loki's voice, it sounded like it.

A second image abruptly appeared on the table, a jagged yellow line with moving dots at each end, as Coulson's said, “Strike team is en route.” At Thor's sharp look, he added, “Tranqs, er, sleeping potions only.”

Steve stood. “Do you need to evacuate?” he asked as he walked over to Coulson.

“I suppose,” Loki continued, “you will do just as well, Agent Romanoff. So, can I accept SHIELD's surrender on your behalf?”

Thor's head snapped back to the table. Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“Your surrender, or rather agreement, to let us go on as we please. We have the Tesseract. You cannot find us–”

Thor's eyes flickered to Bruce, who had a small, relieved smile on his face, an echo of the relief Thor felt that Loki – and the Chitauri – did not know of the scientist.

“–And if you do plan to face us, then you should be reminded that we are much more capable with the Tesseract than the mortals.” Loki's tone remained amiable throughout the threat, though threats and warnings tended to be one of the few times Loki had always sounded friendly. He said it made a better impression. “Agree with our terms, and we may return certain personnel, if we deem they will have little use in the future.”

“Does anyone else find that 'we' a bit creepy?” Tony asked.

Natasha ignored him. “Who would those personnel be?”

“Most of the SHIELD agents. They have little use beyond Midgard.”

“And what about Erik and Jane?” Thor asked. And, though he already knew the answer, “What about you?”

“Of course not,” Loki said, sounding faintly insulted. “Why would we leave?”

A sickness churned in the pit of Thor's stomach, but he knew the Chitauri would never give up Loki. Jane and Erik...he didn't know why the Chitauri would want them, if the Chitauri knew about the Tesseract already, but perhaps the creatures were not as knowledgeable as Loki had let on.

Growling, Thor said, “Then we will not–”

“Let Romanoff speak, Thor,” Loki admonished. “She is SHIELD's representative, not you.”

“The answer is still no,” Natasha said flatly. “We'd seem to be getting the crap end of the deal in this anyway, even if we wanted to take it.”

“That's too bad, then,” Loki said, sounding not at all disappointed. Thor watched as Loki ducked into a deserted alleyway squeezed between two buildings. The jagged yellow line in the other screen was growing smaller by the second. “But if you aren't–”

“Wait, Loki.” Thor realized there was one thing he still did not know, and he wasn't sure if Natasha still planned to ask about it. Besides, the longer he kept Loki talking, the better. “You said you wondered about my questions, and I have one. Tell me about Jane, Loki. How is she?”

“She's fine,” Loki said blithely. “Happy, I think.”

“I take it she's like you?” Natasha asked, giving Thor a significant look.

“How do you mean?”

Bluntly, Natasha said, “Under the Chitauri's control.”

Loki stopped walking, coming to a halt midway down the alley. “No,” he said. A pause, and Thor wasn't sure whether that was better for Jane or not, whether it would hurt her more. Then, “We have both found the truth.”

Something cold took a grip of Thor's heart, at the pleased note in Loki's voice, verging on reverent.

“Well, that sounds a bit cult-ish,” Stark said as Natasha rubbed a hand over her face.

“Yeah,” Clint echoed.

“Loki.” Thor's hands clenched tight on his knees, so he would not take his fear out on a mortal object. He stared at the image on the screen, as if he could make Loki look back at him, as if he could close their distance with humans' machines and the force of his gaze. “Two days ago, you were helping SHIELD find the Tesseract.” He returned the significant look Natasha had given him – to affirm that it was time to do as Rogers asked – and she nodded. Mouth dry, not quite daring to hope (for he could not lose any more of it), he said, “You found it underground, in a series of tunnels. You found it, and Erik, together. And then that creature found you.” Thor's hands were shaking, and he realized it was not so much from fear as it was from rage. “It pressed that sceptre to your chest, and stole your mind from you.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Loki on the screen did not move. Voice almost puzzled, Loki said, “No, he didn't. In fact, with him, my mind is better than before.”

The rage in Thor snapped, and he barely restrained himself from slamming his hands against the table. “That Chitauri tortured you,” he snarled at the image, fury thickening his words. “It reached into your head and twisted your mind. Do you not remember what it did to you? It made you relive what happened to you in the dungeons, it made you think you hurt our father–”

“But I did hurt him.”

Thor's fury spiked. Even now, that creature had Loki convinced. “No, the Chitauri only–”

“I killed Odin.”

The words were calm, aloof, and Thor's thoughts stumbled to a halt.

Loki had – no, Loki wouldn't – that didn't make any sense.

What had the Chitauri made Loki believe now? And why? What was their purpose?

Voice almost shaking with anger, Thor said, “Do you not see how that creature has a grip on your mind, even after this nonsense? You did not kill Father, he fell into the Odinsleep–”

“Which was because of me,” Loki interrupted calmly. “I was screaming at him in the vault when he collapsed – and letting the Jotnar in before that certainly didn't help. The stress and the delay of the sleep was too much, so he died.” The shrug to his words was almost audible, and the image showed a barely imperceptible shift of his shoulders. “And no one made me believe it, Thor. I've known it since his death.”

Thor gaped down at the screen.

No.

No, that couldn't be right.

How could Loki think that – how could he believe Father died because of him? Was it the truth, or was it more the Chitauri's doing?

And yet why would the Chitauri care what Loki thought of his father's death, if they had his mind already?

Distantly, he heard Tony muttering something to Clint, and Natasha making gestures at the two of them. Then her voice, whispering in his ear, “Thor, it's not real, leave it–”

But Thor had heard Loki's screams from the recording, before the Chitauri had put the curse on him. And the rest of Loki's words had not been conjured from false memories.

Ignoring Natasha, Thor leaned closer to the receiver, eyes on Loki's image, and in a rush he said, “Loki, this is absurd. Of course you didn't hurt Father, you–”

He scrambled for another word, another excuse. Yet Thor's mind blanked.

Father had fallen while Loki made his discovery. Father had fallen as he tried to explain to Loki what he was, who he was.

But he hadn't fallen because of Loki, had he?

“Of course I hurt him,” Loki replied offhandedly. “Although, now that I think about it...” Loki shifted, turning to one side. “I wasn't alone in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You killed him as well, Thor.”

Thor felt his body freezing, as if it had turned to stone.

This was – this was even more ridiculous, how could Thor have...

In a daze, thoughts feeling sluggish, he asked, “I...I did what?”

Loki's infuriatingly calm and detached voice said, “Well, I hadn't thought of it before – too caught up in myself, I suppose – but if the stress of me discovering my heritage was too much, think of what your banishment did. Not to mention the war you started, and all of that shouting.”

“I – Loki, I did not–” No, no, no, he didn't. Thor did not, he could not have had a hand in Father's death.

And yet it made sense.

The effort of removing Thor's power, of making Thor mortal – the strain of finding out his eldest was still a foolish boy, not fit for the throne only hours after trying to hand it over–

Thor shouting up at him, and Father visibly sinking when he heard Thor's words, as if tired. Not only full of anger, but weary–

Suddenly Natasha was trying to push Thor away, her head bent close to the receiver. Loudly, she asked, “Loki, is there something else we have to deal with? Unless this was part your 'urgent matter'?”

“Oh no, I simply wanted to correct Thor before he formed the wrong impression.” There was a smile, in his voice, a grin almost. “In fact, I believe there are several of your agents poorly attempting to sneak up on me right now–” Vaguely, Thor noticed the yellow line had stopped being a line, and merged into single dot instead. “–So if you would excuse me, I should be leaving. Goodbye, Thor.”

The phone cut off with an abrupt click. The man in the alley vanished.

Thor did not move. He stared at the empty space between the two buildings.

(Was Loki right?)

(Had he and Loki, together, slain their father?)

Around him, the mortals were talking, some shouting, though Thor barely heard anything. There was a hand on his shoulder – Natasha's – followed by two much stronger hands, trying to help him from his seat.

“Thor,” someone said. “Thor, let's go...”

(Thor had always known it somewhere, hadn't he? Known it deep down, ever since he'd heard the news on Midgard, ever since he remembered his last conversation with Father. He'd known it, but refused to acknowledge it. )

(And Loki hadn't.)

Abruptly, he stood from his chair, knocking the flimsy thing to the floor, and nearly taking Steve Rogers with it as the mortal's hands fell from Thor's shoulders.

The mortals were staring, he knew, but he did not care. He had to leave, he had to be alone, before he tore the ship apart, before he broke down and wept.

Without a word, he walked past the humans to the doorway. Barely seeing where he was going, barely noticing the mortals in his way, Thor made his way through endless grey corridors, his only thought to go up.

If he could reach the skies, he might leave all Loki had said behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Loki teleported back into the warehouse, he stumbled, knees briefly feeling like the Jello Darcy had made him try a few months ago. He caught himself, hand reaching out to a nearby work table, though he was careful not to interrupt the Chitauri drone studiously working on a delicate bit of equipment.

He felt no surprise at the sudden wave of exhaustion; he had been using his magic for days, teleporting himself and others across the world without rest or repast. But he could not stop yet, not until his masters' work was done. He could afford sleep only after all of this was over.

He was looking forward to a night without nightmares. Or, if his masters were merciful, if they had no more uses for him, then there would be no more nights for him at all. There would be nothing, except peace.

Loki smiled absently as he steadying himself enough to remove his hand from the table. Either one of those would be a relief – just as telling Thor the truth behind Odin's death had been one.

Not the admission itself, of course – during that, he had felt nothing. No painful ache, no pitiful urge to cry as there would have been before. But it was that lack of feeling, of anything, that made the confession so very sweet. After so long keeping that secret locked away inside, Loki had thought – had feared – he would feel more.

That there had been nothing...he could only thank his masters for it.

He would never hurt like that again, through one route or the other.

“Was it a success?” a voice behind Loki hissed, and Loki turned to face his master. The Other did not wait for an answer, but put his hand against Loki's head. It felt like the way Thor would cradle Loki's head, but for the extra finger.

And the tentacles the touch brought.

They slithered through his mind, looking though his memories of the conversation, and Loki let them.

(It didn't occur to Loki to not let them through.)

Satisfied with what he found, The Other withdrew his hand, and with a gesture bade Loki to follow him towards the Tesseract, where Jane and Erik had been working. Both were now helping direct the placement of the main power coupling and converter. “You have served well, godling,” The Other said, and a deep, glowing pleasure grew in the pit of Loki's stomach. “Your excuses to the humans could even be found amusing. However,” his master's voice dropped in a growl, “I am concerned they are not solely excuses, in your mind. Your utter reliance on human intelligence is somewhat...” The Other paused, running a hand across the back of Jane's chair, then turned to face Loki with a sneer. “Lacking.”

“They have done well, though,” Loki protested, although the pleasure had already gone cold, lost at the first hint of his master's disapproval. He wanted it back. “Without their aid, and knowledge of Midgardian sciences and supplies, our plans would have taken another few days to carry out.” He was actually quite proud of the mortals.

“And yet it is our knowledge that has opened their minds,” The Other reprimanded. “Humans are limited in scope. In ambition. If they united like us, they might have already laid claim to a part of the stars. Yet over a thousand years with the Tesseract in their grasp, and what have they done?” The Other's hand brushed along the Tesseract's surface, and Loki knew those thick tentacles were brushing against the Tesseract's consciousness, though excessively more gentle than they were in Loki's. And they were only allowed in because the Tesseract let them.

The Other tilted his head as he looked through the Tesseract's memories, the ones embedded in her surface and in whatever awareness she could claim. Then The Other turned to Loki and his teeth were bared in a mocking smile. “Next to nothing. Left locked in a box, or used to make paltry weapons. The closest they could claim of its true potential was the portal the male scientist was working on, but even that was but a fraction of the Tesseract's power.” His mouth was set in a grimace as he spat, “This gift was wasted on humans. Just as it was wasted on Asgard.”

Loki did not disagree. Humans could do little with the Tesseract, with the technology they had now. And Asgard cared little for her, but to hold her in their possession, to show off their power to the rest of the realms. She was much better suited to his Masters' hands.

The Other tilted his mask-clad head contemplatively towards where Jane was working as he circled the table, hand brushing its surface. “The female scientist has worked well, yes,” he said slowly, then twisted his head back to Loki. “But her and the male's use has its limits. And what of the young one, whom you used to contact the humans' organization?”

Before Loki could blink, let alone think of an objection, The Other was in front of Loki, teeth bared and hand raised. “You seem fond of contacting your friends. Of bringing them to see the master's truth. Will you next bring your young female here with you?” he snarled, face close enough that the gold lattice around his mouth was nearly brushing Loki's chin. “Have you begun to defy your teachings?”

“Darcy was the quickest route to catch SHIELD's attention,” Loki said truthfully. And also one of the few cell numbers he knew. “And as you noticed, Jane is helping.” He bowed his head, hoping he had not done wrong. In Asgard, it seemed he had been able to do nothing but wrong. Never enough of a warrior, never strong enough, never good enough. He had thought the blue had helped fix that in him. “I had not meant to go against orders. I was only trying to be efficient.” To do his utmost to serve the plan, and make his masters proud.

The raised hand brushed the side of Loki's head, and Loki felt the tentacles brush against his mind, looking for deceit. And from the way they bluntly forced their way into his thoughts, scraping against the sides of his mind, they were to act as a warning.

Abruptly, the pressure let up, and The Other withdrew his hand, finding nothing but honesty in Loki's words.

(As if Loki would ever lie to his masters.)

“I see,” The Other said, and nodded. “Then your efficiency is...commended.”

Loki nearly preened. “Thank-you, my liege.”

But The Other was not done. “Inform your betters that we are ready. Tomorrow, godling, we take what should be ours.” Once more, he placed his hand against Loki's head, and with a burst of pain that couldn't be helped, The Other sent Loki's mind to the stars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helblindi could not bear one more moment of listening to the Æsir drone on and on about the impossibilities of sharing the “secrets” of growth magic with Jotunheim.

Abruptly he stood, interrupting the nattering scholar. “If that is all, Master Sven,” Helblindi said, trying to keep his voice pleasant, “then I suggest we go over another option and reconvene in a few days.”

The scholar shut his mouth and blinked. “I believe...that sounds fine.” He glanced at his colleagues, a mix of scholars and largely female mages, who all nodded in agreement. “Then we will see you in a few days, Prince Helblindi, Lady Skadi, Elder Gerðr.” He acknowledged each in turn.

Helblindi pretended not to hear the relief in his voice, nor the slight hesitation before the Ás said “Lady”. The Æsir, both male and female, still had difficulty how to approach female Jotnar, nor were they able to discern between the two very well. Helblindi had been mistaken for female more than once himself, and while it was no great insult to confuse the two genders as it was for the Æsir, it did become rather tiresome. Helblindi wondered how the dwarfs, who had always had more contact with the other realms, put up with the mistakes. Both their women and men had beards, and from what Helblindi had gathered, women outside of Niðavellir's halls were rarely called as such.

Instead of commenting on the scholar's stumble, he stood, and was out the door before the Æsir had finished gathering their papers.

He was not, however, quick enough to evade Skadi.

“It is really wise to let them think they won this round?” she asked, frowning. “After all the concessions we've made, just this once,” she held up a finger for emphasize, “I would have liked to call them out on their lies.”

Helblindi sighed, long strides taking him down the golden hall. He ignored the sidelong glances from the Æsir they passed, who gave the two of them a wide berth. “It would do us no good to tell them they don't understand the ice. It did no good the first hundred times, and will do us no good the next hundred. ”

Skadi snorted. “Has it only been a hundred? It's felt like a thousand to me.” Helblindi did not answer. For all he knew, it had been a thousand.

He was simply...tired of it all, of throwing himself against the walls of Asgard's obstinacy time and time again. Both in all these meetings, and when asking about Loki.

He had finally left a message with one of the Einherjar that if the Queen Mother was available, he would like to speak with her. That had been hours ago, and so far neither Queen nor messenger had sent for him.

Surely it could not have taken this long to form a rescue – Æsir enjoyed a good battle as much as any warrior, or perhaps more than the average one, and yet there had been no sign of a battle even starting. Helblindi didn't entirely believe the axiom that Æsir fought first, thought second, but a Prince had been taken hostage. That was an insult to any kingdom–

(Not if it was a Jotun Prince.)

No, with Queen Frigga in charge, she would not allow such delays, even if–

“Worrying over him again?”

Helblindi was jolted out of his thoughts and glanced sideways at Skadi. “There is much to worry about,” he said, quickening his steps. To where, he wasn't sure, but he had to find Queen Frigga somewhere.

Skadi matched his pace. “He wasn't rescued any faster the first hundred times you fretted, and he won't be rescued any faster the next hundred.”

At last, Helblindi stopped, and turned to look at her. Despite the teasing words, her face was serious. “You are wearing yourself out over this,” she said. “They are only Chitauri who have him this time, not...” Her eyes darted around them, at the Æsir crowded to the far side of the hall, then in an undertone added, “Thieves.”

“Skadi,” Helblindi chastened. On Jotunheim, a saying had grown in the past thousand years, that if one was an adept at stealing, then one was “like the Æsir”. Laufey had been all too happy to encourage it. Helblindi had yet to get around to discouraging it, only because it was one of the Æsir's kinder epithets. That didn't mean Skadi had to go around using it.

Helblindi knew Skadi's words were true, though. Whatever the Chitauri wanted of Loki, they had no reason to do to him what an Ás might do to a Jotun. (And what they had already done to him.)

“I'm trying to be discreet – they don't know what it means, and you never know who is listening,” Skadi replied calmly. “The Chitauri likely only want him for ransom, and they would not wish him dead – or injured,” she added at Helblindi's sharp look.

“Then what are they trying to hide?” Helblindi snapped, forgetting to lower his voice.

At the suspicious glances from several passing Æsir, Helblindi relaxed his posture and started walking again. Skadi quickly overtook him. Aiming towards a less crowded hallway, she leaned her head close to Helblindi's and murmured, “Maybe they don't want us to know why they haven't acted yet? Or know whatever the Chitauri want for ransom, or the state of their treasury? I cannot read their minds any better than you.”

“You are probably right,” Helblindi said reluctantly. The secrecy still nagged at him. He did not see how the Chitauri's demands concerned Loki's health. And if there was a ransom, why hadn't Helblindi heard a rumour about it, even one whisper? It wasn't as if the Jotnar had ever expressed concern in Asgard's coffers or whatever they kept locked up in their vaults except for–

Helblindi nearly stumbled over his feet.

Except for the Casket.

Claws wrapped around Helblindi's heart and he walked blindly beside Skadi, mind spinning. It couldn't be – Queen Frigga would never – Thor would never–

But why else could there be such furtiveness, why else would the nobles and council refuse to speak of it, unless they were afraid the Jotnar would hear they planned to hand over the one thing that would ruin this peace. And if they did it in secret, with none the wiser, then no Jotun would know it was missing, not with it locked away in their vault. That would explain Thor's reluctance to confide in him, Queen Frigga's avoidance–

No. No, it was foolish to indulge this line of thought. He didn't know that the Chitauri wanted the Casket – or what they would want with it. He didn't even know if they wanted a ransom. And though the rest of Asgard would happily hand over Jotunheim's heart and soul to the highest bidder so long as they weren't Jotun, Thor and Queen Frigga would never be so callous.

(Would they?)

Thor knew what the Casket meant to the Jotnar. Helblindi had told him, back when they first met in Midgard's dusty desert. Back when Helblindi had thought that Asgard's spoiled First Prince, who had marched into Jotunheim and left dead and dying Jotnar scattered across the ice in his wake, would have to be hit over his head with his own hammer before he agreed to even the smallest concession. Back when Helblindi had thought the negotiations were a lost cause if it was Thor he treated with, but he would work with what he was given.

And when Helblindi at last lost his temper, when he had told Thor that his people were dying without the Casket, that was the first time he saw anything other than boredom, suspicion, or even a touch of disgust on Thor's face. He had seen guilt. He had seen Thor thinking.

Even if Thor had ruined the moment by saying, “You brought it on yourselves when you attacked Midgard,” that look had been the first time Helblindi had felt any hope for his realm.

With Thor, it was far from the last.

Just because Thor hadn't agreed to give the Casket back yet, did not mean it was lost forever. Helblindi had known it had been much too soon to ask the one time he had spoken of it in the council rooms, not long after the negotiations had begun, but he had proposed Asgard return it anyway. As he expected, the councillors had refused – some of them with a fervour verging on violence – and even Thor had looked a bit uncertain. They resolved to reconsider the matter after a time. Helblindi assumed most of them meant never.

But a month after he visited Loki, in one of their private meetings, Helblindi had told Thor a memory of his early days, when the realm had been whole, and when the Casket had brought the realm to bloom. It happened in summer, when snow-flowers blossomed over the plains. They were half plant and half ice, with frost-spun petal – although Helblindi couldn't quite recall how the they felt, if they were soft like Asgard's flowers here, or more like ice. And then there were the forests, barren most of the year, but burst into a cacophony of glittering white, deep blues, even stormy black in the summers.

There used to be festivals when the forests and flowers bloomed all across the realm. Every palace on Jotunheim had a forest close enough, but the one near Laufey's palace was the largest, stretching for miles across the snow. The whole palace, from the gentry to the servants, as well surrounding villages, would march down the road with flower-covered fields on either side, until they reached the forest. Then, in the clearings between trees and beside the banks of the frozen rivers, everyone would set up camp for nine days and nights, before making the return trek on the tenth day.

Helblindi thought there might have been speeches and ceremonies on the first couple of days, for he remembered times he had to still uncomfortably still while people droned on and on in endless talks. Most of the time, though, he ran through the forests with his friends and Býleistr, climbing trees whose branches were too weak or too small to hold them the rest of the time, and eating the fruit that would have to be harvested and stored quickly, so it could be eaten when summer ended.

(It was said some of the fruit still existed in some Jarl's hidden cache or other, and could be bought for about half of the gold Jotunheim's treasury, though he did not tell that to Thor.)

Now, most of the trees were gone, unable to grow and keep themselves nourished without the Casket. Helblindi couldn't tell which snowy field used to hold the groves, and where the flower-filled meadows used to bloom. They were still marked on the old maps, but they did little good now when one was told to go around the north edge of the forest if there was no forest to ride by.

It wasn't until midway through his description that he noticed Thor had grown quiet, almost pensive. Once Helblindi finished, Thor had leaned over the little table, his eyes lit up with earnestness as he said, “I promise you, even if I have to fight the council for decades, I will get the Casket back to you.”

The same hope from those first days fluttered even as it came crashing down. “Though Laufey will still rule?” he asked.

Thor had hesitated, looking away with a torn expression. Then Thor surprised him, as he always had. Raising his head to meet Helblindi's eyes, he said, “If that is what Jotunheim needs, then yes.”

Helblindi believed him. And he believed Queen Frigga would be little different. They wouldn't give the Casket away without a fight, and not without telling Helblindi first.

Guiltily, he glanced over at Skadi, hoping she hadn't noticed his brief moment of panic – he didn't want to raise any suspicions. But she seemed absorbed in her own thoughts, eyes slightly glazed and chewing her lip. Helblindi was going to suggest they ask after Queen Frigga separately, in case she had better luck, when her head abruptly jerked towards him. “What does he look like, anyway?” she asked, then clarified, “Asgard's Second Prince. I've always wondered.”

Skadi was one of the few Jotnar he told that his visit to Midgard involved more than just commemorating a historic event. And he knew he was dodging the question when he said, “You've seen the portraits, haven't you? Pale pink skin, and black hair. His face, I think, looks more like mine than–”

“No, not that,” Skadi scowled. “I meant what does he look like. Truly.”

Helblindi knew what she had meant the first time. He had not been looking forward to this question. Staring straight down the golden hall rather than meeting her gaze, he said quietly, “I have not seen yet.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Skadi stop, silent in her shock. She quickly shook it off. “You have not seen him yet? Why–”

“He did not seem to wish it.” Seem was a rather light word for it.

(He would always remember that flinch.)

Helblindi had already feared how Loki might react even before he visited. The way Loki had seemed slightly ill when forced to even look at Helblindi had left him with a heavy feeling of disappointment and resignation.

Turning to Skadi at last, he said, “You know the stories they tell about us here are worse than the ones you used to tell me.” She had been one of the children who had first told him of the all-seeing golden-eyed god and the terrifying king of Asgard. She had also been the one to tell that the golden-eyed god would inform the Terrible One whenever a child talked back to their elders.

Skadi did not look the slightest bit guilty about it. “And though you haven't seen him without his Æsir face, you still spend all this time worrying.” She gave him an exasperated look. “King Thor will find him, and he will return him to his Midgardian friends soon enough.”

Helblindi stopped and grabbed her by one of her shoulders, so she would have to face him. “Skadi.” He swallowed. “Býleistr and I named him Brother.”

Skadi's eyes grew wide. “Already?” she gaped. “After one meeting?”

Helblindi nodded, while Skadi only stared. She understood where Thor and Queen Frigga had not. When they had returned from Midgard, Thor had only smiled and told him he was glad Loki knew he had another brother or two; Queen Frigga appeared to grasp what it meant somewhat more, for when she thanked him for welcoming Loki to his family, there was a deep gratitude in her eyes.

But they still did not understand as a Jotun would. Family was important, in both blood and bond, but blood was only a beginning. It would not suffice on its own to replace a bond.

Yet naming Loki “Third Brother” meant Helblindi sought to know him, despite the lack of years between them. It meant Helblindi and Býleistr were erasing the split between them.

It meant Laufey should never have acted as he had.

It meant Helblindi would know him as his brother, whether they shared years between them or hours.

(If Laufey would not, then someone had to.)

Skadi nodded. “Then you and Prince Býleistr must have high hopes of him. Do as you must. I will not delay you any longer.” She put her right hand against her left shoulder, frost swirling across the outlines on her hand, then once the formal parting gesture was over she walked down the hall towards the Jotnar quarters.

Helblindi took a different route, deciding to wander to wherever Queen Frigga would most likely visit. As he walked, thoughts swirled in his head. Thoughts of green eyes that could not quite hide their fear, hesitant questions that even the youngest of Jotnar knew the answer to, flinches at the touch of cold blue hands.

That was how he didn't notice the Grand Vizier until the man had already sidled up beside him.

“Greetings, Prince Helblindi,” the man said, looking at the hall in front of them rather than up at Helblindi.

“Grand Vizier,” Helblindi said, tilting his head with the bare minimum of respect required for the Ás' position. For all the man's fake smiles and attempt at kind words, Helblindi knew the Grand Vizier was as fond of Jotnar as a djurisk was of summer on Asgard.

The familiar fake smile spread across the Grand Vizier's wrinkled face. “It is a pleasure to have you back so soon after your venture to Jotunheim, despite the awful news that accompanied it.” Helblindi had no doubt that the regret on the man's face was entirely for the threat of the Chitauri, not anything to do with Loki. “I hope Lord Hœnir told you that there was a matter we needed to discuss?”

“Yes, he did. Though I am pressed for time at the moment. If you do not mind...” Helblindi quickened his footsteps, easily outdistancing the Ás that barely came up to his waist.

“That is quite unfortunate.” The Ás' voice followed him down the corridor. “As this is a matter that primarily concerns Prince Loki.”

Helblindi stopped. He turned.

The Grand Vizier smiled. He had Helblindi, and he knew it.

Chapter Text

Helblindi followed the Grand Vizier down Asgard's halls, the Ás chatting amiably about nothing, until they reached a small, empty room. Wide, high-set windows on one side lit the room with dimming sunlight, which fell upon a few Æsir-sized chairs next to a table in the room's centre. The Grand Vizier took a seat in the most comfortable one, then waited for Helblindi to sit across from him.

Gritting his teeth, Helblindi moved a chair aside and settled cross-legged on the floor. The Grand Vizier had probably chosen this room particularly for this indignity.

“Would you care for some refreshments?” the Ás asked, and seemed to be hiding a smirk.

“I would prefer we discuss business,” Helblindi said shortly. “What news have you of my brother? Have you found him yet?”

“He's on Midgard,” the Grand Vizier said, as if Helblindi did not already know. “Fortunately we believe it will be time to send our warriors in soon. The Chitauri threaten, and Asgard does not take kindly to threats. The poor boy should be rescued soon enough. He deserves a...rest, after everything.” The Ás' face seemed to twist as he bit out the sentiment. He did not have Lord Hœnir's skill at lying with his face as well as his words.

“Then I hope the battle goes well and you emerge triumphant.” Helblindi could not see where this was going. It made him uneasy.

“With our warriors, there is no doubt of that. However, Lord Hœnir and I have our concerns.” Lacing his hands together, the Grand Vizier leaned forward across the table, and his eyes grew hard. “You see, mistakes can be made in the heat of battle, even by seasoned warriors such as our troops. And there can be accidents, of course, a great many accidents, where the wrong creature may get in the way of the wrong sword – all part of the misfortunes of war.” He smiled. “It would be a pity if King Thor arrived too late to prevent such an accident happening to his Jotun brother.”

A prickle of hot, sick fear crawled down Helblindi's spine and pooled in his stomach. He stared at the Ás, mouth dry and heartbeat sounding in his ears with each pump. He did not look away from the Ás as he said, “Is this a threat?”

“No, merely a warning.” The Ás' face was smug as he drew back. “Myself and quite a few others believe you Jotnar need a rest as well. All of your diplomats and Elders...they need to rest on Jotunheim. And perhaps such terrible accidents can be avoided, if you all rest.”

Helblindi made himself breathe, slowly in and out. “Permanently, you mean?”

He could not say he never expected to be threatened into leaving Asgard, into quitting negotiations, into allowing his realm to fall and fall until there was nothing left. He had just never expected it to come in this form.

The Grand Vizier smiled again. “That would be ideal. You can keep what you have, of course. Your trade, your cows and lumber, even all those ruins our workers repaired for you. But you will go no further.”

Or else, he left unsaid.

Helblindi said nothing, though he let his head twist to the side, his eyes roaming about the room as if in a panic. It wasn't hard to fake, even as his mind raced. If the Grand Vizier could do as he said, if he and Hœnir truly had some assassin in place, then what could Helblindi do to stop them? Queen Frigga could be warned, and then–

Helblindi snapped his head around and narrowed his eyes. “You believe Queen Frigga would allow any questionable warriors around Loki?” He knew Queen Frigga and Thor had Einherjar trained specifically for the Jotnar. For Loki. “You expect me to believe that she would allow even the chance that her son would be brought to harm? Your threats are empty, Ás,” he growled. He was losing his temper at the man, like he had all those weeks ago, and he remembered what they had said (a beast, a savage, a monster). But he couldn't care less at the moment.

“Her son,” the Ás scoffed. “No, I expect you to believe the Queen Mother does not know all that goes on in the palace,” he sneered.

Helblindi had had enough of this. “And if I tell the Queen Mother of your threat, how do you expect her to react? I imagine she would be happy to find you a nice cell.”

The Grand Vizier's face changed so quickly Helblindi drew back in shock. The smug look was dropped, immediately replaced by a snarl as he flew to his feet. “How dare you use the Queen to threaten me. You've been digging your claws into her for far too long, Jotun, her and the King both. You think none of us have noticed? We can see what you are doing – even blind Hodr could see it. You know the King and Queen Mother still hold a soft spot for your runt. They can indulge in it from time to time because unlike you, he knew his place, and he's harmless enough kept on Midgard.”

Helblindi sat, too shocked to speak, even as he realized the Ás made Loki sound like a pet. Like a mangy cur that was somehow still favoured by the royal family.

“But you,” the Grand Vizier continued, his face red and teeth bared between his grey beard. “You, using that affection to worm your way into their hearts – a mother gripped by loss and a green boy who thinks you a fine replacement for his brother – only a Jotun could be so vile. How long before you have the Casket? How long before you try take to Midgard? Or is it us you plan to have dead at your feet, and with the King handing you over the knife?”

The Grand Vizier's chest heaved. Then abruptly he sat back down, though a ruddy colour still remained in his face. “The Allfather would never have stood for this, and nor will we. If this is what we need do to protect the Queen Mother and the King, then we will do it. They will mourn the runt, but if it means Asgard's safety, it is well worth the risk.”

Once more, he folded his hands in his lap, trying to compose himself, and his face began to return to its normal colour. “These are our terms. You had best decide before our warriors defend Midgard from those creatures.” He gave his best condescending smile. “For your sake, you should hope the Chitauri dawdle a bit longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helblindi was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.

That thought pounded through his head as he hurried down Asgard's halls with as much decorum as he could muster, wishing he could run through the realms as he would run across a plain of ice. His eyes scanned the halls for any Jotnar who might help – Skadi, or Elder Gerðr, or someone. Or maybe Lord Frey, or – or even Lord Tyr, who had no love for the Jotnar but who Frigga had told him was fond of Loki.

But he only saw more Æsir, giving him startled looks as he passed and then scrambling as far across the hall as they could. Helblindi ignored the muttered oaths and curses he left in his wake. They didn't matter to him now.

All that time with Queen Frigga and Thor, and he'd never thought of how it might have looked. He'd been too caught in hearing all the little tidbits about Loki, in seeing the family Loki had grown up with–

And yes, in telling them about Jotunheim – in giving them a reason to help Jotunheim. But there was no nefarious scheme in mind, no more than the negotiations were schemes.

He had been enthralled in the wonder that Asgard's royal family actually wanted to hear about Jotunheim, even if at first he had suspicions it was only because they were just as curious about what should have been Loki's home as Helblindi was about theirs; that desperate curiosity was one of the reasons Helblindi had been drawn to their talks night after night, hoarding bits of their stories like a dragon hoarded jewels, as much as they pained him. Later, when he knew they wished to hear of Jotunheim for Jotunheim's sake, the reasons to meet with them only grew.

And Helblindi had not once considered how the rest of Asgard would see it. Nor had the rest of the Jotnar, who were probably just as delighted that Helblindi was on private speaking terms with Asgard's royal family. Not to mention some were intrigued by Loki as well – Skadi and Elder Skrýmir passed on any news they heard themselves, Elder Gerðr was always willing to ask Frey for any details, and Lady Menglöð remained politely interested while hiding her true thoughts underneath her placid face.

Maybe they had assumed Loki had been all that Helblindi, Thor, and Frigga talked about, and thought nothing of it.

While Asgard had assumed something much different.

Idiot, he repeated to himself. The First Prince of Jotunheim, cooped up with the royalty of Asgard for hours on end...it was careless of him. Thoughtless. Stupid. And yet, when he had spent his years imagining negotiations – which proposals he would bring to the Allfather, how to convince him Jotunheim meant no harm, what could be offered in return – a friendship between himself and the royal family had never crossed his mind. Especially not with Odin at its head.

Just because Odin was not the hated man of his father's tales did not mean Helblindi believed the Allfather could ever be a friend to the Jotnar. Instead, Helblindi had been planning to appeal to Odin's reason. He had planned speech after speech explaining that Jotunheim's people were dying, and as protector of the Nine Realms, Odin had a duty to Jotunheim as well.

Helblindi had expected the negotiations to be long and difficult, with everything hinging on Odin's opinion, Odin's decision, Odin's belief. The Allfather was the Allfather, and the rest of Asgard would fall in with him, Helblindi knew. The rest of the family had not occurred to him – queens seemed to have little rule in Asgard compared to their kings, and very little knowledge of Odin's sons made it into Jotunheim, only that Odin's heir held a great and powerful hammer.

Then, everything had rested on Odin. Everything had depended on the king who had led Asgard's armies through Jotunheim's lands and decimated their people.

Now, it was everyone but Odin. Everything but appealing to his rule.

It was sharing stories and drinks with Thor and Frigga. It was walking down halls with his head bent down to Thor's after they left a meeting, or chancing upon Frigga and accompanying her on a walk through her garden. It was friendship, not just an alliance.

Yet it was a friendship that was much more politically advantageous for him – for Jotunheim – than for any of Asgard. Asgard needed nothing of Jotunheim, or the Jotnar. And no Æsir would see friendship. Only greed.

Just as Helblindi should have seen, so much sooner.

Helblindi growled to himself, causing the eight guards he passed to stiffen. But they didn't stop him, and Helblindi was striding through Asgard's gate, with doors so high it would take three Jotnar standing on each other's shoulders to reach the top. At last, the endless gold stopped shining in his eyes, replaced by the soothing night sky. Except for the glittering rainbow bridge, extending to Asgard's edge.

And on that bridge, closing in on the gate, was a gaggle of riders on horseback. Among the gold spears the Einherjar normally carried, the glint and shape of Gungnir was unmistakable.

It was all Helblind could do not to break into a run as his heart leapt up into his throat. Though he could not quite restrain a jog as he crossed the short distance.

The horses shied away nervously when Helblindi approached. The Einherjar only got them under control once Helblindi stopped in front of the two Einherjar flanking Queen Frigga, and behind her, Lords Tyr and Bragi.

Helblindi didn't spare the two Lords a glance as he bowed his head towards her. “Queen Frigga,” he said hoarsely, slightly out of breath. “I must speak with you. It is a matter of great urgency–”

“Can you not see that the Queen is distraught?” Tyr barked, cutting through Helblindi's words.

Helblindi blinked and looked up. He only had time to realize that Frigga's face was unusually pale and her eyes stained a faint pink before Tyr growled, “And we are in a hurry, Prince Helblindi. There are important affairs the Queen must attend to at–”

“Thank-you, Lord Tyr,” Frigga said sharply, holding up a hand, “but you do not speak for me.” Turning to face Tyr, she said, “Return to the palace. You know what needs to be done with the warriors, now that a clear threat has been made – and Lord Bragi, call a council meeting when you have given the orders. I will join you there shortly.”

Helblindi caught the blaze of anger in Tyr's eye, the mistrustful look he shared with Lord Bragi, and Helblindi realized this was another of his careless mistakes. Once again, he was speaking alone with the Queen, privately. He could already imagine what they might think, that the Jotun was whispering lies and secrets in her ear. And then when Helblindi charged two of her councillors with treason, of conspiring against the royal family, as soon as they were alone–

A sudden thought occurred to Helblindi, and with it, panic. What if the Grand Vizier was lying? What if there was no Einherjar on his side, no one in place to attack Loki when the Ás called for it?

Because if Helblindi accused the Grand Vizier and Hœnir of plotting, only for them to turn up innocent, it would make Helblindi look as if he made the whole scheme up to turn the Thor and Frigga against their council. And they would all see that the Queen Mother had listened to Helblindi, had trusted him over her councillors. People would say Helblindi had poisoned her mind, taken her ear, twisted her judgement until she favoured him over her people.

The Grand Vizier wouldn't have to threaten Loki then. Not when the rest of Asgard would run the Jotnar out of the realm themselves.

“There is no need for such privacy,” Helblindi said quickly before either of the lords could move. “I only wish to hear word of my brother. I have been long without news, and with the disruptions in the palace, I fear for his health. Please, how does he fare?”

The anger deflated out of Tyr like one of the bullfrogs in Lady Freya's menagerie letting out its air, and his grizzled face even softened a touch. But Helblindi also caught the strain around his eyes, and Bragi looked uncomfortable. Queen Frigga, instead of answering, glanced aside while her hands tightened around Gungnir and her horse's reins. Not even the Einherjar moved.

Helblindi's stomach roiled in unease.

Tyr answered first, voice gruff. “The boy is unharmed, for now.”

“But the sooner we return to the palace,” Bragi said impatiently, “the sooner we hope to rescue him.”

“And that is why you will go to the palace at once,” Frigga said softly but firmly, raising her eyes to look at the lord, “while I tell Prince Helblindi the truth of my son's peril.”

“The whole truth, my Queen?” Tyr asked carefully, staring at Frigga. Bragi kept his gaze on Helblindi, openly mistrustful. Before speaking to the Grand Vizier, Helblindi would have thought their suspicion was only from worry that he would find out whatever secrets the Æsir were keeping. Now, he wondered if the distrust held another edge.

Was he afraid Helblindi would cajole information out of their queen? Maybe that Frigga did not have the sense not to spill Asgard's carefully-guarded affairs?

Helblindi felt himself offended on the queen's behalf. She was no fool to condemn her realm with loose lips – any half-wit could see that .

(Though perhaps not the Grand Vizier.)

“I will tell him what he needs to know to soothe a brother's fears,” Frigga admonished Tyr. “You cannot begrudge him that, Lord Tyr. Now, you have your orders. I will be there as soon as myself and the First Prince are finished.”

The lords nodded, both looking appeased, and spurred on their horses, galloping down the bridge. Frigga brought her horse alongside Helblindi, leading him back to the palace without a word – the opposite direction Helblindi had planned, but he didn't have much choice. Not with the four Einherjar still remaining, falling back to fan out behind Frigga and Helblindi. He wondered if any of them were Hœnir's men, or the Grand Vizier's, or if they were as true to Frigga as they had been to the Allfather.

Either way, they were much too close for Helblindi to breathe a word of his suspicions. And if he asked Frigga to speak in private, then those suspicions would lie on him.

“I apologize for not speaking to you earlier,” Frigga said, breaking the silence. Her voice had lost the sharpness it had held with the lords. Instead, she sounded only weary. “But the past few days...they have not been restful.”

Helblindi glanced down at her, the tired lines of her face, and with a jolt of alarm, remembered what Tyr had said about her being distraught. Was Helblindi already too late? Were the Grand Vizier's threats useless, when the Chitauri had already seen fit to carry them out for him? “Has Loki been hurt?” he asked in a rush. “Is that the news from Heimdall?”

“No, no, he hasn't–” A flash of pain spasmed across Frigga's face, and she quickly snapped her head around to face out across the water. When she turned back a moment later, the pain was gone and her voice was steady. “The most recent news Heimdall shared with me is best kept between myself and him. Even Lords Tyr and Bragi only accompanied me as far as the entrance chamber.” She shook her head. “No, Loki is fine. Physically.”

Frigga's knuckles were white, her words stiff and stilted. Helblindi felt as if the air had been crushed from his lungs as dread wormed through his chest.

“And the rest of him?” he asked.

“You have heard that Loki has been imprisoned, yes?” She waited for Helblindi to nod. “That is a lie.”

She nearly spat the words out. Her eyes were hard and angry as she said, “Only Loki's mind has been imprisoned. He has been taken over by one of the Chitauri's weapons, and he has been made to serve the creatures. Against his brother.”

Helblindi froze mid-step. Only through conscious effort did he set his foot down and keep walking.

This was not – this was far from any of his expectations. He had thought Loki might be hurt, or tortured for information as he had been all those months ago, or simply stuck in some cage while the Chitauri awaited ransom. But not to be used –

Though surely this was better than torture, was it not? Even if Loki was forced to serve his captors against–

Fear rose in his throat, almost choking him. “Does the council know?” Helblindi managed to ask. If the council knew – if the Grand Vizier and Hœnir and whoever else they were working with knew–

Mistakes can be made in the heat of battle, the Grand Vizier had said, and if Loki fought against the Æsir–

“Yes,” Frigga said shortly, her lips thinned. “I thought it best to tell them, before they decided he was freely working with the enemy.”

Helblindi knew it didn't matter what the council thought. Because with Loki working against them, it would only be so much easier to kill Loki, and call it only an accident. To claim they had no choice.

Frigga dismounted her horse, and Helblindi realized they had reached the end of the bridge, and the gates were before him once again. As grooms came forward to relieve Frigga and the Einherjar of their mounts, she walked up to Helblindi and grabbed one of his hands with hers, her fingers barely covering half his palm.

“Helblindi,” she said quietly, beneath the hearing of the Einherjar, “if you wish to join Thor on Midgard, I will give you leave.” Since the treaty, Jotnar were not allowed on Midgard's land without Asgard's permission; Helblindi wondered if the council would believe her if he said Queen Frigga had allowed his presence.

“Many will be wary of a Jotun – even you – fighting alongside their king,” she continued, “but if you are seen defending him, it would not hurt your standing here. Yet if Thor is injured, or–” Her voice faltered, before she carried resolutely on, “If he is injured, you may also take the blame.”

Helblindi nodded, though he knew he would more likely become one of the Grand Vizier's “mistakes” made in battle. Or maybe both – killed because he “injured” King Thor. They would make some story up about it afterwards, about how a brave warrior saw him about to stab Thor in the back, and took the initiative to save his king. Maybe Thor and Frigga would disbelieve the warrior who did the deed, sentencing him to death for killing a foreign prince. Maybe they would even trace the plot back to the Grand Vizier or Hœnir, and have them brought to justice.

But justice would do Helblindi little good after his body had already returned to the ice. Nor would it do much good for Loki, if Helblindi could not save him.

And though Helblindi had been trained as a warrior, it had been much too long since he had fought anywhere other than the training grounds. He doubted he could fend off opponents on two sides, even if one of the challengers was only the Chitauri.

“Thank-you for the offer, Queen Frigga,” he said. “I will consider it.”

She smiled, though it did little to lighten the sorrow on her face. “I hope you do. Come to me when you decide, but be quick. I believe the Chitauri will not wait much longer, and I long to see my sons safe.” She closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. “I believe there is much the three of us must discuss.”

With the four Einherjar behind her and Gungnir in her hand, she walked back to the palace. Helblindi considered calling her back, whisking them to someplace without ears to overhear, telling her everything the Grand Vizier and Hœnir had said. But he did not need to make their hatred worse.

Besides, when he started on his way here, he hadn't know if he would see her anyway.

Helblindi turned from the palace and walked far enough onto the bridge that he hoped there would be few prying eyes on him. Then he broke out into a flat run, thundering across the bridge.

Heimdall didn't move when Helblindi stopped before him. He might as well have been waiting for Helblindi, for all he knew. When those golden eyes rose to meet his, Helblindi quashed the small tremor of unease. He had much more to worry about than childhood fears.

Even so, he kept his eyes trained on Heimdall's helmet as he said, “Gatekeeper, I come to ask for passage.”

Heimdall looked no more surprised at the request than at Helblindi's appearance. “To Midgard?”

Helblindi chanced meeting the Gatekeeper's eyes. “If I asked you to take me to my brother – to Loki – would you?”

“No.”

The word was not spoken sharply, but with something much like regret. Underneath Heimdall's stoic face, Helblindi thought he could see a grimace. Still, he could not hold back the question, “Would not, or could not?”

“Whether or not I could, it would still be inadvisable to go on your own,” Heimdall warned.

That much, Helblindi had expected. He didn't know why Heimdall had yet to send warriors to Midgard – perhaps the Chitauri had found some way to prevent the Bifrost from landing near them, or maybe they would kill Loki the moment they saw the Bifrost's light. Though if the former were true, Helblindi could understand why the Æsir had stayed so secretive the past few days. It did not relieve Helblindi to know they were right to keep their silence.

If there were any way to prevent the Bifrost from coming and going as it pleased...All of the realms, not just Jotunheim, would do near anything for that knowledge.

(Helblindi tried not about what he would do for it. That was a line of thought best left alone.)

Helblindi returned his gaze to the Gatekeeper's helm. “Then I ask to go to Jotunheim.”

If that took Heimdall off guard, he did not show it. He raised his sword off the ground and turned swiftly, walking into the Bifrost's chamber and up the dais. Helblindi followed and took his place at the opposite edge of the chamber. He waited for the sound of the sword sliding against metal and for lightning to start arching across the Bifrost's walls. Neither came.

Instead, Heimdall's voice came echoing around the chamber.

“After Queen Frigga left, I was about to return my attention to Midgard when I heard something interesting from the palace. The Grand Vizier was asking someone to make a decision, and that for their sake, the Chitauri should 'dawdle'.”

Helblindi tried to hold in a gasp as his heart raced in his chest. Did Heimdall think he was trying to win over the Grand Vizier, just like the Grand Vizier thought he was trying to win over Frigga and Thor?

Yet the Gatekeeper did not sound accusing. If anything, beneath that flat curiosity, Helblindi thought he heard worry.

“When I cast my eye upon the place,” Heimdall continued, “I saw you sitting with him. I had not known the two of you had business together. Is there something I should be aware of?”

Before Helblindi could think twice, he blurted out, “Keep an eye on him. And Lord Hœnir. If you would, Gatekeeper,” Helblindi added in an attempt to make his words more polite. Even if ordering around Asgard's Gatekeeper was not proper for one of Jotunheim's princes, he still felt a thrill of nervousness at telling the “golden-eyed one” what to do.

“I will.” There was the sound of the sword sliding into its sheath in the middle of the dais. “And there is no need to sound so frightened, First Prince. I am not as bad as your stories say.”

Helblindi looked over his shoulder at the Gatekeeper. He thought he saw Heimdall give him a nod before the Bifrost carried him away in a burst of light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Býleistr walked slowly across the ice in front of the shipyards, listening to mingled voices of Jotnar and Æsir calling out, before the brisk wind snatched the sounds away. Not for the first time, Býleistr wished he could sit and watch the workers go about their business, rather than wander around, making sure neither species decided to pick a fight with the other. But there were few willing to look over both Jotnar and Æsir workers, and fewer still who at least tried to be fair to both.

Which left Býleistr with feet he longed to soak in a nice ice and bear-fat bath at the end of the day.

He ran his eyes over the Jotnar workers on this side of the yards as he meandered along the edge, avoiding the Jotnar trundling past with carts of metal or stone. He hoped none of them noticed his gaze was slightly out of focus, more on the shipyards themselves and the Jotnar and Æsir swarming over them.

Even over a year after it all had begun, Býleistr was not sure how Helblindi had managed to move his plans along quite so rapidly. It seemed like only a couple of months ago Helblindi was telling him to “think Æsir” so Helblindi could practice another one of his speeches and have Býleistr tell him how convincing they sounded. Býleistr had dutifully listened to each speech through, though he hadn't the slightest clue how an Ás was supposed to think. And – while he never told a soul, not even Father – Býleistr had always thought his brother's dreams a bit too ambitious.

Yet now the docks were more-or-less complete and the adjoining shipyards on their way, if not actually in working condition. There were ships from other realms landing each month, not just the dwarfs and their metal contraptions that looked like they couldn't fit even Býleistr's shoulders through their door; Býleistr thought he had even seen an elf on one of the Vanir barges.

Then there were the other projects Helblindi had managed to wheedle some of the Jarls and their people into undertaking. There were the mages who could still perform growth magic and the few researchers with knowledge of Jotunheim's flora. Helblindi had ordered them to gather from across the realm and bring their last fragile cuttings of the vegetation that had managed to survive without the Casket. Through missives from Asgard, he had told them to do whatever they could to replenish the fragile cuttings. He had claimed that help from Asgard would come soon enough, that even without the Casket the plants would flourish again.

He had gotten the Jarls Beyla and Geir to plan an expedition to the Crystal Caves off in the Vimur Mountains, which had been buried during the war. None had had successfully gone in before, since the loss of the Casket only made uncovering them more difficult without bringing the whole mountain down. But Helblindi insisted that if Asgard helped, the risk would be minimal.

Býleistr had only seen the Caves in storybooks. Father had always said that frivolities such as the Caves could wait until Jotunheim recovered from the war.

Of course, that was if Jotunheim ever recovered. Býleistr couldn't remember what the palace and city around it had looked like before the war, and while the city was looking better than it had two years ago, it still wasn't like what Býleistr saw in the histories. The buildings were still cracked and half-crumbling, the palace was a third of the size it had been in King Gymir's reign, and half the villages between here and Gastropnir were deserted as the population dwindled.

But Býleistr believed that Helblindi believed it could be done. And he wanted Helblindi's schemes to be true, even the ones Býleistr had always thought sounded more like daydreams than anything else. Still, he would take daydreams over nothing.

So he helped where he could and made peace with all the little Æsir warriors and diplomats who came over. He liked the head diplomat well enough, a gentle and agreeable man, and the four warriors he was especially fond of. Though he may be biased, since Helblindi said they were Loki's friends, back when he had been in Asgard.

Helblindi had once sent Býleistr a letter with one of the messengers who were preparing for the coming diplomats. After reading it, Býleistr soon matched the people described in it to these four warriors when they arrived, and nearly accosted them in his excitement. He found all of them quite willing to sit down and recount story after story – the four warriors and Loki and Thor, fending off bandits as they traversed Vanaheim's yellow-golden grass-covered plains (which Býleistr had always thought were green); or battling hordes of trolls in Alfheim's mountain, where one missteps meant death (although Volstagg and Fandral could never agree on the number of trolls, until Sif and Hogun stepped in); or fighting dragons in Asgard's wastelands and carting home the gold the beasts' stolen gold (though Býleistr didn't know why Asgard needed even more gold than they had).

In each, they talked about Loki's magic, Loki's knives, Loki's tricks that managed to get them in and out of danger. Though Býleistr and the four of them rarely had time together, since Býleistr spent most of his day on the docks and Father consistently found some excuse to pull Býleistr away from their company, there was more he could learn from them than Helblindi's occasional letters. Even the letter Helblindi had sent after meeting Loki didn't tell Býleistr much. Only that Loki seemed morose, liked the mortals he lived with, and didn't talk much – none of which told him why Loki had decided to settle in a desert of all places. It couldn't be too much trouble to ask his mortal friends to move.

Helblindi also wrote something peculiar about Loki being afraid of the ice and cold, which Býleistr was sure he misunderstood. How could a Jotun be afraid of their own Issjä?

Unless the Æsir had taught him that fear. From the way the some of the Æsir muttered and cursed under their breath when they thought Býleistr couldn't hear, it didn't seem unlikely.

Býleistr hoped he had the time to show Loki just how wrong the Æsir were. If Loki were here, he would show him how–

“Careful!”

Býleistr jerked his head up just as a Jotun hauling a cart rolled to a halt barely a foot from him. The Jotun gave him an annoyed glare, his mouth opening into a snarl. Then recognition sparked in his eyes and he abruptly ducked his head.

“Apologies, Second Prince,” he said quickly, his head still bowed as he put his left hand to his shoulder.

“None needed, I wasn't watching my steps,” Býleistr reassured him, stepping backwards and out of the cart's way. The Jotun looked up, relieved.

“You may wish to watch them more carefully when you get to them, my Prince.” He jerked his head at the Æsir side. Býleistr was startled to find he was not so far from the bulk of the Æsir workers, his feet having halved the distance across the ice as he walked. “They will not be so thoughtful if you crossed their path.”

Býleistr flashed a small smile. “If they wished to run me down, they would have to put on a few feet first.”

The other Jotun snorted before continuing past, but Býleistr own mirth evaporated when he turned his thoughts back to Loki. His little brother was not much taller than these Æsir. Maybe shorter than some, if King Thor's height was not abnormal for an Ás.

There were not many runts on Jotunheim for him to compare Loki to. Their births were rare, and rarer still for them to live out their first year. Even Býleistr had not met one yet, and he didn't know how a Jotun so small could have survived, nor how he could managed to fit in among the Æsir for so long.

Maybe that was one of the many reason others were almost as curious as Býleistr about Loki – apart from having a brand new prince, of course. It seemed once a week Býleistr saw Volstagg sitting in one of the courtyards, bundled in furs, and telling a gaggle of children stories about Loki, or just about the realms beyond (and when Býleistr had the time, he pretended to be reading in a nearby alcove whenever Volstagg began, even if he had heard the story before). And not long after Loki's discovery was announced to the realm, three of the Elders had come by to ask his opinion on his “new-found brother”. They were quickly followed by a few of the Jarls and nobles, all trying to hide their curiosity in official-sounding questions.

Býleistr only told them he had yet to meet Loki, but looked forward to it all the same. He knew better than to say more than that. Not when there were those who weren't simply curious.

Elder Thrívaldi had seemed stiff, almost angry, and his words were clipped as he asked if King Laufey had any plans to bring Prince Loki to Jotunheim anytime soon. And Elder Thjazi, Lady Skadi's father, had nearly sneered out the question, “What does Laufey intend to do with his run- with his youngest son?”

Elder Fornjót had been the worst. He was Elder was a neighbouring region, which meant more often than not he was in the palace, and he kept asking question at the most inopportune moments as if he wanted to take Býleistr off-guard. Sometimes he would wonder “Where will King Laufey's youngest son stay – there are no halls of gold here,” or ask if “First Prince Helblindi had already decided to build one with his Æsir workers”; or worse, if “First Prince Helblindi had seen fit to take Prince Loki from King Laufey's hands and take a hall on Asgard for themselves.” Býleistr never understood the resentment Fornjót had against Helblindi– the two had been at odds for years – but it seemed to have extended to Loki as well.

No matter the question, Býleistr always echoed Father's official stance: “My father King Laufey will discuss the matter with King Thor when the time comes.” Though he couldn't help adding, “But I wish to meet my brother soon, if the Norns see fit.”

As far as Býleistr could tell, Father had never expressed desire to see Loki. Not once. Not even when he had told the realm about Loki's existence.

Father made the announcement a month before the first Æsir came over, probably because the Æsir would spread the news and Father wanted the first word. He had gathered the court and said he “had not believed the runt would live through the night, either because of his unusually small size, or with Odin's forces marching on our palace. I thought the babe should die in peace in the temple, rather than be slaughtered in his bed.” Father bowed his head for a moment, and Býleistr wondered whether he truly felt regret, or was just pretending. Unlike Helblindi, Býleistr could never tell with any sort of conviction. Raising his head to look at the court again, Father had tonelessly said, “Evidently, Odin managed to keep the child from dying long enough to raise him.”

On all other questions, whether he accepted Loki as his son, whether Loki should come to Jotunheim, Father only repeated his official words: “The matter will be discussed with King Thor when the time comes.”

Býleistr had come to hate those words. Especially since Býleistr was sure the time would never come.

As far as he could tell, Father hadn't even bothered to send a missive to King Thor to ask for a discussion. When King Thor had come to Jotunheim himself, Helblindi said that Father hadn't even bothered to mention Loki to him . Nor had he done anything when Býleistr told Father what had happened to Loki only days ago.

Helblindi had come racing down to the docks to relay the news to Býleistr himself, nearly riding his djurisk into the ice in his haste. Then he had disappeared to Asgard (again), leaving Býleistr to wait on Jotunheim (again).

Yet the idea of Loki's capture seemed unreal to Býleistr, like the idea of one of Alfheim's forests. He could only picture a short Ás (though sometimes he looked Jotun) with black hair and shackles around his wrists, surrounded by grey-skinned creatures. Though he didn't think it should take all that long to rescue Loki. From what he could recall of his histories, the Chitauri were spindly creatures, with barely more strength than a Midgardian.

Still, the lack of news itched at him. With all of Asgard's strength, Býleistr was sure he should be hearing something soon. Although the four warriors hadn't even heard from Thor yet, as Sif had confessed last night when he caught her outside her quarters.

Býleistr supposed no news probably meant good news, though; if Helblindi had sent an urgent message – or worse yet, he came rushing to find Býleistr himself – it wouldn't be because Loki was safe and unharmed.

But Býleistr couldn't shake the hot burn of fear that the only time he would see his little brother would be on his deathbed.

Maybe next season he would press Father harder to be sent to Asgard; at least then he might have a chance to visit Loki, like Helblindi had.

It might make Father care again. Like Býleistr had thought Helblindi's news would. He had thought it would spark something in Father, but nothing had happened.

He told Father exactly what Helblindi had said about Loki's imprisonment the evening Helblindi left, while Father had been studying the maps of the realm and what changes had to be made as more of the ice shifted. Father didn't reply, so Býleistr had repeated himself, thinking Father so engrossed in his work that he hadn't heard.

“Yes, I heard you the first time,” Father snapped, not looking up from the maps as he put his hand against the prime-map that sat on the table, its raised and pebbled icy surface stretching across the room. “Though I'm not sure why you sought to tell me. What do you want me to do about it?”

Býleistr sighed as the map changed beneath Father's hand, the Glæsisvellir's coastline receding by a few slivers. “Nothing, Father,” he said.

Helblindi had told him time and time again not to bother. Býleistr bothered anyway.

Not that it ever did Býleistr much good.

The night that Father had annouced Loki's existence to the realm, Býleistr had followed his Father up to his quarters. He made it to Father's door before Father decided to turn around with a look that meant a dismissal was about to come. But as Father was still opening his mouth, Býleistr quickly asked, “Did you mean what you said?”

When Father hesitated, Býleistr slipped around him through the door, and settled by the desk in the middle of Father's antechmber. Crossing his arms, he asked, “Was anything you said to the court true? Do you really regret leaving Loki in that temple?” Helblindi had always said that Father had left Loki to die out of shame and anger and hadn't looked back, but Býleistr didn't entirely believe him. Father would never be that cruel.

(He couldn't be.)

Father gave him a steady look. Slowly, he closed the door, but didn't move apart from tilting his head to one side. “If I had kept him, how do you know he wouldn't have died the next day? Or the next week? If Odin hadn't seen fit to steal him away to Asgard, how do you know you would still have a little brother?”

“That's not what I asked,” Býleistr protested. “Did you truly leave him in that temple because you thought it would be more merciful?” Býleistr approached his father, weighing his words carefully. “Do you truly wish you had kept him?”

The look on Father's face didn't change. “As far as you should be concerned, what I said to the court was true.”

Which was about as much an answer as “The matter will be discussed with King Thor when the time comes.”

Býleistr gritted his teeth and held his ground. Father hadn't told him to leave yet, so he still had a chance to speak. “If you had kept him, then the Æsir would never had tortured him. Don't you care about that?”

He didn't see how Father could not. The thought of it made ice rush beneath Býleistr's skin, not only because they had hurt his little brother, but because Helblindi told him they started torturing Loki when they had no proof – it was just because he was there and he was Jotun. He was glad those who ordered it were far away from Jotunheim, or Býleistr might find himself breaking Asgard's treaty.

But Father only snorted. “What more can you expect from the Æsir? Especially any from Odin's court. Besides, I suspect King Thor–” he sneered out Thor's name, with a derision Býleistr hadn't heard from Father even when he said the Allfather's name. “–Has punished the whoever hurt the runt. Although if really wished to discipline those who were complicit,” he growled, “he would have punishedall of Asgard. He could have started with Odin, if the one-eyed goat had managed to stay alive.”

Býleistr stared, unsure if Father's ire was genuinely on Loki's behalf, or if he had only found another excuse to hate Asgard. And if he asked, he knew Father would never give him a straight answer. Father had never been fond of straight answers.

“What about what you promised?” he asked quietly. “Are you at least planning to bring Loki here?”

“If he wanted to be here, he would have already come here, rather than running off to Midgard,” Father said dryly. “I suggest you leave the matter be, before you start acting like your brother. The runt is fine where he is.”

He opened the door and gestured at the hall, glaring with impatience, and Býleistr knew Father would say no more today. He left, trudging his feet across the floor, and no more sure if Helblindi had been right about Father or not.

But throughout the months, he never stopped asking Father if he ever planned to bring Loki home to Jotunheim.

He had asked Father if he planned to discuss it with King Thor when he came over for his one day of rebuilding. Father ignored the question and told Býleistr to go ensure each of the Jarls had submitted accurate expenditure reports.

Býleistr asked again when the Æsir dilpomats had arrived – Thor's friends would probably be happy enough to convey the message. Father told him “Not now.” Then he told Býleistr to go check if the Elders had any concerns over food allotments that season.

He asked had been when he heard Helblindi was coming home for a few weeks, and taking King Thor with him. Father once again told him that Loki was fine where he was. Then he told Býleistr to go back to the shipyards.

Maybe Býleistr would have to convince Father to allow him to be sent to Midgard instead.

And he would have to convince Loki to stop living in a desert while he was at it, before the heat addled Loki's brains. He could show Loki the cold, northern parts of Midgard. They could hunt whatever wildlife the realm offered, and Býleistr could teach him to ski like Lady Skadi had–

The small, far-off sound of ice cracking snapped Býleistr out of his thoughts. He blinked and looked around, and realized he was now fully on the Æsir side of the shipyard, too lost in his thoughts again to pay attention to where he was going.

The ice cracked closer, which in itself would not be too odd, as the ocean was nearby and the ice would often shift and settle. But something was off. In his bones, in his mind, and in his Issjä, Býleistr felt something wrong in the way the ice changed.

He spun around in a circle, feeling for that sense of wrong. All around him, the little Æsir still worked on, oblivious, as ignorant of the ice as if they were blind and deaf. A second later, he found it, beyond the far side of the Æsir's half of the shipyard reconstruction, somewhere in the empty plain of ice between the shipyard and the ocean off in the distance. Or near-empty, as there were three Æsir straggling, alone, each hauling a hunk of metal across the ice towards the yards.

Býleistr ran, and the sound of ice cracking echoed across the plain.

All around him, Æsir were stopping, looking around in confusion. Býleistr paid them no attention, focused on the three Æsir. One had paused, gesticulating at the ground, while the other two stared, still hauling their burdens across the ice. Then, with a sound like realm itself had been cleaved in two, the ground behind them split open.

The three Æsir started running.

Willing his feet to move faster, Býleistr passed the last of the shipyard's buildings and thudded across the ice. He could see the crack widening, the Æsir scrambling away from its maw. He could feel the wrongness starting to settle, and he could feel the point when the ice would stop breaking away.

Judging by how fast the Æsir were running, exhausted from endless days of working in the cold on the shipyards, two of them would not make it. Unless Býleistr got there first.

The ice was breaking away only metres from the last Ás when Býleistr ran past the leading one, ignoring the man's cry for help. He didn't need it.

As the ice began crumbling under the last Ás' feet, Býleistr grabbed the second man's arm, not even blinking as the man shouted and struggled, and threw the man behind him, towards the safer ice. Before he heard the the man land, Býleistr leapt into the crevasse after the last Ás.

The Ás' eyes were wide, and he was too shocked to even scream as he fell. Býleistr reached out, wrapping his hand around the Ás' arm, then tugged the man close to his chest. With his other hand, Býleistr reached out for the newly formed cliff face. His fingers brushed against packed ice and dirt.

Býleistr reached into his Issjä and drew forth the ice from his hand, then dug his newly-formed claws into dirt.

When Býleistr was sure he had slowed his descent enough that he wouldn't dislocate his arm, he pulled ice from the cliff to wrap around his hand, all the way down his arm, trapping the arm against the cliff.

With a gasp of pain as Býleistr's shoulder wrenched, they jerked to a stop.

Býleistr looked down at the Ás tucked to his chest. The man's hands were wrapped tight around Býleistr's arm, and he looked just as shocked as he had when he had begun falling.

“Climb onto my shoulders,” Býleistr said, voice strained. He tried to rais the man higher. “I won't be able to climb up if I'm holding you.”

The man just stared, and Býleistr noticed that around the man's wrists were little gold bands, inscribed with runes. The little gold bands that Helblindi had said that King Thor had said marked them as prisoners, serving their sentence by helping Jotunheim, rather than stuck in a cell.

When the man continued to stare, Býleistr really hoped stupidity wasn't a crime on Asgard. Or if it was, then this Ás had been sent over for stealing gemstones or whatever it was Æsir criminals did.

“If you want to hang here, fine, I can ice you to the wall,” Býleistr snapped. “But I would prefer to return to the surface, and I need two hands for that.”

Finally, the Ás moved, releasing Býleistr's arm to reach for his shoulders. As the man scrambled up, Býleistr put his hand against the cliff, and carefully created handholds up the next few metres of cliff. Once the man was firmly atop Býleistr's shoulders, his arms now loosely keeping his grip around Býleistr's neck, Býleistr released his arm from the ice and began making his way up the cliff.

As soon as Býleistr was close to the top, several hands, both Æsir and Jotun it felt like, grasped him under the arms and helped pull him up. Býleistr let the Ás tumble off his shoulders onto solid ice, and immediately, the man was swarmed by his fellows, some with gold bands and three without. An older one without the bands was especially close and helped the man to his feet.

“Do you think that's the last of it?” one of the Jotnar asked worriedly, as Býleistr straightened. “I can't feel anymore, but if it gets any closer...” She gestured at the shipyards, and the docks just beyond them, and Býleistr knew her meaning well enough. If it happened any closer, then all this work would have been for nothing. They would have to start everything anew. Someplace else, without the threat of ice breaking beneath their feet.

(As if there were many of those places left that would still hold a port.)

“Aye, that feels like the last,” Býleistr said, trying to inject confidence into his voice. Looking around the gathered Jotnar and Æsir, he could see that the Jotnar, and some of the Æsir, did not seem all that reassured. They would listen to Býleistr, as he was a prince, but that did not mean they had to believe him.

“It had better be the last,” someone snarled, and Býleistr looked down to see the older Ás who had helped up the man Býleistr had saved. The Ás' arm was around his friend, and he was nearly frothing at the mouth in anger. “This whole realm is a death-trap.” A murmur of agreement came from the surrounding Æsir. “And you,” he stabbed a finger at Býleistr, “had better not have harmed Arvid while you had him in your frost-bitten hands.” From the way his hand was waving about, Býleistr guessed Arvid was the man he had rescued, leaning against the older Ás.

“Excuse me?” Býleistr asked archly. He wondered if the man was really that simple, to insult the Jotnar in the middle of Jotunheim. Stupidity probably wasn't a crime on Asgard then, otherwise the man would have shackles too. He wondered why he was here, though, if he held such a virulent hatred for the Jotnar – apart from the criminals, King Thor tried to send those that would at least be civil if a Jotun approached them.

Before the old Ás could reply, another Ás protested, “He just saved your nephew's life.”

“Better dead than in a Jotun's debt,” one of the gold-banded men around Arvid spat back.

Several of the Jotnar made disgusted noises as they flinched back. Even some of the Æsir seemed startled and began muttering amongst themselves. Býleistr was clenching his fists and reminding himself that Helblindi needed this alliance to work so hurting any Ás was out of the question, when a Jotun standing just off to Býleistr's left started forward towards the Æsir. “You oafish, little–” he snarled.

Býleistr darted forward, and held the Jotun back. The Jotun rounded on him, growling, “If that's the way they want it, you should have let the Ás fall.”

“That's the way one of them wants it,” he growled back. “Maybe if he starts falling we can first ask him if he wants us to save him, but for the rest we will assume they want to live.” He stared at the Jotun until he backed down. Then Býleistr turned to the whole group, his back to the new cliff ledge. Where before the Jotnar and Æsir had mixed, all coming together as Býleistr had arrived on the surface, now they clumped together in their own groups, glaring at the other species. “Everyone, back to your stations!” he called, his voice echoing across the ice plain. When no one moved, he yelled, “As your Prince, I command you to return to work.”

The Jotnar were the first to move, quietly moving away from the crevasse and back to the shipyards. Finally, the Æsir moved as well. Some were glowering at Býleistr. Some only looked at the ground. And some looked at Býleistr as if they were seeing him in a new light.

The man whom Býleistr had saved, Arvid, had that look in his face as his fellow Æsir steered him away. He glanced back at Býleistr, his face a mixture of confusion, worry, and contemplation.

Býleistr did not stare long at the Ás, though. He grabbed a passing Jotun by the shoulder, one he knew from the palaces. “Brynja, could you look over the labourers for now?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, my Prince.” As she turned back to the shipyards, Býleistr turned the other way and made his way up the bluff, back towards the palace.

Father had to be told about the ice.

Chapter Text

“I thought you were in Asgard, First Son,” Laufey said, the seeming ease with which he lounged on his throne belied by the flat, wary glare of his eyes. “Should you not be begging them to give you tree pulp? A boat? Perhaps a cow or two?”

Helblindi did not react to his father's mocking tone. It was nothing new, and ever since Thor had first come down to their realm with vengeance on his mind, Laufey's jeering had increased tenfold. Helblindi only stood respectfully in the centre of the throne room, composed and arms loose by his side.

The two of them were alone; after Laufey had seen Helblindi enter, he had sent away the guards who usually lurked in the shadows, all but unseen to any who tried to take the king unawares. Though the lack of an audience suited Helblindi just as well, he knew Laufey had done it for the freedom to say whatever he wished. It would not do for the King to be overheard speaking to his First Son in less than civil and respectful tones.

But Helblindi did not intend to give in to the same impulse as his father. He wished he didn't need to be here in the first place, but had little choice. As the First Prince and Asgard's diplomat, Helblindi was allowed to visit Midgard on his own (though an extended visit would require Laufey's permission); yet Helblindi couldn't simply order other Jotnar off-realm without Laufey's consent, and certainly not to Midgard, of all places. Not only did Asgard's treaty forbid them leaving Jotunheim without Asgard's consent, leaving without Laufey's approval was illegal and, in some extreme cases, tantamount to treason. That was why Laufey had to deny all claims that he had any connections to the Jotnar who had tried to steal into Asgard's vault, both because they invaded another's realm, and because they gone off-world in the first place.

(Although Helblindi would still bet his best djurisk that Laufey had had some part in sending those three Jotnar off to Asgard, however they had managed it.)

Addressing the least offensive part of Laufey's question, Helblindi calmly looked his father in the eye and said, “Our people can survive without me on Asgard for a while. I came here for another purpose. For your Third Son.”

Laufey actually looked surprised, then boredom settled over his expression. “What of him?” he asked, not trying to hide his derision.

“You know King Thor departed to Midgard because a group of Chitauri threatened that realm. But that is not the only reason.” Raising his chin and keeping his voice smooth, Helblindi said, “The Chitauri also kidnapped Loki.”

Laufey's sharp bark of laughter was not unexpected, nor the careless smile that spread across his face. “Oh? And what do you expect me to do about it? Run down to Midgard to help that brat of a king rescue him?”

“No,” Helblindi said bluntly. “But I expect you can spare some of our people to help your son in his time of need.”

Laufey waved a hand dismissively. “He's the Æsir's problem. Let them deal with the runt.” He didn't bother to acknowledge Helblindi's pointed words.

Though he wanted to curl his hands into fists, bare his teeth in a growl, Helblindi kept his body still. Instead, allowing some of his unease to enter his voice, he said, “It's the Æsir that I'm worried about.”

Finally, Laufey's eyes flickered with interest. At least, he was interested in which ways Helblindi might admit he was wrong. Trying not to dwell on that distasteful thought, Helblindi said, “Loki still has many enemies on Asgard, and I have reason to believe they will threaten his life.” He bowed his head, the only show of subservience he was planning to give Laufey. “You do not need to have any part in this yourself. I only ask that you give me sanction to ask–”

“My army to join you?” Laufey said archly.

Helblindi laced his hands behind his back to keep them steady. “I would ask that you allow Commander Járnsaxa and a few of her warriors to accompany me to Midgard to help protect Jotunheim's Third Prince.”

And with that, Laufey's interest was once again lost. He relaxed even farther into his throne, leaning his head on one of his hands. “The runt has not earned the name 'Third Prince' – any half-wit could tell you that – and I will not risk my people's lives on his behalf. I am sure King Thor can reach whatever deep, dark hole the Chitauri hid him in–”

“But he is not 'hidden',” Helblindi snapped, and Laufey's eyes widened at Helblindi's loss of control. Helblindi did not bother to regain his composure as he bit out, “His mind has been taken by the Chitauri, twisted to their needs, and now they have forced him to serve whatever plot they have planned. If Asgard sends warriors to Midgard, if Loki is sent out to battle them, then the Æsir could very well slaughter him. And no matter how powerful King Thor is, he is only one man. He cannot cover an entire battlefield.”

Finally, Helblindi moved from the centre of the room, advancing on Laufey's throne with his arms held out in the most beseeching gesture Helblindi could muster in front of his father. Helblindi hoped it was enough.

“Father,” he said, and the word tasted bitter in his mouth. “Even you must realize it is Loki's parentage that allowed our alliance with Asgard to flourish. If Loki dies, or kills any of the Æsir, then relations between our realms may worsen. And though you may care nought for him, myself and Býleistr do. For our sake, and for the sake of all the mortals and Æsir Loki may harm, please. Grant me this request.”

Laufey stared, face no longer quite so hard or mocking, and for one hopeful moment where he hardly dared to breathe, Helblindi believed his words had worked. Then Laufey grinned.

“No,” Laufey said with relish. “I believe we should let the Æsir have a taste of their own brew.”

“What?” Helblindi blinked, jerking his head upwards. 'No', he had expected, but the rest...Too dumbfounded for disappointment, he asked, “What do you mean–”

“Forced to serve an enemy against his own people? Taking his mind and twisting it against those he should help? Doesn't that sound familiar to you, First Son?” Laufey's smile was vicious, cruel before it twisted into a grimace. “Or was that not Second Prince Loki, your own brother, I saw accompanying Odin's boy to our realm so the Ás brat could wage his petty vengeance? Did I not see the runt killing our warriors, our people?” Laufey stood, the pedestal beneath the throne allowing him to tower over Helblindi. “Has Asgard not taken the mind of the one you still wish to call brother and used it to serve their own ends?”

Helblindi gaped. “No – no, he – that's different, he...” he sputtered, but when he tried to grasp for the reason, his mind blanked. All he could think of were the stories he had heard of the battle, when he returned to the palace a day later. Most of the Jotnar had died by Thor's hammer, though some by swords, some by mace or axe. And some by thrown daggers and bursts of deadly seiðr.

“No,” he tried again, because Laufey was wrong . “Loki's not...”

I found my brother with a dagger laced with seiðr through his chest, one had said as Helblindi helped clear the bodies from the field. Looks like he got close with that one. Maybe if he struck first, if he had been a little quicker...

Probably for the best you weren't here, Skadi had told Helblindi days later. They would have done you in too. So why in the Nine do you plan to negotiate with the one that started it? Why not with the Queen instead? You'll be lucky if the Odinson doesn't put his hammer through your skull.

“No?” Laufey asked, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “Loki's not what , exactly?”

At the sight of his father's grin, anger flashed through Helblindi, cutting through the words that swirled through his mind. He shook his head, as if that could banish the thoughts entirely. Through gritted teeth, glaring up at his father, he said, “No, Loki's not free. He cannot make a choice about opposing the Æsir, not if they have set some curse over his mind. If he were acting of his own free will he would never–”

“And has he made such a choice?” Laufey smirked, and sat back with an easy confidence. “How, then, has he chosen to respond to us since he learned of his parentage? Has he, 'of his own free will', come to Jotunheim with open arms?” Laufey snorted. “The Chitauri have only learned how to cut Asgard's conditioning process down from a thousand years, so do not tell me that he has learned to think any differently about us until he's shown it. The runt is still too afraid of his shadow – of his own skin, to be of any–”

“Why do you hate him so?” Helblindi growled, loud enough to interrupt Laufey's tirade. “Just because you would like to pretend he is not your son, you still sired him, he is still Jotun–”

“That boy is no true Jotun ,” Laufey snarled, his face morphing from scorn to rage so quickly it took Helblindi aback. Leaning forward in his throne, body taut, Laufey spat, “And he's no true son of mine , not after what the  Allfather did to him. He's a Jotun mockery of an Ás, playing dress-up in their flesh, and an Ás mockery of one of us, sharing their people's hatred for our kind .” Laufey's fingers gripped the sides of his throne, and Helblindi could hear the ice cracking. “The King-thief and his kingdom has turned the blood of Ymir into a joke .”

Helblindi wanted to spit something out in return, he wanted to feel a rage in his gut that rivalled Laufey's. But instead, he felt sick. Instead, as he looked away from his father, one image ran through his head, over and over.

He had reached out, and Loki had flinched back.

He had reached out, and Loki had flinched back.

He had reached out–

Helblindi had always thought he hated it when Laufey was wrong, but it seemed he hated it more when Laufey was right.

Loki still wore Ás flesh because he was afraid of his own. Loki could barely even look at Helblindi.

Asgard had ruined Loki.

Then Laufey said flippantly, “The runt would be better off dead in the ice.”

Helblindi's head snapped back towards his father, and his sickness turned to the rage he had sought. “Not if you had kept him,” he growled, stalking towards the throne, hands balled into fists. “He wouldn't be such a 'mockery' if you even bothered to raise him–”

“Do not presume to know my reasons on the matter,” Laufey snapped. “When I decide what is best for my people–”

“YOU RUINED OUR PEOPLE,” Helblindi roared.

Now it was Laufey's turn to gape. “You dare–” he hissed, standing from his throne.

“Yes, I dare,” Helblindi shouted. He felt the ice his veins answering his fury, bolstering him, like the cold freezing over a river down into its very depths until nothing could shatter it.“You ruined us. You invaded Midgard–”

“And you might have done the same if–”

“But it was you who brought Asgard down on our warriors–” Helblindi's voice drowned Laufey's. He was tired of listening to his father's excuses, all the excuses he had spouted since the day he left for war. “You led them straight to our home–”

“They came themselves–”

“AND THEN YOU LET THEM TAKE OUR CASKET. OUR SOUL.” Helblindi marched up the steps to the throne until his head was nearly equal with Laufey's. He pointed a finger at his father's chest and snarled, “You let them take it, and you've done nothing about it for the past thousand years.”

Helblindi was panting. His limbs were shaking, and for once, Laufey looked as if he didn't know what to say.

Helblindi felt good.

Heady and breathless, he backed down the steps, revelling in the expression on his father's face. Maybe now, he thought, maybe now with Laufey cowed he would listen, and Helblindi could–

He was still thinking when Laufey began to laugh.

It lasted longer than it had when Helblindi asked for help for Loki. It echoed across the chamber, filling it until it sounded like there were a hundred of Laufey. All of them laughing at Helblindi.

The good feeling, the breathlessness, everything that had buoyed him vanished, and Helblindi watched as Laufey leaned casually against his throne to hold himself up as he laughed.

“So is that what this is about?” Laufey asked when his mirth finally died down. “This is why you simper and bow to those thieves? Because you hope that if you sit at their feet, begging for scraps, you'll be the one to bring it home? That they might eventually decide to graciously hand over the Casket – a gesture of beneficence, from up on high? That if you know your place, then they one day will allow you to rise above it?”

Leisurely, Laufey began walking down the steps towards Helblindi. “Tell me, do you enjoy being treated like a dog – no, no,” Laufey gave a small chuckle that was nowhere near happy, “–their dogs are treated better. To them, we are less than nothing.” The last word ended on a snarl as he came to stop only feet from where Helblindi stood.

Helblindi felt the ice in him cracking, crumbling away until all that was left was an empty, nauseous feeling, and he could not hold his father's gaze.

Not when his father was, once again, right.

How many parents had dragged their curious child away from a Jotun when they approached? How many Æsir still spoke down to them, glared and spat whenever they passed? How many attacks and accusations had there been since this had begun?

A quarter of the Æsir treated the Jotnar as if they were dumb beasts, their intelligence little above the beasts they kept for riding. A quarter almost ran from them in fear when they passed, as if their presence alone would freeze them solid. And a quarter still treated them as if they were monsters.

But the last quarter...that was where Laufey was wrong. They were the ones who treated the Jotnar as if they were people, like the rest of the living, sentient beings of the nine realms. The ones like Thor and Frigga, like the Æsir diplomats.

“Some of them are learning, they are changing and helping,” he protested, meeting his father's mocking gaze again. Some of them, like Lord Frey, who never once forgot his love for Elder Gerðr and spent most of his free evenings with her. Like Lady Freya, who made an effort to ask which Jotnar were male and which were female, and remembered. Or Lord Njord, who had asked Helblindi about Jotnar courting customs, and the next day Helblindi had caught him giving Lady Skadi a flower carved from ice. Or a group of young mages, both male and female, who had asked Helblindi if he had any news of Loki, for King Thor had not the time to tell them. Or like the few curious children who had wanted to approach one of the giants, and instead of dragging them away, the parents had followed.

But Laufey only scoffed, turning his back on Helblindi as he stalked back to his throne. “Like how the runt is learning? Like how King Thor should be learning?” Settling back on his throne, Laufey looked down at Helblindi, eyes bright and triumphant. “And has King Thor decided to hand over the Casket yet? Has your self-proclaimed brother's brother,” he sneered, “even mentioned the Casket?”

Helblindi did not want to answer, but he knew in his silence Laufey would only make up whatever he wished. Voice strained, he said, “He has agreed to return it in...in a few centuries.”

Laufey's bitter laugh made Helblindi want to stuff his ears full of snow. Mostly because he wanted to echo it.

“Centuries? We do not have a few centuries, and you know it more than most. That little brat is no better than–”

The throne room doors banged open, accompanied by the shout of “Father!”

Helblindi followed his father's gaze to see Býleistr rush into the throne room, only to stop when he saw the two of them. When his eyes settled on Helblindi, they widened and a look of alarm passed over his features. Helblindi wondered if it was something in his expression that made Býleistr looked as if he had just seen a draugr, and did his best to look unperturbed.

“What is it, Býleistr?” Laufey said sharply when Býleistr still didn't seem about to move.

Býleistr abruptly snapped out of whatever had captured his attention. “I-I apologize, Father,” Býleistr said, looking uncertainly between Helblindi and Laufey. “I did not realize you already had an audience. I will wait–”

“No.” Eyes on Helblindi, Laufey said flatly. “We are nearly done here.” Flicking his gaze back to Býleistr, he repeated, voice more moderate, “What is it?”

“I was just at the shipyards,” Býleistr said slowly as he made his way over to Helblindi's side. “Overseeing the workers and–”

“Another incident with the Æsir labourers?” Laufey guessed, his voice too exasperated to quite be called angry.

But Býleistr shook his head. “No, Father, it was the ice. On the plains, not far from the yards.” He looked up at Laufey, face drawn in worry. “More ice broke away, nearly killing some of the labourers. If it breaks away any closer, our yards and docks may be lost.”

Distantly, Helblindi realized his mouth had fallen open. Distantly, Helblindi heard himself gasp no.

At least, that must have been what he had gasped, for that was what he was thinking.

No, no, no – after all the work, after everything he'd had planned–

After everything, they couldn't lose the yards or docks.

What if next time they lost some of the workers, or the ice crumbled right beneath the docks? What if everything else Helblindi had argued and coaxed into being built over the past year, the towers and palaces and halls, what if they were all lost as the ice broke?

And there would be nothing anyone could do but watch, as everything Helblindi had tried to build – everything he had had tried to save – fell apart.

A deep, tired sigh pulled Helblindi from his shock, and he looked to its source. Instead of the burning anger in his eyes or the derisive sneer on his lips that Helblindi might have expected, Laufey's shoulders were slumped, and his head bowed towards the ground.

“Another collapse?” Laufey's question was more of a statement. He raised his head again, eyes looking over his sons' heads as if he could see all of Jotunheim from his throne. Then his gaze alighted on Helblindi, face stony but eyes dull, the bright mocking light long gone. “This is the news I hear every day, while you remain idling away on Asgard – more ice breaking away, our land disappearing beneath our feet. For all your begging, what have you done?” Laufey's jaw tensed in anger as he growled, “A few paltry favours, here and there? And you think it's enough to stop us from dying?”

Helblindi stayed silent, though he felt like screaming.

I've tried , he thought. I've tried and I've tried and I hoped...

But what could the Æsir do to stop the ice from failing?

(Apart from giving back the Casket. )

What could all the negotiations, the talks, the attempts to reach out and teach the Æsir that what they'd been taught for millennia was wrong, do to help?

All he had tried to do...would it all amount to nothing?

His thoughts must have shown on his face, for Laufey made a dismissive sound and looked away, hands clenched on the sides of his throne. “The Æsir hold the Casket over our heads, arrogant in their own greed. And the runt,” Laufey snarled, “cowers away on Midgard, ignorant of all we have to do to survive.”

And with those words, Helblindi knew he had lost. If he had ever had a chance in the first place.

Laufey pointed at his Second Son. “Býleistr, return to your duties. And Helblindi–” There was a growl to his voice as he gestured at his First Son. “–Go back to Asgard. Go lick their boots, hold them on high, and tell them how great they are.” He waved a hand at the doors as he slumped into his throne.

Býleistr made an angry sound in the back of his throat and started forward. “Father, don't talk to Helblindi as if–” he snapped, but Helblindi put a hand on his brother's shoulder and he stopped. At Býleistr's questioning, affronted look, Helblindi only shook his head.

For all Laufey's words had been scornful, his tone had only been resigned.

As Helblindi turned, making his way out of the room with heavy steps, Laufey's voice followed after him with one last barb. “Go be their pet, if you wish, but I would prefer to keep my pride.”

Helblindi stopped, hearing Býleistr let out a small noise of indignation behind him. He wondered if it was worth the fight to turn back, to tell his father that if it was pride that had kept Laufey tied to his throne, doing nothing as the realm died, even if Helblindi's efforts did nothing in the end, he still wanted none of it. Or that he was no more the Æsir's pet than he was Laufey's.

And he could prove it.

But not here, fighting with his father. It would lead nowhere, and would only waste more time that neither their realm nor Loki had.

With Býleistr following at his back, Helblindi walked out of the throne room and onto the snow-covered path just beyond it.

“I hate the way he talks to you,” Býleistr growled as soon as the doors closed behind them, catching up to Helblindi's side. “Why do you not fight back? Why didn't you let me fight back?”

Helblindi sighed, the sound lost in the wind. Briefly, he wondered what Býleistr would say if Helblindi told him he had fought back, and what exactly he had said to their father. Laufey certainly wouldn't tell him. Perhaps after, when all this was over, he would. If there was an after.

But for now, he turned to Býleistr and said, “Because there is little point now, and we do not have the time for it.”

The same alarmed look that had crossed Býleistr's face when he first arrived in the throne room appeared again. “Is it Loki?” he asked, stumbling slightly over his words in his haste to get them out. “Is something wrong? Does he – is he still–”

“He lives.” At least, he lived when I left Asgard. Helblindi refused to further entertain that thought. “But he needs help. More than Thor can give.”

“And Father refused, didn't he?” Býleistr asked glumly, as if there was ever any doubt after what Laufey had just said. “You don't plan on going on your own to fight the Chitauri, do you? I'll come with you. I don't care what Father says, I'm not about to–”

“No.” Helblindi stopped and grabbed his brother by the shoulder, tipping his head up so he could look his brother in the eye. “Býleistr, I didn't come here because of the Chitauri. I came here because of the Æsir.”

He saw the understanding light up in Býleistr's eyes, but instead of panic, he only saw Býleistr's determination harden. Though Helblindi wanted to knock some sense into his brother, he only shook his shoulder as he said, “If the three of us are down there, what's stopping one of them from going behind Thor's back and killing all of us? If Thor is distracted, or we can't warn him in time, what's stopping them from wiping Laufey's line from the realms?”

Býleistr didn't waver. “Then let me go in your stead. Father will be less cross with me than he would with you.”

“No, I need you here.” It was true enough, though that wasn't all there was. Helblindi wasn't about to let Býleistr pay for his mistakes. He wouldn't let either of his little brothers pay.

Besides, Laufey needed at least one child he could trust.

Helblindi began walking again, not letting go of his brother's shoulder as he steered him down one of the paths through the snow. Though not the path that led back to the Bifrost. “I have a plan,” he said, “but I can't do it on my own.”

“What is it?” Býleistr sounded doubtful, but at least he was listening. “What are we going to do?”

“I am going to return to Asgard, just as I was ordered. But first–” He hesitated. There was no going back after this. Although perhaps...that was for the best.

“But first,” he said, “I'm going to need some ink, and you're going to need a djurisk and some kyla eagles.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was drizzling on top of the Helicarrier.

Thor had not the heart for a storm any more intense, nor the will to make it stop.

He knew it was an annoyance to the humans, but no one had yet made their way to the top of the ship's deck to ask Thor to cease, though the night had slowly turned into the early hours of the morning since Thor had begun.

Or maybe the mortals were simply unaware he was the source of the downpour.

“Is this you?” a voice asked, and Thor turned to see Steve waving his hand at the sky as he made his way across the slippery surface of the Helicarrier. He had not changed out of his bright uniform, though he did not seem to mind the damp or cold. “The rain, I mean,” Steve said once he drew close to Thor's side. “Because I've been told the clouds have formed pretty much right over the ship.”

Or perhaps the mortals were aware. Thor knew he should give them more credit.

“Aye,” he nodded, turning from the Captain to look back out over the sea. “If you would wish me to cease–”

“No, don't worry about it. It's just...” Steve hesitated, as if chewing over a thought, “It's just a bit new, is all.”

Thor figured he knew what the mortal was talking about. Most of Midgard had forgotten about its adjoining eight realms, and the beings that inhabited them. And all those beings could do.

There was silence but for the ship's engines, the wind and the rain blowing across the deck, until Steve shuffled his feet in the small puddles of water, and said, “Um, while you were gone, Natasha and Director Fury were trying to figure out why Loki called.”

Thor should have been there, then. Helping them. He knew Loki best, even if his mind was not his own. But he couldn't even work up the energy for guilt.

(More guilt.)

“What do they think?” he asked dully.

“They think it was misdirection.” From the corner of Thor's eye, he could see Steve staring at him intently. “Or most of it was. To throw us off whatever the Chitauri really have going on.” At last, Steve looked away, folding his arms across himself like he was cold. “Except for where it concerned you. Natasha thinks part of the reason Loki wanted us to call him was to see if you were there, and...rattle you, if he could. I guess you'd be the person most likely to put a dent in the Chitauri's plans.”

Thor felt like he was drowning. “It seems Loki's scheme to 'rattle me' worked,” he said. And Thor had walked right into it, for when had he ever not fallen for his brother's tricks?

(And if it was not entirely a trick?)

A hand gently landed on Thor's shoulder. “Hey, you're still here, aren't you? You're still with us.”

Thor knew Steve meant it to cheer him, but Thor felt little in the way of optimism. It did not seem like much of an accomplishment if he was still here, when Loki was still captured, along with Jane, and Erik. Not when Thor and the humans were no closer to finding them or the Tesseract, and if they failed...

Even Loki's purpose during the call was misdirection, even if every word out of Loki's mouth had been a lie, Thor could not believe the Chitauri would simply hand over his brother and friends when they completed their plans.

And Thor doubted every word of Loki's had been a lie.

As the silence drew on and Thor could still not think of any reply, Steve's hand lightly squeezed his shoulder. Softly, he said, “Look, about Loki...”

Thor sighed. He knew it would come to this, but he did not know if he could answer any questions the mortals might have. He did not know if he wanted to.

Steve must have mistaken his sigh for something else, for when Thor looked back at the mortal, he dropped his hand to rest it by his side. “I'm sorry, if you don't want to answer, but I'm sure he didn't – I mean, he didn't kill your father, did he?”

“No – But I...” Thor struggled to put into words everything he had tried to think about over the past few hours, even as his mind balked, as he fell back into the rage of the storm and the rains and the wind, and then as his distress calmed into the damp, grey skies. Quietly, barely loud enough to be heard above the sound of the engines and the rain, he said, “I do not know if Loki truly believes that he did not.”

When Steve's eyes widened, questioning, Thor turned fully so he could face the mortal. “Loki...was not in the best state of mind when my father died, nor for the weeks following his death.”

Steve nodded, his face hardening slightly. “Yeah, we heard about some of that.”

Thor did not wish to think about it. He did not want to dwell on wondering whether things would have been better if he had come home even a day earlier, or better yet, if he had never left at all.

“In the times I spoke with him, he said nothing of having caused Father's death,” he began, “but Loki is rarely one to speak frankly of his feelings.” Incapable of sincerity, Thor remembered saying.

Swallowing, Thor continued, “The death of my father was one of the crimes Loki was accused of when he was...imprisoned.” Tortured, his mind said, and from the way Steve's face tightened further, he must have thought it too. “And some still believed it even after we told the kingdom of the truth. They could have continued to blame Loki once he was free, and Loki may have believed them. Or perhaps he came to that conclusion here on Midgard.” Thor looked away, at the wet stone of the ship's deck and rain glistening off their aircrafts. “Or perhaps he has believed it since Father died.”

And Thor would not have known.

Shame washed over him as it had again and again, like the waves that had crashed and beat beneath him all night. He wondered if this was how Loki felt, about Father. Had Loki been carrying this same guilt for over a year?

(Why had Loki said nothing?)

(Had he blamed Thor too, as he did now? Had he kept silent, to spare Thor the pain?)

“And what if it was the Chitauri?” Steve asked, and when Thor looked back at the mortal, he had his arms crossed over his chest. “If they made him think he did it?”

Somewhere inside him, Thor felt the stirrings of anger. “Then they will pay for putting these words in his mouth. For hurting him, and using him to try to hurt me.” For succeeding in using Loki to hurt him.

Even if all the words Loki had said were true, whether Loki thought of them first or not.

“You don't believe what he said, do you? About you helping to kill your father?”

Steve was not accusing, but still Thor's anger vanished. He couldn't hold it in the face of the guilt. The gloom of the clouds seemed to grow, and Thor found he could not remain still. He turned, walking close to the edge of the Helicarrier, and after a moment he heard Steve fall into step beside him.

Head bowed, he said haltingly, “My father died in a form of sleep, meant to regenerate Asgard and himself. But he had put it off for too long, and grown too old to pull himself from the Sleep. Only a few hours after succumbing, he passed to Valhalla.” Over a year later, it still hurt to speak of Father's death, and knowing he had been a realm away.

And his very last words, shouted in rage–

(You're an old man and a fool!)

He could remember Father's face, the way his one eye stared at Thor in shock, in anger. But Thor could also remember the pain in that eye, and the sorrow.

“It was truly no one's fault, but...not long before the sleep, I made some very foolish, rash choices, and I-I said some things to my father that I should not have.” He glanced briefly up at Steve, who had a light frown that seemed more from contemplation than condemnation.

Thor thought he would have preferred blame.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Afterwards, my father made me mortal, using strong magics which would not have aided his health. Just as my actions, and the stress they caused, would only have hurt.”

Thor came to an abrupt stop, boots splashing in a small puddle as he faced the grey ocean far below the ship's deck. “Loki had a fight with my father a short time later, and my father could hold back from the sleep no longer. He fell while they were arguing.” If argument was even the proper word for what had happened between the two. Only Loki and Father could say what occurred between them, and if Loki had told someone, then it was not him. Mother claimed she didn't know either, though for all Thor knew, she was only protecting Loki's privacy.

Turning to Steve, feeling emptied of everything but that burning guilt, he said, “If Loki thinks he caused Father's death, I can understand why.”

Because Thor was trying not to come to that conclusion himself, for his and his brother's sake.

Steve ducked his head, then looked out at the sea that was as grey as the sky. “I think it's like you said. It wasn't anyone's fault.” One hand came up to sweep through his wet blond hair as Steve took a sharp intake of breath. “I don't know – it sounds like he had what we call a heart attack, or just dying of old age. I don't know if your people can do that...”

“Our people can die from age,” Thor admitted, “though it is not common for most warriors.” And he had never thought it would happen to Father.

He had never really considered that Father would die, let alone how it might happen.

“People pass on,” Steve said quietly. “It wouldn't have been anything that happened in a day, it could have just been things...adding up. No matter what you did, or didn't do...it might have happened anyway.” His breath came out in a puff that fogged in the cool air. “But I know how it feels to not have a chance to say goodbye.”

“It was more than just a good-bye,” Thor snapped before he could stop himself, then regretted it when Steve immediately looked taken aback. “I'm sorry,” he said.

Steve shook his head. “No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you couldn't – you and Loki couldn't...”

He trailed off, but the sympathy in his eyes spoke for him. Thor tried to smile, but his mouth couldn't make the proper movements. “Thank-you,” he said instead.

There was silence between the two of them, the rain muffling the sound of the engines.

“I wish I could do more to help,” Steve said eventually. “But I think it's something you and Loki will have to talk about, when this is over.”

“But what if I can't save Loki?” Thor blurted out, fears that had been on his mind emboldened by the man's sympathy. “What if the creature kills him? And Jane, and Erik, and the other humans, and I am not there to help? What if–” What if Loki is already dead, Thor planned to say, but the words were too daunting to even speak out loud. Loki could not be dead. Thor would know if Loki were dead, he must.

Steve gave a smile that seemed bright even in the gloom. “Don't worry, we'll help. If you can't be there in time, one of us will be.” He said that with a certainty that Thor wished he could feel. But where Loki was concerned, nothing felt certain any more.

Something began beeping from Steve's belt. Seeming somewhat startled, Steve drew a small phone from one of the pouches on his belt. Eyes skimming over its message, his face grew serious. “They need us on the Bridge. It's urgent,” he said, putting the phone away.

Thor was already racing across the deck before Steve had closed the pouch, and heard the mortal's boots splashing behind him as they bolted into the nearest doorway.

Water was still dripping from Thor's hair when he reached the Bridge, Steve's boots squeaking in behind him. Gathered around the table were Director Fury and Agent Hill flanking Bruce at the head of the table, while Tony, Clint, and Natasha were standing over the table at various ends.

“What is it?” Thor asked, heart in his throat as he approached the table, seeing bright pictures on the table's interface underneath Bruce. “Did you find him?”

“Well, I found the Tesseract,” Bruce answered. He did not seem very pleased. “Though it's pretty much in the last place I'd think to look. It's in Antarctica.”

“Antarctica?” Steve asked, taking his place at the table between Natasha and Hill, face screwed up in confusion. “Why Antarctica?”

“We had a project there,” Fury answered, his name an apt description for his face. “We discovered a tropical area in the middle of the continent back in the sixties – our scientists are still working out how it appeared. When we built our instillation there, we decided we would use a nuclear reactor to power it.”

“It seems they fixed the quantum tunnelling effect after all,” Tony said, the slightest bit of admiration in his voice.

“In more recent years,” Fury continued, as if Tony hadn't spoken, “We had thought of combining the facility with whatever our scientists could understand of Stark's tech.” Stark's face immediately turned sour, though Fury didn't give him a chance to interrupt this time. “However, we had also thought of adding on some modifications concerning the Tesseract, and maybe even moving the cube over there so there would be minimal damage to populated centres if anything went wrong. I asked Dr. Selvig to look over the schematics for the type of facility we would need over there, and tell me if he had any suggestions. We figure that's why the Chitauri knew about it.”

“But we have a problem.” Bruce tapped at something on the table, and several graphs appeared in the table's centre. “There was a spike in the Tesseract's radiation about fifteen minutes ago. Which helped me find it, but you're probably going to wish the spike never happened.”

Several screens opened up in front of Thor, each showing from a bird's-eye view a very large clearing in the middle of a forest, where numerous grey buildings stood out from the green fields. In the centre was an odd building that was erupted plumes of purple- and grey-streaked smoke.

But the human buildings were not what stood out most.

What stood out most were the battalions of insect-like Chitauri, seen from a closer bird's-eye view, milling around the clearing.

And in the centre, close to the building erupting smoke, hovered a circular, almost domed-shaped ship, its surface uneven and covered in numerous openings and projections. A ship that was of no human make.

When Thor looked up again, Bruce's mouth was set in a grim line. “Because the spike means the portal's already opened once.”

Chapter Text

Loki had perched himself on one of Jane's lab chairs, flipping through one of Jane's old physics textbooks. A whole box of them had arrived only last week, after Jane had contacted her mother, asking for them back; she had said they might as well as be of some use until she got around to putting them for sale on a market called “Amazon”. He read through the dog-eared book, noting the scribbles in the margins and wishing he had a pen of his own to correct some of this atrocious theory, though he was not sure Jane would approve. He was so engrossed he didn't notice when Jane left the little building, nor the swell of hot, late-summer air that accompanied her departure.

Though he did notice when she came back in a minute later.

The door banged open hard enough to rattle windows, shoes stomped across the floor surprisingly loudly for someone so small, and Jane snarled, “I can't believe it! Of all the stupid–” She cut herself off, grumbling under her breath.

Loki's years of living with Thor had inured him to slamming doors and angry shouting, so neither startled him. Yet he was much more surprised than he had ever been with Thor; in the three months he had been on Midgard, he had never seen Jane quite so incensed before. Squinting against the evening light, he raised his head from his book. “What happened?” he asked cautiously, watching her stalk over to the kitchen.

“I wanted to get some very important notes from my trailer, but it just so happens–” She yanked open a drawer and glared inside. “–I left my trailer's keys inside of my trailer. Which also happens to be locked.”

“Again?” That was from Darcy, poking her head in from the hallway.

Jane sighed, and took a break from slamming drawers to put a hand to her forehead. “Yes, again. Now help me find the number for the locksmith. I know I wrote it down after the last time, and then Erik put it somewhere...”

“No need,” Loki said, standing and putting the textbook down. “I can deal with it.”

He grinned as Jane shot him a half-relieved, half-puzzled look, and vanished. He reappeared in Jane's cramped trailer, and nearly bumped his head on the low ceiling.

In truth, Loki could have forced the door open, or used magic, or even picked the lock – human locks were childish compared to the ones Loki had broken ever since he decided the sole purpose of locked doors was to challenge clever people to find out what was behind them. Seeing as some dwarfish constructions could even take days to pick apart, Loki doubted one keyhole would be much trouble. And yet he could not stop himself from being a bit more flashy. In the little time he had been on Midgard, he had well learned that both Darcy and Jane appreciated his magic in a way that Asgard never would. For all he knew it was conceited, he liked the way Jane would look at him as if he (was important) held the answers to all her queries, and Darcy would squeal in delight, and both would order him to show them more.

Loki scanned the trailer for the keys, rather surprised at the chaotic mess that seemed to have exploded inside the vehicle. No wonder Thor liked her, he could not help thinking, remembering the last time he had stumbled through Thor's rooms, almost tripping over discarded armour and lumps of dirt-stained clothes that the servants had yet to pick up, before finding Thor sprawled across his bed and snoring almost as loud as the rumbles of thunder from his storms.

(But that was back in Before, when he could walk through the palace without fear, and Thor's rooms would have moved since he became king–)

Loki shoved those thoughts from his mind, concentrating on the present of Jane's room, not the past of his brother's. Soon enough, he spotted the keys on Jane's bed, right on top of a bundle of papers that Loki figured were her “very important notes”. He grabbed both and inched his way through the disarray to the door, and when he opened it he found Jane was standing just outside, staring at him.

“Did – did you just teleport to my trailer?” she sputtered, and though Jane looked as astounded as he had hoped, Loki thought he heard a hardness to her voice.

He could not suppress the slight quaver of apprehension in his belly. “Yes?” he said. It came out as more of a question. Maybe he shouldn't have teleported directly to her trailer – it was her bedroom, after all, and he knew better than most that bedrooms could be considered a place of privacy, a haven, and maybe Jane was more like him than Thor in that. He should have asked her permission first.

Jane stared a moment longer, then in a strangled scream said, “Why didn't you tell me you could do that?”

Loki's stomach turned. He had done something wrong, hadn't he. It wasn't as if he had deliberately tried to keep it a secret, but it just hadn't come up. “I–” he started to explain, starting with I'm sorry.

Except Jane shrieked, “Teleportation! This is – is – it's incredible! Is it short-range, or is it – how far can you go – how much can you take with you – wait, I need–” She snagged Loki's hand and turned around, and Loki allowed himself to be dragged forward as Jane shouted, “DARCY! GET MY LAPTOP!”

Then had come the flurry of questions and Jane fiddling with her instruments while asking him to do it again. Darcy typed whatever Jane said onto her laptop, then when Jane decided that was too slow, she alternated between pointing instruments at Loki and typing notes one-handed. She was disappointed to find out his teleportation relied on a different form of magic from the Bifrost and her Einstein-Rosen Bridge.

Although finding out that he could teleport more than just himself and the clothes on his body more than made up for it.

Which is why, that weekend, they ended up in Paris.

Loki was unsure why this “Paris” held such excitement for Darcy, and why that excitement had infected Jane so she gave up trying to make half-hearted excuses about why they shouldn't (though she still kept complaining about the cost, which Darcy insisted she should bill to SHIELD). But Paris was apparently a quarter of the way around this realm and under different rule from Puente Antiguo in its land of America. Not to mention it was several hundred times larger than the dusty little town.

Loki could see what might hold their interest.

However, Loki had his own reasons for the excitement that infected him as the weekend drew closer. He was rather glad for a chance to get out of not only the house, but the town itself. There was only so much stimulus that could be gleaned from the little village on the edge of nowhere, even with Jane's books and the internet at his fingertips. And he had been hesitant to mention travelling to Jane and Darcy, at first because he knew it would seem ungrateful after all they had done for him, when he had come to them weakened and injured, when they no reason to care for him but that they were Thor's friends, when there had been that ever-present fear burning low in his belly that it would not be enough and he would be asked to leave; then all he would have left to him would be travelling. Now that the fear had died down (though not gone), it never seemed the to be right moment.

But his body had been healed for almost two months, and he wanted to use it. Even back when his legs were aching, his ankle brittle, and every step gave him a twinge of pain, he had ventured into Asgard's fields and forests. Here, the town was too small for any long walk, and the desert too dry, hot and sandy for any comfort.

He would like to adventure once more.

Once Jane and Darcy – well, mostly Darcy, as Jane was busy and apparently could not speak Paris' language – made the arrangements, Loki vanished their three small bags of luggage, consulted the mapping system “Google Maps”, and teleported the three of them directly in front of a museum called the Louvre.

After several hours, Loki was still not sure he understood their excitement. Jane and Darcy wandered through the museum, avoiding the crush of bodies where they could, looking at paintings and sculptures where some were apparently “old” at three hundred or four hundred years (Loki had a functional pair of boots in his rooms in Asgard that were older than that). They were supposed to be works of art, though their colours were faded, the images did not move, and only the sculptures spread into more than two dimensions. Even the weathered-down rocks older than him held little interest, for all Jane told him some were well-advanced for their time. He was sure they must all have stories behind them – Loki had always found the story behind artwork more fascinating than the works themselves – but Jane could only give vague answers and whenever Darcy knew more, she launched into explanations of people and places and events that only confused Loki further. He soon stopped asking, though he made a mental list of words to research later.

Instead, Loki looked at the people.

He had never seen so many people packed into one place, as much as Darcy claimed they were avoiding the more-crowded exhibits. Even the feasts on Asgard, though they might have rivalled the museum's halls for noise, had never been so packed with bodies.

And this was only one building in one city, in a world larger than Jotunheim.

It was as overwhelming as it was fascinating. Each human seemed to dress differently, walked differently, their speeches a hundred different cadences in what he suspected were different languages. Some halls were so filled Loki felt he might be suffocated by the press of bodies, though he towered over most, and others were so empty he found himself wandering closer to halls where there were more.

When Jane and Darcy had had their fill, Loki was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

Then there was an enormous tower overlooking the city, and Jane talked about how the tower was designed as a great feat of engineering back when it had been made, how amazing it would be to see the stars from that height. Darcy watched the view, running from side to side in the elevator running up its length and saying the only other times she had been this high up had been in an airplane.

Loki was mainly interested in looking down at the city, at the buildings that were older and crumbling sidled up against ones that were obviously newer, where stonework found its home alongside the mortals' recent preference for steel and glass.

It was such a strange juxtaposition, one he knew he would never see on Asgard, or Vanaheim, or any realm but the one where its people lived and breathed change.

While Jane and Darcy dragged him off to monuments and places of holy worship and even a palace, Loki could not help but compare them to Asgard, to Vanaheim and Alfheim and even the dwarf caverns of Niðavellir. And while the mortals could build beautiful things, it paled in comparison to what Loki knew.

It was not the grand parts he noticed, but everything else: the cobblestone streets that fit in amongst the paved roads, some of which were bigger than a small river; the people, so very different from those of the little dusty town of Puente Antiguo and their lackadaisical walk; the sleek towers and squat stone buildings; the way the city seemed to sprout up from the river's side like plant growth.

Not all of it was enjoyable, though. The smells in the city were sharper, pungent, all mingling together and wafting throughout the streets; the noise was almost as bad, with hundreds of cars hurtling through the streets, trains rattling overhead. The nights were worse, as Loki learned when settled down in the apartment they had rented. Because at night, the people's shouting and traffic leaked through the thin walls, like the noise of the Louvre but muted.

(Loki had needed to use a muffling spell just to sleep. He then decided he did not like the city at night. When he complained to Darcy about the noise and she only sniggered and told him all cities were like that, he decided he didn't like any Midgardian city at night.)

Though it felt as if they had spent a week in Paris rather than a couple of days, the weekend eventually ended. Despite Darcy's protests, Jane needed to work, and for all Loki relished the change of scenery, he wished to crawl under the covers of his bed in the familiar quiet of his room.

(He almost froze in surprise when he realized he thought of the little room as his and familiar. He wasn't sure if he preferred it that way or not. He wanted to feel at home here.)

(He wanted home to be Asgard.)

When his feet touched the ground of Jane's house and for the first time since arriving in Paris he heard nothing but the low hum of electricity, he decided the odd thought came only from a desire for peace.

(Though he knew that desire would turn to something else soon enough. Now that he had gotten away from the tranquil little town where tranquil was all it was, he couldn't simply stay here. He wanted to see more.)

It was surprisingly early the next morning when the three of them met at breakfast, yet as was her habit, Darcy still arrived last. Loki glanced up at her as she strolled into the kitchen, leaned over the table with her elbows propping her up, and looked sweetly at Jane as she said, “So we're doing that again, right?”

Loki turned to stare at Jane with wide, hopeful eyes that he knew mirrored Darcy's.

Jane looked between the two of them and sighed. Although she couldn't seem to stop a grin from spreading across her face. “Yes, we're doing that again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It became a monthly adventure. Not to Paris, but out across the rest of the realm. Even Jane and Darcy, who had lived there all their lives, confessed that they had only seen a corner of it.

Darcy would research several cities, then help Loki do his own research on the various regions of Midgard so Loki would not be as baffled as he had been in Paris. Then together, the three of them would decide on the next month's destination, though most of the time Loki let Jane and Darcy do the arguing. Midgard was one of the few realms he had explored sparely, and what he had seen would be long changed after all these centuries.

(He wanted to see everything.)

After Paris was an isle called New Zealand that was as green as Asgard's fields in summer; Jane's face also turned an interesting shade of red when Darcy asked if Jane had chosen the land just because of something called “Lord of the Rings”.

“I liked the books when I was kid,” Jane retorted hotly, before showing Loki a map of all the specific places they needed to visit in the next two days.

When they went to Tokyo the next month, Jane and Darcy found out about Loki's use of the All-Tongue – with Darcy doing most of the speaking in Paris, apparently they hadn't noticed Loki understood every word that was said (not that it had helped, when most of the phrases they used were foreign to Loki's ears anyway). Although as readily as the All-Tongue came in handy, it caused some consternation when Jane found out Loki was not speaking English.

“Thor wasn't either,” Loki said defensively after he thanked the helpful young man who had given them directions.

“Just, never mind,” Jane waved him off, putting a hand to her head. “I have to – there's probably some expert I can contact about converging realities or something...is it even physics? Or does it have to do with the brain, which would mean a neurobiologist –”

“You simply understand the language as either your first or the one you believe you're hearing.”

“But how does that even–”

“Ugh, nerds,” Darcy interrupted, her face drawn in exasperation. “Look, just say it's awesome and extremely helpful magic. We're on vacation.” Before Jane could start talking, she ushered the two of them over to the bullet train.

Afterwards, Jane had purchased Loki a book called “English for Beginners” in bright, colourful letters, and for fun Loki had cut off his access to the All-tongue for the few days it took him to read through book and the other two more advanced ones Jane had gotten. Then he had annoyed Jane by refusing to speak or understand her American dialect. Darcy went along with him by only speaking the language used in Paris until Jane threatened to tell SHIELD that it was imperative to her work that Darcy and Loki be deported to Iceland.

After Tokyo came London, which Jane had refused at first because she had lived for a time with her mother and wanted to visit someplace new. But Darcy had argued, and ended up winning. “Hey, you got to visit all your Tolkein stuff in New Zealand, and not all of us have mothers with nice flats in other countries,” she insisted. “And you can even tell your mother all about how you turned down your space-king-boyfriend and then you got Loki–”

“I am not telling her about Thor or Loki or Asgard, because they're supposed to be a secret, Darcy,” Jane hissed. Then called her mother the next day.

It turned out Jane's mother was on a cruise, but they still made ample use of her flat when they were not out in the city; Jane took them on a tour of her favourite museums and parks, stopping off cafes along the way, and Darcy made her stop off at a palace named Buckingham. While the palace was far from Asgard's splendour – or indeed, any noble's house – Loki thought it adequate enough. The guards he found more than adequate, for they were as stoic as the Einherjar even when Darcy pulled faces at them until Jane steered her away, looking past her for potential threats. Loki quite approved.

In Wakanda the next month, they came the day of a parade, and Loki made sure Jane and Darcy knew the proper customs, despite their complaints. “When visiting foreign royalty,” he had said haughtily, ignoring the way Darcy had stuck out her tongue, “one must familiarize oneself with their customs, to prevent any diplomatic incident.” Just as he and Thor had learned on Alfheim, as young children with no idea that those stables were not to be entered under any circumstances. It was only their youth that saved Asgard from any repercussions. “And as prince of Asgard,” he added, as his mind whispered and Jotunheim, “it would be remiss of me to treat Midgardian royalty without respect.”

Unlike the Queen who ruled the country in which London resided, the king of Wakanda was no figurehead. Even if Loki had no intention of meeting him, he had even less intention of bringing attention to himself, negative or otherwise.

(It was enough for one realm to hate him already.)

As temperature in Puente Antiguo grew cold enough that Darcy had taken to carrying a blanket around her shoulders, they went to Honolulu. Jane spent the whole time sitting on the beach, reading beneath an umbrella and drinking something bright and fruit-smelling; normally Loki would have been content to join her, but found the heat oppressive and humid, and only found relief in the cool ocean water. To his surprise, beneath the waves he did not see the dull-coloured fish that he would normally fish in Asgard's waters, but bright, flitting ones and squishy creatures with tentacles that tickled when they brushed against his skin.

(It helped that he had no need to come up for air for hours on end. Darcy was extremely jealous. Jane was impressed. Both were annoyed at first, because Loki had gone under for several minutes and waited for Jane and Darcy to notice and start panicking, before popping out of the water behind them and soaking them both.)

Then came Hong Kong and bright, soaring towers, New York City where more towers met an expanse of green, Moscow and bright bulbous castles; Banff where the ice-capped mountains and blue-clear lakes made him ache for home, an American city named “The Angels” that rivalled Hong Kong for colour, and Madrid where the air was warm and the city old. Loki even managed to get used to the city noise and smells and traffic (though he could not say he came to enjoy them).

Every month, traipsing across cities and plains for hours, it felt almost as if he were adventuring with his friends again.

(Adventures he would never have again.)

Each visit was only a glimpse, two days not nearly enough to explore it all, a diversity that he hadn't known could come from a single realm, let alone Midgard.

And he liked it.

(He wondered if he could ever call it home.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just over a year after they started going on their monthly trips, Loki chose a destination. It was his one insistence.

First he poured over old paper maps, spilling his magic across them so green cliffs rose where the paper noted elevation, ravines sinking beneath the paper and the underside of the table, until they resembled the maps he was used to on Asgard. When he was sure of the location, he double-checked Google Maps to ensure nothing had overtly changed, before announcing he had finally found the right spot in Norway.

(Unlike the rest of Midgard, this place would hold memories.)

Much of the land remained unchanged, though there were more roads in the Norwegian countryside, the cities larger and more sprawling. Yet his memory still served him right, and after a hike that had Darcy complaining halfway through and Jane grumbling two-thirds of the way up, they reached the top of the cliff overlooking a fjord that had been iced over the last time Loki had been there. Then again, he hadn't been there for a few hundred years, so he supposed he should expect a few variations.

Spreading out a blanket that Darcy had called a necessity (which even Jane had agreed to), Loki settled down for his first experience for what was called a picnic. Although he saw little difference between it and any of the other countless outdoor meals he had shared in countless adventures and celebrations.

Except the company this time did not include his brother, or his friends. It did not include the feeling of being pushed to the side, the hope that they would not belittle his magic once again followed by disappointment, with him never quite relaxing because he could never be sure when he would have to follow a barb with his own (because if he stayed silent, they would mock and tease and ask if his feelings were hurt). Instead, they ate, and when Loki talked, Jane and Darcy listened.

“...so because they were the eldest of us and Thor and Sif just shy of coming of age, the Warriors Three acted as bait. They ran to the lake–” Loki pointed at a sparkling expanse of water about half a league off, a sandwich forgotten in the other hand, “–and right onto the rafts I had set up. Now, though aiatari might be aggressive, they aren't very smart – I've no idea why Queen Karnilla wanted a herd of them in the first place, nor why anyone would wish to steal them and abandon them on Midgard. But while any intelligent animal might hesitate at the sight of three people floating a field of grass, the aiatari just kept running. Half were in the water before they realized their mistake, and the other half behind them kept them from turning back. Once most were in the water, Thor flew down to the other side of the lake, raised Mjolnir, and–”

With a burst of magic, light flashed over their heads, and Loki barely noticed his sandwich dropping to his plate in the process. “We had a lake full of dazed aiatari, trussed up by Thor and the Warriors Three while Sif and I took care of the stragglers. So while Father's guards caught the aiatari-thief trying to make his way to Niðavellir, we had the whole herd unconscious and ready to take back to Queen Karnilla's menagerie. We managed to curry favour with Asgard's new ally, and assured no beasts would ever again trouble the little village of Tverrfjellvatnet and their sheep.”

Loki grinned at them as he finished off the tale, even though it wasn't the sort of story one normally spoke of with triumph, at least not now that this adventure was the least of those he'd had across the realms. But Loki knew neither Jane nor Darcy would enjoy the tales that usually filled the feasting halls, the ones where the greater the number killed, or more impressive the killing, the greater the tale. Jane even got squeamish the one time he had gutted and beheaded a fish, not just because of the mess – which Loki wholeheartedly would have understood – but because its pale yellow eye and ragged fins reminded her it had once been alive. Stories of killing trolls or goblins or bandits only made them uncomfortable. Luckily, Loki had plenty of tales where picking a fight was the exact kind of thing he avoided.

Although the lack of killing had hardly stopped the tale from being spread once Loki, Thor, and their friends arrived back in Asgard, for it was a fine enough accomplishment for those still young. By the end of the evening, it seemed Thor had brought down a dozen barehanded, the Warriors Three had stood back to back to back and fended off the herd from the villagers, and Sif had wrestled their pack leader to the ground and trussed it up herself. Loki had done...very little, if anyone asked.

Loki did not tell Jane and Darcy that.

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Darcy said as she grabbed Loki's forgotten sandwich off his plate. “The little town of Teever-fell-whatever better have given you guys something nice,” she said before taking a bite. “If someone took care of a herd of goat-dragon-things on my front lawn, I'd probably get them a gift basket at least.”

Loki nodded. “Tverrfjellvatnet, and yes, there was a full day of feasting and praising after Heimdall took the aiatari back.”

The villagers, at least, had treated him with the same honours as the others for taking care of the aiatari herd. Even when they figured out that Loki was the seiðman and Sif was the warrior (which had rather affronted Sif for a few minutes), their manner hadn't changed.

The village, and all its villagers, were long gone now of course, though the nearby lake still maintained its name. All the little huts had been overtaken by the fields that they used to tend, but Loki could still remember the slope of the land , the fond memories that still remained, despite the bitterness that had seeped in after.

“Y'know,” Darcy started slowly, staring off into space dreamily as she munched her stolen sandwich, “I wouldn't mind going back in time, scaring some ignorant peasants, getting into the whole god deal.” She lay back on the blanket and smiled to herself. “Worship and free food.”

“You would have to save them from something first,” Loki reminded her.

Darcy made a dismissive sound. “There are lots of things that could scare a bunch of dark-age peasants. Like, I bet even a flashlight would freak them the hell out, and I could save them from the evil witch-light by removing the batteries. Then boom–” She waved her free hand over her. “Instant worship.”

“It was hardly the dark ages,” Jane said, rolling her eyes.

“The whatever ages – how many years ago was that?” Darcy turned her head

Loki frowned, figuring out the conversions in his head. “About six hundred,” he decided on.

Darcy shrugged. “Meh, close enough, so – wait.” She blinked, then sat up, staring at Loki with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “ Six hundred years ago? If you're really a thousand years old, wouldn't you have been, like, a kid then?”

“I was young, yes,” Loki agreed – it had in fact been one of his earliest adventures, if not the first time he had been to Midgard. And he had only been allowed on the off-realm mission because Midgard was considered safe enough, especially with the others along to keep him safe. “But by then, I had already started my warrior training–” Though he had hated it, and came up with excuses to avoid it every chance he got– “And I was probably older than whatever age you're imagining. As children, our ageing is somewhat accelerated, then begins to slow during our adolescence,” he explained. Then, with a slight rush of embarrassment, added, “Truly, my ageing has not entirely slowed to the normal rate, but by the time I reach Thor's age it will have.”

Or maybe he wouldn't, he realized. He did not know if Jotnar aged the same as Æsir, or if it was just a side-effect of the spell Father laid on him.

Loki didn't even know if his life-span was the same as an Ás'.

Jane looked at him curiously. “And how long will that be?”

“Another hundred years or so,” Loki said. For an Ás, he thought.

Jane hummed and stared out over the fjord. Something passed across her face, shadowing her features despite the bright sunlight. Even Darcy seemed to recognize it and stayed silent until Jane finally turned back, her face somber. “And how long will you stay here?” she asked quietly, her eyes soft. “I don't think – I don't think you'll want to stay here for a century.”

(We won't be here in a century, her eyes said.)

(Midgard will have changed by then, you won't have a place here, the tilt of her head and the draw of her eyebrows said.)

Loki ignored everything but her words. “Asgard is...slow, compared to Midgard,” he said carefully. “For our – for the people, learning to accept change takes time, especially for those that were set in their way for centuries.”

It was not an answer, not really. But he had no answer himself.

When would Asgard let him back in?

When would they be willing to take back their shameful Jotun prince?

(For how long would he wander here, watching friends die?)

“But Thor changed in days,” Darcy protested. “There have to be some people like him.”

“And remember when he came back down with your mom and Helblindi?” Jane added in.

“Yeah, your mom said he was all bros with Helblindi – friend-bro, not brother-bro, although if they're both your brothers then, um...”

“Yes, well...” Loki said with a tight smile, trying to stem the flood jealously, and the anger and guilt that accompanied it, when he thought of Thor and Helblindi's friendship (because he was the one that was brothers with both, the link between them, and yet neither needed him in the slightest). “Thor had the chance to meet with Helblindi and Járnsaxa – personally, rather than just trying to kill them. And despite his stubbornness and skull as thick as his hammer...you've probably noticed that Thor is rather unique.”

“But then there was also you, right?” Jane said, in the tone of someone coming to a realization. “I don't think he actually liked Helblindi before he left, but, like Darcy said, they were friends afterwards. He had to change, for you.”

“And if Thor's so super-stubborn, he's not going to let Asgard keep hating on the Jotnar,” Darcy said with a little nod of her head, as if it was an irrefutable fact. “You should be back home by Christmas next year.”

She ate the last bite of her stolen sandwich with utter finality, as if that put the matter to rest. Loki stared at her for a moment, then gave a small smile as he pulled his face into a perfect mask of thoughtfulness. With a careful balance between acquiescence and thankfulness, he said, “Perhaps you have a point.” Then, with a slightly more mischievous grin, “I will be sure to bring Jane a spellbook as a Yuletide gift. You, however, will get a stocking filled with coal.”

Darcy threw an apple at his head as Loki laughed and ducked.

He knew they were wrong, though.

Thor had gained his worthiness with Loki locked away in the dungeons, a realm away. Thor had reached out to the Jotnar, befriended Helblindi, all while Loki cowered in shadows and fled to Midgard's safety. Loki had nothing to do with it.

Thor had changed by himself.

Thor had no need of Loki at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki waited until long past night had fallen and Jane and Darcy had probably fallen asleep in their own hotel rooms – “A proper hotel,” Darcy had insisted. “One in a city that exists in the twenty-first century, and not a run-down inn somewhere next to a fjord that's been running since Loki learned to walk.” Then he got up.

He had told Jane and Darcy that he wanted to come this country for the memories of his youth, of the things he had seen centuries past. It was not a lie. He just had not told them of all the memories he wished to revisit.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the bundle of clothes he had stuck at the bottom. The breeches and the soft green tunic were not the more formal wear he usually wore in Asgard, but still elegant in their simplicity. He pulled on boots before throwing a travelling cloak over his shoulders and pulling up his hood.

Gathering his magic, he hid himself from Heimdall's gaze and tore through space.

Time had not been kind to the little town where he emerged, several hundred miles northeast of hotel where his friends slept, though it had been kinder here than little Tverrfjellvatnet, where only wilderness remained. Buildings still remained upright, yet they were crumbling, held together by whatever techniques the mortals used to preserve their past.

At Loki's back was a tall metal fence, likely guarding the town from vandals. A building to Loki's left, lit in the moonlight, proclaimed that guided tours were available every day for a certain fee. Loki wondered briefly if taking one of their tours would be merely interesting or if it would be a bit of a laugh.

Though he doubted he could feel much like laughing here.

He began walking down the dusty road in the centre of the town, feet moving reluctantly. The dusty road was not quite the same as the one he had walked those centuries ago, the current emptiness and silence far removed from the villagers that had once bustled about, animals baying and barking...

Loki had felt like he was looking everywhere at once, craning his neck up each time a mortal or cow towing a cart passed along. Then he abruptly snapped his head down as a large cat nearly tripped him when the creature wound between his legs, and Loki had been torn between petting the cat and letting Father's hand carry him forward.

He had chosen to give the cat a quick pat on the head and then stumbled around it. Father glanced back at him in amusement when he felt Loki slowing down, though he did not comment; he simply tugged Loki along, and by the time Loki caught up he was distracted once again by all the mortals around them.

They were much different from the peasants in Asgard, shorter, more weathered, their clothes drab. They were also so busy, animated, not a single one idling about, unless it was to gossip with a neighbour.

And yet Loki found it suspicious that they were so busy, they did not notice the Æsir walking among them.

“Why do they not kneel, Father?” Thor asked from Father's other side, looking around. “Do they not know that you are king?”

Loki wondered the same as well. Everyone was meant to pay respect to the king. The nobles kneeled when they had to. The Grand Vizier and Lord Hœnir, two of Father's more trusted councillors, had to do it. Even Thor and Loki did it on really formal occasions, when Thor complained about the tight clothing he had to wear and Loki went along with him but secretly thought the clothes were pretty. Only Mother bowed rather than kneeling, yet owed the same obedience to the throne as the rest.

Mortals were under Asgard's protection, and so they should be kneeling as well.

But Father only chuckled and shook his head. “It is not the King of Asgard the mortals see here. Only a weary old man with his two sons.”

Loki felt a glamour of magic pass across his eyes, and saw that Father was not standing straight and tall in his armour, but instead was swaddled in a grey cloak, a hood dropping over his face so it nearly covered his one eye. There was a gasp of excitement from Thor, and when Loki looked around Father he saw his brother staring up at a shimmering outline of a heavily-muscled man with long, dark red hair and beard. The man was walking in tune with Thor's steps, though he was more to Thor's right and not holding Father's hand. Thor looked over and grinned at Loki, the big red-haired man doing the same, and Loki looked up at the illusion Father had given him.

This man was a lot leaner, his face sharper and cheeks smooth, and while his hair was red, it was more that of fire than of the russet colour of Thor's. Loki smiled at the illusion of the man, and to Loki's surprise the man looked down at Loki and smiled as well.

Loki started and glanced at Father, who gave a small smile of his own and winked.

Giggling, the man with fiery red hair joining in, Loki did his best to wink back. It was not often Father was quite so playful with Loki, nor revealed he could do magic just like Mother (and like Loki was learning to do). Happily, Loki had bounced down the dusty road with a skip in his step as he followed Father. The man with fiery hair came along with the same little bounce as he walked, like he was cavorting through the air.

Loki felt like he was walking through sludge, heavy mud that sucked at his shoes, dragging him down, though the path remained dry and dusty. He could hear his breath hitching as if he really were trudging through swamp, his heart beating wildly in his ears, and nothing else. There were no villagers calling out to each other, no animals tramping about, no busy hustle as the mortals went about their work.

No Thor.

No Father.

Alone, Loki traced the steps he had taken nearly eight hundred years ago, until his feet reached the temple at the far end of the village. Unlike most of the buildings, this one was mostly intact, its shingled tiers rising into the dark sky.

“The legends proclaim this temple was blessed by the Allfather,” was written in small letters on the sign hammered into the ground outside the temple.

Loki wondered if now his presence was about to curse it.

He undid the lock across the doors with a thought, letting the chain fall to the dusty ground. These doors were not the same as the ones Father had opened for him and Thor, replaced by mortals when the wood had rotted. Those doors had been carved with the twining branches of Yggdrasil, and even Loki had admired that the mortals could create something so beautiful with their base tools and narrow minds.

Now the doors were simply wooden blocks, imitations of the drab ones the mortals had used elsewhere. As if such insipidity befitted a temple to the Allfather.

Loki carefully pushed open the doors, and was met by shadows, pierced at brief intervals by the small windows. If the torches and braziers remained, they were unlit. So Loki lit up the temple himself, globes of firelight bursting into existence along the ceiling, banishing the shadows until the inside of the temple was bright as it had been centuries ago.

Perhaps if he had kept it shrouded in darkness, it would be easier to cross the threshold.

Loki closed his eyes and stepped forward.

It had not been this hard with Father.

Loki had crossed the threshold without a second thought, only glancing curiously at the walls as he had walked inside, before seeing the woman at the front. She was old, wearing robes that Loki had guessed meant she was some sort of priestess, or keeper of the temple. When she saw the three of them, she approached, her dark brown eyes in her wrinkled face staring curiously at the three of them. “You are strangers here, are you not, travellers? Have you come to pay respects to–”

Suddenly, she gasped. “ Wanderer!" she breathed out, staring at Father, then fell to her knees, lowering her head. “War Father, you honour our village with your presence.”

Father nodded down at her, though Loki wondered how she had seen through Father's illusions. He studied her, and as she rose, he felt more than saw a spark of magic in her eyes. A seiðkona then, a human sorceress who kept her head bowed as Father gave her blessing and bade her to leave them in peace. She had been quick to obey, hastening out and shutting the doors behind her.

Then they had been alone as Loki was now, though the Loki of then had his brother and father by his side, and could hear the sounds of humans going about their lives just outside the doors. Here, the only sound came from the whistling of the wind, blowing through trees and in through the windows, stirring his hair and his cloak.

Loki opened his eyes. He stared without seeing, letting his feet carry him to the nearest wall. Carved into the stone around the temple's interior was the scene of a great battle, worn and weathered by time. Yet, running gentle fingers along the stone, feeling each divot and protrusion, Loki could still see the figures the mortals had carved long ago.

The humans, cowering and fleeing as their homes were destroyed, some even bravely taking up arms. Defending them, the warriors of Asgard, their stances noble and tall, armour thick and swords at the ready.

They were defending against the frost giants.

The Jotnar were worn into the stone as huge, hulking beasts. And beasts they most definitely were, their faces ugly and snarling, looming over the humans and Æsir with claws and icy swords brandished.

(They were not much different from the way they were drawn on Asgard.)

Yet for all the Jotnar's menace, there were no dead Æsir on the stone. The Æsir were proud, strong warriors, so of course they would not be brought down by something as base as a Jotun.

Instead it was the Jotnar that lay slaughtered.

Loki stopped in front of a scene of a Jotun on its back, a spear driven through its throat by the Ás on its chest.

“The mosaics carved into the temple's walls show a battle,” the inscription said, on a wooden plaque just to Loki's left, “of Æsir against Jotnar. One theory is that the carvings interpret one of the myths of Odin and his brothers slaying Ymir. Another theory is that the carvings depict a battle between two warring tribes, the 'Ás' tribe allying themselves with the village against the 'Jotun' tribe.”

That was not how Father had described it.

“It is our duty, as we hold the highest place in the realms, to protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Father said as Thor and Loki inspected the carving, looking up in awe at their warriors, each drawn with the greatest care. “And defeat those who would prey on the weak,” he said, pointing out the Jotnar, three brutes smashing homes with clubs of ice.

To be worshipped as gods, one needed to give the mortals a reason to do so first. And beating back the Jotnar had been reason enough, enough for them to build this temple and fill it with praise for those so far above.

Whether they could hear it or not.

“That is why we tend to leave the mortals to themselves, whether they choose to worship us or not,” Father continued, as Thor and Loki turned their gazes to the little fleeing mortals. There were mothers saving children from flows of ice, men holding swords against a frost giant that was obviously too great a foe for them to defeat, a mortal sorceress protecting a home with a blaze of fire. “To take advantage of their ignorance and vulnerability too often, for our own gain rather than their aid, would be selfish.”

“Is that why you gave the mortal woman a blessing, Father?” Loki asked, looking up from the picture.

“Because she recognized you?” Thor added, still running his hands along the artwork.

Father nodded. “Yes. They know no better than to treat us as gods, and their minds are not open enough to understand the truth. So they give us thanks and praise for aiding their realm,” he said, putting his hands on Thor and Loki's shoulders and turning them to the centre of the temple. “In fact, it was not far from this very temple that the last of the Jotnar fled from Midgard, chased down by our warriors.”

“And Asgard chased them all the way back to Jotunheim, just like the cowards they are,” Thor exclaimed, nearly bouncing on his feet as he shot a grin at Loki, then looked up. “Right, Father?”

And Father had said nothing, simply nodding as he guided them past burnt offerings and torches to the centre of the temple.

Father never commented on the mortals' depictions of the Jotnar, though he had been there himself and knew exactly what the Jotnar looked like. He had never said a word against the pictures of Jotnar in the books back on Asgard, even though many had shown his own battles, and some had been commissioned by the crown.

Father never objected to the word coward. He never objected to brute, nor to animal.

Not to hideous, nor to disgusting, to vile, or to worthless.

Not to beast. Not to monster.

As far back as Loki could remember, Father's only answer on the whole subject had been silence.

“Why is that, Father?” Loki asked the empty room.

Although, as he turned from the wall to the tall shape in the centre of the room, past the unlit braziers and caskets now empty of offerings, he was not entirely alone.

All these centuries later, the statue of Odin, Allfather, King of Asgard and the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil, still stood nearly unblemished. It had towered over Loki then and towered over Loki now, taller than an average Jotun, the top of his stone helmet reaching into the third tier of the temple. A spear was at the statue's side, the weathered tip equal with the helmet. The statue's grim face overlooked the temple, the windows embedded about the temple allowing the one carved eye to gaze out into the village, like Odin on his Hliðskjálf.

It was the closest depiction of his Father that Loki had seen – that he had allowed himself to look upon – since Father's funeral.

It made Loki's limbs shake, and his breath rattle in his chest.

And yet he still stumbled closer, his feet padding against stone worn down by centuries of mortal footsteps.

Mouth dry, his voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Did you remain silent because you thought the Jotnar were everything they said they were?”

His feet brought him to the base of the statue, roped off from the rest of the room. Plastic false offerings were set up on the stone platform in a facsimile of sacrifices the mortals used to present.

“Was it because you thought I was?” Loki's voice was louder this time, though it cracked halfway through the question. He stepped over the rope, the threads bending and twisting away at his will, snapping back into place once he crossed. He rested his palms on the stone base, amongst fake strands of wheat and beside a plastic goat's head.

Prayer did not work the way the mortals believed. At least, not for the Æsir; Loki knew not of their other gods, those of old and those that most of the mortals believed in these days. One could not hear a mortal's words and grant their wish from afar.

Yet there was still a form of magic in praise, in the gathering of mortals simply to worship one being. It bolstered oneself, gave one the feelings of joy, of comfort. Of being surrounded by companions, wherever you go.

A hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand voices praising your name, your attributes, the very core and essence of your self . How could such intent not have a magic to it?

“If you are attentive, you can feel when it happens,” Father had told Thor and Loki as they looked up at the statue of Father, not as grand as those of grandfather Bor, but impressive for the mortals. Father squeezed their shoulders, so they would look at him rather than his likeness, and Loki saw a twinkle in his eye as he looked between them. “And if you know the right magic, you can send goodwill and blessing back, so their prayers will not be entirely in vain.”

(If anyone ever prayed to Loki, either they did a very poor job of it, or Loki was never attentive enough to realize it.)

If Father could still feel such intent now, there were few better places to try it than here.

Eyes on his hands, arms shaking with holding up his weight, his voice was rough as he asked, “Was all of it, all the hatred, deserved because you knew what I would do?”

No one knew how far Father's All-Sight reached, how far into the future he could see, or which events were known to his mind eons in advance. And which were hidden until Odin saw them with his one eye.

“Was it deserved because it didn't matter what I am, where I came from, I – I would only ever be this?” Loki's hand clawed at the front of his cloak, at his heart, as if he could tear it from his chest (in offering, in retribution, in an attempt to stop feeling.)

No matter his parentage, Loki would always be Loki.

One who betrayed both Asgard and Jotunheim, his home and his people, in only a few short days.

Traitor.

Who had wished death upon the Jotnar simply for being his people.

Monster.

His father's killer.

Murderer.

(YOUKILLEDYOURFATHER–)

“I'm sorry,” he gasped, knees hitting the hard stone floor.

He felt like the mortal priestess those hundreds of years ago, unable to hold herself to her feet when she recognized Father's visage.

“I'm sorry.” His breath hitched, and he bowed his head over the stone, until his arms barely held his forehead from touching the ground in front of Father's stone feet.

“I'm sorry,” he sobbed, and his tears splattered against the dusty stone.

He was debasing it, this place of worship, this place dedicated to his Father. The Allfather's killer had no place here. But as his chest heaved and tears choked him, he found he could not move.

He wished the mortals' ideas of prayers were true. Perhaps Father and the dead could watch from Valhalla, if they were not too busy fighting and feasting. But they could not answer.

No matter how much Loki begged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

At morning's light, he vanished the globes of firelight illuminating the temple, wiped his eyes, and stood.

He took one last look at Father's statue, eyes unable to rise above its feet, before he returned to his hotel room.

Today, he had promised to take Jane and Darcy to another tourist village, one that required quite a bit less walking.

Chapter Text

Thor felt like he was suffocating in the back of the small, grey aircraft, even though it could probably fit at least ten more people comfortably inside beside himself and the Avengers, and the size of the seats left him plenty of room from where he sat between Bruce and Steve. But the air tasted old and recycled, the bright lights seemed harsher and more impersonal than the ones on Fury's flagship, and it simply did not feel right to move at such incredible speeds without feeling the wind in his hair or sun on his back. Æsir had no need to protect themselves from the elements when they flew, and all their aircraft were more like ships than flying buildings.

Or perhaps it was the silences that suffocated him, the long minutes where no one spoke. When there was chatter, it was mostly struck up between Clint, who was flying the craft with Natasha, and Tony, who stood next to the cockpit; Bruce and Natasha were uninterested in conversation, while Thor and Steve didn't understand much of their jargon, and it broke off quickly enough anyway.

In the past, there had always been joking and cheer before Thor and his friends or comrades leapt into a fight, and maybe at times the hint of nerves. But that could always be swept away by the anticipation of glorious battle.

This battle could hardly be called glorious , not when it was all wrong – not with the sides all wrong. And not with so much at stake.

Maybe only Thor felt suffocated in the aircraft, because as he sat on the cold metal seat, he could still see what went on in SHIELD's little base in Antarctica, and yet there was so little to see. Bruce had brought along a large pad that showed several different images from the base on its screen, and balanced it on his knees while Thor and Steve studied it. It showed the images from far above, like when they had all watched Loki yesterday in New York during the phone call (and Thor did his best not to think of Loki's words, not now , when he needed to focus ).

But for entirety of the flight so far, from SHIELD's flying ship to just over the edge of Antarctica – as Natasha had told them a few minutes ago – nothing much had changed in the base. The Chitauri still milled about, and their strange spherical vessel that had been brought by the portal's first opening remained hovering in place above SHIELD's buildings.

Loki did not appear on the screen. Neither did Jane, nor Erik.

Bruce and Steve did their best to watch, but they couldn't see his brother or friends either. Steve promised that all six of them would be on the lookout once they landed, and would get Loki and his friends to safety as best they could, at which point Bruce had abruptly said, “Five of you.”

After a moment, Steve agreed, “Five, if that's what you think is best.”

The conversation had piqued Thor's curiosity about what made Bruce so dangerous – Fury had been hesitant about letting him go, but Bruce claimed he could do more good on the ground than stuck on the Helicarrier (and Tony had clapped Bruce on the back and told him he was proud).

The curiosity wasn't enough to distract him, nor to relieve the slow, silent, suffocation as he tried not to blink and watch every corner of the screen at the same time.

At least they were flying to the Chitauri base as fast as SHIELD could manage; right after Bruce had found the Tesseract's location, Natasha and Clint had specifically chosen this aircraft for its speed, being quite a bit faster than Fury's flagship and the five 'jets' that Fury had sent out behind them.

Truthfully, Thor could simply fly there with Mjolnir and relieve him from this stifling stillness, but then he could not be there to watch for Loki on Bruce's screen – the mortals might not recognize him well enough to spot him at that distance. And while he had been given a small device for communication called a comm, he did not wish to be kept out of any conversation the mortals may have with their director. Or the director's superiors.

Apparently, Fury had already spoken to his commanders, informing them why destroying the Chitauri-controlled base from afar was not the greatest idea when Thor's brother and friends were aboard. Thor was glad Fury had intervened first, for Thor did not think he would have been as kind if these commanders of Midgard had suggested the same to him. Protector of Midgard Thor may be, but if those presumptuous, cowardly humans even thought of murdering Loki, or Jane or Erik, or countless other innocents, just because it was easy–

It was probably for the best that Fury had handled the situation himself (though when this was all over, Thor wouldn't mind making it very clear how he expected allies of Asgard to act).

Once, Thor knew, he would have given into the impulse to rush to Antarctica alone, the humans' threat only spurring him faster. And he would have gone without aid to help him if he failed, because he would never have believed he could fail. And, fool that he had been, he would have gone without the slightest clue where Loki and the humans were held, with no plan and no way to escape.

It did not stop the waiting from grating on every inch of his patience. He couldn't even use Huginn or Munnin to be his eyes for him, as he had sent one to Mother on Asgard, and another to Sif and the Warriors Three on Jotunheim; the birds were to report that Loki had been found, and for the army to be prepared.

Norns only knew if they would arrive in time. Or if Heimdall could even send Asgard's warriors at all, if Loki still obscured his vision.

If it came down to the six of them and SHIELD, then so be it. They would have to be enough – and they would have to act as one, no matter how urgent the impulse to hurry.

Tony, who had donned a metal suit excepting a helmet, also confined himself to the aircraft despite his professions that his suit allowed him to fly as well. And despite complaining that his “dear old dead grandmother could fly faster,” which Thor severely doubted.

“Then why don't you fly there yourself?” Clint asked, cranking his head around.

“Hey, I'm not about to get myself shot at by a couple hundred aliens,” Tony protested. He had taken to leaning against the aircraft's side, fiddling with some instruments on his suit's wrists.“If the suit had stealth mode, I might try it. But I'm still working on it.”

Then he looked up at Thor. “Hey, Thunderbird, when we get your brother back from this, think he could give me a few tips on turning invisible?”

Somewhat startled by the mortal's address, Thor glanced up from the satellite feed. Looking over Bruce's head – not a difficult feat – Thor gave Stark the most reassuring smile he could muster. “When Loki is recovered,” Thor said, using Tony's unthinking “when”, not “if” with a slight sense of giddiness, “I am sure he would be delighted. He enjoyed sharing his knowledge with Jane and Erik, and I do not know why you would be an exception.”

Thor heard a snort from up front. “I dunno about that, Thor,” Natasha said, twisting in her seat to give him an amused look. “He shot Stark down pretty hard the first time.”

“Hey, no one can resist the Stark charm for long,” Tony objected, puffing out his metal-clad chest like a bird during mating season, reminding Thor much of Fandral. “Even aliens from magical space-kingdoms.”

“You sure about that?” Steve asked, one eyebrow raised as if the idea were truly unbelievable. Thor knew that charm was something Loki was quite good at resisting. Especially since half the time Loki claimed it to be about as false as the charm Loki himself could put on when he felt the need.

Tony rolled his eyes at the captain, before turning to Bruce. “Come on, Bruce, back me up here. You're not an alien, but you're a super-smart, reclusive, rage-monstered scientist and you like me, right?”

Bruce sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave Tony an evaluating look, though he could not seem to help the grin that began spreading across his face. “Sure, you're interesting, I can you give you that.”

“You're copping out on me here, buddy,” Stark grumbled, pouting at Bruce.

“And you're persuasive for another thing–”

“Wait!” Thor interrupted, his voice booming in the aircraft's small space. He pointed at one of the screens, where movement and a bright glowing light had caught his eye. “Something is happening.”

As Bruce hurried to enlarge the screen Thor indicated and Tony clanked over to take a look, Thor could hardly dare to breathe. From so high up it was hard to tell, but he was sure he could recognize some of the figures scurrying around the entrance to the nuclear reactor. Or three, to be exact.

“What's going on over there, guys?” Clint asked, glancing back as if it would afford him a decent view of the screen.

“Just a sec,” Bruce called back. The screen zoomed in on the procession of figures surrounding the large, bright object that had caught Thor's eye, until he and the others seemed only a few stories above the ground.

The figures all travelled in the direction of the ship, with about ten Chitauri in the back of the group, carrying a metallic contraption that held the Tesseract's bright blue in the centre, tinged with purple near the edges. At the head of the procession was a hooded figure with a bright blue light in hand, that could only be the Chitauri's leader. Even from so far, from so high a view, Thor's hand tightened around Mjolnir at the sight of the creature, and the hammer thrummed in return.

(When Thor finally laid his hands on him...)

Following in the creature's wake, between him and the Tesseract, were three figures that looked human. Or Ás. One was pale-headed, one had longer brown hair, and one with dark hair dogged the leader's steps.

Thor only had time to gasp out, “Loki,” grasping Mjolnir's haft so hard the leather creaked, before they were lost beneath the ship's shadow.

“They're taking the Tesseract,” Bruce said, his hands white-knuckled as they held the pad.

“Taking it where? How?” Tony asked, eyes scanning each of the images. “Are they just going to float up into outer space and blast away?”

“Thor,” Natasha said sharply, and Thor glanced away from the screen long enough to see her looking back at him, face drawn in worry. “Fury says the World Council is pressing the missile subject again.”

“Tell them no,” Thor growled. The callousness of these mortals, planning to kill so many innocents, so many of their own people, without even an attempt to recover their lives –

(Although if the Chitauri escaped with the Tesseract, terrorized more people, enslaved more realms, would it not save more lives if–)

Thor gritted his teeth and swung his head back to the screen. “Tell them,” he said, “that if they go where humans cannot follow, then Asgard will chase them to the ends of the universe.”

If the Chitauri wished to incur Asgard's wrath, then they could have it.

Natasha relayed the message, and the rest of them waited, barely taking their eyes from the screens in case they missed something, and waited for something to change.

Nothing much did, just like the last few hours; the Chitauri stilled roved about the field in a mechanical fashion, and occasionally Thor caught a glimpse of a human in a suit around the grey buildings – though whether mind-controlled or not, Thor couldn't tell. At the very least, it seemed that Fury's men were still alive.

It was not until Natasha claimed the aircraft was ten minutes away from the site that anything changed.

“Look, look!” Tony shouted in Bruce's ear, causing the man to wince, as he pointed at the main screen. “Sorry Bruce – but the ship, it's rising.”

Sure enough, from where the ship was hovering over some of the squat grey buildings, it was slowly growing closer to the screen.

Caution be damned – if the ship fled into space now...Thor scanned what he could see of the ship for obvious openings. If need be, he could always smash through with Mjolnir. “Tony, you said your suit is fast?” Thor asked.

“Yeah, but not fast enough to catch a space ship,” Stark sputtered. “Especially if it plans on going into space.”

“No, wait, what's that?” Steve asked, pointing at something on the top of the ship's dome. Thor followed his finger, and saw something that looked like a large round door opening, revealing a cavernous dark tunnel. Thor watched, half-way out of his seat, as the ship continued to rise and the opening grew larger.

When the hole stopped growing, something bright grew in its depths. Thor leaned closer to the screen, as if that would help him see inside.

He did not expect the brightness to shoot up into the sky, a column of blue light that hit a point far above the ship and, without any cause Thor could see, stopped. Then it began spreading out, a circle that was a bright rich purple in the centre, bleeding to blue near the edges, growing until it blotted out even the still-rising ship. Once half the SHIELD compound on the main screen was concealed by the pulsing, nebulous portal, it stopped growing.

“It's a reactor ,” Bruce breathed out, his mouth slightly slack. “It's not just a ship, it's a power generator. For the cube.”

As the four of them watched, several dark shapes appeared beyond the edges of the portal, and Thor watched with growing horror as more Chitauri warriors joined their brethren on the ground.

“If you've got reinforcements, Thor,” Natasha said, her face pale as she turned back to look at the four of them, “now would be a good time to send them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I want all the eyes we have on the Savage Land,” Fury ordered, though they already had all the satellites in the area and the still-functioning cameras in the base watching. There could always be something they missed. “And contact the World Council. With Loki and the scientists off the ground, if there's no one left on base, we might actually get some ICBM's in there to take out the bulk of their force.”

“Sir, what if our people are still alive down there?” Agent Hill asked, standing just behind Fury. “Or if they've been controlled as well? We haven't heard from any of the personnel at the Antarctic base for nearly seven hours.”

Fury looked over at her. Hill's face was troubled, which was a good sign. He knew what this job could do to people, how hard it was to keep caring when duty kept telling you otherwise. “Then we wait,” he said, “and hope the Avengers can get them out. But if we can't contain the Chitauri, they'll spread, and who knows how long it will take before they reach the southern continents. Our agents knew the sacrifices when they took the job.”

She nodded, and walked away to carry out the orders as Fury turned back to his vid-screens. Nothing had changed based on the view from above, with the portal blotting out most of the base, but from the glimpses of the on-base cameras, the number of Chitauri had nearly doubled. Meanwhile the ship itself had risen far enough to cross to the other side of the portal, the stream of Tesseract energy now coming from an identical hole in the ship's bottom. Which would only make it that much harder to take the damned thing out. The alien bastards sure came prepared.

Fury was about to ask Hill if she had made contact yet when several alerts started blinking on Fury's screen, and the shrill ring of an alarm blared out somewhere on the deck.

“Sir!” an agent on the lower deck called out. “I have reports of another portal opening!”

There were few things that scared Fury nowadays. That sentence manged to get his heart racing.

He strode down the steps towards the shaken agent. “Where?” he demanded.

“New York,” she answered, showing him her monitor. Right over downtown New York was a portal, the same blasted shape and colour as the one in Antarctica.

“Get the army. And Air Force. And the cops. Whoever is available–” Another alarm cut into his orders.

“Sir, I have another one – in London–”

More alarms.

“Sir, reports of one opening in Tokyo–”

“Another in–”

“There's one in–”

Shouting, panic, and alarms cut into whatever the agents were planning to say. Pandemonium in Fury's Bridge, in agents who were meant to be the best of the best.

“QUIET!” Fury roared over the din.

They obeyed.

His agents stared at him, waiting for orders, only the blaring alarms now daring to add to the noise.

He turned to the helm, where Hill had taken over his position. “Agent Hill, how many and where?”

She brought up the reports on the console, her face grim. After a moment, she said, “Six, not including Antarctica. New York, Tokyo, London, Moscow, Wakanda, and Hong Kong.” She looked at Fury, and under her calm he could see her fear. “I'm sending reports to the leaders of those cities and nations now.”

Fury nodded. There was not much they could do. Except hit the target at its source. “Do we have any idea how to get at that ship?” From one of the agent's screens, he could see the ship set against distant stars – ones that didn't look Earth's own – and just like the one sprouting from the bottom, five beams of blue light emerged from around the ship's circumference. He guessed there was a sixth beam on top, where the ship had opened up in the first place.

Whatever the Chitauri were doing, they had been planning for a long time. Even aliens couldn't have built this thing in under four days.

It would hopefully take less time to destroy. Even if a very important person happened to be aboard.

But Thor had allowed a kill order, and Fury would just have to deal with the king later.

Fury would not sacrifice the world for one man. Or god.

“I don't know if we can get something up there, or if we even have something strong enough to destroy it,” Hill said, frantically flicking through screens as Fury stalked back towards the helm. “We can't target the other side of the portal directly, so we'd have to get a jet in there without it being destroyed, but it's–”

“Sir!”

Fury and Hill looked around to see Coulson running up to them from the bridge, a tablet in hand. “Sir, I have readings–”

“Another portal?” Fury snapped. Six, seven, or eight of the things, it didn't matter, they were already damned–

“No, sir,” Coulson panted as he reached the helm, nearly waving the tablet in Fury's face. “Readings, like the ones in New Mexico. Like whenever the Bifrost opened.”

Fury had the strangest emotion in his chest. It felt like hope. “Where?” he demanded.

“All over – all seven–”

“Sir, look!” Agent Hill suddenly shouted, pointing at the screens focused on Antarctica. Hastily, Fury brought them front and centre, spreading them around the console. The ones from the cameras on the base were the clearest, showing chaos among the Chitauri troops.

Emerging from bright streaks of light were figures. Not the heavily armoured-figures Fury expected, ones that he thought would be armed with spears and swords and hopefully more magic hammers.

No, these figures were over twice as large as humans, with ice-blue skin and crimson eyes. These figures grew ice from their arms and their bodies as they threw themselves at the invaders.

Fury turned to another screen and brought up the initial numbers and satellite feeds – New York and Moscow had what looked like the largest contingents, all in the same dress and loincloths. But Tokyo only had a handful, these ones with red-tinted armoured plates and helmets with spikes made of ice, and Fury shouted for whoever was in charge of Japanese-American relations to see how far out reinforcements were.

The rest of the cities had middling amounts. Wakanda seemed to have two armies melded together, some of the Jotnar with bland white armour, while others took a more colourful approach to their clothing; in London, there were a pack of what looked like a cross between an enormous wolf, bear, and lizard ran in triangle formation across Hyde Park; in Hong Kong the Jotnar were hurling ice spears at the Chitauri flitting above

And in Antarctica, Fury noticed Prince Helblindi rush by one of the cameras, followed by several Jotnar in loincloths and armour that looked quite a bit more ornate than what the troops in the other parts of the world wore. He guessed they were what passed for higher ranking clothing.

“It seems,” Fury said, watching a frost giant in Antarctica impale several Chitauri on icicles that sprouted from the ground, “we have to increase diplomatic relations with Jotunheim after this. If we survive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhodey was finishing up an op in New York – suspected Hammer-Vanko drones that someone might have stolen before the military confiscated whatever hadn't blown up – when he spotted the bright light in the sky.

Before Rhodey could even close the back of the truck, which had been empty rather than filled with murderous robot-drones, panicked chatter burst in his ear.

“Rhodes! This is Command, we need you in the sky, stat.”

“Yes, sir,” Rhodey said as he took off, the War Machine suit soaring out of the alleyway. “Towards that big light in the sky, if I had to take a guess, and – holy shit!”

Cresting the top of a skyscraper, he saw that within that bluish purple light was what looked like a hole in the sky. A hole that seemed to lead directly into space.

Then he saw the small flying objects emerge from the hole, objects which looked like little figures on flying gold sleds.

“Command, are you seeing this?” he asked as he closed in, the figures coalescing into large, spindly grey-blue things. Which were mostly definitely, under no circumstances, human.

“They are hostile, I repeat, the invaders are hostile,” Command said, just as the sleds starting shooting bright blue light at the nearest skyscrapers.

“Gotcha,” Rhodey said, still trying to process that no, these things weren't from Earth, and yes, they were being invaded by aliens.

Aliens. In New York.

Then he targeted a sled was that trying to blow a hole in Tony's new tower (and he hoped to God that Pepper was still off on her business trip), and blew the alien sled out of the sky. A well-placed missile took out its partner, while a spray of bullets killed the two aliens at nine o'clock. He didn't manage a hit on the sled that clipped him though, sending him crashing into the roof of some fancy hotel.

As he clanked to his feet, he saw several of the sleds converging on his position. Obviously, he was the only threat around, and the aliens were going to take him out first.

Not if he could help it.

Setting his targeting missiles, Rhodey prepped for take-off the moment the rockets launched. But before he hit release, there was a burst of golden light, and from it emerged several large, blue figures, accompanied by four people in armour that made them look like they just stepped out of a D&D game.

The golden light had barely faded when all but one of the large blue people launched themselves off the roof, some towards the aliens and some rappelling down the building on what looked like streams of ice. One of the armour people – the only woman in the group – looked up at the remaining blue giant, jerked her head towards one of the sleds and shouted, “Járnsaxa, throw me!”

The blue giant obliged. The lady soared through the air, landed neatly on one of the sleds, and skewered the two aliens with a doubled-edged sword. “Good throw,” remarked one of the men, a blond man in green. Then with a shout of “For Midgard!” he leapt off the roof, followed by the other two.

As Rhodey stood gaping, the blue giant created what looked like a glittering spear out of thin air and threw it at a sled that was coming up just behind the lady, who was pushing the aliens off of her sword. It drove through the metal before impaling the two aliens on board.

Finally the blue giant turned to Rhodey, just as the lady crash-landed her sled into the roof, jumping off at the last second. She rolled as she hit the ground, her momentum carrying her until she once again stood beside the blue giant.

“Are you a defender of this realm?” the blue giant asked, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

Rhodey nodded. He didn't exactly know what else to do in this type of situation. “Yes, I–” He caught sight of three sleds zooming in behind the two new arrivals, took aim with his targeting missiles, and blew them out of the sky before the other two had fully turned to see the threat. “Yes, I am. Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, United States Air Force.”

The giant dipped his head. “I am War Commander Járnsaxa of Jotunheim, and this is Lady Sif of Asgard. My warriors are at your service, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes.” Then he took Lady Sif's hand, turned, and launched them both at the closest sled.

“Right, then,” Rhodey muttered, then took off over the streets of New York. When he looked down, he nearly missed his shot of a repulsor blast at another passing sled. Because not only were there a whole lot more of the blue giants, both on rooftops and on the street warning fleeing citizens away, but also on the sides of the buildings.

Well, it wasn't technically the giants on the buildings, but the creatures they were riding: large blue leathery things with long spiky tails, their claws digging into concrete and steel as easily as if it was dirt. As Rhodey shot off a wrist missile at a cluster of sleds, he saw one of the creatures jump off a building towards a sled, directed by its rider, and tear one of the aliens manning the sled in half as the spiked tail hit the other. Then the creature jumped off, landing on a building on the opposite side of 5^th Ave.

“Well, now that's just cool,” he said to himself, shooting straight upward as he tried to get a clearer view of the battle, so he could see where he was needed most. He did not go far before a dark shadow fell over him.

“Command, are you getting this?” he said, looking up at what could only be described as a giant, flying, armoured space whale emerging from the portal. “Please tell me you have backup on the way.”

“They're a few minutes out.” The controller on the other end of the line was grim. “You're going to have to deal with this yourself. And with the...giants, if you can get them up there.”

“Got it,” Rhodey said, heart sinking as he approached the whale, looking for soft spots in its armour. The underbelly, usually a good place to look, seemed just as defended as its sides. As he shot upward, hoping a bird's-eye view could help, there was a flash of light and the whale abruptly jerked to the side, letting out an ear-piercing screech.

Shooting up above the head, Rhodey saw why: on its back was a beast, like the ones the giants were riding below, but about four times as big and with enormous tusks. The beast was running along the whale's spine, tearing gashes in armour and skin as it neared the head. Once it reached the place Rhodey judged the whale's neck to be, the beast ripped the metal plating off then dug its teeth into the whale's skin.

The whale let out one last screech that petered out into a moan, and when gravity slowly took hold Rhodey realized he should probably do something about the falling whale.

Drawing away, he aimed missiles at all the exposed skin. Just as he fired, the big blue beast jumped off, probably to some skyscraper down below. As Rhodey watched parts of the whale disintegrate and catch fire under the barrage, he hoped killing these things wouldn't cause nearly as much damage as leaving them alive.

Then he sped off to destroy another cluster of sleds diving down towards the pavement and people below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Býleistr rocked onto the heels of his feet as Father listened to the messenger describe which and how many of Jotunheim's warriors had been swept up by the Bifrost so far. Seated languidly on his throne, face unreadable, Father almost looked like nothing was out of the ordinary. Which was how he had looked ever since his initial surprise when the Bifrost's light came and swept away a cadre of warriors who waited not far from the Bifrost site, along with Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral.

Býleistr had to admit to surprise as well, if only because he hadn't expected the battle to start so soon – many of the Jarls he had sent letters to probably hadn't even had time to decide how they would answer. But what was even more of a surprise was how Helblindi managed to get Asgard's Gatekeeper to agree to this in the first place.

He really, really hoped he would find out when all this was over.

At last, the messenger finished, and after a moment of silence, Father stood. “Contact the Elders,” he told her, “and tell them to convene at the palace once the battle is over. Assure that the message reaches those in Asgard as well.”

With a gesture he dismissed her, and once she had departed Father walked down the steps to the throne room's floor. Turning to where the Head of the Guard waited in the shadows of the pillars, he ordered, “I want an escort prepared for First Prince Helblindi waiting at the Bifrost site for when he returns. If he does not have any dire wounds, have him brought here immediately so that I may speak with him.”

No inflection entered Father's voice, and nothing in his face gave away any feelings one way or the other. And it was that blandness, more than anything, that sent a hot sickness running down Býleistr's stomach like candle wax.

The Elders could be convened for ordinary, simple meetings, or for more complex decisions like troop deployment in a war. But they could also be assembled so that Jarls, other Elders, and – in very, very rare cases – princes could be put on trial.

Just like the escort could just be an escort, an honour guard. Or they could assure that Helblindi did not run as they marched him down into the cells.

Father dismissed the guards just as he had the messenger, until he and Býleistr were alone. Standing at in the middle of the throne room, Father didn't move. Cautiously, Býleistr walked down the stairs towards him, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible, because when the moment of silence broke, he knew it would only get worse.

Once Býleistr reached the bottom of the steps, Father spoke.

“Do you know why the Bifrost has transported so many of our warriors to Midgard, and why those warriors were apparently waiting for it to happen?” Father turned towards him, hands clasped behind his back and an unreadable expression on his face.

“No, Father,” Býleistr answered, trying to sound perplexed. He didn't know if it worked or not, because Father's face didn't change.

“Do you know why Jarl Vafthrúðnir sent almost half his warriors, while Jarl Reda only offered up a dozen?” he asked, voice low, like the rumble of ice.

“No, Father.”

“You don't think it might be because Helblindi spent some of his later youth fostered under Jarl Vafthrúðnir? And that Jarl Reda is a cautious woman, ready to play any angle?”

Býleistr tried very hard not to gulp nervously. “I don't see what that has to do with anything, Father.”

Father did not reply. They stood there and stared at each other across the hall, Father's gaze hardened yet piercing.

Býleistr looked away first.

While Býleistr was still inspecting the gaps between the columns, again Father was the first to speak.

“Come with me.” His tone brooked no argument; it was the command of a king, not of a father.

The hot sickness in Býleistr's gut coalesced into dread. He followed behind Father at a respectful distance, and though he felt a trickle of relief when they entered one of Father's private, sealed rooms and not something like the dungeons or the ice caverns, it did nothing to dispel his fear.

After Býleistr closed the door behind him, Father walked straight across the room to his stone table, cold radiating off him, cold that he must have been keeping in check all through the proceedings. Father could normally restrain his Issjä from reflecting his emotions, unless he was very, very angry, and wanted it to be known that he was very, very angry.

Býleistr lingered by the door, afraid to come further into the room. Father leaned heavily against the table, putting his hands flat on the surface. If Býleistr looked closely, he could see the fine webs of frost spreading out from his fingers

“Are all of my sons Asgard's puppets?” Father muttered under his breath, and before Býleistr could respond, Father whirled and marched up to Býleistr. “What did Helblindi tell you to do,” he demanded.

Býleistr did his best to feign confusion again. He wouldn't drag Helblindi any further down if he could help it. “I don't know what you mean–”

“You know damn well what I mean,” Father roared, and Býleistr quailed, shrinking back against the door. He recovered a moment later, standing straight and trying to steel himself, though Father was already backing away, visibly reigning himself in.

The cold coming off his body didn't lessen any, but Father's voice was quieter when he bit out, “Answer me two questions. First, do the Jarls think I gave the order – or will they at least pretend to think I did?” Father's lip curled in derision

Býleistr thought about lying again. The look in Father's eyes and the fear thudding through his heart made his decision for him. “Yes,” he said, then hastily tacked on, “To the first part.”

Father barked out a laugh. “I've no doubt you want to believe that.” A cruel, sharp smile flitted across his face. “Maybe someday yet I'll make a politician out of you, but that day is a long way off. Helblindi should never have abandoned you here to play his games for him.”

Býleistr felt like he had been punched in the gut, though he couldn't say which part hurt more: Father's easy dismissal, or that his words about Helblindi came too close to Býleistr's own thoughts since Helblindi had left him here (abandoned him).

If Father noticed, he didn't comment. His cool, cutting gaze held Býleistr fast to the floor as he said flatly, “And second, do they think I allowed my warriors to be stolen down to Midgard the runt's sake?”

That hurt too, but for entirely different reasons. Bristling, Býleistr said, “If you mean for my little brother, then no.”

Father drew back, eyeing Býleistr. Býleistr held his breath. He let it out when Father turned swiftly and strode behind his table. He sat, gesturing at Býleistr to do the same.

Once Býleistr had taken the seat across from him, body rigid and heart pounding, Father leaned forward. Eyes hard, Father growled, “Tell me exactly what happened, before I decide if I have to arrest both my sons and heirs for treason.”

Chapter Text

By the time Thor touched down in the middle of the base, just ahead of Stark, and a few minutes before the mortals' aircraft, the Jotnar had decimated most of the Chitauri's ground troops. For all that aliens were formidable against humans, against gods and giants their only strength lay in numbers – and of course the Chitauri's flying machines, as the Jotnar had had few since the war, and none fit for battle.

Which was why Thor hoped that Heimdall had been able to hear his calls to assemble the Æsir warriors. They should have been standing by as they awaited for word of the battle, but they still had to gather and make their way towards the Bifrost, whether on foot, on horseback, or by skiff.

When Thor had seen the bright light of the Bifrost on the aircraft's screen, he had been surprised at the speed of his warriors. Yet when the light cleared to reveal the Jotnar instead, it had been a shock of another kind. Thor had never once entertained the possibility that the Jotnar may want to fight on Midgard, of all places. Helblindi and Býleistr, perhaps – to help Loki – but Thor had doubted Laufey would have allowed them to come.

And Thor had hoped he would not need their help, that the battle would be one he could handle.

As Clint had shouted out, “Hey, Thor, it's the Jotnar! They're helping...well, everywhere,” Thor had stood and pressed the button to open the back of the aircraft. Without another word, he jumped and headed towards the small green spot visible in the field of ice, and at his back Stark shouted, “Wait, I'm coming, too!”

Now, as Thor smashed through two of the skiffs, landed on a third and knocked its two Chitauri off, out of the corner of his eye he saw Stark take down another of the flying machines. Then came the roar of engines, and Thor glanced up to see the Avengers' aircraft hovering high above the treetops beyond the edge of the clearing, spraying bullets at the Chitauri's machines, downing them in explosions of fire and blue energy.

For a moment, it seemed as if the battle here would be over soon enough, and maybe they wouldn't need more help from Asgard – at least not in this part of the realm. Until another wave of skiffs emerged from the portal, all headed directly for the aircraft.

Launching himself from the skiff he was on, Thor headed towards the group, losing them briefly in the smoke still emerging from the reactor. He caught up with them on the other side, but had only managed to smash one apart when volleys of blue energy blasted into the aircraft's hull, raising plumes of fire and smoke.

It began to sink, and abruptly the skiffs turned away, headed back up into the portal. After a second's hesitation, Thor let them go and headed towards the mortals instead, hoping no harm had been done to those inside the craft. Which was when Natasha's voice burst into his ear, saying tersely, “Hey, Thor, Stark, I think some of our 'chutes caught fire, and I'd rather not have to find another way around the dino fence.”

“'Dino fence'?” he heard Tony say, and saw the red and gold blur of the man on his left, catching up with the aircraft. “Is that spy-code for something?”

“I wish.” Clint's snort came clear across the earpiece. “Trust me, the less you know the better.”

Tony spluttered as Thor crossed over the tree-line, and when he looked down he saw said 'Dino fence' looping around the base, a twenty-foot tall structure made of interlocking metal loops. He decided an explanation was better left for later, and landing on the back of the aircraft a second later. It was open, and Steve stood on the edge with his helmet on, looking ponderously down.

“Steve, I can take you and perhaps another on my back,” Thor offered, interrupting Stark as he fruitlessly tried to ask Natasha and Clint about 'dinosaurs'. He was strong enough to carry more, many more, but they would have few places to hold onto Thor without leaving them vulnerable.

But Steve waved him off. “No thanks,” he said, walking to the other end of the aircraft. “I can make the jump, and I've got my shield.”

“You sure?” Tony asked, landing opposite Thor. “I could always carry you down bridal style.”

“Save it for your honeymoon,” Steve said, then ran down the length of the craft and jumped between Thor and Tony, shield-first.

Tony shook his metal head, then turned to the interior of the plane, where Bruce was helping Natasha and Clint stuff various objects from a several open compartments into a large bag. “Hey Bruce,” he called, “ready for our honeymoon?”

Bruce shoved something into a bag and clutched it to his chest as rushed towards the back of the plane. “Why not,” he said, and let Tony lift him into his arms.

“Knew you liked me,” Tony said and took off, and through the opening Thor could see the trees rapidly approaching.

“We must leave,” he told the remaining mortals, and turned just in time to see Natasha, the bag now strapped across her chest, leap onto his back.

“I claim shotgun,” she said, clenching her knees against his chest and her arms around his shoulders.

“Just because you're like a fuckin' jumping spider,” Clint grumbled, and let Thor grab him around the waist, before Thor leapt from the aircraft, following Tony's suit towards the roof of a stout grey building in the centre of the base. He weaved around bolts of blue light, and though he went at a slower pace than normal for the humans' sakes, he still heard Clint screaming in his ear, a combination of either delight or fear mixed with profanities. Natasha was quieter, but he still heard the occasional swear.

He touched down on the roof just as Steve catapulted to it from a wayward skiff, nearly crashing into Thor, and skidding to a stop before he smashed into Thor's legs. As Thor stood, Natasha carefully got down from his back and Thor set Clint down on shaky legs.

“Never flying with a god again,” Clint muttered, clutching his hands around his waist.

“So what's the plan?” Tony asked, looking up, and the rest of them followed suit. There seemed to be a gap in the Chitauri ranks – perhaps the Chitauri had decided to split their efforts among the more populated areas – for the skies were clear. Which meant that except for the smoke, they had a clear view of the tear in the sky, the ring of blue surrounding the deep expanse of space. And in the centre, about half as large as the Helicarrier in length, the Chitauri ship hovered just beyond the portal's entrance.

It would not be too difficult for Thor to fly up there, but humans, he knew, did not fare well in space. If the Æsir did not arrive in time, Thor would have to go up there alone, or else convince some of the Jotnar...

Before any of them could give a suggestion, a cool, sharp voice burst into life on the comm in Thor's ear. “Avengers.”

Most of the other Avengers jumped or put their hands to their ear, so Fury must have spoken to all of them. “Fury, nice to hear from you, you ol' codger,” Tony said jovially.

Fury ignored him. “Your Jotnar and Æsir friends have taken the heat off–”

“Æsir?” Thor interrupted, hoping the voice reception went both ways. “Have my warriors arrived yet? Have any come here, to this base?” Thor glanced around as if he could see the Einherjar or warriors charging at the remaining Chitauri scuttling around near the fence, although there had not been any of the tell-tale golden light of the Bifrost since he left the aircraft.

“Your Æsir beamed down to all the other cities a few minutes ago,” Fury said, sounding almost pleased, “and brought some much-needed air reinforcements – not bad timing all things considered. But they've been sticking to everything on this side of the portal, and haven't tried to get past the blockade the Chitauri have been putting up on their sides.”

Thor glanced up as if he could see a swarm of Chitauri blocking the portal's opening, but the way to the ship was still clear. Perhaps the Chitauri felt they didn't need a blockade here with so few people in the area. Thor would have to show them otherwise.

“Besides, if you haven't noticed,” Fury continued, “we've got bigger problems. We need the Tesseract out of Chitauri hands, and that ship destroyed.”

“Loki and my friends are still aboard that ship,” Thor growled, snapping his head back down, wishing he had someone to glare at.

“And I might still have agents down on the ground there,” Fury replied calmly. “I'd like as many of our people as possible to come out alive. The council has been pacified by your armies for now, but I don't know how long it might be before they start considering more extreme options. All of our jets are still targeting earthbound Chitauri, but we have Logistics figuring out the best way to deliver a payload through the portal. Which might not even work, since we don't know how strong Chitauri shields are. Think the six of you can take care of all that for me?”

“I think we can, sir,” Steve answered, though the grave look on his face was at odds with his words.

“Good. I give you an hour maximum before people start to get desperate, and we find a way to end this quickly.”

Fury's voice cut off in a click before being replaced with static.

“An hour,” Clint repeated, a panicked note in his voice. “How are we supposed to do this in an hour?”

Bruce stepped forward. “I think–” he began, until the sound a of skiff crashing into dirt just beyond the building they were on caught their attention. They turned, and Thor scanned the horizon for Chitauri.

But the being that leapt onto the rooftop was only Helblindi.

“Oh look, one of the blue aliens,” Thor heard Tony say breathlessly.

“Helblindi!” Thor exclaimed, and as he walked toward Helblindi, he gave what felt like the first genuine smile since he'd received the news on Jotunheim. He hadn't known Helblindi had come to help here, though he wasn't at all surprised his friend had joined the battle.

“Greetings, King Thor, mortals,” Helblindi said, nodding to each and giving Thor a smile in return.

“Did Asgard send you and your people in advance?” Thor asked. Then a thought occurred to him, and his smile fell. “Tell me none forced you into this battle–”

Helblindi held up a staying hand. “No,” he said, his smile dying as he frowned at Thor; there was a strange look in his eyes that was gone almost as soon as it had come. “Asgard did not send us.”

Then he strode past Thor to stand in front of the five mortals, and gave a slight bow to the shock of all gathered. “Once, a millennium ago,” Helblindi said, “our people committed terrible crimes against yours. Today, we are at your service, and will aid you any way we can in this battle.”

“We, um–” Tony started off.

“We're grateful,” Steve cut in, coming up to the Jotun, giving a bow of his own. “Thank-you. Just by coming here, you've saved a hell of a lot of lives already.”

A large smile spread across Helblindi's face, and Thor realized that to him Steve's words meant much more than Thor or Steve knew. But something else was worrying Thor.

“Helblindi, if you came from Asgard, do you know when my people will arrive?” Thor asked, coming to Helblidi's side. “The humans' commander said they had arrived in all other areas of Midgard.”

Helblindi turned to him, his red eyes worried and lips pressed together. “I asked Queen Frigga to delay them here.”

“What?” Thor took a step back, baffled. “Why? Surely she would have wanted to send as much protection for Loki as she could.” Unless Mother and Helblindi had the same idea as Thor, that if it came down to a decision between saving Thor's life and saving Loki's, then even the Einherjar might disobey the king's orders to protect the king.

Helblindi hesitated. “Not long before I came here, I spoke to–”

A terrible, animal screeching noise interrupted whatever Helblindi was about to say. Alarmed, they looked upwards.

Emerging from the portal was an enormous, armoured leviathan. Swarming around its sides were more skiffs, and if Thor squinted, he could see Chitauri hanging onto the leviathan's underbelly.

“Well, shit,” Clint said, gawping.

“I'm not taking that one,” Natasha said firmly.

“Romanoff, Barton,” Steve said, his voice curt, the voice of a commander rather than a friend. “You come with me to look for survivors. Thor, Stark, you two take care of that thing up there, and then help the Jotnar with the ground troops.”

“I can take you to where my people and I have found some mortals hiding,” Helblindi offered.

Steve gave him a nod. “Good. Banner–”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I have something to help, actually – not to find Loki and everyone else, but to find the Tesseract. Though hopefully they'll all be in roughly the same place. This–” He held out the bag he had clutched to his chest when he leapt from the aircraft, “–is the same equipment I used to find the Tesseract the first time, though on a much smaller scale. Once you get the equipment up there you should be able to find it, but it needs a few more adjustments. And then...”

“Ready to smash?” Tony asked.

“Ready to smash,” Bruce agreed.

“I'll cover you instead, then,” Steve said. “When Bruce is done, we'll figure out our next step from there. We won't leave anyone behind.” This last part he said to Thor and Helblindi, before raising his shield and leading Bruce off the rooftop.

Abruptly, Helblindi grabbed Thor's shoulder, blue fingers almost tight enough to hurt, and in a rush said, “I must speak to you more when the battle is over. But I have to know, do you know where Loki is? We have not found him yet, though we have searched most the buildings.”

Thor swallowed, his throat dry. “We last saw him entering the ship,” he said, gesturing upwards.

Helblindi followed the gesture, his eyes widening, then gave a nod. Without another word, he stood and marched towards where Clint and Natasha waited, eyeing the sky, and crouched, holding out his arms. “Come,” he said, “this will be quicker.”

“Ooh boy, not again,” Clint muttered, and then Helblindi grabbed the two of them, holding them to his chest as he hopped off the building.

Tony clapped a metal hand on Thor's shoulder. “C'mon big guy, time's a-wastin',” he said, and took off into the sky. Thor spun Mjolnir and launched himself after Tony, quickly outpacing him as he hurtled towards the leviathan.

He knew that their first duty – the duty Loki had been called for – was for the Tesseract, and the danger it caused. If they had to shut off the Tesseract first, before they looked for Loki, then Thor would wait.

But not too long, he promised himself. And threw himself at the leviathan, Mjolnir-first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki screamed.

I had not meant for this to happen, I thought it would work, I hadn't planned–

“You claimed it would just be Asgard,” his master's voice snarled in his ear and in his head, thick tentacles digging and squirming into Loki's mind. “You claimed it would take time to gather their troops once their Gatekeeper could see.”

“I – I didn't think t-the Jotnar would–” Loki gasped out, but his mouth couldn't quite form the words in his mind.

I didn't think they would come, I never thought they would become involved at all, I don't understand why–

Loki distantly felt his master's hand squeezing his skull as the tentacles writhed against those thoughts, then pushed deeper into his mind, into his magic, to see if Loki had ever let up the shield that would have concealed them from Heimdall's eyes.

But Loki hadn't; he ensured that up until the end, Heimdall would only see whatever Loki wished him to – all through the operation, from the teleportation to Antarctica and its secret base that Erik had recommended, to cutting off the base's communications, to the conversion or killing of the humans they could find on base before the SHIELD agents hid. Even while they opened the first portal to bring the Chitauri's masterpiece and their troops through, Loki had ensured that their workings were invisible to the Gatekeeper's eye.

It was not until their ship had crossed into Chitauri space, far beyond the Nine Realms and where Heimdall's gaze could not reach, did Loki reveal all of Midgard to the Gatekeeper.

Loki's master saw it too. With one last lash of those tentacles, forcing another strangled scream from Loki's throat, his master withdrew. Loki fell to the floor, barely catching himself against the cool metal panelling before his head knocked against the ground.

“It matters not,” his master hissed, and Loki saw his boots stride to one of the consoles. Watching his master brush a hand against the screens, the other hand still clutching the sceptre, Loki struggled to his feet. Halfway up, his legs collapsed, too weak from lack of rest and his master's ministrations. He landed in a kneeling position, one hand on the floor.

Back still to Loki, his master continued, “The Æsir are arriving in the other human cities. And we have many more drones, waiting at the Queen's beck and call.” He turned abruptly from the screen and paced back towards Loki. “They will serve, as is their duty. And the survivors will reap the reward of their fallen siblings.”

Reaching Loki just as he managed to get to his feet, still swaying slightly, the Other cupped Loki's neck and base of his skull. This time, his master's touch was almost gentle, but for the warning grazing against his mind. “And you,” he commanded. “Fulfil your promised duty.”

Loki bowed his head. “Yes, my liege.”

I'll do better this time. I won't disappoint.

His master heard Loki's thought and grinned, red mouth widening. “Maybe, if you are successful, I'll ask if I can keep you after this,” he crooned.

Loki felt pride rise deep in his stomach. To be useful , to be wanted , because of who he was and what he could do, was better than any life before the blue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Invisible, Loki slipped onto the back of a Chitauri glider that was exiting the ship. He could have been visible for this part of the plan, but he did not wish to take chances. Whether the Drone or its copilot was aware of Loki while they flew down to Midgard, it mattered not.

The second they passed the thin line separating Earth's atmosphere from space, Loki felt a rush of magic against his senses as he entered Yggdrasil once more. And with that entrance came the need to shield himself from Heimdall's searching gaze once again, in case the Gatekeeper caught sight of him at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

But far more important than Heimdall were Yggdrasil's branches themselves. Specifically, the pathways hidden within them, which could not be reached in the Chitauri's section of space. It was much more difficult to move between branches without a physical opening, but it could be done. Loki was just one of the few (or perhaps the only one) who had the curiosity to discover both routes.

Closing his eyes, Loki expanded the magic within himself, and reached out toward Yggdrasil. The Tree was everywhere, and all Loki had to do was reach for a branch. Or fall onto one.

He found one.

Before the glider had entered the billowing clouds of smoke emerging from the nuclear plant, and further into the fray below, Loki had disappeared from its back. Instead, he was falling. Falling through light in the midst of Midgard's branches, fighting against the Tree as it tried to steer him back into the realm proper.

Loki willed himself up, up towards the bright shining realm he had called home.

He grasped onto Asgard's branches, searching, looking, and finally drew himself out and onto a polished golden floor.

Loki landed hard, cheek pressed against cool metal, and as he lay in a panting heap he worried for a second his limbs might have stopped obeying him. Panic rushed through him, because his master needed him functioning, needed him to do his duty.

But when Loki flailed out his arms and legs, everything worked as it should, and he drew to his feet with the help of a conveniently-placed pillar.

Thanking his Master that he had not become visible – either to a normal Æsir's eye or to Heimdall's – Loki rounded the pillar to walk down the hall, muffling his footsteps. At the end of the hall was a set of very large doors, guarded by two Einherjar.

Neither sensed Loki as he approached; nor did they sense the door opening very slightly, just enough to let one slim body through, before it closed shut again.

And then Loki was in.

Honestly, the whole thing was a lot simpler than he thought it would be. It was truly amazing that no one had done this before. Or at least, not without Loki's help.

Then again, few knew the exact enchantments surrounding the door. And unless they were an Einherjar commissioned by the king himself, only three living people could enter these doors at any time and not expect to get blown away by the Destroyer.

Loki walked down the vault's hall towards the Master's prize. It was hard to believe that something so powerful, so marvellous, had been hidden down here amongst all these other prodigious objects of power. Like his master had told him, Asgard hoarded power, and then didn't use it. Just put it on display for the echelons of Asgard to look at and admire their own prowess.

But his master wouldn't be so greedy to take what he didn't need, nor so hesitant to use what he took.

Of course, there was still that other bit of power that had not been put on display. While the stories claimed it had been eradicated, Loki's Master knew that the Aether was impossible to destroy. Bor had simply hidden it away, somewhere so deep it had fallen into legend.

No matter. The Master would find it soon enough.

At last, Loki stopped in front of his Master's prize, carefully propped up on a stand. On each knuckle, and on the back of the hand, sat a dully glistening jewel. None were real, though; it would be foolish to keep the Infinity Gauntlet and its Infinity Stones together. And it wasn't as if something like the Tesseract would fit into little indents on the Gauntlet. Instead, the Gauntlet distilled the essence of each Stone into the gem, until the wearer had pure, ultimate control over each aspect of the universe.

Gingerly, Loki's senses reached out and touched the spells guarding the Infinity Gauntlet. They were complicated, intricate, planned out to every last little detail, and exceedingly powerful.

They were spells that could only be undone by the King of Asgard.

It was his Master's luck that Loki knew exactly how to make the King help.

Loki gave it one last lingering glance at the Gauntlet, the prize the Master valued above all, then continued to the end of the vault, somewhere he had not been since Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep.

The thought brought no pain, no sadness, no hurt. Loki felt nothing but anticipation, excitement, near-overwhelming joy.

Loki came to stop just before the pedestal, where another one of his Master's treasures waited.

With the utmost care, Loki lifted the Casket of Ancient Winters from its place.

Blue spread across Loki's skin from the Casket's touch. Something above Loki creaked, and he looked up to see the Destroyer emerge from its place behind the floating iron bars.

It took Loki less than a second to realize that it was not him lifting the Casket that had drawn out the Destroyer, but rather his Jotun blood, sensing it despite Loki's various concealment now that it had risen to the surface. Apparently, Odin had spelled the Destroyer to react to any Jotun, and had ignored the possibility that his adopted son might one day walk down here in his own skin. Loki would also fault Thor for not removing the spell, if he believed that Thor even knew of it in the first place.

Before the Destroyer could aim its fiery head down at Loki, he vanished the Casket between his hands into nether space. The blue skin retreated, and so did the Destroyer, the iron bars closing in front of it as it recognized the brother of the king once more.

Nevertheless, Loki thought it best to retreat, in case its brief appearance alerted any on Asgard to an intruder.

He hurried out the doors of the Vault, making sure the Einherjar still remained oblivious, and strode back down the hall. Once again, he gathered his magic, reaching into Yggdrasil for the right branch.

The way down was always easier.

Chapter Text

The shield rebounded off the Chitauri's head as it came clattering down the stairs, boomeranging back to Steve's hand in time for him throw it at the Chitauri crawling up the other flight of stairs. Both their heads were knocked backwards , and Steve grabbed his shield out of the air before scooping up the metal door that had been blasted off its hinges. He propped it against the doorway to the stairs, then turned back to the interior of the room.

“How're you doing there, Bruce?” Steve called, running for the steel table that had been shoved to one side of the tiny square room to make space for Bruce's equipment. They'd chosen to hole up in one of the guard towers around the perimeter of the base. From a quick scan, it had looked like one of the more defensible buildings, and it was relatively close to the helipad where the six of them had first landed. The barracks had looked good too, but they were on the opposite side of the base, and neither Steve nor Bruce had fancied a walk across that much open ground.

Of course, the problem with the guard tower was that it was meant to guard against threats outside the base, not inside. Steve still wasn't sure if Natasha and Clint were joking about the dinosaurs – after the Norse gods, giants, and aliens, he wouldn't really be surprised – but when he and Bruce had first gone up to the top of the building, they'd found it nearly completely wide open. If they stayed there, they'd be struck down by one of the skiffs in under a minute. And as they'd run down the stairs, there had been the loud tramping of feet echoing up the stairwell, cutting them off from the bottom. Luckily there had been a little off-shoot of a room mid-way down the tower, with darkened computer banks on three sides and flickering electric lights. Bruce had plunked his equipment on one of the desks at the computer banks without another word.

“Can you give me five?” Bruce answered, strain in his voice from where he was still hunched over his equipment. “This really isn't the best workplace environment.”

Steve grunted in response, lugging the table across the room and then shoving it up against the broken door. It would have to do, he thought, to avoid thinking about what would happen if Bruce lost control now. His concern was less so for himself – because even if the Hulk found him a target, Steve was sure he could escape in time – but for the others.

If Bruce didn't finish, and even Stark couldn't figure out how to complete the scanner they needed to find the Tesseract, they'd be wandering in the dark when they made it up to that ship. Who knew how much time they would waste up there, stumbling with no compass while the Chitauri swarmed over the Earth.

Of course, there was the problem that they'd probably end up stumbling about in the dark anyway, because they didn't exactly have a way to track down Loki and Doctors Foster and Selvig. If Loki and his friends weren't near the Tesseract, Steve didn't know what they would do. But he couldn't just leave them, no matter where they might be hidden on the ship.

Even if Steve had only known Loki a few hours, he felt like they had started something close to friendship. He'd been polite, but not overly-reserved, joking but without Stark's abrasive edge. Steve still cringed in embarrassment, though, when he remembered trying to “wake” Loki up when Loki was searching for the Tesseract in his trance. Thankfully, Loki had seemed more disgruntled than angry; he didn't even seem to mind mind when Steve had caught him after he found the Tesseract, worried that Loki had passed out.

And like Steve, like Bruce too, he seemed a little lost.

Something thumped against the door, jolting Steve out of his thoughts, and he pressed back against the table. The blockade thumped again, but held. Yet Steve could hear more feet coming up the stairwell, and knew it wouldn't last for very long.

Adjusting his stance and bracing himself against the table, Steve huffed out, “Just wondering, Bruce, not that I mean to be rude, but isn't this something you could have done on the quinjet?”

Bruce sighed loud enough to carry across the thumps and sounds of feet clambering up stairs. “No, because with something this small, I have to be close enough to fine tune the wavelength, especially with the extra energy output from the reactor creating a bit of extraneous white noise. And now there's the background radiation of space that I have to weed out as well...”

Steve's breath burst out of him as something slammed into the door, harder this time, cutting into the rest of Bruce's speech. Then came the whine of the Chitauri's energy guns – too close to the sound of Hydra's Tesseract weapons, setting Steve's teeth on edge – and Steve hefted his shield against the points of impact. The metal dented inward, but the triple layer of door, table, and shield stopped them before they blasted through. Steve waited for the whine to stop, listened to the soft chittering and footsteps on the other side, then threw aside the door and launched into the stairwell.

The shield knocked the Chitauri on the upper stairs into its partner as Steve's fist collided with the one just outside the door. The shield bounced off the side of the stairwell and into the Chitauri on the bottom stairs while Steve dodged his opponent's spear, the creature recovering quick enough from Steve's punch.

The Chitauri took another swipe and Steve rolled out of the way, grabbed his shield, and straightened to slam it into the Chitauri's head. It went down, just as Steve heard the whine of one of the energy guns discharging. He brought his shield up in time to deflect the blast from the Chitauri on the upper stair which had been knocked down by its partner.

The blast rebounded into the Chitauri, taking it off its feet as Steve swung back into the room and slammed the door and table back over the entrance.

Bruce didn't even so much as look around.

For a moment, Steve stood there panting, back braced against the doorway, with nothing but quiet inside the guard tower. Then Natasha's voice crackled in his ear – and evidently Bruce's, from the way he jumped, her voice somehow more surprising than Steve's fighting.

“The Jotnar are taking the scientists from the reactor to the ones at the hospital,” Natasha reported. “That's all the survivors the Jotnar know about.”

“Good job, Romanoff, Barton. And Prince Helblindi,” Steve added, hoping Natasha would pass it on to the Jotun.

From the bits and pieces Steve had heard through the comms, most of the scientists and techs who had been working at the reactor had barricaded themselves in the lower levels when the Chitauri arrived. They'd seen what the spear had done to some of their fellow scientists, and those that could ran before the Chitauri could force them to use the reactor's controls against their will. The rest of the SHIELD agents outside the reactor – some soldiers, but the majority scientists, botanists, archeologists and the like – had done what they could before holing up in the hospital with the injured. For hours they had tried to contact SHIELD, but despite the communication building remaining mostly intact, they hadn't been able to get anything out.

Steve tried not to think that Loki and the mind-controlled SHIELD agents had probably been the one to take care of that. Or that when Natasha and Clint had entered the reactor, they'd reported both knife wounds and bullet holes on some of the dead they had found, amongst the scorching from Chitauri weapons.

At least the the base hadn't taken too many casualties, and the brainwashed humans – including the SHIELD agents who had been taken at the original Tesseract site – hadn't been hurt by the Jotnar. Helblindi must know what had happened to Loki, and realized the same happened to the SHIELD agents, so he told his army to take care.

A few of the SHIELD agents were out on the field now, doing what they could from the ground.

But that kind of fight wasn't for everyone.

“Hey,” Steve said softly from across the room. He waited until Bruce glanced at him before he continued, “If you don't want to change, I understand. You can help out at the hospital with the rest of the SHIELD non-combatants. I'm sure they could use it.”

Bruce smiled, but as he turned back to his equipment he said, “I'll be fine. Tony says avoidance doesn't really help anyone, and suppression just makes things worse. Besides, surrounded by aliens and isolated from most civilians...I won't get a better chance to do this without hurting anyone who was just unlucky enough to get in the way.” He looked over his shoulder. “Keep me away from Loki and the others though, if you see them.”

Steve nodded. “Will do.”

Bruce bobbed his head in return, and Steve turned to push against the door with his shield again,waiting for the next wave.

Except Steve didn't hear the clump of feet on the stairwell. Instead, he heard the whine of the Chitauri skiffs from outside the tower, at least two, maybe three, growing closer. Followed by the sound of their canons going off.

Steve heard the impact as a screech of metal twisting and concrete crumbling. The ground shook, and Steve felt the floor begin to shift beneath him as the whole tower began to slope sideways.

“We need to go!” he yelled, abandoning the door and racing across the inexorably tilting floor towards Bruce, calculating the best way to leave that would keep them both intact. He nearly collided with Bruce when he met Steve in the middle of the room.

“Give this to Tony,” Bruce said, shoving a clunky grey box about the size of a radio into Steve's arms. Steve cradled it to his chest, and as the floor began to crumble under his feet, Bruce's skin darkened, his shirt split open, and Steve was encased between two huge arms and an equally huge, green chest. With a roar that vibrated against Steve's cheek and almost set his ears ringing, the Hulk pounded his way through disintegrating concrete until they were jumping through the open air, the sounds of the battle suddenly much clearer.

“Stark, I have something for you,” Steve said, his voice sounding rather muffled by the Hulk's arms.

“I should hope so,” Stark replied, his voice not just in Steve's comm but coming from above, and Steve glanced up to see Stark's red and gold armour streaking just above the Hulk. “Put him down, big guy,” Stark called down, and in a sing-song voice added, “Stevie has a present for me.”

The Hulk grunted and landed. He opened his arms long enough to let Steve stumble down, and then he was roaring as he bounded off, joining Thor to pound away at a second leviathan. Stark landed in the space the Hulk had just occupied.

“Give it,” Stark demanded, and Steve held the device out. Stark swiped it up and attached it to a plate on his shoulder.

A second later, he said, “Yikes.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.

At Steve's look, Stark corrected, “I mean, don't worry your pretty head about it, Captain Tightpants. I can work it out. Easy as pie. Or cake.”

He patted Steve on the shoulder, and then he was off again, looping around a skiff as he peppered it with repulsor blasts.

Trying hard not to sigh, Steve noticed Natasha and Clint bogged down near one of the guard towers, not far from the reactor.

“Thor,” he said as he ran towards the SHIELD agents, “let's figure out how to get your brother back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Someone tell those damned giants and space vikings in Moscow that they're on the same side,” Fury growled, stabbing at one of the screens, where he could see two giants and a small group of Æsir waving their spears and swords about and trying to throw each other into buildings.

Fury didn't know who started the fight, and he didn't particularly care, but while these people were defending his planet, they'd better start doing their jobs. They could work out their issues back on their own fucking planets, or in space for all he cared.

“I'm getting the Moscow military on the line now, Director,” Coulson said, a tablet in hand as he furiously punched buttons.

“I'll apprise the rest of Earth's forces to keep them as far apart as possible,” Hill said, grimacing as she strode over to the conference table.

Fury nodded at each in turn, though he didn't know how well gods and giants listened to “mortals” – outside of a few exceptions, and even then, Thor and Loki didn't seem too fond of Fury's command in the first place. He was pretty sure they saw his orders more as guidelines, at best.

At least the human troops could now act as a buffer, if needed. The London and Moscow military had arrived not long after the Jotnar, and both SHIELD and the American military had wasted no time in rolling out in New York. King T'Challa and his Wakandan forces had been even quicker to arrive in their downtown district, and SHIELD had not been in contact with Tokyo long before they deployed their military, along with their tentative new line of defence labelled Big Hero 6. Hong Kong had theirbeta robotic force, followed by the fledgling People's Defence Force flown in from Beijing.

And since SHIELD was so far the only one with information on all three of the species currently visiting their planet, most countries were at least willing to listen to Fury. If not always do as he proposed.

Fury was directing his attention to Antarctica, hoping for some progress, when a voice cut through his speakers.

“Director Fury.”

That was a voice Fury did not want to hear. Reluctantly, he brought up the Council's panel again. “Yes, Councilman Singh?” he asked. If they were going to bother him about the missile again, when he said he had it under control–

(The Avengers had better have it under control.)

“I thought the Asgardians and the – the Jotuns, yes? – were on the same side,” Councilman Singh said, a warning note in his voice.

It may not have been about the missile, but Fury still gritted his teeth. “If you read what we have of their history, you should know that the Æsir and the Jotnar have essentially been in a blood feud for the past few thousand years or so. For them, this restraint is admirable.”

“And they made our planet a testing ground for their alliance?” Councilwoman Hawley looked faintly incredulous.

Personally, Fury didn't think they had decided anything as formal as that. Looking down at the Council gravely, as if he hadn't been having the same disparaging thoughts minutes ago, he said, “For the most part, they have been cooperative. And it's the best we have.”

“Agreed, so long as they fight the enemy more than among themselves,” Councilman Pierce said, echoing Fury's thoughts, although Pierce could have been a bit more positive about it.

If what Thor had done to banish him here, and the shit Loki had gone through back on Asgard, was any barometer for what happened when Æsir and Jotnar came in contact, Fury thought they were doing very well. Considering.

“There's only been one disagreement that we've heard of so far,” he said shortly. “Most of the teams seem to be working together just fine.” Well, Wakanda, New York, and Tokyo seemed to be doing fine, and Tokyo only because there were so few Jotnar on the ground. “If you have anything to tell me that doesn't involve me telling thousand-year-old creatures what to do, I will be very happy to help.”

Fury dismissed their panel with a wave of his hand. If only gods and giants had any sort of long-range communication, then he could tell Thor and Helblindi to get their asses up to the Helicarrier and get their troops to cooperate. As it was, if they could get through the Chitauri ship on their own, they would hopefully bring this clusterfuck to an end before Asgard and Jotunheim started another war on Earth's soil. While the Chitauri were still here.

With a flick of his hand, Fury pulled up the feeds from Antarctica, and took stock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The body of the first leviathan had crashed into the forest, causing whatever birds still remained in the surrounding trees to take flight, cawing and croaking as they dispersed. Thor had been in the midst of calling down lightning on the second leviathan when a giant green creature joined him. In the few moments it took to recognize the creature as Bruce – the same features, if stretched, the same energy that once vibrated beneath the skin now on full display – he realized what Bruce's presence must mean.

Sure enough, Steve's voice sounded off in his ear as Thor turned away from Bruce smashing his fists into the leviathan's head.

“Thor, let's figure out how to get your brother back.”

If Thor thought impatience had lent strength to his arm before, now it thundered through his veins, boiling his blood like fire. Each swing felt harder, his heartbeat like hoof beats in his ears, almost like the berserkrgang was upon him.

The second leviathan did not take long to take care of. It too crashed into the trees, though the tail smashed into the fence, bringing down a section of the interlocking metal. But Thor was already leaping away. He coasted over the base, searching for the rest of the mortal team, when he noticed two skiffs swooping down on a huddle of Jotnar holding ice-shields above their heads – and in between them, the rescued SHIELD scientists running flat across the grass.

Thor growled and dived towards the skiffs. He smashed hammer-first into one, driving it into the path of the second. The second skiff spun out of control, and as the Chitauri flying the vehicle tried to level out, the one in the back re-aiming its turret, Thor knocked them both from their seats. Thor hovered for a moment, looking down at the troupe to assure himself none had been caught by debris–

And stopped cold when he recognized the Jotun in the lead.

As his mind whirled to catch up, Thor's eyes found the other two Jotnar guarding the humans. And he nearly dropped from the sky when he forgot to keep twirling Mjolnir, for it was not just the lead Jotun he recognized, but–

A suspicion crept up on Thor, and he glanced about the compound for all the Jotnar in sight. And cursed himself for not noticing before.

He had expected Helblindi, but not this.

With a thump, Thor landed just beside the lead Jotun. Before the group could stop, he blurted out, “Lady Skadi?” He stared up at the frost giant woman, one he had seen many times in Helblindi's company, and now toting a great shield of ice in one arm, a sword sprouting from her other. Behind her, Lady Menglöð andElder Skrýmir, both of whom he had only seen in Asgard's halls and meeting rooms, closed up rank. “Why are you and the diplomats not on Asgard?”

For all the Jotnar in the SHIELD base were the diplomats that Jotunheim had sent to Asgard, the ones that had still been in Asgard when Thor departed.

Lady Skadi grimaced down at him, sharp white teeth glinting in the sun. “Helblindi tells me it's a long story. Suffice to say, it's for Prince Loki.”

Thor was no less baffled than before. “I thank you for your protection, but your warriors could have–”

She shook her head. “No, Helblindi told me we needed to leave Asgard for now, for Loki.”

That helped even less, and Thor was about to ask another question that Skadi didn't seem to know how to answer, until he remembered what Helblindi said – there was something more he needed to speak to Thor about, and that it had something to do with delaying the Æsir reinforcements. Was this the same problem that Skadi spoke of?

What had happened in Asgard while Thor was gone?

And, he thought as a shiver of fear went through him, what had it to do with keeping Loki safe?

Whatever it was, Thor didn't have time for it. Not now, not when he was so close. But he couldn't rescue Loki now to thrust him into danger somewhere else.

“If you see Helblindi, tell him I want to know what's going on as soon as the Chitauri are no longer a threat,” Thor said, and leapt, searching for the rest of his team. It did not take long before he spotted them at another edge of the fence, where Natasha, Clint, and Steve fought one of the few remaining knots of grounded Chitauri next to what looked like a watchtower.

Thor knocked aside a skiff that was pestering them, and touched down beside Rogers, throwing Mjolnir at a couple of Chitauri as they rounded a corner. As Mjolnir returned to his hand, he saw Rogers' shield knock down a Chitauri warrior that had begun aiming its weapon at Thor.

“Thank-you, my friend,” he said.

“Just watching your back,” Rogers answered, panting slightly.

“You said that Bruce's work is done, yes? You can find the Tesseract?” Thor asked, his voice almost feverish in its intensity.

“Stark's got that covered, right Stark?” Steve said, looking up at the sky.

“Yup,” Tony's voice sounded in his ear. “No more yikes. Bruce did a fine job – remind me to tell him that when he de-Hulks.”

Thor glanced up, searching for the red and gold dot of Tony's suit, and discovered it soon enough – the sky was mostly clear of skiffs, Tony and Bruce clearing off the last few, and no more leviathans had made their way through the portal. It seemed the Chitauri were at a lull again – thankfully, or else Thor might regret leaving this base on its own, when only he, Stark, and Bruce's “Hulk” could take care of the creatures in the air. And he didn't know how long he would have to remain on the ship. For even if Thor found the Tesseract, that did not mean he would find Loki, or Jane and Erik, in the same place.

How long would Thor allow the portal to remain open while he searched? How long would it take him to secure the Tesseract and retrieve his brother and friends? How long–

“How long before your human leaders attempt to destroy the ship?” Thor asked, snapping his head around to look at the mortals.

“We've got just under three-quarters of an hour,” Natasha answered, barely glancing over her shoulder as she finished off the straggling Chitauri that Barton had missed.

Thor nodded, a spark of relief shooting through him. They may not have much time, but it should be enough (would be enough). “I do not know whether you have the fortitude to accompany me,” he said, “but if you are willing, I would be glad of your assistance to–”

“Loki!”

The booming shout came from somewhere to the right, past the tower's edge. By the time Thor registered it as Helblindi's voice, he was already scrambling towards its source, the humans following behind. He rounded the corner to see Helblindi rushing towards the tower, feet thundering over the ground, his wild and frantic eyes locked on something on top of the tower.

Thor followed his gaze, and his heart caught in his throat.

Leaning back against a strut and one leg dangling nonchalantly over the ground, Loki sat precariously on the tower's railing with his face turned to the sky. Then, as if he had sensed Thor's gaze, Loki looked down.

Even five stories down, Thor could see how pale Loki's face was, how bruised the skin around his eyes seemed to be.

Loki smiled, waved, and leapt off the tower onto a passing skiff.

All other thoughts fled from Thor's head.

“Loki!” he screamed, already chasing after his brother.

Chapter Text

“Shit,” Natasha said as she watched Thor fly off after Loki, ignorant to any passing Chitauri. And seemingly forgetting that he was headed right into enemy territory, on his own, without any but Stark who could actually reach him.

Then Helblindi thundered by, and without glancing down at Natasha, Clint, or Steve, he bounded up the watchtower's side. Ice formed handholds, and as soon as the Jotun reached the top, he leapt up almost as far as the Hulk and caught a skiff that had the misfortune of passing by.

Natasha didn't stay to watch Helblindi push the Chitauri off the skiff. She was already running towards a downed skiff halfway between the watchtower and the reactor, one she knew hadn't been destroyed after Stark had knocked the pilots off. If luck was with her, the thing had landed intact. “Clint,” she called over her shoulder, “it's Plan A.”

“I can see that,” Clint called back, his heavy footsteps sounding behind her as they crossed the grass.

“Wait, you had a plan and didn't tell me?” Steve asked. A glance behind Natasha's shoulder revealed Steve quickly outpacing Clint, sporting a disapproving frown on his face that put Coulson, Hill, and Fury combined to shame.

“Well, there were three plans – none of them very good,” Natasha answered as she reached the downed skiff, and hopped over the furrows of dirt left by its crash and into the pilot's side. “And I was going to get around to telling you when we had the chance.”

“Trust me, you don't want to know Plan B,” Clint grunted as he landed just behind her in the skiff while Steve swung into the back compartment.

“We'll talk about this later,” Steve said disapprovingly. Honestly, if they had him debrief disobedient agents, all of them would be shuffling their feet and turning red at the ears. As Natasha stared at the controls, Steve asked,“You think you can fly this thing?”

“Let's hope,” Natasha said. There were two pads, one on each side, and while there had been no shortage of Chitauri zooming about, it was hard to get a look at their controls when they tended to fly at least twenty feet above their heads. Natasha took a guess, and put her hand on the left one. The skiff immediately rose off the ground.

Okay. A lot easier than she had thought.

She gently rolled her hand up the left pad, and the skiff shot straight upward. Clint let out an undignified yelp, which he quickly turned into a grumble about smooth driving and how Natasha wasn't fond of it. Natasha ignored him. So, it seemed that left was height, and right must be steering. Placing both her hands down, she set her sight on the skiff that held Loki, already half-way to the portal.

“Hold on,” she warned, and she took off, wind whipping back her hair and inertia pulling back her lips from her teeth.

“You know,” Stark drawled across the comm, and Natasha spotted him, about a hundred meters behind Thor and a few seconds ahead of Helblindi's lopsided skiff. “I think it's great that you three want to help, but have you figured out the space bit? Because if you haven't noticed, you're going to cross some of it right after the portal there.”

“That's why–” Clint said, voice strained, followed by a grunt,“–We came prepared.”

As Natasha rolled her palm across the steering pad, urging the skiff faster, she knew Clint was reaching into the bag he had strapped to his back, just beside his quiver. Natasha had handed it off to him when they finished rescuing the trapped SHIELD scientists, since she need more manoeuverability than him out on the field. She also knew he would be pulling out three of the five helmets Natasha had stashed on the Quinjet before leaving, just in case; deflated, they looked like squished plastic beach balls, but once they inflated they were perfect for underwater excursions. Hopefully, they would function well enough in space.

Hopefully.

If not, Natasha figured the world was probably doomed anyway, unless Stark planned to shut down seven Tesseract portals while Thor and Helblindi saved their erstwhile little brother.

“I think we have a bigger problem than a bit of space,” Natasha said, fighting to make her words loud enough for the comm over the force of the wind. “Any ideas about how to get into the ship, Stark? Because I don't think we can wait for you or Thor to blow a hole in there.” Natasha felt a tap on her shoulder, and leaned back as Clint popped her helmet over her head, then pressed the button that sealed the helmet to her neck. It was uncomfortable – to the point where if she expanded her neck it felt like she was choking – but all in all it was better than explosive decompression. Although she had read that a few people had survived for up to a few minutes in a vacuum.

They also ended up unconscious and dehydrated for a few hours, which did not sound appealing in an alien invasion.

“Stark,” Steve ordered, “if your suit can handle it, you need to search the exterior–”

“Actually,” Stark interrupted, and his suit veered sharply far above them, “I don't think we'll have a problem getting in. They're giving our stolen sometimes-blue alien a nice big welcome.”

Natasha scanned the ship's underbelly, now eating up half the horizon. Sure enough, there was a dark circle growing about half-way across the ship's radius from the Tesseract's opening. As she adjusted the skiff's direction, Natasha watched as the opening grew larger before jerking to a halt.

Then the ship's edge blotted out the sun, like nature's most perfectly-formed cloud. It was only them on the skiff and the four above them, two skiffs and two human shapes silhouetted against the darkened opening in the ship. Natasha noticed how cold it had grown, and while she had sweat in her suit down in the jungle, here it chilled to her skin.

And she noticed how the pitch black space, between the blue of the portal's edge and the ship, spread wider and wider. It seemed to swallow up the ship and the Tesseract's blue streams of light emerging on all sides, as if it would swallow her too when she got close.

But that thought was rather terrifying, and she should keep her mind on flying and any Chitauri that may try to sneak up on them–

Except there weren't any Chitauri attacking them. They all kept to the base, and Natasha hadn't seen any close by since...Thor had thrown himself after Loki.

Just as Natasha saw Loki crossing over the barrier between Earth and space, it all fell together–

The Chitauri leader's raspy voice over Loki's comm, gleefully declaring that he had caught an Asgardian, brother of the king–

Thor crossed the line into space, then Stark.

In the phone call, Loki had asked about Thor and Asgard, and Loki had stayed on the line for Thor–

Helblindi flew past the line.

Loki, in the tower right above them, hadn't moved until he was sure Thor saw him. And Loki could teleport. Loki could turn invisible. If Loki hadn't wanted anyone to see him before Thor landed at the base of the tower–

“Oh crap,” she said, then her breath came out of her in a gasp as she flew Clint and Cap into space.

Her insides felt as if they wanted to become outsides. Everything was so cold, like her body was about to flash-freeze. And all around her, between the ship and the sky, was empty black glittering with stars.

If it wasn't so terrifying and painful, Natasha would call it beautiful.

It was only a second before her skiff rocketed through a shining, transparent film. The air warmed up, her body stopped being squeezed to death, and she nearly crashed into the ceiling of what could only be called a hanger bay.

Well, the skiff crashed, but Clint had grabbed her by the arm and she let go of the handles, both of them falling away as Clint fired an arrow at the ceiling. Grabbing onto his free arm while he clung to hers, Natasha caught sight of Steve jumping to the side with his shield held out, and as their skiff exploded on the vaulted grey ceiling, Clint swung her away.

In that swing, Natasha saw the whole of the hanger bay: the shining film below them that covered only half of the hanger, the hundreds of empty skiffs hovering about five deep around the hole, the various little tunnels and ledges around the edge of the hanger, and the one large rectangular opening at one end.

There was Steve, a streak of red and blue, diving neatly between a row of skiffs towards that rectangular doorway. There were Thor and Helblindi already on the ground, and as Natasha and Clint passed between the first row of skiffs, they were racing towards it as well.

Because there was Loki, slipping into its shadows and out of sight.

“I'm going to help Loki,” Steve shouted into the comm as he landed, shield skidding against the metal floor as it took his weight, before he rolled to his feet and followed the gods and giant. “You three take the Tesseract, and try to find doctors Foster and Selvig.”

“Roger Rogers. You two need a little help?” Stark's voice, for once, was quite welcome. So too was his metal hand wrapping around her wrist as their momentum ran out.

“Only because you asked nicely,” Clint answered, disengaging his grappling arrow while Stark took his weight.

“Listen, Cap,” Natasha said into her comm as Stark manoeuvered them between skiffs. “You need to warn Thor – Loki's leading him into a trap. If we aren't in it already.” And wouldn't that figure, if they had all conveniently flown themselves into a trap.

Steve took a sharp breath in, but it wasn't him who answered.

“It matters not,” Thor's voice rumbled, to Natasha's surprise – he'd said so little so far, she hadn't thought he'd heard. “I will not come this far to leave him.”

“No one's asking you to do that,” Steve cut in quickly.

“Just don't do anything stupid,” Natasha warned. Even though she knew it was a hopeless cause. With two different brothers chasing after Loki, along with a paragon of justice and goodness, it would be amazing if something stupid didn't happen.

Not that stupid didn't sometimes work.

The comm clicked off as Stark set them down just outside the ring of skiffs. “So, we've got some good news,” Stark said, landing beside them with a thump. “First, we've got breathable air, lucky for our missing scientists. Second, Bruce's Tesseract-sniffer works, however–” He turned his faceplate to the hanger's ceiling, “–I think we're going up.”

Natasha glanced up as well, where there were various chutes and tunnels embedded in the grey metal. Probably just fine for a Chitauri, but not for a human who couldn't fly.

“Oh boy,” Clint grumbled. “I hope this is better than using Thor.”

“I doubt it,” Natasha said, her stomach already fluttering in anticipation of the ride.

“Ready, Bird Brain and Miss Rush-manoff?” Stark asked, holding out his arms.

“For invading an alien spaceship?” Natasha drew close enough so he could wrap a hand around her waist, and she sincerely hoped Stark knew better than trying to cop a feel when the world was at stake.

Reluctantly letting Stark's other arm close around his waist, Clint sighed, “As we'll ever be.”

“Then thank-you for flying Stark-air, and hold on.”

They rocketed upwards, the hanger bay floor falling away, until they entered a tunnel with the sound of Stark's repulsors in Natasha's ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I'm telling you, it was the Jotnar who took it!” Hœnir was nearly snarling.

“And I'm telling you the Jotnar are not in Asgard!” Frey responded hotly, fists balled at his sides.

“Neither are most of our warriors. Do you think that only a coincidence?” Yngvi retorted, waving his arms wide.

Tyr broke in, his one remaining hand stroking his beard contemplatively. “There is some merit to your claim. Who else would know our warriors are helping the mortals on such short notice?”

“Yet the point is moot,” Frigga interjected, wanting to bang Gungnir against the floor as Odin used to, if it would get them to all shut up. “For there are no Jotnar in Asgard to take it.”

When Frigga had first briefly sensed the Destroyer emerge, she had been overseeing the troop placement, and so had not been able to see the intruder from the Hliðskjálf. Instead, she had sent a guard to check the interior of the vault. When it was discovered the Casket was missing, the news began to spread about the palace before it even reached Frigga's ears.

She had been headed down to the Destroyer when the first councillors had ambushed her, flocking from different corners of the palace and half of them frothing in rage, and in the interest of discretion she had turned to the throne room to talk.

And she had known where accusing fingers would point to first.

“My Queen, have you forgotten how the frost giants entered the palace before?” Yngvi turned to her, his face flushed with anger and eyebrows raised in incredulity that such a fact may have slipped her mind.

It was Freya, who answered with a scoff, “That entrance is guarded. The workings of the pathway are too obvious to be concealed from our warriors stationed there.”

“At the entrance that we know of,” Hœnir growled.

“But we do not know if they have truly left to help the humans,” the Grand Vizier added, his face sour. “They could play at it for a time, letting us take care of the Chitauri while they wait to reclaim the Casket, before attacking Midgard once more. Or us.”

Faces turned to the Grand Vizier, seriously considering his words. Frigga had to bite her tongue on the first response that came to mind.

Because while the council had heard one version of Helblindi's parting speech, where he claimed his diplomats were fatigued and needed a short break on Jotunheim, Frigga had been privy to another.

He had drawn her aside just before his announcement in the king's reception chamber, and before the rest of the council arrived.

Crouching down to her head level, Helblindi had looked oddly furtive as he said, “I know I have not the authority to demand this, but I must ask...when you find Loki, do not send your warriors to him.”

Frigga sighed, though she gave him a sympathetic look. “I know you worry for him, but Thor and I have trained some of the Einherjar specifically to keep Loki safe. And you know that Thor will try to rescue Loki – I cannot leave my sons unprotected.”

“I will protect them,” Helblindi insisted. “Myself and the rest of my diplomats.” And while Frigga had expected Helblindi to ask to defend Loki, she had not expected the others to join. She gave Helblindi a questioning look, and Helblindi hesitated at first.

“We...” he began, his red eyes sliding away for a moment, but when they met hers again they were stalwart. “Yesterday, after meeting with you, I departed to Jotunheim and gained my father's permission for this battle. Because while Asgard has done much to harm our people, there is harm our own people have done as well.”

Immediately Frigga's heart jumped in horror, and she thought she understood. “Oh no, Helblindi,” she gasped, laying a hand on his arm, “I know both our realms have done wrong, but you don't have to throw your people into battle–” And for Laufey to agree to send his son down–

“No, this isn't for Asgard,” Helblindi interrupted, shaking his head vehemently. “I meant for Midgard.”

Frigga blinked in surprise, taken aback. She had not even considered Midgard – surely the realm had long forgotten the war, since they had long forgotten Jotunheim's and Asgard's people as well. And yet...

“I understand the sentiment,” she said when she regained her voice. “And you feel this your duty, then I consent to you bringing them to Midgard. But I must warn you, my council will not allow Thor to be guarded solely by Jotnar.”

“I know, I–” Helblindi ducked his head. “I simply ask for a delay.”

“I can, but why–” she began to ask, when the door opened behind her. They both turned to see Frey, Freya, and Tyr filing in.

“Be wary,” Helblindi whispered, before straightening and inclining his head in greeting to the councillors. Frigga quickly smoothed over the shock from Helblindi's warning into a polite smile. Yet her mind spun.

Wary? For Loki's sake? Was Helblindi simply frightened like her, that one of her subjects may decide to harm Loki again? Or did Helblindi know something she didn't?

She hadn't had time to ask then, as the rest of the council trailed in, gathering close for Helblindi's announcement. If the Norns allowed, when this was over, Helblindi would tell her all he knew. And Frigga wouldn't find out firsthand what threatened Loki's safety.

Frigga turned her attention back to the present, to her councillors who had begun muttering to themselves after the Grand Vizier voiced his suspicions.

This time, Frigga did bang Gungnir against the ground, and the sound of the spear resounded about the room. By instinct, the councillors ceased their murmurings and looked to her. Calmly, but firmly, Frigga said, “Heimdall has reported all of Jotunheim's warriors aiding the humans against the Chitauri.” And some skirmishes with Asgard's troops, but she would save that information for later. “None have harmed any mortal. And–” She glared at the Grand Vizier, who had opened his mouth, probably with some new conspiracy or other about Jotunheim's dastardly plans. “Unless the Jotnar have figured out how to remain hidden from the Destroyer, going so far as to make it retreat, I think their hand in this is unlikely.”

Except Frigga could think of one Jotun that could be blamed. One who knew how to walk the palace, invisible from even Heimdall, and could bypass any security on the vault.

She knew Loki had remained sheltered from the Destroyer's gaze all these years because of his glamour and title as Prince. However, the Destroyer would still respond to a Jotun in the vaults; the Casket's touch could be enough to reveal Loki's skin and bring the Destroyer forth, just as releasing the Casket would be enough to send the Destroyer into retreat when it recognized the Prince of Asgard. And Loki probably knew more than one or even two entrances into Asgard.

Of course, the council did not know it was Loki who let the Jotnar into the vault in the first place. Frigga didn't know if that was a stroke of luck or not, now.

“I will go to the vault and access the Destroyer's memories,” she continued, looking at them each in turn, gaze lingering on the three most vocal dissenters. “Perhaps it caught sight of the intruders and will settle this matter for us, before we jump to hasty conclusions.”

There were murmurs of agreement, though from the satisfaction on several faces, she guessed it was because they thought they would be proven right soon enough.

Before Frigga could make it to the door, though, Hœnir blocked her path. “My Queen,” he said, “if there is even the slightest hint that the Jotnar are at fault, surely you agree we must ensure King Thor is covered by our own warriors.” He spoke as if he was trying to convince her of reason, like she was a child who knew nought about war.

Frigga stared down her nose at him, despite the couple of inches he had on her. “I do agree Thor must have the protection of his men,” she said. “That is why I have already ordered Heimdall to send down the chosen warriors.” Rather, after Heimdall had reported Loki had departed Midgard's surface, along with Thor, she had ordered them down as soon as possible.

And then Heimdall lost sight of them, beyond the portal's edge. Where they had but Helblindi and a handful of mortals, to aid them.

“Now excuse me, Lord Hœnir, but I have urgent duties to attend to,” she said, stepping past him. She strode out the doors and down the halls to the vault, alone.

Frigga did not know whether she would have preferred company, for her thoughts were a storm.

No matter what she found in the Destroyer's memories, nothing good could come of it. If it truly was Loki who had taken the Casket, then there was the question of what Loki's captors were using it for. And how they planned to use Loki further. Not to mention, how she would explain Loki's break-in to the council.

If it had been the Jotnar, ones not loyal to Helblindi or his promises, then that would spell the end of peace between the two realms. Even Thor and Helblindi wouldn't be able to save it. Especially not if Laufey was behind the act.

And if it was someone else, some unknown enemy who took the Casket for their own unknown purposes, then it meant another enemy for Asgard to face. One powerful and knowledgeable enough to slip past all their protections, taking advantage of the realm's distraction.

As Frigga opened the doors to the vault and headed to the Destroyer, she was uncertain which outcome she preferred.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The farther Stark flew them from the hanger bay, the less the Chitauri appeared from out of nowhere, chittering and screaming at them. Clint figured it was because most were already on Earth.

He really, really hoped it wasn't because they were all camped out around the Tesseract. But he wouldn't put it past the universe to fuck up this plan even more.

The few the Chitauri did encounter were either quickly pinned by one of his arrows, or shot down by Natasha. Although since her pistols had run out of ammo a while back, she'd taken a dead Chitauri's energy stick. Glancing back to see her blow away a Chitauri trying to sneak up on their tail, Clint had to say it an improvement.

Stark must have thought so too, because he whistled. “I need to take one of the those home,” he said as Clint turned his attention back to the front. Natasha had taken the rear, both of them awkwardly positioned in Stark's arms. Clint personally thought he had the worst of it, because it was incredibly difficult to string and fire a bow with an arm clamped around his waist. At least the damn helmet was no longer throwing off his aim – they'd taken those off in case the things got damaged, and ended up more completely screwed than they already were.

“Hey Romanoff,” Stark said, “wanna bring that back to the lab for me – and oh look, this is our stop.” Without further ado, Stark rammed his suit to a halt barely a couple of metres away from a door, giving Clint whiplash. Because of course Stark didn't have to worry about little breakable human things like that in his nigh-indestructible suit.

Not for the first time, Clint wondered what the hell he was doing here.

“If we survive,” Natasha was saying as she jumped gracefully to the ground, “you can take the stick back there yourself.”

“Little more warning next time, 'k?” Clint groaned, falling rather less gracefully out of Stark's arm and rubbing his neck. Shaking the sore spots in his arms and legs, he joined Natasha in inspecting the door. It was about ten feet by ten feet, a dull grey just like the rest of the ship, and thicker than the Helicarrier's hull. And hopefully breakable.

“Can you blast it open?” Natasha asked, eyes flickering between the door and Stark.

“We're kind of screwed if you can't,” Clint said, echoing her thoughts. As Stark clunked his way over, Clint turned and set his bow at the ready, taking over watching the rear.

“Let's see...” Stark paused. It was a very long pause. A long enough pause that a tiny chip of fear rose in his gut – a fear he'd been holding in since he heard about those seven portals opening up. Clint envisioned them chipping endlessly at the door while they were swarmed by Chitauri, dead at the Tesseract's door while the Chitauri overran the Earth. He saw them reaching for the Tesseract, only to be struck dead before they managed to stop it. He saw them, the blue portal receding into stars once the Chitauri forces had crossed over, all of them too late and stuck–

Stuck here.

“Quick question...” Clint said slowly, lowering his bow as he turned back to face Natasha and Stark. “Once we get those portals closed...any idea how we can all actually get back? Because I don't think these things close on a timer.”

Stark's metal head jerked, the faceplate giving away nothing, but Natasha stared back at him with eyes that meant she'd already considered the question. And didn't like the answer.

“We'll think of something,” Stark said eventually, as if he didn't particularly want to think about it either. He swivelled back to the door and raised his arm. “First, we have to get that thing open. And the only way to find out–”

“Wait.” Natasha put one hand on his arm before he could fire, her face drawn. “What else is in there, other than the Tesseract?”

“Umm...” Stark stared at the door. “Two humans, or human enough–”

“Foster and Selvig,” Clint guessed. Thank God – those two had kind of grown on him, even if Selvig could be a bit of a bastard, and most of his contact with Foster was through surveillance.

“And then there's ten other non-humans,” Stark finished off. “Which wasn't too bad, but...not exactly ideal.

Natasha nodded, and as she reached into her belt she said, “I'll get to the scientists first. You think the Chitauri have ears?”

Stark's helmet twisted towards her. “Do I what?”

Clint glanced back to see Nat holding SHIELD's own special version of a flashbang. He caught her eyes and shared a grin with her. “I dunno,” he snorted, “with the noises those aliens make, they could be deaf just to shut out that awful chittering. They've got eyes at least.”

“Might as well be on the safe side,” Natasha said, shrugging.

“That's always the better one,” Clint agreed. He hoped the alien bastards had extra-sensitive eyes, or whatever passed for them.

“Alright, back up, guys and gals,” Stark said, waving his arms at them. “Minimum safe distance and all.”

The three of them retreated down the corridor, until Stark stopped. “Ready?” he asked.

Clint and Natasha nodded, and Natasha put a hand to her comm. “Cap and Thor, we've reached the Tesseract's room and we're heading inside.”

“Go, go!” Cap shouted, as if he was too busy to talk. Thor didn't reply. Clint hoped that only meant he was too caught up thinking about his brother to do a normal mortal thing like talk over the comm. And not something much worse.

“You heard the man.” Stark aimed his wrist at the door, and a small missile popped out. Quickly, Clint and Nat hunkered behind Stark, using his armour as a shield. “Let's go.”

He fired.

Chapter Text

Loki slipped around corners, flitted down hallways and up twisting flights of stairs, never quite leaving Thor's sight.

If Natasha hadn't already guessed that this was a trap, Thor would have had his suspicions by now, because if Loki didn't wish to be pursued he would have thrown Thor off long ago. Loki could have concealed himself from sight, or sent Thor after an illusion – for all Thor knew, he was chasing a illusion. And Loki knew Thor would follow anyway.

He knew Thor didn't have a choice.

Thor only regretted leading the Captain into this. Unlike Helblindi, neither blood, bond, nor even the hope of new brotherhood drove him after Loki.

Yet when Thor had shouted back at the mortal, telling him to return to his friends, Steve had declined. Voice crackling through the comm, Steve said, “If this really is a trap, then we'd better give them something they don't expect. Besides, your physicists might be there – someone needs to help them out while you two deal with Loki.”

Though Thor knew it was selfish to wish for more aid when the Tesseract was at stake, he did not argue. He was grateful for Steve's loyalty – and his speed. Despite being a mortal, Steve still kept pace with Helblindi. Both trailed a few meters back from Thor, Helblindi at a crouch as the corridors were a few feet shorter than him, while Steve kept his shield strapped to his back the odd helmet he had worn on the way to the ship dangling at his belt.

They followed after Thor rather than Loki himself, the four of them striking a delicate balance like they were playing a child's game of chase-me.

Thor should have realized the balance would topple sooner rather than later.

After racing down a short stretch of hall Loki took a sharp turn, and for one heart-stopping second, Thor lost sight of him. Dread filling his stomach – that Loki had taken the moment to slip away, and all Thor would find would be empty corridors – Thor put on a burst of speed. He nearly careened into the walls of the ship as he spun around the corner into a junction that split off three other passages.

And there was Loki, in the passage just ahead of him – not gone, not vanished into thin air. Ignoring Steve and Helblindi calling him, Thor rushed forward into a wide, circular room. As soon as Thor crossed the threshold, his mind registered that Loki had stopped in the centre of the room.

Then something slammed shut behind him.

Thor stumbled to a halt. A faint buzz filled the air, along with an abrupt silence in one of his ears.

The ear with his comm.

Calling Mjolnir to his hand, Thor glanced over his shoulder at the thick door blocking the entrance; the metal glowed faintly with energy pulsing through it, while Steve's and Helblindi's muffled voices just barely seeped through it. If Mjolnir could pierce through the metal in time–

He lifted his hammer to do just that, when a guttural voice snarled, “Do not move, King of Asgard.”

Thor knew that voice.

And it filled him with rage.

Thor snapped his head back around. The room, Thor noticed through red-tinged vision, had high-set windows covering the far side, looking into the depths of space and towards an enormous ship suspended between the stars. Against the sides of the room were numerous panels and consoles, with screens looking on different scenes from the ship as well as what looked like the Chitauri skiffs.

And next to Loki, with red mouth open in a grin and eyes swathed in thick leather, stood the Chitauri leader. One thick-fingered hand held the sceptre, and the other rested possessively on the back of Loki's neck.

Thor's hand tightened on Mjolnir. He took in Loki's rumpled clothes, gaunt skin, and dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes – those eyes themselves, a brilliant electric blue, and staring at Thor as if he was only a passing interest.

But when Loki's blue eyes flickered to the Chitauri, there was devotion in their depths, so strong it could have been called love. It was a look Thor could only rarely remember seeing on his brother's face, sometimes directed towards Father, more often towards Mother, and – when Loki let his masks fall – towards Thor.

It had no place being directed to this creature.

“Release my brother and all the humans under your sway,” Thor growled, Mjolnir thrumming under his hand. “Call your warriors into retreat from Midgard, return the Tesseract, and surrender. Then I promise Asgard will be merciful to your people.”

The Chitauri only laughed. It sounded like pieces of gravel rubbing against each other. “I think not, Asgard's Allfather,” the creature sneered, and the title jolted through Thor like a shock from Mjolnir, before he had mastered her power. He had never once thought of himself as 'Allfather'. That title had always belonged to his father.

If the Chitauri noticed Thor's surprise, it did not show.“Why would I deign to return the Tesseract to Asgard?” he spat. “Why return it to that bloated realm and let its power go to waste?” He shook his head. “No, King of Asgard, the Space Stone will remain with us here.”

The creature drew closer, Loki never once leaving his side, and Thor backed away along the side of the wall. So long as Thor avoided the creature's hands and sceptre, he was sure it would not take much effort to kill the Chitauri; the only way he had taken Loki was through surprise, and the Chitauri would not find that here.

Yet the way Loki stood by the Chitauri, the way Loki looked at him, Thor doubted his brother would let any harm come the Chitauri's way. And Thor had less confidence in his ability to fend off both, without hurting Loki as well.

“Is that what you want?” Thor asked, stalling as he tried to think of a way to safely take out Loki. Throwing Mjolnir might kill him, crush his ribs against his lungs before Thor could get him to a Healer. A lighting strike, perhaps? But that would take time, and Loki could always attack before Thor was ready. “More power? You will doom your people under Asgard's might–” Then, thinking of Jotunheim, Thor added, “–and the might of any other of the Nine Realms that you have offend.”

“The Nine Realms? Those stagnated worlds?” the Chitauri scoffed. “They have been blessed with a power that they have no ambition to use. We know of the relics caged in Asgard and beyond, gathering dust while the rest of us toil away simply to survive. Your kind do not deserve such gifts.” He levelled the staff at Thor, red mouth now pulled up in a terrible smile. “So you, Allfather, will help us take them.”

Thor looked down at the staff and its glowing blue gem, and with a lurch of disgust he realized the meaning behind the trap. He had expected to put himself in danger, to be swarmed by Chitauri warriors, with Loki as bait to lead him headfirst into a fight to the death – not to be turned into a puppet, made to conquer and kill his own people. To help the Chitauri in their mad plans against other worlds, far from the Nine Realms.

Like Loki, forced to trail behind the creature for all eternity.

“You believe I will let my mind be taken so easily? That I will allow you to take me and my brother? Or the realms?” Thor growled, deep in his throat. “You are truly mad, creature.”

Slowly Thor moved one foot behind him, his heel meeting the metal wall, and he held his hammer at the ready, tensing for an attack. “But if you wish for a fight, you will have one. And you and your people will regret ever setting foot on Midgard,” Thor rumbled, and lighting flickered over Mjolnir's uru head.

“No.” The Chitauri dropped his hand from Loki's neck, and stepped behind Loki's back. To ensure Thor could not harm him without also harming Loki, Thor guessed. The coward. “I do not believe we will.”

Loki's left hand flicked, and a long, wickedly sharp dagger appeared in his grasp. Thor recognized it and another wave of rage overtook him. It was one Father had gifted Loki for his coming-of-age day. For its use to be so perverted–

Yet Loki only matched Thor's gaze with another impassive stare, then briefly glanced to the Chitauri leader. He nodded.

Loki raised his dagger high–

And drove it through the middle of his own hand.

Thor's stomach twisted and Mjolnir nearly fell from loose fingers as Thor stared and stared – stared at the dagger's hilt embedded in the back of Loki's right hand, inches of its bloody silver emerging from his palm. Through the sound of blood rushing in his ears, Thor could hear Loki's strangled gasp of pain.

Wrenching his gaze from Loki's hand, Thor looked to his face to see Loki's blue eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. And yet his grip on the dagger remained sure.

“Release your hammer, King of Asgard,” the Chitauri hissed, mouth still stretched in a horrible grin. “Swear to surrender. And this,” he gestured to Loki, to the dagger, “will stop.”

Thor watched, his throat clenching in fear, as Loki slowly twisted the dagger in his hand, droplets of red splashing onto the deck.

Then, painfully, he drew his gaze back to the Chitauri, and shook his head. “No, I–” Thor's voice cracked, and he swallowed before continuing, “I cannot.”

Thor could not sacrifice himself at the expense of the realms. Loki would heal. Thor would defeat the Chitauri, and Loki would heal.

Ignoring his shaking hands, ignoring the way he was not sure he could kill the Chitauri without crippling Loki, ignoring how he did not have a plan, Thor raised his hammer.

In one swift motion, Loki withdrew the dagger and plunged it into his wrist, a hiss escaping between clenched teeth. And Thor faltered, “No,” escaping from him in a strangled gasp.

The Chitauri laughed. “If you make any move towards us, I assure you, your brother will not hesitate to take the knife to his own throat. Or–” He raised the blade of his sceptre to Loki's neck. “I can.”

A thin trickle of blood made its way down Loki's neck from the edge of the blade. Loki only lifted his chin, presenting his neck to the sceptre. “I would prefer the both of you alive, as well as those two behind the door.” The Chitauri nodded his head to the entrance, and Thor felt another jolt of fear in his stomach, for he had not thought he would lead Helblindi and the Captain into this kind of threat. If only they had left, rejoining the other mortals in finding the Tesseract and keeping their minds safe–

“You will all make fine additions to the new army,” the Chitauri continued, as Loki twisted the blade in his wrist, drenching the end of his sleeve in red. “Though I could do without this one–” the sceptre dug in a bit further, “–if I had to. So release your hammer, King of Asgard. Swear on your life, and your brother's life, to surrender.”

Thor watched, frozen, as Loki carved his arm from wrist to elbow, sleeve splitting apart under the knife as blood pooled on the floor. Loki's legs were shaking, his breath came in out sharp pants, his face was drawn. And yet in his eyes, underneath the pain, shone a calm, determined light – the same light Thor had seen countless times on his brother's eyes, out on quests where they both knew the next step was dangerous. But Loki would never falter to take it, no matter how much Thor protested.

Thor couldn't let himself be taken. He could not sacrifice the rest of the realms, the rest of the galaxy, to the Chitauri's mad quest because of his brother. He could still kill the Chitauri, and end the war. He could be across the room before the creature had a chance to use the sceptre's power.

But Loki would be dead. And Thor would be the cause of it.

(Like Thor had caused Father's death.)

There had to be something, anything he could do.

(Would Father have done it? Loki's life for the rest?)

“I will not give myself up to you. I will not let you take my mind,” Thor said softly, looking his brother in the eye and trying to ignore how the dagger's silver tip showed through the other end of Loki's arm, how he could see Loki shaking even from metres away. Tears were pricking at Thor's eyes and choking his throat. Loki was losing blood, too much blood from the way it streamed down his arm and pooled on the ground.

(Loki will heal, Loki will heal, just as he had healed from his wounds in the dungeon. When this was over, when Loki was back on Midgard or Asgard or wherever he chose to be, Loki would heal.)

Then he flicked his gaze back to the Chitauri. “Stop this – this cowardly ploy. He cannot fight back.” Thor was nearly pleading now, and he hated having to stoop so low beneath such a creature. But he could not go forward with either choice. “He cannot stop himself.”

The Chitauri only laughed again – except this time he was joined by another.

“Cowardly?” Loki said with a breathless chuckle. “Really now, Thor, most of this was my plan.”

Thor's head jerked back, and he watched with horror as a shaky but pleased smile spread across Loki's face. Those blue eyes were glazed with happiness, pain, and pride.

“He is quite useful to us,” the Chitauri said gleefully. “But if you truly will not come with us, Allfather, then unfortunately we must rid him of one of those more...useful attributes.”

“What do you–” Thor began to ask.

Loki drew the bloody dagger from his arm. And stuck the tip of it in his mouth.

Next to the base of his tongue.

Thor's breath froze, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Loki glanced back at the Chitauri.

The creature began to nod.

“NO!” Thor shouted.

The two looked back towards him, the dagger still in Loki's mouth. The edge of his lip was bleeding.

Thor tossed Mjolnir to the side, and it skidded across the room, coming to a halt against a wall. He fell to his knees and held out his hands, supplicating, as he looked up to the Chitauri. “Please, don't.” Now Thor was truly begging. “Just – please, make him stop. Do not let him–”

Do not let Loki take his silver tongue, his lone weapon when all else failed. His voice, his words.

Thor would not take that from his brother.

Loki would not heal from that wound.

“I will do as you ask,” Thor said, blinking back tears. He did not wish to weep in front of this creature. “Just make Loki stop.”

Carefully, the Chitauri drew forward, sceptre held at the ready. “You surrender?”

Thor nodded, his eyes still on Loki. “Yes, I – I surrender.”

Loki removed the dagger from his mouth, and though Loki kept the blade near his throat, Thor still breathed a sigh of relief.

The Chitauri noticed, and smirked. “I could force you to do my bidding simply by making your beloved brother bleed, couldn't I?”

Thor's hands curled into fists, and he glared balefully up at the creature, but he said nothing.

“But this is much less wasteful,” the Chitauri drawled, drawing closer. “You swear this is no trick? You swear to not fight back? For if you do,” he snarled, “your brother will cut off more than his own tongue.”

The creature stopped, sceptre levelled at Thor, and Thor realized the creature was afraid – afraid of Thor's power, afraid of what Thor might do to the Chitauri if the creature drew too close and Thor was not effectively cowed . He needed reassurance.

But the creature had chosen his threats well.

Thor bowed his head.

Loki would probably think Thor a complete idiot for this, would berate Thor with his sharp tongue – What in the Nine were you thinking, Thor? What fool thought was running through that thick head of yours–

Loki would have found a way out, come up with some clever solution to save Thor and himself.

But Thor did not have Loki by his side.

“I...I swear,” Thor said slowly, voice on the verge of cracking, and knowing that this was the wrong choice. Every step he could take would be the wrong choice. He only hoped that Helblindi and the Captain would be able to defeat him once the Chitauri took control. Or run while they still had the time and warn Asgard and Midgard, for Heimdall could not see beyond the scope of the Nine realms; the Chitauri's ship would be beyond him. And if none knew of what the Chitauri had done, then the creature would have Thor's authority as King – no, Allfather of the Nine Realms.

All for Loki's sake.

Staring at Loki's expectant blue eyes, despair beating through his heart, Thor swallowed and said, “I swear. Do it and be done–”

Then several things happened at once.

Loki shouted, “Master, look!” and to Thor's left there was the screeching sound of metal breaking, accompanied by the return of static in one of Thor's ears, and a silencing of that oppressive buzz. In the cold blast of air that followed, Thor heard Steve shouting, “It worked!”, Helblindi snarling, the Chitauri leader screaming, and as Thor raised himself onto one knee, a chunk of frostbitten metal skittering across the floor in front of him.

As if – Thor thought as he launched himself towards the centre of the room – the door had been weakened by the cold of Helblindi's touch until one strong blow could shatter it; he would have to ask how they dealt with the energy field around the door later.

Thor lunged forward, and there was the sound of an energy blast behind him, along with a bright blue light. As Thor crashed into Loki's knees, sending them both to the ground, the blast of energy from the sceptre ricocheted by and into a console at the back of the room. In Thor's ear, Natasha's voice said, “Cap and Thor, we're heading to take back the Tesseract.”

“Go, go!” Cap shouted. Thor did not answer. He was crawling forward over Loki's body, ignoring how his legs were smearing Loki's blood across the floor, ignoring the sounds of the battle going on just behind him. Instead, Thor focused on his brother's snarling face and the blood-stained dagger he was stabbing towards Thor's shoulder.

Thor blocked Loki's wrist with his forearm, then circled his fingers around his brother's wrist, forcing the hand to the side. Loki's grip loosened and Thor seized the dagger, only to have Loki's bloodied other hand shoved in his face. It grabbed weakly at Thor's chin, trying to push him away, though it lacked the strength to do any real damage.

Yet when Loki's blood smeared across Thor's face and lips, when the sharp, overwhelming smell of iron hit his nose, when Thor could feel the ragged hole Loki had made in his own palm brushing against his mouth, Thor flinched back as nausea burned in his stomach.

Loki grinned. Before Thor could recover, Loki's left hand glowed gold, and a burst of magic sent Thor flying backwards.

As Thor crashed against the floor, he saw Steve flung across the room, landing on a screen with an explosion of sparks, as Helblindi swiped at the Chitauri with an ice-encased hand. Then Thor was scrambling to his feet, shoving Loki's dagger into his belt with out hand and reaching out the other to summon Mjolnir from where he had flung her against the wall.

All Thor needed to do was knock Loki out. That's what the mortals had claimed had worked on the other humans – it had to work on Loki.

But as Mjolnir answered Thor's call, Loki twisted his hands. Thor expected another dagger to appear between.

What emerged instead was the Casket of Ancient Winters.

It immediately sagged in Loki's hands, his injured one unable to support its weight, until Loki wrapped it in his arms against his chest.

Thor could only gape. What was the Casket doing here? Why did Loki have it?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Mjolnir smacked into Thor's open palm and Loki opened the Casket on Thor.

Ice flooded across Thor's chest, the cold forcing the air from his lungs in a gasp. Thor knew he had to move, now, now before the ice trapped him. But his legs weren't responding, and when Thor tried to spin Mjolnir into flight, all he managed was a sluggish twist of his wrist. He glanced at his arm and saw the ice already creeping across his hand, freezing Mjolnir in his grasp where it could do no harm.

Cold began crawling up his throat, and Thor felt panic rising with the ice. He would be frozen, unaware, unable to move or fight as the Chitauri took his mind, forcing him to stand beside Loki in a twisted parody of brotherhood, serving the same master in his mad plans–

The ice stopped at his chin.

Breath shallow from the ice constricting his chest, body attempting to shiver in its narrow confines, Thor saw Loki with blue patterned skin, his red eyes marbled with the glowing blue of the sceptre's stone. And out of the corner of his eye, Thor could see Helblindi standing as if he had been frozen as well, mouth gaping and wide eyes fixed on Loki.

On the Casket.

Then the Chitauri blasted Helblindi with the sceptre, and the Jotun stumbled, going down to one knee as he clutched his side.

The Chitauri whirled on Thor, and before Thor could blink, in a blur of movement the creature stood before Thor. Raising the sceptre, the creature said over his shoulder, “Good job, pet.”

A wave of disgust overcame Thor as he saw Loki preen at the praise, even while swaying slightly and clutching the Casket lopsidedly. The disgust was quickly replaced by a lurch of white-hot fear as the creature slammed the butt of his sceptre into the ice covering Thor's chest. Chunks of the ice broke off.

This was worse than giving himself over for Loki's sake. This was pure helplessness.

Desperately, as the Chitauri lifted his spear for another blow, Thor tried to move under the ice, to flex his muscles, to do something, anything.

A bright blue, red, and white shield bounced off the back of the Chitauri's head. A figure in blue, red, and white snatched the shield on the rebound and launched himself at the creature's back. The Chitauri growled and swung the staff at Steve, who backed out of the way of its tip. Then Thor saw Loki rushing towards the Captain, Casket held at the ready.

“Steve!” Thor shouted through chattering teeth with what little breath was in his lungs. Steve ducked another swing of the sceptre and twisted his head to see the Casket prepared to release another flood of ice.

With a roar, Helblindi barrelled into Loki, sending him staggering closer to Thor. The Casket nearly fell from Loki's arms as the blast of ice went wide, shattering a piece of equipment on the ceiling. Even as he regained his balance, Loki was swaying, his legs shaking so much it was a wonder he still stood upright, but still he tried to back up.

Helblindi was quicker.

As Loki stumbled backwards, Helblindi reached out and laid his great blue hands over Loki's. And over the Casket.

Helblindi did not pull the Casket from Loki's grasp, as Thor expected; he held his hands steady, enclosing Loki's hands and the Casket, no matter how much Loki struggled to free himself.

“The Chitauri may have taken your mind, little brother,” Helblindi rumbled, soft enough that Thor barely heard him, “but Jotunheim will keep your soul safe.”

With body numbed and a strange haze over his vision, Thor wondered if the ice prevented him from grasping what Helblindi meant. As he turned the sentence over in his mind, a green glow sparked in the depths of the Casket. And one of Loki's red, marbled blue eyes, turned a bright, shining green.

Loki gasped.

Chapter Text

Jane kept an eye on the Tesseract's readings, a calibration pad provided by her bosses in one hand, and the other on her console; on the other side of the room, Erik was doing the same – not that Jane could see him. The Tesseract's beam pretty much blotted him out.

It was amazing, really, how the Chitauri engineered the ship for such a large output from the Tesseract in such a contained space. All seven beams surged from the centre of the chamber to their respective tunnel, flooding the chamber in a beautiful, blue-purple light. Six streams of power arched high over Jane's head, while the seventh was pointed downward, through the hole in the control chamber's centre, the atmosphere field keeping the chamber from becoming a vacuum. The cube itself was suspended in the centre of the chamber, the metal struts supporting it glowing a deep purple in tune with the Tesseract's energy.

Simply amazing, Jane thought again, tapping at the console to stabilize one of the portal's exit points. She had helped Loki and the boss pick out the spots herself, seeing as Erik was too infatuated with the cube to give any real advice. London had been the easiest to pinpoint, what with her mom's house–

Jane jerked her head to the side as a flash of gold quivered in her mind and warmth tingled along her breastbone. A strange feeling rose up inside her, like dread, or fright, or worry, or – or–

Annoyance. Her little flight of fancy was wasting time, distracting her from her real work.

Jane shook her head and returned to the console.

When an echoing BOOM reverberated through the chamber, Jane nearly jumped a foot in the air.

The sound came from the door, on the opposite side of the chamber. As Jane tried to peer around the Tesseract beam in the middle, the Chitauri around her began to draw their weapons up, and the BOOM came again; this time, it was accompanied by a large metallic crash. Just past the beam of light, Jane saw pieces of the doorway flying across the room, engulfed in bright orange flames.

Then something flashed across her vision, and as the world went white, a soft whine blotted out all other noise. Stumbling backwards, pain in her eyes and her ears, it took Jane a moment to realize she was hearing nothing.

Jane shrieked. Or at least she thought she did; all she could hear was that whine though she felt her vocal cords vibrating. Then the heel of Jane's foot hit something solid and she was tumbling backwards. She hit the floor, breath squeezing out of her in what she was sure would be an oomf, although she managed to keep a hold on to her calibration pad.

Back throbbing from where it had smacked against metal, Jane sat up, trying to gather her bearing and blinking black spots out of her eyes. Before she could see more than the bright blue of the Tesseract, a hand gripped the back of her collar and dragged her up.

Jane started to struggle, until she realized the hand had six fingers, with the two thumbs pressed up against the back of her neck. Relieved, Jane let the hand pull her to her feet.

It was just one of Jane's other bosses, here to oversee the Tesseract while the other boss was busy up on the bridge; obviously the Drones couldn't be trusted with something so important, and the boss wanted a Chitauri in charge down here.

Trusting the hand even as it pulled her roughly backwards, Jane squinted around the slowly resolving chamber. There were the bodies of Chitauri scattered about the chamber, three blurry figures standing just in her line of sight beyond the edge of the Tesseract's casing, and laying at their feet, Erik. He was prone, face down. Through the black spots, Jane couldn't tell if he was moving.

She hoped, coldly, distantly, that he was not dead. It was difficult to control the Tesseract's energy on her own.

Somewhere deeper inside her, somewhere filled with golden light, Jane was screaming.

Get up, Erik, get up–

As Jane became aware of a warm pulse about her neck, she began to hear shouting in her ear.

“–not take one more step, humans,” the voice of Jane's other boss was saying. Her six-fingered hand tightened on the back of Jane's neck, her other hand brushing against Jane's forehead. There was slight discomfort as the boss's mind brushed against Jane's, but the pressure never deepened past surface thoughts. “Drop your weapons,” she continued to hiss towards the three blurry figures, “or I'll snap her neck.”

It occurred to Jane, as she stared at Erik's unmoving body, that Jane was the 'her' the boss was referring to. The blue in her mind told her that her boss was right to kill her, to prevent her from being used to stop the big boss's plans. And that would be wrong.

The gold was too quiet to protest.

Jane let her boss slowly draw her away from the three humans, away from Erik's body.

Until a blinding flash of green cleaved through Jane's head.

She gasped, the small sound lost in the shouting. The green was utterly cold and clear, like breathing in on a bright winter's morning and clearing out the lingering fog of sleep. Her mind felt as if it was being split from the rest of her – from the ice in her chest, and the glowing gold warmth that somehow fit in the centre of it.

In that swelling of gold and the green's crisp, sharp cold, Jane felt something like fear.

Something wasn't right.

Panic rose in her throat, and suddenly those hands against her head and her collar weren't so trustworthy. They frightened her.

“The female will be willing to die for her masters–” the boss snarled.

But no.

That wasn't right.

Jane didn't want to die for the Chitauri.

Tightening her grip on the calibration pad, Jane swung it backwards into her boss's face. The boss let out a surprised sound as the pad slammed into her nose, and her grip loosened on Jane's collar. Jane lunged forward out of that six-fingered grip and heard a twanging sound like a bow – a bow? – but she didn't look around, even as she heard the dull thud of a body falling to the ground.

A sharp throb pulsing in her mind, Jane stumbled towards the command console, because – because –

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong and she had to stop it.

A bright spark of blue lashed through her mind, and Jane cried out as she fell against the console, then the green swell pushed the blue back.

Something's wrong, something's wrong–

“What's wrong?” a voice asked. Jane realized she had been mumbling those words out loud.

“Something...” Jane took out her necklace. Its outer edges were warm, but the centre was cold and the rune glowing a deep green. Like pine trees in the winters where Dad had taken her sledding near the woods.

“Hey, I've seen one of those,” a different voice said, male this time, and out of the corner of her eye Jane saw a blond man pointing at the stone around her neck. “It was in Erik's bag, when he came to the Pegasus project.”

Jane dropped the necklace, though before she turned to the console a hand grabbed her chin. Her head was twisted around until she came face to face with a woman, her hair a deep red.

“One of her eyes is green,” the woman said, looking over her shoulder and letting go of Jane.

“Dr. Foster's eyes are brown, according to her file,” a mechanical voice said from somewhere behind her.

Jane didn't pay attention. She turned to the console, eyes flitting across the symbols that comprised the Chitauri language – symbols that, as she looked at them, righted into numbers, words, and concepts that didn't translate properly to English.

Except that wasn't right, was it? She didn't know these symbols – as of a few days ago, she'd never even set eyes on them before. Yet she saw the Tesseract's readings. She saw the stability of the portals, their exit coordinates in New York, Tokyo, London–

Jane's heart skipped a beat and her eyes snapped up, just as the woman's voice called, “Stark, any idea how to shut this thing down?”

“We could blow it up,” the mechanical voice said, “but I'm not liking the look of the energy around those struts...” There came a strange sound, like a weapon discharging, and a flash of light hit one of the Tesseract's glowing struts. It immediately rebounded, hitting the deck somewhere beyond Jane's vision. “Shit,” the mechanical voice cursed. “Nope, not a scratch.”

Inside Jane's head, sparks of green and blue and gold went off like fireworks. Her head throbbed.

Intruders, Jane thought. These three people were intruders, trying to stop the Tesseract, and all Jane and the Chitauri had built–

The Chitauri, who had taken Jane and Erik and Loki, and – and–

All at once, it all clicked into place.

Jane reached for the console and her hands flew across the symbols, searching.

She had known this would happen – the flaw in the plan, the one her bosses had overlooked; but Jane had seen it, because Jane knew how easily things like this could happen. And Jane had prepared.

“Tasha, you think I should knock her out?” the man asked, hovering just behind her right elbow.

“That depends. Dr. Foster, what are you doing?” the woman asked, now to her left.

Jane ignored the three of them, concentrating on the console. She ramped up the power into the tunnel stabilizers, then rerouted the Tesseract's power through the connecting junctions she had specified in her design of the Tesseract's holding case. It had been a rush job, getting the right connectors in place, but in the end Jane had gotten what she wanted: a failsafe.

In case enemies tried to take over the ship – take over her work. Because it had happened before. They came and stole her research and they used it against her, like the men in black suits and black vans, stealing everything she had worked for.

But they wouldn't take it from her now. Now, they wouldn't have the ship to get their hands on.

Jane would stop it from happening again–

Except it had, the blue whispered. The red-headed woman, the blond man, and the one with the mechanical voice were trying to steal all her boss's work and plans right out from under her nose, and use it for their own ends against the Chitauri's wishes–

Like how it was already used it against Jane's wishes, the green and gold sang. Like how the sceptre had pressed up against Jane's chest, and the blue had taken and taken–

The throbbing tore through Jane's head again, and it felt like a spike of ice was being driven through her chest. She flinched, fingers seizing up. Before she could return to finishing the sequence, two hands snatched up her wrists, holding them in an iron grip, despite the hands being about as small as Jane's.

“Dr. Foster,” the woman ordered, “tell us what you are doing.”

“Hey guys – guys!” the mechanical voice cut in, sounding panicked. “We've got incoming!”

“Damn it,” the man hissed, and there was the squeak of rubber against metal as he ran towards the door of the chamber.

“Dr. Foster–” the woman repeated.

“It's a power overload. The Tesseract's energies will destroy the ship.” Jane tugged at her wrists, for all the good it did her. The Tesseract wasn't meant to connect to the ship's power, and certainly not at the levels Jane intended. The engines couldn't take it – they would blow, taking the ship with it. Jane had corrected that oversight, and the Drones had built it all, as ordered. “No enemies will take it, no one else will use it,” Jane told the red-headed woman, though the blue told her not to. The green wanted her to. Jane felt like she was tearing in two.

“Shit,” the woman said, closing her eyes. “Cap, Thor,” she said to the air, “get back through the portal. Now.” The woman opened her eyes and though she let go of one of Jane's hands, her grip on the other tightened. “Have you started it yet? How long do we have?”

Jane blinked at the woman. Her head was beginning to grow fuzzy. Gathering her thoughts together, Jane pointed to one of the symbols. “You need to press this, to complete the overload. Then this–” Jane pointed at a button in the top corner of the console, “to finish it off.” She felt something warm and wet run over her mouth, and when Jane swiped it away, she saw a dash of dark red.

Blood. Her nose was bleeding.

It was too much. (Calming, harsh blue; tender, warm gold helping the crisp, cold green.)

She wiped her hand on her jacket. “Then you have a minute until the ship blows,” she told the woman. Was Jane supposed to have gotten off the by then? She must have planned for that, but she couldn't remember. Her head was screaming at her.

The woman nodded. “Sorry about this, Dr. Foster,” she said. Then she grabbed a handful of Jane's hair and slammed her head into a metal strut.

Before darkness closed in, Jane felt the blue receding, and the pain in her forehead replaced the pain splitting her mind in two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor watched as Helblindi loosened his hold on Loki, the green light still shining in the Casket's depth. Loki stumbled away, dropping the Casket into Helblindi's waiting hands. Then Loki's knees buckled and he tumbled backwards. The back of his head hit the floor near Thor's ice-encased feet, the dull thud of flesh against metal sending a nauseous twist through Thor's stomach.

“Loki!” Thor shouted – or tried to shout, but his voice came out as an indecipherable rasp, his lips too numb to form the word.

Loki didn't respond – not to Thor, not to the sounds of Steve and the Chitauri fighting somewhere beyond Thor's vision, not to his skin fading from blue to pale pink. As Thor watched, one red eye turned the bright blue of the sceptre's gem, the other a green that was too luminous to be Loki's normal colour.

Loki sat up with a moan, drawing his knees to his chest. One shaking hand clasped his forehead; the bloody, ragged hand wrapped around his chest, as his breaths came out in painful gasps.

Panicking, Thor strained against the ice, stretching forward, yet to no avail. The ice didn't even shift. “Helblindi!” Thor tried to call, the word more intelligible than the last. As Thor stared down at Loki's rigid form, his back heaving up and down in half-sobbed breaths, Thor carefully forced his mouth to shape words through shivering lips and chattering teeth. “Helblind-di, y-you have t-to knock him o-out. It w-will break the g-geas.”

When Thor heard nothing from the Jotun, he glanced up, only to see Helblindi as frozen as Thor.

Standing in the same spot as before, Helblindi was staring down at the Casket, where it fit comfortably in his large blue hands. His eyes were wide, his lips parted, but it was more than shock that Thor saw. It was want.

It was greed.

Thor's heart stuttered in fear, and for a moment, Thor thought Helblindi would take the Casket and run. Helblindi would abandon him, Loki, and Steve, possibly even Midgard, all for the sake of the artifact in his hands.

Then Helblindi blinked. He raised his head from the Casket towards Thor. A strange expression flitted across his face, then his jaw clenched and eyes went blank. Carefully setting the Casket on the ground, Helblindi swiftly crouched down next to Loki and clamped one huge hand on the side of Loki's head.

“It hurts,” Loki whimpered to the floor. “There's – my head–”

“I'm sorry,” Helblindi said. And slammed Loki's head sideways into the floor, leaving a sizable dent in the metal.

When Loki only groaned, Helblindi did it again.

Loki went limp.

So did Thor, sagging within the ice.

It was over. The Chitauri's control was over. Loki was safe.

Thor was no longer shivering. He didn't even feel the cold, just a pervasive numbness. He knew that was a bad sign, yet Thor didn't fight as his eyelids grew heavy. It was over, Loki was safe–

“Cap, Thor,” Natasha's voice crackled loudly in his ear, “get back through the portal. Now.”

No, not quite over.

They had to get out. Thor had of course not considered that, too busy chasing Loki to think about getting back.

(Just as Loki had always told him, rushing headfirst into things with no plan, no escape route–)

Gritting his teeth, Thor bit down on his tongue, using the sharp pain to centre himself, and opened his eyes to see Helblindi towering over him. Reaching a hand towards Thor's chest, Helblindi said, “I can control–”

An agonized yell split through the room. Thor craned his head around to see, near the doorway, Steve – his back arched, eyes wide, and mouth open in a scream. The Chitauri's hand was clamped on the side of Steve's head, while the creature tried to drive the point of his sceptre towards his heart. The only thing blocking it was Steve's shield, clamped tight to his chest.

When Helblindi glanced up, Thor whispered raggedly, “Go.”

Helblindi ran, ice sword growing. Steve now bent forward, sinking to his knees.

But Steve's shield did not waver. Not even as the Chitauri deftly moved to one side, hand still on Steve's head as he fired at the shield. The blast of energy rebounded off the metal–

And straight towards Helblindi.

It caught the Jotun in the same side as had been hit before. As he faltered, the Chitauri kicked Steve away, whipped around and fired another blast. Helblindi barely deflected it with his sword, the ice crumbling away from his hand. Before he could build another one, the Chitauri fired again. Helblindi twisted to the side, though not fast enough to avoid the Chitauri's second blast.

The instant Helblindi stumbled, crashing into a screen next to the door, the Chitauri moved. His form blurred, vanishing from the doorway and reappearing in front of Thor.

Above Loki.

“You broke your oath, Allfather,” the creature sneered. “Accept your punishment.” With a cruel grin of that red mouth, the creature raised his sceptre over Loki's prone body.

The world seemed to crystallize, time slowing down until the sceptre froze at the height of its arc. Terror choked Thor as he tried to scream, his heartbeat thudding in his ear, and there was nothing he could do – nothing Steve and Helblindi could do, in pain and too far away–

(Loki was going to die, Loki was going to die, Loki was going to die–)

And in his frozen hand, Mjolnir wailed in tune with his horror, her thrum matching the heartbeat in his chest–

Of course.

Thor was such a fool. Just as Loki always claimed.

As the sceptre descended, power surged through Thor's body. The deafening roar of thunder filled the room along with crackling, blinding light. Thor felt the ice shatter, and the shockwave sent both the shards and the dark shape above his brother's body flying across the chamber.

Lightning racing across his skin and surging through his veins, Thor stepped out of the remnants of ice enveloping his boots and to his brother's side.

Then the effects of the cold caught up with him, and the strength left Thor's limbs. He fell to one knee next to his brother's head, Mjolnir crashing to the floor. After sweeping his eyes over Loki's body, seeing the faint rise of his chest, the only blood coming from Loki's mangled arm, Thor looked up across the room at the Chitauri.

The creature was slowly getting to his feet, leaning heavily against a panel full of blinking light and sceptre still in hand. His cloak was peppered with holes where the ice had hit him, and the grin was gone, replaced by teeth bared in a snarl.

Thor's numb fingers clenched around Mjolnir's handle. As he wondered how quickly he could make it across the chamber and smash the creature's head in, he heard movement at his back.

Turning his head just enough to still keep the Chitauri in his vision, Thor saw Steve come to stand to Thor's left, face pale but standing upright. Helblindi, with his side singed and bleeding, appeared on Thor's right. And closest to the Casket.

But when Helblindi stooped down, it was to place his arm under Thor's shoulder, propping him up.

“Take it,” Helblindi said flatly, nodding at the Casket, though he did not look Thor's way.

“It's all yours, Thor,” Steve said, breaking his challenging stare away from the Chitauri long enough to give the Casket a wary glance.

Still facing the Chitauri, Thor reached out and snagged the Casket by the handle. It felt strangely cool, but not cold, not like the ice that had burst from it. As soon as Thor had it in his arms, Helblindi helped Thor up onto shaking legs.

Then without another word, Helblindi ducked down again, gently took Loki in his arms, cradling him like a child, and began backing towards the door.

A protest grew on Thor's lips as he glanced back in surprise at the Jotun – they were not finished, not while the Chitauri still drew breath–

But Thor could see the slow drip of Loki's blood hitting the floor – so much, after so much time – and Natasha's words echoed in Thor's ears. Thor turned back to the Chitauri. Every muscle strained to attack, to resume battle and kill the creature once and for all.

Then, after a moment, Thor backed towards the doorway as well. Steve followed last, shield held against his chest.

The creature wanted Thor. The creature wanted all of them.

Thor would not give the creature that chance.

He watched as the Chitauri's head twisted to follow his movement, as if surveying the three of them past its leather-covered eyes, as if realizing it would be folly to attack now. As if realizing that he had lost.

The creature's fist slammed down on one of the panels. “Have the Drones retreat from Earth,” the Chitauri spat, and for one glorious moment, Thor believed the creature was actually going to surrender. Then the cruel smile returned to the Chitauri's face. “Proceed with the plan. Open the portals to Asgard.”

Thor's heart stuttered.

Proceed with the plan, like Asgard had always been the next target in the Chitauri's plans – when most of the warriors were on Midgard, and if the Bifrost was taken the Æsir would have no way home–

Midgard was only a distraction.

Thor turned and ran as fast as his body would allow, Helblindi carrying Loki in front of him, Steve following behind.

If Natasha was telling them to leave, then she and the other humans must have secured the Tesseract.

They must have.

Thor did not want to imagine the alternative.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first few minutes after Romanoff took care of Dr. Foster were spent arguing over who would stay behind to blow up the ship.

Tony didn't know why they were all clambering to die a horrible fiery death, but seeing as he was giving it his all to volunteer, he could hardly take the high ground.

“Stark, you have to take these two,” Romanoff called out from where she was strapping those useful space-bubble helmets onto the good doctors.

“Even if we could blast our way through the Chitauri, Foster and Selvig would only slow me and Natasha down,” Barton said – agreeing, of course, with Romanoff, because Tony was pretty sure the two shared a brain. Barton punctuated the statement by firing an explosive arrow through the doorway, giving Tony cover as he used his repulsors to weld one of the remaining chunks of the door back on. If Tony had known they would need the door again, maybe he wouldn't have blown it up so thoroughly.

“But it doesn't make sense for the two of you to get left behind,” Tony shot back. “And I have the suit. I'd survive longer than the both of you out here. For you guys, I'd estimate your chances of survival at about zero.” Not that Tony's would be much better. He decided not to ask Jarvis the odds.

“Jarvis, don't tell me the odds,” he said, just in case, switching to the helmet comm.

“I wasn't going to, sir, but I would advise–”

“Later, Jarvis.” Soldering another hunk of metal across their makeshift barricade, Tony switched his speakers back to external. “We've still got time before SHIELD decides to go nuclear. If you two left now, I could block myself in while you made it back to the base of the ship.”

“Stark,” Romanoff sighed. “You know that's not...”

She trailed off, but Tony didn't have time to ask. Another knot of Chitauri began to crawl down the corridor, and Tony quickly plastered himself inside the chamber as blue energy streamed past. While he and Barton traded off firing shots, Jarvis took the time to tell Tony exactly what he already knew.

“Sir, I was going to say that Agents Romanoff and Barton could not make it to the hanger bay in under the allotted time. Not with two extra humans to carry.”

His voice carried the slow, mournful tone Tony hadn't programmed in, but the AI had picked up anyway.

Tony thumped his head back against the doorway once the last Chitauri's body hit the floor. He didn't know why he felt so...so defeated . It wasn't like he had to sacrifice his life for the greater good or anything. “I could at least take one of you,” Tony offered quietly. “The suit could handle three–”

“How about you take four?” Romanoff interrupted, appearing at Barton's side on the opposite side of the door, a huge grin plastered on her face. “Seeing as there's a hole in the floor leading straight to Earth.”

Tony blinked and raised his head.

“Oh my God,” Barton said.

“How the hell did I miss that?” Tony sputtered. It was quite literally in of front their noses the whole time. The perfect solution–

Except for–

“What about the giant Tesseract laser right in the middle?” Barton blurted out a second before Tony.

But now that Tony had a solution, he wasn't about to let lasers that could vaporize someone in an instant stop him.

“Jarvis,” Tony said, putting his speakers onto external, “could five carefully-spaced humans jump into the hole in the floor, and not get vaporized by the giant death laser?”

In the second it took Jarvis to calculate, Barton and Romanoff stared at Tony, Romanoff expectant and Barton hopeful, while Tony's heart skipped a beat (which should be impossible with the Arc Reactor). Then–

“Yes, there is enough distance between the Tesseract's energy and the walls to fit two humans abreast.”

A noise erupted from Barton that might have been called a squeal, and he wrapped Natasha in a hug.

“Miss Rush-manoff,” Tony said, grinning beneath his mask, “I could kiss you.”

“Please don't,” Romanoff said, grimacing, but Tony could tell her heart wasn't in it. Probably because one of them wasn't going to die alone in outer space, surrounded by aliens. Untangling herself from Clint's arms, she said, “If I zip-line me and Clint to Foster and Selvig, you could carry all of us–”

“Sir and Agents,” Jarvis interrupted, his voice emanating from Tony's helmet in his 'urgent and worried' tone. “I count twenty-three Chitauri converging on the entrance to the Tesseract's chamber. ”

Tony's giddy mood vanished. “I think they've realized they've been invaded now.”

“Cap, Thor,” Clint said into the comm as he took up position at the door. “If you could get back to the hanger bay now, that would be great.”

“All-of-us-not-dying great,” Tony added.

Tony thought Rogers would answer, with something inspiring and confident and very 1940s. But to his surprise, it was Thor who came over the comm first, his voice ragged and desperate.

“You have to stop the Tesseract from opening another portal,” Thor gasped out. “You must stop it.”

The fear in his voice sent an answering chill down Tony's spine, because he didn't want to think about what would make a god sound so desperate. Nor what made Thor's voice sound like he just went through hell and back.

He hoped it wasn't Loki. Or Loki's giant blue brother.

“Don't worry, big guy,” Tony replied, with as much reassurance as he could muster. “We've got a plan.”

The three of them went into overdrive, Tony sealing up the door, while Romanoff and Barton blasted away aliens – Barton was even using one of the Chitauri's sticks to conserve on arrows. But there wasn't enough metal left over to hold the barricade together, and as soon as the Chitauri started firing back, Tony knew it would disintegrate.

They only needed enough time.

Too bad the Chitauri didn't want to give it.

Only a minute had passed since Thor spoke when Jarvis said, “Sir, I count eight Chitauri, coming in one-hundred and fifty degrees to your right.”

“What–” Tony snapped his head up and looked around to the glowing icons on his HUD. There they were, eight alien signatures fast approaching, just outside the room. And, in the shadows of an overhanging strut, in the same grey colour as the walls...

“Shit,” Tony muttered. “Guys, we've got another door over there, and there's incoming.”

Romanoff glanced up and, following his line of sight, zeroed in on the door. “We're on it,” she said, sprinting away with Barton on her heels. They reached it just as a hiss of air escaped between the door's sides.

As soon as the door slid open, the Chitauri met a volley of blue energy from Natasha, before she ducked back to one side of the door. Then came the flash of orange light as the grenade Clint slipped through exploded.

The door slid closed.

Tony wanted to let out a little victory dance, but another six enemy blips appeared on his radar. Abandoning his – admittedly hopeless – attempts to seal the door, Tony turned back to it and started firing away.

It felt like hours, the three of them trading volleys back and forth with the aliens, but Jarvis reassured him it had only been minutes. Tony was relying mostly on repulsor blasts, since he was down to one missile and his guns were running low.

Tony was starting to worry something had happened to the other three, when Cap's voice came over the comm. “We're in the hanger bay. Get out, and do whatever you can to stop the Tesseract.”

Those words were like music to Tony's ears, not that Tony would admit that to Rogers. Instead, Tony just breathed out, “You took your sweet time, Gramps.”

Barton put it a bit more succinctly with, “Fucking finally.”

Romanoff decided to go the more professional route, and dashed towards the centre of the chamber as she said, “I've got the zip-line for the doctors. I'll take Foster; Clint, you take Selvig.”

“You're the boss, Tash–”

Barton broke off in a strange noise.

Romanoff screamed, “Clint!”

Tony twisted his head in time to see Barton struggling, dozens of clawed hands wrapped about him, dragging him through the slowly closing door. His hand stretched out of the blue-grey horde, before it too disappeared behind the mass of Chitauri.

The door slammed shut just as Natasha reached it. Her scream filled the air.

Then a burst of blue energy caught Tony around the midsection, and he tumbled over backwards.

“Jarvis, get 'em,” Tony ordered, lurching to his feet. He let the targeting gun take care of the Chitauri behind him as he ran across the room, using his repulsors when the suit felt like it moved too slow. Natasha had switched from banging against the door to blasting at it with the Chitauri weapon, though it did little more than create scorch marks.

“Roma– ” Tony started to say, then stopped, because that didn't seem right. “Natasha,” he said instead.

She didn't look around. Her eyes stayed fixed on the door, her body rigid and knuckles white around the Chitauri weapon. “Blow it open,” she ordered.

“I only have one missile,” Tony warned. “The door will take two.”

“Try it anyway,” Natasha said flatly.

Tony nodded, although Natasha couldn't see. “Jarvis, is Barton at safe distance?” Tony put the speakers on external.

“He is out of range, sir. My sensors cannot find him, but there are twelve Chitauri headed towards the other door, and another twenty headed towards this one.”

Natasha didn't hesitate. “Do it.”

The two of them backed up until they hit the centre, close to where Selvig and Foster lay, their clothes rumpled and makeshift breathing helmets strapped on. Tony readied the missile, took aim, and–

“Tasha.”

They froze. Clint's voice came through the comm as loud and clear as Cap's. Except his breathing was ragged, his voice strained.

“Tasha, it's fine.”

“Clint, we won't leave you. We're coming.” Natasha's voice didn't waver.

“Tasha, please, just go. You need to–”

There was a dull thudding sound against the comm, and then there was only static.

“Clint,” Natasha whispered.

Tony felt numb. He was reminded of a cave way back on Earth, where his escape – his life – meant the price of another's. But Clint wasn't Tony's Yinsen. Whatever Clint and Natasha had, it was even closer than a few months together in a cave.

Tony didn't know what to say.

Jarvis did.

“Sir, there are now twenty-six Chitauri headed to this door, and eighteen headed towards the open one. They will be able to see you in a few seconds.”

Tony looked down at her. Softly, he asked, “Natasha?”

It was her call.

When Natasha turned to him, her eyes were wide, her face was pale, and everything else about her was blank.

Voice as empty as her expression, Natasha said, “Let's go.”

She strode towards the bag she had taken from the quinjet and left by the Tesseract's opening, taking her helmet from its interior. As Tony fired his last missile at the Chitauri coming in the open door and turned to the console, he heard the sound of a zip-line cord being pulled. He pressed the first symbol Natasha said Dr. Foster had indicated. A distant part of him wondered how Foster had learned all this in a couple of days.

The rest of him couldn't quite manage to care.

“Ready,” Natasha said, as little blips of the Chitauri's signatures surrounded them on the HUD.

“Ready,” Tony agreed, and he pushed the last little symbol in the corner.

They didn't stay to watch.

In one arm, Tony scooped up Dr. Selvig; in the other, as the doors hissed open and the Chitauri screeched, Tony grabbed Natasha and Dr. Foster.

They jumped.

“Hold on!” Tony shouted, the suit skidding against the wall as he kept between the grey walls of the tunnel and the Tesseract's energy beam. More Chitauri signatures crowded above him, until they were out of range.

Then, the grey tunnel was gone. Space surrounded them.

There was no sound when the bright orange explosion burst out the far side of the ship, but the bright blue stream of energy vanished, and the edges of the portal began to shrink even as the green earth below them grew. Far below, Tony thought he could see two golden skiffs far below, carrying four bodies between them – two upright and steering the skiffs, and two limp.

As they crossed the line from empty space to blue sky, the sound of cheering burst into Tony's comm. It filled his helmet, unfiltered noise straight from SHIELD headquarters as the portals began to close, probably coming across all the Avengers' comms.

Looking at Natasha's utterly blank face and the two slumped bodies on the skiffs below, Tony couldn't feel much of anything.

Chapter Text

“This doesn't feel like a win.”

“Not everything is win or lose, Stark.”

Steve sounded drained. Listless. He looked it too, when Bruce glanced up from his seat near the door. With a white bandage peeking through a burned-out hole in his uniform, his skin ashen, and his posture slumped as he leaned against the wall, even Captain America looked exhausted.

That didn't stop Tony from talking.

“Can we lose even though we won? Clint–”

“Stark,” Cap snapped.

The two of them glanced over at Natasha, where she sat on the counter across the room. Her eyes were closed and she leaned her head back against the wall, one leg bent and the other dangling off the counter. It wasn't a big room – the antechamber to the communication center didn't have much, except for a desk near the door which Bruce had claimed, some counters along the wall, and the door to the comm room. Bruce figured Natasha had heard what Tony said and decided to ignore it. Or didn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

Bruce didn't blame her.

He had heard most of what happened second-hand. Up until about an hour ago, the other guy had been in the forest, chasing after any Chitauri that had missed the call home, with a bunch of Jotnar diplomats joining him. The frost giants were apparently big fans of the green guy: after Bruce had punched out a rather large, angry dinosaur, he had shrunk down, and the Jotnar had been the ones to carry him back to base.

He had woken up to see a woman with brown hair done up more elaborately than Princess Leia’s and looking like she had just stepped out of a Renaissance painting. When she waved a glowing white hand over him before pronouncing him healthy, Bruce guessed she was from Asgard. She left without another word, moving on to a woman in a SHIELD uniform in a cot beside him as a medic frantically tried to staunch the bleeding in her side.

The hospital was full to bursting, with three different species crowded into it. Cots filled the wide open room, and judging from the noise coming from the stairs in the back, Bruce guessed the second floor was crammed too. Medics flitted from cot to cot, staunching wounds and calling out for supplies as moans filled the air. Several Jotnar lay slumped against the walls, hunched down and legs awkwardly folded to allow humans room to walk, while women in blue dresses and ornate, flowing hair could occasionally be glimpsed within the crowd.

It was a scene Bruce felt he was too used to, one he had seen in too many disasters, like the flooding in Calcutta when those in the slums couldn't reach the hospital. Or any place after the Hulk was unleashed.

Except here, the Hulk had emerged, and Bruce wasn't the cause of the cries of pain filling the room. Bruce was still around to help, rather than fleeing before someone else came after him looking to steal his blood.

So when a medic on Bruce's other side shouted for help stitching a head wound, Bruce didn't hesitate. He rolled off the side of the cot, wiping his dirt-stained hands on the blankets, and said, “I have medical training.” When the medic glanced him up and down, Bruce belatedly realized he was naked except for the remnants of his pants. But the medic shrugged, shoved a sanitary wipe into his hands, and gave him a cloth to clean the wound while she sewed.

Bruce did what he could for the human patients. The Asgardians took care of the Jotnar, though a few of them moved among the cots, waving glowing hands here or sprinkling some sort of powder over a wound there. Somewhere along the way, Bruce acquired some over-large boots and a SHIELD navy blue jacket, rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn't drag in blood or dirt.

It didn't even occur to him there was anywhere else he should be until a heavy, metal hand dropped onto his shoulder as he looked around for more work, making him jump nearly a foot in the air. He whirled around to see Tony, helmet gone, face pale, and giving Bruce a weak smile.

“Hey there, buddy,” Tony said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Good to see you in one piece.”

That was about the time Bruce realized he hadn't seen any of the Avengers in the hospital. He didn't even know if they were all alive.

“What happened?” he asked, blinking blearily up at Tony. “Where's everyone else?”

Tony's mouth twisted in a way that made Bruce's stomach drop.

It wasn't as bad as Bruce had thought.

It was worse than Bruce had hoped.

Everyone suffered a few scrapes here and there. Tony and Natasha had the fewest, while Cap had taken a couple of hits. Thor and Loki had the worst.

Thor had fallen unconscious in the ship's hanger bay, and Steve flown him back to Earth; considering the extreme cold Thor had been exposed to, Bruce was surprised he had lasted even that long. And Loki...after hearing the bloody mess that Tony had seen of Loki's arm, Bruce didn't even want to think about how that had happened. Or who had caused it.

Both gods were still passed out in the hospital somewhere. When Bruce wondered why he hadn’t seen them, Tony gave a half-hearted laugh and said the Asgardians were keeping them behind closed doors. Half the Asgardian doctors were looking after them, and now that Bruce thought about it, he had noticed several of the Asgardian women going in and out of two rooms on the far side of the hospital. Which was probably for the best – Bruce had no idea how hypothermia affected Asgardians, and from what he heard of the mangled state of Loki's arm and hand, human medicine wouldn't have been enough to fix all the nerve damage.

As Tony steered Bruce through the muggy night air – across the charred, trampled grass and rubble lit by starlight and the remaining buzzing, flickering floodlights – Bruce realized Tony had left someone out. “And what about Clint?” he asked, buttoning up his jacket and avoiding the curious glances of the few SHIELD agents bustling by.

When Tony didn't say anything, Bruce looked up. Tony wore the same expression as when Bruce had asked the first time. He guessed what had happened before Tony spoke.

That Clint Barton hadn't made it.

Bruce didn't know what to say.

He still didn't know what to say by the time Tony led him the rest of the short way into the comm centre, where Natasha and Tony had gotten the satellite signal working, though half the screens were cracked and a couple of consoles still sparked. When they entered, Steve smiled at him and wrapped his arm around his shoulder in a half hug; Bruce vaguely remembered he had hugged Steve before, though his arms were much larger and greener then. Natasha gave Bruce a nod, yet her expression remained blank, even as she turned on the system and signalled SHIELD.

Once they caught hold of Fury, Bruce stood back and let the others do the talking. Steve and Tony took turns, but when Tony began to speak about Clint, Natasha took over, her voice flat and hands clenched at her sides.

Bruce learned as much from the debriefing as Fury did. He wasn't quite sure why Tony had brought him over. For completeness, he supposed. The biggest surprises were Dr. Foster's strange behaviour, with her necklace and her help destroying the ship, and the Chitauri leader's last command; Steve worried the Chitauri might still try to attack Asgard, and Fury agreed to send a message to whichever Asgardians he could contact. “If their all-seeing bridge guardian doesn't know already,” Fury said, his mouth twisting as if he wasn't sure he disapproved of a god that could spy on SHIELD without him knowing, or admired the god's abilities.

Once the report was over, Fury had wanted to speak to whoever was in charge of the alien armies; all the Jotnar had stayed, and while most of the Asgardian warriors were gone already, in their place more Asgardian doctors had beamed down. The remaining warriors were either hunting down the remnants of the Chitauri or helping rebuild. Or requesting food and drink, with mixed results on both ends. Or getting into fights with the Jotnar, which had thankfully ended before any more destruction could occur so far, but things were beginning to get out of hand.

Which was why Prince Helblindi was now in the comm room, talking to Fury and whoever else he needed to talk to, leaving the rest of them to wait in the antechamber. The prince should take care of the Jotnar, but from the little Bruce had heard of the two species, they would need Thor to calm down the Asgardians.

All the more reason for him to wake up. Or they might get more aliens starting another war on their planet.

Although, out of everything, Bruce knew this counted as a victory. There were fewer dead than there would have been if the Jotnar and Æsir hadn't arrived, and much less clean-up since the majority of the Chitauri and leviathans had withdrawn well before the portals closed. The Chitauri ship was destroyed. Everyone had made it back.

Everyone except Clint Barton.

Bruce had only spoken to Clint once or twice. All the others had spent the last couple of days together on missions, while Bruce puttered about in the lab; they had all gone up to the space ship together, even Helblindi, while the other guy stayed grounded and chasing after Chitauri.

Grief permeated the room, yet it only made Bruce feel like an outsider.

His job was done. He had helped them find the Tesseract and bashed in some Chitauri heads. Loki and Doctors Foster and Selvig were back. Since his other half had fought the battle for him, Bruce didn't have anything to tell Fury. He should leave, go back to helping the medics, and melt back into anonymity.

But as soon as Bruce began to stand, the comm room door creaked open. A giant blue head ducked through the doorway, followed by the rest of Helblindi's body as he squeezed into the antechamber.

“Hey, big guy,” Tony said as the door closed behind Helblindi's foot. Suit creaking and groaning, he ambled over as Helblindi watched with his shoulders hunched and knees bent. “Everything alright topside?”

Helblindi blinked, tilting his head and peering down at Tony.

“He means with your people,” Bruce clarified when it looked as if Helblindi wasn't about to answer. He stood and moved closer to Steve, trying to make the distance a bit less awkward. “The giants and SHIELD.”

“Yes, I...” Helblindi gave a twitch of his head that could be a nod. “Things are...progressing. I have given Jotunheim's warriors their orders. They should not give your mortals trouble.”

For all Helblindi's face was unreadable between the lack of eyebrows, the flat red eyes, and the smooth blue skin interrupted only by his markings, Bruce could still recognize the weariness in his voice.

“Thank-you, Prince Helblindi,” Steve said, a real smile starting to creep across his face. “That's more than we could ask–”

“Hey, what about your box?”

Helblindi stared as Tony suddenly darted towards a corner of the room.

“My box?” the giant asked, and there was a strange glint in his eyes as he followed Tony's movements, watching as Tony knelt down and reached into one of the cupboards beneath the counters. Bruce just felt lost, though from the way Steve's smile disappeared and his face tightened, he seemed to know what box they were talking about.

“After Cap told us what happened, we figured it was yours,” Natasha finally spoke up, her voice still flat, though her head was cocked as if she was curious. “Is it?”

Helblindi didn't answer, riveted on Tony as he withdrew a large, glowing blue box from the cupboard, not as electric bright as the Tesseract, but instead filled with a billowing, cold blue fire. There were handles on its sides, and when Bruce squinted – he would have to find another pair of glasses soon – he could make out delicately carved markings all over it.

At its sight, Steve tensed at Bruce's side, though Bruce kept his gaze on Helblindi. The frost giant's eyes widened and his lips parted, revealing the tips of sharp white teeth. Before Tony was halfway across the room Helblindi took two steps forward, bringing him right up to Tony and only a couple meters away from Bruce and Steve.

Tony gave Helblindi an odd look. Holding the box aloft, he asked, “So...it's yours, yeah?”

Again, Helblindi didn't reply. He held himself very still, and he slowly reached a hand forward, fingers trembling slightly. His hand ghosted above the box, bare millimetres from its surface, and the blue inside coalesced towards it. The air abruptly cooled. Steve recoiled, Tony frowned in confusion, Natasha's gaze grew intense, and Bruce felt as if he was still missing something important.

Helblindi didn't seem to notice, as if the world had melted away and only the box remained. It could only be described as reverence, the way he stared at it and the gentle almost-caresses of his hand.

Helblindi stretched out his other hand, reaching for the handles on the box's sides.

Then he stopped.

His face twisted, lips curling in an ugly look, and Bruce felt the other guy rumbling anxiously inside of him as a flash of deep, helpless rage appeared in the Jotun's eyes.

The look vanished. Helblindi's face smoothed over with an ease that spoke of years of practice. His hands withdrew, clasped behind his back as he took two hasty steps past Tony, towards the exit. His footsteps were remarkably quiet for a giant.

Turning to face them, Helblindi said, “You should keep it for now.” His voice was utterly polite and completely smooth. “You humans. It is more deserved of you, I believe, than its previous keepers.”

He glanced around at each of them, as if challenging them to disagree. But the four of them only stared at the giant.

“Riiiiight,” Tony said at last, drawing the word into several syllables as he lowered the box. “Okay, great.” He looked around at the three of them. Bruce gave Tony a helpless shrug. Beside the Tesseract, there hadn't been any mentions of glowing blue cubes connected to the Norse gods in the SHIELD dossier. Steve didn't seem to be paying attention, looking at the box in distaste, and Bruce remembered Cap had mentioned in his report it had been a box that froze Thor solid.

Steve's reaction suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense. It still didn't entirely explain Helblindi's, though.

At last, Helblindi decided to break the silence. “I – Excuse me,” he said, dipping his head. With one last mournful glance, Helblindi turned and crouched as he made his way out of the human-sized doorway.

“Well.” Stark stared at the door. “That was a thing.”

Awkward silence filled the room again. Natasha closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. Bruce thought now would be a good time to leave.

Steve beat him to it. “There's no use standing around here if Fury doesn't need us,” he said gruffly. Eyeing the cube in Tony's arms warily, Steve swiftly walked to the exit, skirting around Tony as far as the room would allow. Once he reached the door, he said, “I'm going to see if I can help the SHIELD agents with the clean-up. Tony, if you're still up to it, put that thing away and see if you can't clear up some rubble. Bruce–”

“I was thinking of going back to the infirmary,” Bruce volunteered, and was relieved when Steve nodded in approval.

“Actually, Dr. Banner,” Natasha cut in, “I wanted to talk to you.” She slid off the counter, her steps steady as she approached him.

Steve frowned, seemingly forgetting his uneasiness with the cube as a worried look entered his eyes. “Natasha, if you're sure–”

“I am. You two go.” She glanced between Tony and Steve with a polite smile that everyone knew as false, but when she looked back at Bruce, there was a fire in her eyes. “I have my own work to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helblindi had managed to calm his temper by the time he reached the mortals' Healing building. No one would miss a few patches of blackened grass, but taking his rage out on the base might be seen as an offence. It had already taken enough damage; Helblindi needn't add to the destruction.

Carefully, he stooped through the building's cots, trying to avoid knocking down the distracted mortal Healers rushing about, many of whom would glance up at him with a mixture of confusion, awe, and fear, before remembering they were in a hurry. The remaining Jotnar dipped their heads as he went by, but Helblindi only had time for a quick nod of acknowledgement. Those that weren't injured had retreated out of the heat and into one of the barracks, which the humans had been kind enough to lend to them, along with knowledge of how to work the “air conditioning”. Even at night, the heat felt stifling, the muggy air like a damp cloth pressing against his nose. Lord Thrívaldi had nearly passed out from the heat by the time the Chitauri retreated, and Skadi had to down three buckets of water before she felt well enough to give her report.

(Although even on Asgard, Helblindi hadn't seen this much green.)

At last, Helblindi reached the door that one of the kinder Ásynja Healers had pointed out to him when he had asked. Hoping the Ásynja had been as honest as she had seemed, Helblindi turned the little door's knob and pushed it open.

The same Ásynja Healer looked up at him in surprise as he ducked through the doorway, then her face split in a smile.

“First Prince Helblindi,” the woman said, bowing.

“Healer Maija,” Helblindi replied respectfully. He managed to keep his voice as neutral as normal. He had slipped up with the humans without repercussion, but around any Æsir, a change in his temper might be cause for wariness. “I am sorry to intrude. If you wish me to depart, I will return later.” If there was time for a “later”.

“No, I was finishing up,” Healer Maija said, moving away from the little white bed and its occupant. “If you wish for a moment alone with your brother, I will inform the other Healers not to interfere.”

With another short bow, she squeezed past him and out the door, closing it behind her. Worry gnawing at his insides, Helblindi trudged the short distance across the cramped room to reach his brother's bedside.

Loki seemed small, smaller than his usual stature, lying on his back in the middle of the cot with his chest slowly rising and falling. According to the Healer, he had not yet woken. His right arm was bandaged with small black runes crossing over the white cloth, and settled limply on the blankets pulled up to his bare chest. The Healers must have removed his tunic to get to his arm.

Moving a chair out of the way, Helblindi knelt next to the cot, his head coming level with the bottom of the darkened window above the bed. In sleep, Loki seemed almost peaceful, more-so than Helblindi had ever seen him. Despite the tired lines, the gaunt cheeks, Loki's features were no longer ravaged by anger. Or twisted in a pain brought by something only the soul could conjure.

“I'm sorry,” Helblindi whispered. “I should not have used the Casket on you like that. Not when the Chitauri already had a hold of you. But I–” Helblindi glanced away from his brother, feeling as if his ice had frozen his blood, and as it crawled up his veins it left jagged scars in their wake. Looking back at Loki, he said, “It was easier than fighting you.”

(If it was Býleistr, would he have done the same? Would he have used the Casket's power as he had, with all the pain it could bring?)

Shaking the thought from his head, Helblindi reached his hand forwards, intending to lay it across Loki's forehead. Then abruptly he remembered the first time he had reached a hand towards Loki.

He remembered how Loki had flinched.

Helblindi's hand stilled bare millimetres from Loki's skin, so close that a movement would bring them into contact. Loki's warm breath ghosted across Helblindi's trembling fingers.

Helblindi withdrew his hand, settling it on the pillows instead. Next to Loki's head.

Loki slept on, oblivious, his breathing a slow, quiet in-and-out. His face showed no tell-tale flicker of awareness, of emotion.

His face showed nothing of the soft, cerulean blue that had flowed so naturally over it only a few hours earlier.

The skin was now pale, paler than Helblindi recalled seeing it in the desert, though that may have been the effect of the stark bright lights overhead. Or from the loss of blood. But that did not account for how bland Loki's face seemed, how utterly blank without the markings that should have traversed his skin. So like an Ás.

If Helblindi just reached his hand forward, brushed it along Loki's skin and let his Issjä flow through him – both of them – he could see Loki again. Loki as he should be, not this pale, vacant mask. It would be simple, easy. No one need know.

But if Loki did, if Loki found out, then Helblindi would only have himself to blame for the betrayal.

Something hard like stone seemed to grow and harden in his chest, enclosing it, as his hand curled into a fist next to Loki's head.

Betrayal. It seemed, in the past day, his only choices were between one betrayal or another. Bringing Loki's blood to the surface would be a betrayal of his brother's trust, but refusing his brother his true skin was a betrayal of their people – of their father's blood – to allow Loki the shelter of the lie.

And only moments ago, with the Casket...

The stone around Helblindi's chest squeezed tighter, weighing down his heart.

The choice should have been clear, as easy as reaching out and brushing his fingers against Loki's cheek. The mortals were handling the Casket so casually, so carelessly. Valiant mortals though they were – he knew the vacuum of space could crush their fragile bodies, and yet they hadn't hesitated to follow him and Thor – they knew nothing of what they held. Knew nothing of what it meant.

At this point, Helblindi didn't think even the Æsir truly knew what the Casket truly meant, outside of a select few. Certainly Thor didn't know. Helblindi doubted many Æsir cared enough about their people to find out.

Helblindi could have taken it from the metal-encased human and left. He should have.

There would have been problems, of course, like Heimdall; the Gatekeeper would never allow Helblindi to leave with the Casket in hand, whether Heimdall knew its full potential or not. Although, if Helblindi had the Casket, if he could figure out its secrets out in time, perhaps the Gatekeeper would not be necessary for travel back to Jotunheim.

He knew the choice any Jotun would have made; it was the choice Laufey would have wanted him to make, even if it meant an end to the fragile peace Helblindi had spent so long advocating, cultivating, against Laufey's wishes. Even if it meant war, for no doubt every citizen of Asgard would bay for Jotunheim's blood for such “treachery” (as if taking back what was stolen in the first place was treacherous).

If he were truly loyal to Jotunheim, Laufey would say, he would have taken the Casket without a second thought. No matter the consequences.

Instead, Helblindi might as well have doomed his realm.

The stone around Helblindi's chest seemed to crack, and with it, his heart.

Helblindi buried his face in his hand, nails digging into his skin, and let out a breath that he refused to turn into a sob. Holding himself still, Helblindi waited until his breathing steadied, then he drew himself up, straightening the hunch to his shoulders.

“I'm sorry, brother,” he whispered to Loki's still form. “I've ruined our people, and now I must–” Helblindi's voice cracked. Even if Loki couldn't hear him, Helblindi would not wish to repeat his fears. It felt as if it would make them more real. Laying his other hand on the bed, next to Loki's injured arm, and pretending that he could give the arm a reassuring touch, he repeated, “I'm sorry.”

If Loki knew, if Loki realized the full extent of Jotunheim's troubles, what might he think? If it had been his choice, what might he have done?

Helblindi's mind came up blank, and his heart clenched. He didn't know. He didn't know Loki well enough to judge. And after everything...it was hard to say if Helblindi ever would. Perhaps, in a thousand years...but Helblindi was afraid to let himself hope.

Why worry what the runt might think? a snide, mocking voice whispered in Helblindi's mind. It's not as if we are truly Loki's people anyway.

It sounded like Laufey's voice.

Helblindi growled. He would not think of his brother that way, not now or ever. Not the way his father did.

But he could not help wondering – if Loki been raised alongside Helblindi and Býleistr, a prince of Jotunheim, if he had lead armies to Midgard in Helblindi's stead, would Loki have taken the Casket? Or would he have left it, spouting the same excuses?

If Loki had been allowed to stay, what kind of Jotun would he have been? What kind of brother?

What kind of family could they have been?

Watching Loki sleep in the hard cot, feeling the cool breath of air from the mortal machines that kept the heat out of their buildings, seeing the starch-white of the tiny walls, Helblindi knew that Loki should not live here. Not on this world nor on Asgard, in his Ás skin, with these Ás Healers attempting to patch him together. He was not meant for the muggy, sweltering torridity that encompassed this part of Midgard's land, or the sun-bright heat that lay over all of Asgard. The bland mask that lay over his features, so fitting to a human or Ás, was not meant for his face.

Helblindi was struck with the sudden need to scoop Loki up in his arms, and take him home. Take him where he belonged, to his family and his people. Where he could learn how to be Jotun.

Take the Casket, take Loki, and go home.

Where they all belonged.

(If it were not for Laufey.)

Rage flared in Helblindi's chest, hot enough that it felt as if it might melt the ice in his bones.

No, he could not take Loki home; if Laufey didn't prevent it, then Loki might hate Helblindi for it, or resent him, or end up running away, or freeze with the terror that had seized Loki on their first meeting. Neither could Helblindi take the Casket home – it was right, and just; but at worst, it would lead to war again. And Jotunheim could not handle another one and expect to survive.

At least, that was what he would say – all he could say – when he returned.

(He was damned anyway. What was one more mark against him?)

The rage seemed to pulse, spreading outward to his limbs as much as it turned inward, breaking through the stone around his heart, and Helblindi had to withdraw his hands from Loki's bed lest he ice his brother's sheets over.

His only hope in all this mess, in all his mistakes, was Thor. And he was no longer sure that a prince of Jotunheim could count on Asgard's King. Not in this matter.

Not after Helblindi held the Casket of Ancient in his hands, and Thor looked at him the way Helblindi thought Thor never would. With distrust. With fear.

Helblindi had always hated it when his father was right. He hated that his father could be right at all.

But if nothing else, Midgard would now see Jotunheim as a friend, not whatever their old storybooks told them, or whatever lies Asgard's people may spread.

For all his cowardice, his hesitation, Helblindi had done something for Jotunheim in the end.

Helblindi rose from the crouch, fists held loosely by his sides. Loki still hadn't moved. His breathing hadn't changed.

Staring at Loki's Ás (preferred) face, Helblindi noticed Loki's hair sticking out, half-mussed. Thor had once mentioned that Loki always like to keep it neat and orderly – or rather, “fussed over it until he nearly missed breakfast”. Queen Frigga amended Loki's habits to “particular” and “fastidious”. And when Helblindi had visited, he remembered Loki's hair had seemed more carefully coiffed than even Fandral's, held in place even when Loki had not been...altogether calm.

Slowly, Helblindi reached a hand towards one of the black knots, thinking to brush it into place, when the click of a door being opened sounded behind him.

Helblindi almost jumped. Swiftly, he spun towards the door, putting his hands behind his back like a child caught stealing extra portions after dinner.

A small, female mortal blinked up at him from the half-open door.

“Oh,” she said, hand frozen on the doorknob. “Oh, sorry, I–” She turned, long brown hair swishing at the motion, and abruptly Helblindi realized he knew the mortal, from the last time he had visited Midgard.

“Jane Foster, you may come in if you wish,” he said, moving as far back into the room as he could, considering the room's size. He should not have been so surprised at her presence, as he knew she was here from the SHIELD Director's and Thor's comments. Of course she would wish to visit her friend, as she had spent more time with Loki, after all – over a year, compared to Helblindi's paltry few hours. Perhaps she deserved it more. “I was planning to leave soon anyway. If you wish to visit Loki alone–”

“No, no, that's totally fine, um, Helblindi, right? Prince Helblindi, I mean?” She grimaced as she closed the door behind her. Only when the door shut did Helblindi realize that the Healing Building had grown quiet. The patients must have fallen asleep.

As Jane moved closer, darting glances at both Helblindi and Loki, Helblindi noticed dark circles like bruises just below her eyes, ones that mirrored Loki's. And there was a strange, raw, reddish tinge to the whites of her eyes, a colour that Helblindi couldn't recall seeing before on a human or Ás. Perhaps she was ill.

Jane paused, then, gesturing at the chair Helblindi had moved out of his way as she asked, “Can I sit...?” At Helblindi's nod, she dragged it next to the bed, her movements slow, weary, as if her body belonged to a woman hundreds of years older than herself. After lowering herself into the chair, she dug her elbows into her knees and dropped her forehead to her hands, sighing. Speaking towards the ground she said, “I'm sorry for interrupting, I just – there's not really any other place for me to go. Well, there was Thor, but the Asgardian doctors gave me strange looks when I asked if I could sit with him, and I thought I might be breaking a law or something, so...”

Her voice trailed off, but Helblindi understood. A mortal consorting with the absent Jotun prince would give rise to fewer misgivings than consorting with the king. Especially while he lay unconscious.

Clearing her throat, Jane raised her head to look at Loki. “Is he okay?” she asked, her voice rough. With a light, hesitant touch, she laid a hand on Loki's arm, the one without bandages. A spark of jealousy rose at the ease of her action, though he tried to push it down. It was not as if the sight or touch of a mortal would bring an Ás to flinch.

Not for the first time – there had been too many instances in Asgard for it to be the first – Helblindi wondered if his skin was really that repulsive.

Or because the runt will never be Jotun, Laufey's voice hissed. Always frightened, always cowering–

Helblindi buried Laufey's words farther in his mind.

“He will be,” Helblindi answered. Jane nodded, though she looked unsure. Helblindi watched her, her hand on Loki's arm, her face turned towards the bed but eyes unfocused. Staring at her small, hunched frame, for the first time, Helblindi wondered about this mortal and her companions, the ones that both Thor and Loki had been so quick to name friends. Why were they so special that the Chitauri had seen fit to take two of them? What more could she tell him of Loki, that Thor and Queen Frigga had not already? Did she know how Loki felt about Midgard? Did she know why he wished to stay on Midgard, in its dusty, arid deserts or muggy, oppressive jungles?

Did she know why Loki so feared his Jotun skin? Did she know how to help him? Could she teach Loki to have as little fear of Helblindi as she and her other friend did?

Because now, if Helblindi was right about his fears – and he so very often was right – there would be no one else.

But Helblindi refused to give space in his mind to his fears now. They would only make things worse. “What of your other companions?” he asked instead, lowering himself to the floor to sit. “Can you not go to them?”

She shook her head. “Darcy, the other woman staying with us–” she said, her eyes regaining focus, though she did not yet look around. “–SHIELD's got her locked up somewhere, and when I asked to borrow a phone, she didn't answer. And Erik, the man who was...taken with us,” A strange look crossed her face, and she sat back in her chair. Her voice was quiet as she said, “The doctors need to help him since he was with the Chitauri an extra two days. He's not...well yet.”

Helblindi frowned, studying her. “Are you not sick as well?”

“I – what?” She jerked around, looking at him in surprise.

“Your eyes are pink,” Helblindi said hesitantly. Maybe he had made a mistake. “Is that normal for a human?”

“My eyes–” Jane half raised a hand to her brow, before understanding crossed her face. “Oh, no, that's just what we – humans, I mean, and I think even Asgardians as well, because I've seen it on Loki – what we look like after we, um.” Her mouth abruptly clamped shut, and she glanced away. Letting out a breath of air, she said, “After we cry.”

Oh. Helblindi blinked at her. He had not put much thought into the other humans' ordeals, or known about them for long, but now...Helblindi realized she must have suffered the same as Loki. “I am...I am sorry for your trials at the Chitauri's hands,” he said, though he knew it was inadequate.

“Yeah,” Jane said, which seemed just as much an understatement. “Yeah, I...” She leaned back, rubbing her hands down her face, before abruptly leaning forward, elbows on her knees and hands clasped before her. Slowly, she said, “But the thing is that, even after everything, all those people...” She swallowed, and when she spoke again her voice was strained, barely above a whisper. “I know that I would've died for the Chitauri, if they told me to, but even after that...It felt like I knew everything. Or that I could know everything.” She was looking at Loki as she spoke, though Helblindi did not think she was talking to either of them. “All those things those professors, those doctorates, the whole damn science community told me, that I couldn't do it, and I could have proven them wrong in a heartbeat, instead of five fucking years.”

Helblindi didn't understand half of her words, the unfamiliar human terms flying over his head. But he understood her meaning well enough, and could see by the strain of her body and the anger in her eyes that this was something she needed to say. So he did not interrupt as she buried her face in her hands, her voice thick as she said, “Those impossible things Loki told me about Asgard, about magic, the ones I couldn't understand because they didn't make sense, not with the laws of the universe that we knew...I knew different laws after the staff touched me. And I knew, if I wasn't working for the Chitauri, if I put my mind to it, I could figure it all out. I would have known.”

Her breath hitched and stuttered, and in the silence, Helblindi quietly asked, “Can you not figure it out now, having done it before?”

“No.” She raised her head. Her eyes were gleaming with tears. “No, it's gone, they took it with them, and I want it back.” She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. Fists clenched, she growled, “I hate how much I want it back.”

Helblindi was not sure what to say. Apparently Jane did not expect him to answer, for she opened her eyes again and said, “And I know I wasn't the only one, because Erik was like me, just enthralled with the stupid cube. And Loki, God, I've never seen Loki so happy.”

The way she said it, almost with a tinge of disbelief, sent a tingle of worry down Helblindi's spine as he glanced at Loki. His pale, blank face showed nothing, revealed nothing. What did she mean, Loki was happy?

“But Erik's old,” Jane said, swiping tears from her face, “and Loki...Loki isn't what someone would call well-adjusted. So I...why couldn't I stop it?”

“The human's leader said that you fought it, though,” Helblindi remembered, for he had asked how the humans had figured out how to destroy the ship. “That you were the reason the other mortals could stop the Tesseract.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Now that's being generous. I couldn't have done a thing if it wasn't for this.” She reached a hand down the collar of her shirt and yanked up a small medallion hanging on a chain. “It wasn't me,” Jane said, her voice cracking as she held it out, staring down at the medallion. “It was magic. Loki's magic. And it didn't even do much at first, not until the – the green or whatever–”

“Green?” Helblindi leaned forward, half-rising as he squinted at the necklace.

Jane nodded and let the necklace sag in her hands. “It turned green and it felt like, I don't know, like winter, and – God, I don't even have the words for it.” She rubbed at her eyes viciously. “But I didn't fight the staff, or the Chitauri, and then I...well, we all know what I did.”

She dropped the necklace and looked away, though by now, Helblindi had already seen it in full.

Helblindi had little magic; Laufey had his own, most of which was tied to the realm and severely weakened by the loss of the Casket, and Býleistr had enough to create some sparks and other simple spells. But Helblindi could recognize a protection rune when he saw one. And if Loki gave this to Jane, then Helblindi knew enough about magic, about the Casket and the Seiðr embedded in Jotunheim's land, to know where the “green” had come from.

Before he could speak, Jane sighed. “I'm sorry,” she said, sniffing. “You don't want to hear this, and I just...exploded it all over you.”

Helblindi shifted closer, and laid a hand on the armrest of the chair, not far from her hand. She didn't seem to have Loki's fear of touching him, but he didn't wish to make a mistake. “You are both Thor's and my brother's friend. I doubt they would be pleased if I treated you unkindly.” He tried to smile. It was probably better that she did not look his way, for he knew it was a poor effort. Gently, he said, “It is not such a heinous crime to want what is beyond your reach. Especially not something that has been beyond your reach for a long time.”

(It was only what his people had been doing for a thousand years. And maybe would for a thousand more.)

“You are strong of spirit indeed, Jane Foster,” he continued. “Not every mortal could have handled the power you did, and controlled it.”

Jane looked up at him, her face doubtful. “What do you mean–”

The door creaked opened, and a Healer strode in, quickly shutting the door behind her. “First Prince Helblindi, Jane Foster,” she said, bowing to Helblindi. Then she turned to Jane, giving her an evaluating look. “Jane Foster, there is a mortal wishing to speak with you. I could not allow her entrance to this room, for the prince's safety–” She inclined her head at Loki, and Helblindi was glad Queen Frigga had taken his warnings of a threat to Loki's safety to heart. “–But I agreed to convey her message. An Agent Romanoff wishes you with her and a Doctor Banner in the communication centre.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Jane said, standing from her seat and straightening her shirt. She hurried to the door, before stopping abruptly, turning, and quickly bowing at Helblindi. “Bye, First Prince Helblindi,” she said, stumbling over the title. Then she was out the door, closing it behind her with a loud snap.

The Healer eyed the closed door, before turning back to Helblindi. “I need to check on Prince Loki, but if you want to stay–”

“No, no, I should leave as well,” Helblindi said, rising as much as he could from his crouch. The Healer stepped aside as Helblindi awkwardly made his way to the door. He was half-way through when he twisted his neck to look back at the Healer. “Thank-you for caring for my brother,” he said. “I know not everyone would.”

“It is our duty,” the Healer said simply, though she smiled brightly. Helblindi attempted to smile back, then squeezed his way out into the hall, ensuring the door closed snugly behind him.

He had no doubt he would be called home soon. He should start saying his farewells.

He only wished Thor and Loki might wake first.

It would be good to see them both, one last time. Before Laufey decided that Helblindi had committed treason.

Chapter Text

“We barely escaped! We just saved the Earth and Asgard! And now you want to go back?” Stark shouted, running a metal hand through his hair, which only served to smudge dirt across his forehead.

Captain America took a much more subdued approach, crossing his arms and staring at Agent Romanoff with a tired and troubled expression as he sighed, “Natasha...If Clint's still alive out there, this isn't the type of thing you do on your own.”

“I'm not alone. Unlike others who've attempted harebrained rescue missions, Cap,” Romanoff said, raising one pointed eyebrow at him with more poise than Jane had in her whole body, a motion that reminded her sharply of Loki.

Ever since Romanoff and Dr. Banner had called her the communication centre hours ago, Jane had thought everyone was on board with Romanoff's crazy scheme. But Stark and Captain America had walked into the communication centre after helping clean up the base, sweaty, tired, and completely unprepared for what Romanoff was proposing.

There had been a lot of arguing involved that Jane had stayed well out of.

(Not the least because she had no idea which side she wanted to take.)

In the end, it hadn't taken much from Romanoff's end to convince Stark and Captain America to sit down and listen in. Or maybe, like Jane, they were both too exhausted for any prolonged argument.

And yet here they all still sat, an hour later, talking around in circles. Jane scrubbed at her eyes – a short bout of unconsciousness didn't solve several days of sleep loss.

And the topic of conversation wasn't helping.

“I'm saying I don't know,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, this close to dropping her head to the table and falling asleep right there. “I could try to sketch out the numbers, but... there's just not enough to go on.”

“And it wasn't just our knowledge we were working with,” Erik bit out, slumped in the chair next to her.

Jane had asked for Erik to join them if he was well enough, to provide her with support, around the time the sky grew light. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised when he'd trundled in only minutes later, saline drip and all.

She hadn't had a chance to talk to him in private yet. But she could see it in his eyes, and hear it in his voice – the same, burning guilt that sat low and heavy in her stomach.

The same shameful, bitter desire to have it all back.

(She wondered if she would see it in Loki too.)

“But there's a chance you could figure it out again.” Even after so many hours, Romanoff's eyes were bright and sharp. “You could create a portal and find a way back to the Chitauri.” Her voice didn't waver, just as it hadn't wavered all morning; nor had Jane seen a hint of tears since she had arrived.

Jane wondered if it was Romanoff's belief that kept her so steady – if it had been Darcy, or Erik had been lost, Jane doubted she would even be coherent right now.

(Jane hadn't even tried calling her mom yet. She was too afraid of what would happen if Mom didn't pick up.)

“Yes, there's a chance,” Jane agreed, burying the shuddering thought elsewhere before it could overwhelm her. “A slim chance we could build another portal that could take us to the Chitauri, if they haven't moved their other ship and if they don't kill us as soon as they spot us. But the power needed to run something like that – and then actual space travel once we crossed through–”

“If we really want to go through with this,” Dr. Banner interrupted, pulling his jacket closer about his bare chest, “I think Tony has contacts with NASA. Or he could buy some contacts. Right, Tony?”

He raised his voice on the last two words, turning his head towards where Tony Stark had taken up station, sprawled on one of the counters. Except now, with his head lolled back against the wall, mouth parted, he looked fast asleep. Beside him, Captain America slouched against the wall with eyes half-lidded, though was awake enough to give Stark a kick.

(Sometimes, Jane couldn't believe the madness of it all: she was in the same room as Captain America for goodness' sake – the Captain America, who had turned the tide of World War Two, except up close he looked about the same age as Jane, and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The same room as Tony Stark, who made her want to punch the television whenever she saw him smugly harping on about his wonderful new designs or reports about some new scandal – which had only gotten worse with the Iron Man suit. But now his face was smudged with dirt and soot, and when Captain America kicked him a second time, he mumbled in his sleep. And Bruce Banner, whom she only knew through colleagues and his research, and who turned into the same thing that had torn up Harlem – and yet now he was nearly half-naked in his ripped pants and SHIELD gear, talking science with her as if they were at any old conference.)

(She remembered she'd lived through more madness than most humans could lay claim to. She'd kissed the god of thunder and lived with the god of mischief.)

(She'd gone to space and built something no other human could, in the span of a few days.)

(And now she had to wonder if she would take it all back if she could.)

“Look,” Jane sighed, dropping her head to her hands as Stark starting blearily blinking around the room. “I've told you, it's – we can't remember how we did it. Even if we could do it, we'd need the notes we took that are still somewhere back in the States. One of the agents taken with us told the Chitauri about the hanger, but only he and Loki know where it is.” Loki hadn't bothered to take their notes and laptops when he teleported them to Antarctica. The Other must not have found them very useful. They were just extra baggage.

If Jane saw those notes, maybe she could figure it all out again. Maybe she would need Erik and Loki, like the first time, but maybe she would build a working portal with just her human mind and human knowledge.

She wanted to see if she could.

Except every time she thought back to that hanger, to that little table where they had existed in that little bubble of silence Loki had created for them, she wanted to throw up.

If she hadn't already cried until her tears dried up, she was sure she would start crying too.

Even as she had the thought, tears began welling up again. Biting her lip and digging her fingers into her hair, she did her best to blink them back, glad that her position meant no one could see her eyes gleaming. This was no place to break down.

Still, Erik must have sensed something was wrong, for she felt his hand land gently on her back, a warm, comforting presence.

Concentrating on holding back tears, she almost missed the creaking of metal as Stark sat up, awake enough to join the conversation. “Natasha,” he sighed, “you don't even know if Clint survived. Going after him like this could get us killed as well.”

“You heard him on the comm. Did you hear him die?” When Jane looked up, Romanoff's gaze was as sharp as her voice.

“No,” Stark said carefully, “but he couldn't have made it off–”

“We made it off, with time to spare.” Romanoff stood from the table, crossing her arms as she stared down Stark. “They didn't kill Clint right away – which means that for whatever reason, they wanted him alive. There's a chance, however slim that may be, that he's still out there, and the sooner we reach him, the better. You know that more than anyone.”

Stark's face cycled through several emotions, growing paler with each one. Eventually he closed his eyes and draped an arm over his face, letting out a groan as he nodded. If he was planning on saying anything more, Captain America beat him to it.

“I agree that if there's even a chance that Clint is out there, we need to take it, although I'd like more of a plan if Dr. Foster and Dr. Selvig think this can work,” Captain America said, sliding off the counter as he gave Jane and Erik a nod. He seemed to rouse himself with each passing second, looking around at everyone gathered like a general speaking to his troops. “I've already visited the agents who were taken with Dr. Selvig. I can ask them about the hanger's coordinates, unless Loki's awake and can give us the location.” He looked sharply to Romanoff. “Have you cleared this with Fury yet?”

At that, a hint of exhaustion entered Romanoff's posture. “You know what he'll say,” she huffed out, her gaze growing distant as she stared out at the windows. “That there's too much of a risk for one man. That if we open a portal to them, what's stopping them from coming through to get us? And he won't entirely be wrong.” She turned back to Captain America, a challenge on her face. “Sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Captain America paused, but decided on a firm, “Alright.” He approached the table, and laid a hand on Romanoff's shoulder. “You should get some sleep, Natasha. We've all been up too long.”

“I can sleep when we're on our way to the hanger. And you should take your own advice, Cap.” She gave his arm a light punch, her lips twitching in something like a smile before it quickly disappeared.

Jane wondered what it would take for her to even feel that much herself.

The small room began to move into action, with Dr. Banner standing and stretching, Stark muttering something to himself as he ambled over towards Banner. Captain America and Romanoff began to move towards the door. Erik leaned over and whispered into Jane's ear, “Jane, if you don't want to go back – if you just want to go back to the Puente Antiguo, then I can–”

He never finished his sentence, for a bright golden light cut through the window, flooding the room. Everyone froze, turning to face the windows. In the middle of an empty swatch of grass between the comm building, command centre, and hospital, a huge blue Jotun materialized a second before the Bifrost's light disappeared.

The Jotun straightened his hunched back, bringing up an arm to shield his eyes from the sun. He glanced towards the comm building before dismissing it, turning in a circle, first towards the far-off reactor, then the command centre. Mid-way through his turn, when he faced away from the comm building and towards the far-off wall between the command centre and barracks, he froze.

“You think he's lost or something?” Stark said as the Jotun continued to stand there, transfixed by the wall. Or maybe it was the trees just beyond that captivated him – Loki had said there weren’t any on Jotunheim, as far as he knew.

“Should we go talk to him?” Dr. Banner asked vaguely to the room.

“I can go ask why he's here,” Captain America offered, squaring his shoulders, when another Jotun rushed into view, headed from the direction of the hospital. Even from this distance, Jane was pretty sure it was Helblindi.

“Guess we're not needed, then,” Stark said as Helblindi stalked towards the new Jotun, who snapped to attention when Helblindi drew close enough, bowing his head and putting his hand to his opposite shoulder.

As the two Jotnar began to talk, the low babble of conversation ebbed and flowed around Jane. Captain America was talking about arranging transport and provisions, while Romanoff warned Stark that the best way to avoid SHIELD's suspicions was to not act suspicious.

And then Erik's warm hand left her back as he stood, limping towards the window with his saline drip rolling along behind him, his eyes fixed on the two Jotnar.

Jane remembered stepping out of the SHIELD van all those months ago to see Helblindi, towering high above the sand. Excitement thrummed through her at the chance of meeting an actual alien-looking alien – even though she knew Loki technically belonged to the same species. She'd wanted to ask so many questions: what was it like on Jotunheim? Where was it? Could they travel like Asgard did?

She'd held back, because she knew how important the meeting was for Loki, but it hadn't helped the curiosity that had itched at her all day. It was like every time Loki offhandedly told her another impossible thing about Asgard – the stars just off the bridge, the planet actually being flat, the waterfall that ran off into space...She wanted to fly off into the cosmos right there and then, burst through an Einstein-Rosen bridge into the far-off reaches of space, the ability to travel the universe and see it all at her fingertips.

Careful what you wish for. The words rang bitter and cold, like the blue of the sceptre that had swept through her mind, tasting like bile on her tongue. You just might get it.

Jane laid her head down on the table. The plastic felt cool against her forehead.

She hadn't asked about the number of people who had died, the number of lives destroyed across six cities–

(Cities she had chosen with Loki, cities they had given coordinates for –)

She hadn't asked about Clint Barton, though when Romanoff mentioned he had headed the Puente Antiguo SHIELD base for months, Jane couldn't remember if she had ever met him before he grabbed her necklace and said he recognized it.

She still hadn't asked about her mother, whose house was about a six kilometres away from the portal. Jane couldn't remember if she was gone on yet another cruise or if she was on one of her brief stints at home.

Screwing her eyes shut, Jane thought about Loki, unconscious and hand and arm bandaged white, couldn't help but feel a spike of jealousy that out of all the ones who were taken, he would be the last to wake up. The last to remember, the last to remain in that blissful unawareness for just that much longer.

A second burst of golden light cut through Jane's eyelids as cleanly as it cut through her thoughts. The conversation around her began to grow quiet, the atmosphere tense.

When Jane opened her eyes again, she expected to see the grass empty, both Jotnar gone, and just more scorched earth left in their place.

Jane did not expect to see Helblindi marching straight towards the communication building, the grass behind him deserted, and a resigned expression on his large, blue face.

As Helblindi squeezed his way though the doorway, Jane sat up while Erik and the rest moved away from the door, gathering around the desk. She wondered if she should bow again, but seeing as no one else bothered to, she stayed seated. If Helblindi minded, he wasn't saying anything; he barely even looked at them when he entered, instead gazing around the room as if he had never seen it before, his eyes settling on a cupboard near one of the counters.

Finally, his head snapped around to face Jane and the others, as if he hadn't noticed them at first. His face blank, he said, “Greetings. I have come to inform you that my fellow diplomats and I have been called away from Midgard, though Jotunheim's troops will remain for a few days longer.” Helblindi waited a beat, then said abruptly, “I must give my warriors their orders.”

“I thought you just did that a few hours ago,” Stark said, raising his eyebrows.

A thin, twisted smile curled on Helblindi's lips. “Though I would prefer to wait for Thor and my brother to awaken before I take my leave, my father calls me home,” and Jane found herself echoing that feeling. “However,” Helblindi continued, “he cannot berate me for doing my duty to our warriors. Even if it may take a few hours.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Stark said, nodding sagely. “Pushing father dearest's boundaries to the limit?”

The smile Helblindi gave looked rather forced, and there was an odd flatness to his eyes when he agreed, “Yes, something like that.”

Jane wondered if she could find an excuse to wait for Thor or Loki to wake up as well. If she could get them here – and Darcy too, wherever she was – well, it would be something. Someone to talk to, maybe, to help her decide. Erik would try his best, but Jane could see his hand shaking as he pulled the saline drip back to the desk. He had probably escaped from the SHIELD medics just to come out here. And Loki, once he woke up...

Abruptly, Jane realized how she could wait. Turning to Romanoff – though honestly Jane couldn't tell whether she or Captain America was in charge – she said, “You should wait for Loki before you leave. He can help.”

Erik made an aborted noise and put a hand on Jane's shoulder. “We'll probably be good without him. We wrote down most of his suggestions anyway.”

Jane frowned up at him, but Agent Romanoff began talking before Jane could ask what was wrong. “Unless Loki wakes up right this minute, he can meet up with us later. I'd rather we do this before Fury tells me to come back – there's a difference between not having orders and defying a direct one.”

Helblindi looked between the three of them, his brow furrowing. “Where is Loki going?” he asked warily.

Jane rubbed a hand against her aching forehead. “SHIELD lost an agent – Agent Barton – in Chitauri space, and Agent Romanoff wants to open a portal back there. But,” she swivelled back to face Romanoff, “the problem is power – it always has been.” It was what had been holding up her research for the past few months. “The Tesseract was the key to the whole thing. It provided all the power we needed, except it got blown up with the ship.”

As Romanoff frowned, thinking that over, Helblindi gave Jane a strange look. “The Tesseract was not 'blown up',” he said. “It is impossible to destroy.”

Silence filled the room as everyone looked to him. Jane felt as if the chair had just dropped out from under her, followed quickly by the floor.

“You mean it's still out there with the Chitauri?” Stark demanded.

“Does Asgard know?” Captain America asked, looking ready to bolt outside and tell one of Asgard's doctors right there and then.

“I expect their Gatekeeper has heard and informed Queen Frigga. I have no doubt they are preparing to find some way to reach the Chitauri even now.” Another strange look crossed Helblindi's face, this one tinged with bitterness. “Asgard does not take well to even the smallest threats.”

When the pronouncement was only met with more silence, Helblindi moved past them, towards the comm room. “I will speak with my warriors. And Jane Foster, if Loki wakes...” Helblindi hesitated, then shook his head. “I will ask you later,” he said, and pressed his way through the doorway.

The room exploded as soon as the door shut. Agent Romanoff cursed in something Russian-sounding while Banner stood with his fists clenched, eyes closed, and breathing heavy. Captain America sat heavily in one of the chairs and said flatly, “So we only delayed them.”

“All of that, and the Chitauri still have that thing,” Erik bit out.

“Natasha,” Stark said, rounding on Romanoff, “if Asgard is going after them, then we don't need–”

“No, I can do it,” Jane said. Her voice sounded small, timid, so she swallowed, and repeated more firmly, “I can try to find a way to Chitauri space.”

It was like hearing about Asgard had flipped a switch somewhere deep inside her.

It felt like she was being told to sit back as they did everything, as they took care of the important jobs. Like she was being told to sit by doing nothing even after everything the Chitauri had done to her. After what they'd made her do.

Like she no longer had a choice, no matter how much it frightened her – like she shouldn't bother doing anything because someone “better” was already doing it for her.

Well, screw that, she thought, with just enough vitriol that it almost burned away the fear. Almost.

“Jane, are you sure?” Erik asked, eyes worried.

“Very,” Jane answered, though her stomach still burned with nausea and it felt like something was trying to crawl its way up her throat at the thought of going back to that place.

“If Dr. Foster's good, then Natasha, still want to go through with it?” Captain America asked.

Romanoff studied Jane the way Jane studied her star charts when she was trying to find a particular star she thought she had lost, then looked back to Captain America. “I'd rather go there myself than hope Asgard doesn't attack first, ask questions later.”

Captain America seemed to expect that answer. “I'll talk to the agents who were taken and see if they remember the location of the hanger, and when Thor and Loki wake up, I'll be sure to tell them what you said,” he said, blue eyes flickering to Jane on the last statement before returning to Romanoff. “If Fury calls, I can try to delay him.”

“I'm with you there, Cap,” Stark said, right before a huge yawn. “Ugh, I better call Pepper before I pass out. Unless they've got some decent coffee here, which I highly doubt. SHIELD rations and all. Bruce buddy, you staying with me and the star spangled banner to hold down the fort, or you going on an adventure?”

Banner folded his arms and huffed out a breath. “I'll go. Help out the best I can. They already have enough doctors, and unless they need someone to punch out another dinosaur...”

“Wait, you punched out a dinosaur? They're really here?” Stark spluttered, his eyes about the size of dinner plates. He looked like a little kid who was told Christmas had come early. “How? What type? Was it a T-Rex?”

“I don't know...probably?” Banner shrugged, pulling nervously at one of his sleeves. “It had to be one of the bigger ones.”

“Dinosaurs,” Tony said wistfully. Staring at Romanoff he said, “So when you mentioned the dinosaur fence, you and Barton weren't...kidding...” Stark trailed off, looking away, and shifting uncomfortably. His suit magnified the sound into a mechanical creaking and whirring.

Agent Romanoff didn't move at first. Her was gaze riveted to the wall just behind Stark, her lips pursed and face blank. Quietly, she said, “A couple years back, when Clint first heard he was going to the Savage Land, he wouldn't shut up about dinosaurs. For days, it was all ‘brachiosaurus this’ and ‘land before time that’. And it was all going smoothly when he got here at first...Until his helicopter crashed and he got separated from the team. And a T-Rex tried to eat him.”

She glanced up at Stark, then the rest of the room in turn. “He managed to stave it off with his arrows until he ran into a group of stegosauri. They weren't too happy with the T-Rex, and the 'Rex wasn't very happy with their spikes. Clint had time to call in SHIELD for an extraction, although not before he snapped a few photos for me.”

All at once, her lips curved up in a smirk. “A few months later, he refused to watch Jurassic Park with me when I decided to marathon it.”

Short barks of laughter erupted around the room, despite themselves. Then Romanoff’s eyes lit on Jane, a small grin still on her lips. “You know, Loki’s little stunt with the jungle illusion nearly gave Clint a heart attack when he was watching over your place. It was his last day there too.”

Everyone's eyes locked onto Jane, and she felt herself growing red. She blurted out, “It was a good thing he missed the dragon, then. Loki said our versions didn't do the real things justice.”

Now everyone looked to her the same way Tony had looked at Bruce. Even Agent Romanoff looked surprised, and Jane had thought nothing could faze her.

“Dragons,” Stark said, deadpan.

Jane felt herself smile. “Yep. Fire-breathing dragons, ice dragons, acid-spitting dragons, riddle-asking dragons.” Loki had given her and Darcy a couple scales, large, polished ones that shone a purple on the edge of black, with the promise he would show them the real things one day. Jane always replied she would go see them herself. The thought of those words now dimmed her smile and sent a sharp pain spasming through her gut.

Trying to keep the smile plastered on, she said, “Apparently, they're all over the other realms.”

“But not here.” Stark actually looked crestfallen.

“No, they were. We just hunted them to extinction.” Jane still wasn't sure if Loki was joking about that or not. Darcy thought he was telling the truth.

“Of course we did,” Erik muttered, and said something under his breath in Swedish.

“So you've seen real dragons – I mean, illusions of real dragons?” Captain America asked. “What do they look like?” There was eagerness in his eyes, a boyish glint and suppressed excitement, and suddenly it was weird to think of him as Captain America.

A grin began inching its way across Jane's face again “You know what,” Jane said, “If this portal thing works, I can take you to Asgard and show you myself.”

This time, the nausea didn't rise up in her throat or rip through her gut. Jane felt something warm blossom in her stomach, something that ate away at the sickness, and for a moment, she felt alright again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor woke to a chill in his bones and a sluggishness in his limbs. He shivered, and tried to pull the blankets closer, when he realized they were already up to his neck – heavy, thickly-furred blankets that Thor could not recall owning. He must have taken to an inn last night. Or perhaps he was on another realm, as an envoy, or...something. Thor couldn't recall. There seemed to be a blanket over his thoughts as heavy as the ones draping his body. He supposed it did not matter, but he was still so cold. Another shiver ran through him, and he wondered if there might be a window open, letting in some chilled air as well as the sound of distant shouting and the clanking and rattling of machinery.

Machinery...that wasn't normal...

There was something Thor should remember, something important. It seemed a pressure in his head, like a needle trying to jab through the heavy cloak of his thoughts. Groggily, Thor opened his eyes, then squinted as blazing lights hit him square in the face. Thor blinked, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw the lights weren't aimed to blind him, but were simply very bright and set into a smooth white ceiling. Not torchlights, or Asgard's normal lights but...

Midgardian.

Thor lurched upwards, then gasped as his blankets slid off and cold air hit his bare chest. His whole body shuddered with cold as his head swam from the sudden movement, and he felt himself swaying, almost falling. He swung one arm out blindly to find something to help support him. He did not expect small but strong hands to grab his arm and hold it firm.

“King Thor,” a voice said, and different hands landed on his shoulders, trying to force him back down. Thor looked up into the stern face of a Healer, her face tense and slightly blurred. “Sit back, please.”

Thor shivered, but resisted the Healer's attempts. “Asgard, the war–” he said, the words coming out indistinct. The last thing he remembered was the Chitauri hanger, limping towards a golden skiff, Steve’s arm was around his back, his shoulder under his and yelling move, move, a few more steps. Thor’s whole body had been numb, the Casket was slipping from his fingers, and oddly, he didn’t feel cold anymore, though he had managed to fall onto one of the skiffs before his vision went dark.

“The war is over,” the other Healer said, and Thor recognized her voice. He looked around at Healer Synnove as she let go of Thor's arm and joined the other woman in pushing Thor down, dragging the blankets over his chest as well. “And Asgard is well, but you are not, King Thor.”

“But they were after Asgard, they planned to go after Asgard,” Thor said, still refusing to lay back. But another shudder ran through his body and he swayed just long enough for the two Healers to force him down. Still he struggled, for he could not sit here, not when Asgard was in danger, he had to get up–

“And now they cannot,” the first Healer said, and Thor realized he knew her as well. She was the Healer directly junior to Head Healer Eir, and meant to attend to the King. Embla, her name was. “The Chitauri's ship was destroyed,” she continued soothingly, “and if they do come, we will be prepared.”

That stopped Thor's struggles, and he distantly recalled Tony saying that the mortals had a plan to stop the Chitauri. But that still did not mean...

“They have the Tesseract,” Thor protested as Healer Embla's hands lit up with soft pink magic and she laid them over Thor's chest. The enormous Chitauri craft, the one Thor had spotted out the windows of the Chitauri ship, would still be out there. They might still reach Asgard, still invade his home, maybe not with the Chitauri's leader at their head if he had been on the ship when it was destroyed, but if Chitauri were bent on taking Thor's home–

“We know,” Healer Synnove said, her hands still on Thor's shoulders, in case he tried to get up again. “Heimdall and Queen Frigga have warned the realm that the Tesseract remains in Chitauri space. But they have yet to attack, and you can do nothing to help if you are ill, King Thor.”

Thor's first instinct was to argue, but even the panic fluttering his chest could hardly erase the heaviness of his limbs, the way his mind felt half-fogged, and the terrible coldness that had settled in the core of his body. If he tried to fight the Chitauri now, the most he could do was fall on one.

Gritting his teeth and shivering, Thor went still as Embla ran her hands atop Thor's body, the pink magic suffusing Thor's skin and dispersing some of the chill. Thor almost sighed with relief, and didn't notice at first when Synnove let him go, her footsteps retreating. Wondering if she was departing, Thor glanced blearily about his surroundings for the first time, and saw that he was in a small white-grey room, with bright morning light streaming in from a window above his bed, and the door past the foot of his bed closed tight. Healer Synnove was at a counter to the opposite side of the room, her back to him as she rummaged through something.

As the warmth soaked into his bones, as his panic that Asgard was under attack faded, more of the fog in Thor's head dissipated. The events on the Chitauri ship came back to him.

And fear shot through Thor' heart.

“Loki,” Thor gasped out, and grabbed Healer Embla's arm. “Loki, and Jane and Erik–” he began to ask, before he saw Embla's look of confusion at humans' names. Swallowing, he amended, “My brother and the two mortals who were captured with him, how are they?”

Embla hesitated, and shared a glance with Synnove. “The mortals are awake and well enough,” Embla answered after a moment.

“And Loki?” Thor asked. He tried not to tighten his grip on Healer Embla's arm.

The hesitation was longer this time. Their shared glance held worry.

Thor's heart jumped to his throat.

“And Loki?” Thor repeated, his body shaking not just from cold. No, no, no, Loki had to be fine, Helblindi had him when Thor last saw him, Loki couldn't be gone–

“Prince Loki is alive and healing,” Healer Synnove said quickly, and Thor thought he might collapse with relief. Worrying at her lip, Synnove continued, “He has simply not awoken yet.”

“I want to see him.” The words were out before Thor had time to think, or consider that they did not sound very kingly. At the moment, he did not particularly care.

“You will be able to see him when we are done,” Embla told him, gently trying to pry Thor's hand from her arm, and Thor let her. “But for now, my king, you must let me help you if you wish to heal. Even the Æsir are not immune to the Casket of Ancient Winters' cold.”

Hands fisted in sheets and body still wracked with shivers, Thor obeyed, and waited as Healer Embla's magic diffused through his body. As Healer Synnove joined her re-drawing sweeping runes on Thor's chest and down across his body, Thor found his eyelids growing heavier. He had to force his eyes open, each blink dragging on for longer. Only the thoughts of Asgard, the fear of streets overrun with Chitauri and leviathans, and the fresh memory of dark red blood running down Loki's arm, kept Thor from slipping fully into sleep.

At long last, Healer Embla announced they were finished, and the two helped Thor sit up, carefully keeping the blankets draped about his shoulders. After giving him a potion to drink and orders to rest frequently, they left him alone so he could dress in peace. Thor noticed that they supplemented his clothes with plenty of furs, and when he shivered violently as he removed the blankets, he was grateful for the thick, sleeveless black cloak that he could drape over his shoulders.

But he was far more grateful that, when he opened the door, Healer Synnove was waiting to take him to Loki's chambers.

“How is he?” Thor asked as he rushed along as fast as Synnove allowed him, barely noticing the rush of mortals and occasional Ásynja Healer. “You said he had not woken, but Jane and – but the mortals have. Why is that?”

“I do not know, my king. Healer Maija attended to him,” Synnove answered, ducking her head in apology. She truly did look apologetic, but Thor could not help the spark of irritation that Synnove had not been with Loki as well; she was one of two Healers that Thor and Mother had charged with Loki's safety the last time he was injured, and it should be no different now, not even for Thor's health.

Thor was about to demand why she had not been with Loki, when he noticed a Healer and a mortal doctor side-by-side, leaning over one of the many cots that were lined up in rows, rather than in individual rooms. Between them, Thor could see a leg bent at a strange, unnatural angle. And Thor thought he could guess why Synnove had left his brother.

Mortals did not have Asgard's advancements with medicine; the Healers could bring humans back from the brink of death where a mortal doctor might fail. With all the mortals in this base who had been injured in the Chitauri's attack, they had needed all the Healers they could get, mortal or otherwise, when Loki and Thor had been brought in. Two Healers could be spared to attend a king, of course. But the rest must have been spread too thin after the battle.

Thor held his tongue and his questions, instead channeling his irritation into his stride. Synnove kept up, directing Thor through two right turns, until at last she stopped at a door exactly like the one to Thor's room.

The words, “Prince Loki is in here,” were barely out of her mouth before Thor burst in, eyes already darting to the bed just under the window. There, swaddled in blankets much lighter than the ones that had covered Thor, was Loki. He was much too pale, his cheeks too gaunt, and his right hand and arm wrapped tight in bandages. As Thor drew closer to the bed, his mind could not help turning to the last time he had seen Loki in a Healing bed, his body twisted and broken, mangled, barely an inch of him left intact – even though he could see Loki's skin currently was, for the most part, smooth and unbroken.

Thor sank into a chair next to Loki's bedside. Only part of it was from the weakness in his limbs. As Thor stared at the too-dark shadows under Loki's eyes, he had the sudden thought that it was not the injuries he could see that he should be worried about. Not when Loki had sounded so happy, when had looked at that Chitauri with such adoration–

“My king,” a voice said from behind him, and Thor jerked, twisting his head to see Healer Maija bowing from the entrance of the room. “I am glad to see you are recovered,” she said as she entered and closed the door behind her. “Healer Embla told me you wished to hear of Prince Loki's health?”

“Yes, will he be well? Why is not awake yet?” Thor demanded, the questions coming out in a rush.

“His arm will be completely healed in a few days,” Healer Maija said in her usual cool, steady voice. She strode over to Thor's side as she said, “And I too was wondering why he had yet to wake, so I checked to see if he was suffering any other ailments. I discovered that he has far over-extended himself with his magic in the last few days; if he had kept using it to the same extent, his body would have simply collapsed in a day or so.”

Snapping his head back towards Loki, Thor realized he should have guessed the same from the way Loki had swayed during the battle. Thor had seen it all before, after all, on those rare times Loki decided to spend more time using his magic than his common sense. Or in battle, where twice Thor had caught Loki looking on the verge of toppling over.

Healer Maija laid a firm hand on Thor's shoulder. “All he needs now is rest, so that his mind can recover,” she said. “I would ask that you disturb him as little as possible, and wait for him to wake on his own time.”

“And how long will that take?” Thor asked quietly, as if speaking too loud would disturb his brother, though Loki had yet to even twitch. Thor knew he should already be back on Asgard by now; if he had not been unconscious, Heimdall would probably have whisked him away the moment the battle ended. He should be helping prepare for the Chitauri if they should regroup. He should be sending out warriors to hunt them and the Tesseract down.

But he couldn't leave Loki alone. Not after everything he'd done, everything he'd said.

(Not after what he said about Father.)

“Prince Loki should awake soon,” Healer Maija answered. Thor hoped “soon” meant hours, not days. He could not leave Asgard unattended for so long.

Tucking a loose lock of hair behind Loki's ear – Loki always hated when his hair was anything less than perfect – Thor stood and turned to face Healer Maija. Pulling his cloak more snugly against him, Thor asked, “Have you seen the two mortals that were taken with Loki? They were two of the three humans who Loki stayed with, when you assisted him.” Thor remembered she had stayed at the house for a few days after Loki first came to Midgard, to help him heal where the human's medicine was inadequate.

Healer Maija ducked her head in assent. “I remember the young woman – Jane Foster. She was here last night, but left when an Agent Romanoff and a Doctor Banner asked for her. She was wanted in the mortals' centre of communication.”

Thor blinked, wondering why Natasha and Bruce might need Jane for communication – but whatever the case, at least Thor knew they could not mistreat her. He may not have known the Avengers for long, yet he knew each of them would treat Jane with the respect and care she deserved. And if Jane was there, Erik might have followed.

“My thanks, Healer Maija,” Thor said. “If Loki wakes while I am gone, please send for me.”

And with one last glance at his brother, Thor left.

Chapter Text

As Thor walked into the bright, warm sunlight, he heard a roaring sound from above. He looked up to see one of SHIELD's quinjets in the sky far above the treetops, headed away from the base. Perhaps some of the injured were being evacuated, or a group of SHIELD agents were heading back to their homes. They certainly deserved it, after the terror of the battle.

Heading towards the long, rectangular building closest to the Healing centre – he had gotten directions from a passing human on the way out – Thor began striding across burnt grass, when movement to his right caught his eye.

Far across the field, near the centre of the base and huddled in the shadow of a half-gutted structure, were the Jotnar. Most were sitting to remain in as much of the shade as possible, and Thor caught the faint gleam of ice towers placed between them to provide a slight chill.

What Thor found odd was not that the Jotnar diplomats had chosen to gather, but that they had chosen outside in the heat, where the jungle sun even managed to leach the cold from Thor's bones. From the distance, Thor couldn't see if Helblindi was among them or not. Whatever the case, he hoped Helblindi hadn't returned to Asgard, for there was much Thor needed to ask, and Helblindi might be the only one who could answer.

Reaching the communication centre, Thor frowned at the windows, through which he could see nothing but emptiness. When he pulled the door open and stepped into the cool darkness, shivering slightly – he had a feeling he would get a rebuke from Healer Embla later – the room still revealed nothing. He was about to leave when he spotted the door at the far end, and quickly made his way across the room and pushed his way inside.

Jane wasn't inside, nor was Erik, Natasha, or Bruce. Instead Helblindi, crouched and facing a wall of screens, cut off mid-sentence and turned to face Thor, looking as surprised as Thor was to see him.

“Prince Helblindi,” Thor said, and despite the distant words, warmth bled into his voice. He saw the injuries the Chitauri's sceptre had inflicted on Helblindi's side were healing well, and did not seem to otherwise hinder the Jotun.

“King Thor,” Helblindi said respectfully, though there was something off about the look he gave Thor. “I am glad to see you recovered.”

Thor frowned. It was not just the look Helblindi gave him, but there was a strange distance to his voice, and his smile seemed a bit stiff. “Helblindi, have you seen–”

“King Thor?” a voice asked from one of the screens. “If King Thor is here, Jotun, then we demand to see him.”

“Lord Janli?” Thor asked, striding in front of the screens to join Helblindi, and was immediately taken aback by the volume of images and faces confronting him, missing Janli's next question.

There were eleven screens in total, six of which showed the highest ranking pair of Jotnar and Æsir in each of the six cities that had been attacked, the Æsir half of which looked very relieved to see Thor. The other five showed individual mortals, each giving Thor a look that ranged from evaluating to wary; as Thor took one of the chairs in front of the screens, Helblindi briefly explained that the mortals were of the 'World Council' – the same World Council that had been the ones to suggest destroying the Chitauri ship before Thor had even had a chance to rescue Loki (Thor made the snap decision to keep his words with them short, for Midgard's sake).

It was soon apparent why Lord Janli had called for Thor, for the Æsir began clamouring for Thor's attention, and the Jotnar began clamouring right back. Reluctantly setting aside his plans to search for Jane, Thor began to try to untangle their complaints.

Despite the battle they must have endured together, the six pairs were barely civil with each other; only the pair from the city of Wakanda seemed in any way friendly – and grudgingly at that – mostly because they seemed to have both been nearly killed by a leviathan, and from what Thor could guess at, they only survived because they had been forced to rely on the other. Thor supposed that was a start.

The same could not be said of the rest. It appeared their animosity had grown when yesterday Helblindi had asked the Jotnar to help the humans clear the destruction, as the humans would have trouble moving it themselves, but the Æsir had sharply objected. Not because they had anything against helping the humans – they had begun clearing debris already, digging out any humans lost in the rubble – but because they didn't believe the Jotnar would simply “help” the humans.

“That's not what they did before,” one of Thor's commanders growled, the one currently in the city of Moscow. The Jotun beside, seated as far away as the screen would allow, whipped his head around, teeth bared in a snarl. Whatever quarrel was about to erupt was averted when both Thor and Helblindi barked at them to be silent.

It only grew worse when Thor ordered that most of the Æsir needed to return to Asgard – he might as well give the order now, than wait for Heimdall to send down messengers.

“And leave them with the humans?” another commander objected. “My king, please–”

“We have not harmed one of them since arriving–” a Jotun Elder snapped.

“The Jotnar can aid the Midgardians well enough on their own,” Thor interrupted. “But while the fighting on Midgard has ceased, the war is not over, and Asgard needs its warriors returned. Our realm needs protection.”

“As for Jotunheim, our warriors will remain until King Laufey recalls them home, though he asks all Elders to return as soon as they can,” Helblindi added. Thor saw all the Elders and one of the Jarls give Helblindi a strange look, one Thor couldn't quite discern.

More of the Æsir looked ready to object, until Thor drew himself up and said, “Unless you question the orders of your king?”

They stayed silent after that. Thor hated putting his foot down that way – it did nothing to persuade them of the truth, except that perhaps their king was growing mad. But Thor had already taken up too much time arguing with his people – Jane might be looking for him, or one of the Avengers.

More than that, Thor felt the shivers coming back, and he was hesitant to adjust his cloak while in full view of not just his warriors, but the Jotnar and Midgardians as well. Then there was the touch of lightheadedness, and he knew that if he had not taken a seat, he might be swaying on his feet.

Once each of the Æsir agreed, one-by-one the six screens shut off, leaving only the five humans. Thor wondered if they were waiting for a dismissal as well, or if they thought to dismiss him, when one of the mortals abruptly said, “Prince Helblindi?”

It was one of the men, the one Thor thought had been named Councilman Rockwell. His face was expressionless, along with the other four members; though like Rockwell, they all seemed quite focused on Helblindi.

“Yes?” Helblindi's tone betrayed as little as the mortals' faces.

Thor caught the tightening of the councilman's clasped hands before he said, “Is it true that your people once tried to invade our world?”

Thor almost flinched back, and Helblindi looked as if he would like to. His red eyes blinked, his lips beginning to part before he seemed to regain control of himself. “Yes, a thousand years ago, King Laufey–”

“Your father, yes?” one of the other councilmen asked, Councilman Singh.

Helblindi's whole body stiffened. “Yes, he–”

He had barely started before Councilman Yen, glancing down at something on his desk, asked, “And the father of the other one down here...Prince Loki?” He looked at Thor, his eyebrows furrowed. “Who is also your brother, King Thor?”

“Yes,” Thor said, quickly adding, “and Laufey is Loki's father by birth only.”

Helblindi's head snapped around to stare at Thor, and in the time it took betrayal to flash across his red eyes and disappear, Thor's stomach clenched in guilt.

Divorcing Loki from Laufey hardly helped Helblindi's situation, or would convince the humans to trust the Jotnar. And Thor might as well just have said Loki was only Helblindi's brother by blood, nothing more.

“It's a complicated situation,” the councilman named Pierce said genially before Thor could think of a way to fix his blunder. “I believe I sent over the file when the prince first arrived.”

“When he arrived on American soil,” the one councilwoman, Hawley, said sharply. “I think, considering his origins–”

“Loki–” Helblindi interrupted, his voice nearing a growl, “–is not at issue here.” Looking at each of the mortals in turn, he said calmly, “Yes, it is true that King Laufey and our army did once attempt to take over your land, starting on one of the northern reaches of your world. But while a thousand years is not as long to our people as it is to yours, it is still long enough to understand one's mistakes. We come to Midgard not in war, but to defend your people, and hope you accept our help.”

Helblindi bowed his head, almost in supplication. As if he was taking the brunt of the blame for crimes that had happened when he was but a child.

Pierce was the first to speak. “And we are happy to have it,” he said, a welcoming smile on his face as he nodded.

“We only wished to clear up some confusion,” Councilman Rockwell added. “You understand how these matters may be of interest.” Then, just as with the Æsir and the Jotnar, their screens just shut off, leaving them blank.

Thor let out a full-body shudder and pulled his cloak closer, but the fur did little in the dim, chilled room. He stood, and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He leaned against his chair for support, waiting for the spell to pass, and when his head finally cleared, he noticed Helblindi was already stooping out into the entrance room. “Helblindi,” Thor called after the Jotun, hoping to apologize for his mistake. Pushing out through the door, Thor said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have–”

“Yes, you shouldn't have,” Helblindi said sharply without turning, “but I can hardly blame you for wishing to protect Loki. Who would wish to claim to be sired and raised by a man like Laufey?”

Though Helblindi's voice lacked any bitterness, the words stopped Thor short. Guilt throbbed through his stomach as cold flooded his veins, worse than the cold that set him shivering again. “I – that wasn't what I meant,” Thor said. His voice was small in the empty room.

Helblindi stopped as well, his hand resting on the far wall beside the door. “I know,” he said, and turned to face Thor. “Like I said, you were only protecting Loki.”

Thor swallowed. He took a step forward, and his leg immediately wobbled, and he grasped onto a nearby counter for support. “I'm sorry,” he repeated, making his way forward. “I didn't come here to intrude on your command, or undermine you – I was just searching for Jane. My brother's friend. She was supposed to be here.”

Surprise crossed Helblindi's face, followed by sympathy. “Jane Foster has left already, with a few of the other mortals.”

“She's gone?” Panic spiked through Thor, and he jerked away from the counter. He had the sudden image of SHIELD handcuffing her and Erik, imprisoning her for the crimes they had no choice but to commit. “Why? Who took her?”

“Some of Midgard's Avengers,” Helblindi said quickly. “They wished Jane, Loki, and their friend to recreate the portal. One of their team was taken on the Chitauri's ship, and they plan to retrieve him.”

Thor felt as if the Casket had wrapped him in ice once more. “Who? Who was lost?” he whispered.

Helblindi dipped his head. Apologetic, he said, “Barton. I think they said his name was Barton.”

Stumbling, Thor dropped to one of the chairs. Clint, the archer, who had been so free with his jokes, who had known Loki, had been there when Loki first arrived on Midgard. Clint was gone and Thor hadn't even known it.

And Jane, and Erik, after everything they had gone through, now forced to work on another portal, when Asgard–

“But Asgard will be going after the Chitauri,” Thor insisted, more to himself than anything. “We can search for Clint, much easier than they can, with more men and weapons – it's been less than a day, Jane should be recovering–”

“They know about Asgard. I told them.”

Thor's head snapped around to look at Helblindi, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. “Then why–”

“Perhaps they feel Asgard shouldn't be the ones to take everything upon themselves,” and there was that strange distance to Helblindi's voice again, and a coolness in his eyes.

“Helblindi,” Thor said, slowly straightening. Trepidation twisted in his stomach. “Helblindi, is there something wrong?”

Helblindi glanced away, his feet shifting as if he was nervous. But when he looked back to Thor again, his face was stony. “I believe we need to speak, King Thor,” Helblindi said quietly, and this time the distance in his voice was unmistakable. “But not here.”

Thor's stomach twisted further, knotting and curling in on itself. “Alright,” he agreed just as quietly, confusion and apprehension tugging at him. Following Helblindi out of the chilled building into the muggy, hot jungle air, Thor still felt cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helblindi led him to the base of one of the rubble structures near the wall, stepping over loose rocks into the diminishing shade. There, he stopped. He did not turn around.

Thor remained in the sun, the heat cutting through some of the chill, but not enough to reach the ice that seemed to be growing in his chest.

Helblindi still said nothing, did not move. Thor swallowed, and stepped closer to his friend. “Helblindi,” he said, and Thor did not try to hide the pleading note in his voice, not if Helblindi had reacted this strongly. “If this is about what I said to the mortals, if I could take back the words I would, in a heartbeat.”

“No. No, it's not just that.” Helblindi's voice was not loud, but it cut through Thor's all the same, for he could hear the resignation. And the hurt. At last, Helblindi turned. His jaw was set, but his eyes were bright. “I saw the look you gave me, on the Chitauri ship.”

Thor stared, at a loss. “What do you–”

“When I held the Casket in my hands,” Helblindi said, his voice thick. His hands were clenched into fists as he looked down at Thor. “When I held Jotunheim's heart, you looked at me like I was a monster.”

The word tore through the air and through Thor's heart. He gaped as disbelief cut through him.

No, no, he would never look at his friend like that, never, not when Loki–

But Thor remembered. He remembered how he had seen Helblindi clutching the Casket, had seen him staring at it.

And he had thought Helblindi was going to leave them all behind.

As if Helblindi could read his mind, he asked, “Did you really think I would take the Casket and abandon you? Loki? The humans?” There was a slight curl of disgust to his lips.

Disgust directed at Thor.

“I...I'm sorry, I – It was only for a second...” That excuse sounded weak, even to Thor's ears, and Helblindi's expression didn't change.

It had only been for a second. But it had only been until Helblindi had looked away from the Casket. Until Thor no longer saw Helblindi as a threat.

But Thor had seen the wanting, the longing in Helblindi's expression. He hadn't imagined that, his mind hadn't conjured up images born out of old hatred.

Had he?

Wanting to know for sure, Thor asked, “Then where is it now? With the rest of the Jotnar? And on the ship, did you think of taking it–”

“Of course I thought of taking it.” The words exploded out of Helblindi, and the Jotun's face twisted in a snarl. Thor remembered the first time he had met Helblindi, when it was Járnsaxa who would rage while Helblindi remained calm and polite...until it came to the matter of the Casket. Then Helblindi's eyes had grown cold.

“I thought of taking it,” Helblindi repeated, his teeth gritted, and Thor could feel the chill radiating from his body. “But not once did I think of leaving you and the humans and my brother to suffer. I thought of taking it because of what it means to us. To our people. And I thought of taking it again here, on Midgard, when the humans offered it up so unwittingly, but instead I left it in their care. I thought you knew what was happening to us without it. I thought you understood.”

Helblindi drew back, and the naked pain on his face drove through Thor like a lance. “I thought you knew me better,” Helblindi said, and the disgust and anger was gone. His voice only sounded...empty.

Just as Thor felt.

Helblindi was right. Thor knew him better. He knew Helblindi wouldn't have run.

And still he had believed Helblindi's desire for the Casket – no, the innate desire he had believed every Jotun had for the Casket, just as he had been told time and time again – that it had overridden everything else Helblindi cared about.

“Helblindi, I am sorry.” Something in Thor's voice caused Helblindi to turn back to him, a spark returning to his empty eyes. Thor crossed the small distance that had opened between them. “I am truly sorry for doubting you, and causing the humans to doubt you as well. I – I have grown up with hatred between our people for so long, and I am trying. For you, and your people. For Loki.” He was close enough now to put his hand on Helblindi's arm, and he grasped at Helblindi's cool flesh, even though it sent more shivers running through him. “You know I would never want to hurt him, so I–”

If Thor's hand hadn't been on Helblindi's arm, if he hadn't been searching Helblindi's eyes for some hint of understanding, he might not have caught the flinch that ran through Helblindi at the words, nor the flash of regret before he turned his face away. Thor trailed off, jarred from his the path of his apology, and he remembered – remembered Loki crawling backwards, clutching his head in pain, and the small green light in the depths of the Casket.

It hurts, Loki had whimpered. Whatever Helblindi had done to him, whatever the Casket had done, it had hurt him.

“Helblindi,” Thor began slowly, mind turning over the scene for the first time since he'd witnessed it, one that seemed almost like a fever dream at the time, with the ice constricting his chest and cold seeping into his bones. “Helblindi, when you used the Casket on Loki, what did you do? He was in pain, and I saw...I saw his eye change, just like the sceptre did.”

In the light of day the memory felt almost unreal, but Thor was sure he had seen the flash of green in the Casket, the same green that had shone in Loki’s eye as he fell and curled in on himself. But if the sceptre’s stone was powerful to not just invade Loki's mind but overtake it, and more mortals beside, then how powerful did that make the Casket?

“What did you do to him?” Thor repeated when Helblindi had not answered, the Jotun's head still turned away. “Are the effects still there?” Would Thor find Loki with his eyes glowing that bright green when his brother finally woke, under some new spell and suffering as he had before?

But Helblindi vehemently shook his head. “I removed the effects of the Casket after we arrived on Midgard. There should not be – I don't think there will be any remnants of…” Helblindi trailed off with a hesitancy to him that Thor rarely saw. Worry pooled in Thor’s stomach.

“Remnants of what?” Thor pressed. His words came out rough, along with his breathing. Had Helblindi saved Loki only to introduce him to a new horror? “Remnants of what, Helblindi? Will it still hurt him?”

Helblindi worked his jaw, looking off to the side, anywhere but Thor's eye.

What in the Nine could have broken the spectre's spell – no, not broken, but opposed it, behaving the same way the sceptre had. And yet that didn’t make any sense – as far as Thor knew, the Casket had no such power. It was the icy heart of Jotunheim, laying waste to everything in its path with its cold. It lent Laufey's army enough power to move between realms, and it kept Jotunheim from falling apart. As far as Thor had been aware, that was the extent of the Casket's abilities.

But Thor thought about the Chitauri leader's words, with all his talk of the treasures of the Nine and the Space Stone...And the sceptre had broken through Loki's mind so quickly, though Loki was no mere human like the rest of the Chitauri’s victims, but something much more powerful. Only Thor's parents were were better than Loki at mind magic, not to mention both Thor and Loki had been taught and given spells to protect their minds since they were children. The sceptre had to be more than just some foreign spell. More powerful than some simple technological creation from the galaxy beyond Yggdrasil.

And somehow – though Thor had heard no tale of it happening before – the Casket had invaded Loki's very being the same way the sceptre had.

(Jotunheim will keep your soul safe, Helblindi had said.)

Thor felt queasy.

“What have you not been telling me, Helblindi?” Thor’s voice came out low, breathless, but with an intensity he thought he’d lost from the cold sapping his strength. “What exactly can the Casket do?”

This time when Helblindi shook his head, there was a glimmer in his eyes of something that looked oddly like fear. “As I said, no effects should remain – and I told you everything it is important for you to know-”

“If it hurt Loki, then of course it’s important,” Thor insisted.

The queasy feeling in Thor's stomach grew, and it did not combine well with the shivers still running through his body. His mind turned the Chitauri leader's words over and over.

The creature had already known of the Space Stone, the Infinity Stone that Father had locked away on Midgard – what the mortals called the Tesseract. Thor and Loki had heard that it rested safe on Midgard only once they came of age, though Father never divulged its true location. He explained that the mortals were too primitive to use it and thus draw attention to it, and its location would be far more secret hidden in some hole on vast Midgard, rather than on display in Asgard, where every noble might hear rumour of it.

The year they came of age was also the first they knew of the other Infinity Stones as more than bedside stories of old, like the Aether of Svartalfheim, or of the Tesseract that Father and Father's father used to hold in Asgard's vault. Or the Power Stone, lost far beyond Yggdrasil's branches and last heard of causing untold destruction on some distant realm, yet the Stone had disappeared by the time Father's warriors investigated.

Or the Mind Stone, with its bright blue sheen, able to fit into the palm of one's hand, capable of penetrating the strongest of minds and bending them to its will, last heard of during the beginning of Father's reign, and not once since.

The Chitauri leader had spoken of relics – relics caged in Asgard and beyond.

No one knew where the Infinity Stones truly came from. Depending on who was telling the story, they were said to be as old as Buri, or as old as the Ginnungagap, or as old as the universe itself. Thor knew Loki had once gone through a phase where he read all he could on the old legends. Thor, however, hadn't cared one whit where they came from, only where they were and how much glory he could achieve if he found one and brought it back to Asgard. Loki’s few gleanings, Thor decided, were about as useful to him as a campfire to an Eldjotun.

But what Thor did know, from the bedtime stories and fireside tales and Father's scant explanations, was that when Asgard was still young and Buri barely birthed from the ice, the six most powerful of the realms had once each possessed a Stone. Whether they had been birthed along with the realms or fashioned by long-dead sorcerers far beyond Yggdrasil’s branches, no one was quite sure, yet all Æsir agreed they would be better off safe in Asgard's hands. However, most of the Stones had been lost to time or in the worlds beyond Yggdrasil, some perhaps even destroyed like the Aether.

Maybe more had only been hidden.

“Do you know why Loki took the Casket, Helblindi?” Thor asked. He only noticed he had taken a step forward when Helblindi took a step back.

“I know no more than you in that,” Helblindi growled, but it wasn't anger Thor saw in his eyes. This time, Thor knew it was fear. Because Thor felt something of the same.

“I think you do,” Thor challenged as an icy feeling spread through his chest, one that had nothing to do with the cold lingering in his bones. “You know what the Tesseract really is, don't you? Laufey would have told you, same as my father told me. And if, like me, you've guessed what was in the sceptre–”

“I – it had not the strength of a Stone, but I had thought...”

“Thought what?” Thor demanded, the sickening feeling in his stomach hardening into rage. “Thought you could force a – another spell on his mind, one you knew could harm him–”

“I couldn't let him die!” Helblindi roared. “I didn’t know how else to stop him, and I couldn't risk him getting killed or killing us in turn and being stuck with that creature. I didn't know how to remove the sceptre from his mind, and I did what I had to to ensure he would be safe.”

Thor balked for a second, hearing his own thoughts from aboard the ship thrown back at him, before his anger rose and he snapped, “But if the Casket countered an Infinity Stone – equalled its power no less – then it–”

“The Soul Stone is not the same as the others, not for the Jotnar,” Helblindi hissed. A second later, he seemed to realize the words that had left his mouth. His eyes went wide, then narrowed, staring down at Thor with a mixture of shock, dread, and defiance.

Thor's head only swam. The dizziness returned in full force, and he felt like he needed to sit down. His sickening train of thought seemed almost too wild, too outlandish to be reality.

But he was right.

The Casket was an Infinity Stone.

Thor couldn't remember what the old tales said of the Soul Stone. He couldn't remember which realm it supposedly once resided on. If Jotunheim had been mentioned, Thor doubted he would have cared, beyond demanding to know why Father hadn’t taken it from them yet, why he would allow those beasts to have something so powerful.

Thor guessed Father hadn't let the Jotnar keep it, after all.

He didn't doubt that Father would have known what the Casket was. For Father to have held it, kept it in his Vault all these years protected by none other than the Destroyer, he must have known – he was the Allfather, with all the wisdom of the Nine and beyond, and secrets even Mother didn't know and Thor had never had the time to learn. It was impossible to think that Father could have housed an Infinity Stone in his halls and not known its true power.

Whatever that might be.

“I – I don't understand,” Thor stuttered. “Why does Jotunheim need the Soul Stone to survive?”

“Why do you want to know? So you can find some reason to keep it from us?” There was a sneer on Helblindi's lips, an expression utterly foreign to his face. It was more familiar set in Loki's features. Or Laufey's. “I should have known from the first neither you nor any of the council knew what lay inside the Casket when you offered to return it. Asgard would never knowingly let us lay claim to an Infinity Stone, even as our planet crumbled.”

“That's not what I–” Thor began. And he thought of an Infinity Stone in Laufey's hands. He thought of handing the Soul Stone, willingly, to that – that–

Monster his mind provided, as much as he knew Helblindi would hate it. The sickening feeling in his stomach snaked into disgust, and every fibre of his being recoiled.

“Yes, I thought so,” Helblindi said, reading what must have been clear on Thor’s face. But the anger was gone again. Like before, his eyes seemed empty, his tone flat and weary.

Thor didn't know what to say. He couldn't agree that the Casket would return to Jotunheim no matter the circumstances, not now. He couldn't, not when the council would riot if they knew what the Casket was. Not when Thor himself couldn't imagine giving Laufey one of the most powerful objects in the universe, disguised as the core of a failing planet.

“Helblindi, I – I can't promise–”

“No, I know you can't,” Helblindi interrupted. His voice came out as a sigh, so quiet Thor could barely hear it over the rustle of the trees in the wind, yet when his eyes cut back to Thor's, there was a feverish light to them. “Thor, know this – whatever your reservations, Jotunheim will fall without the Casket. Our people will lose more than just their world if Jotunheim crumbles. I need you to understand.”

“I...” Thor was still reeling. “I will do what I can,” he said, though the words tasted like ashes in his mouth. There was no circumstance in which he could imagine returning an Infinity Stone to Jotunheim. Grasping for something he could understand, something he could fix and that didn't twist his stomach with lies, he said, “Just...just tell me what the Infinity Stone did to my brother. So I can help him.”

“Our brother,” Helblindi growled, defiance flashing in his eyes. “And I said the Soul Stone is different, especially for the Jotnar.”

“And it still hurt him. Our brother,” Thor insisted. He knew better than to ask different from what? if he wanted an answer at all.

The brief burst of anger left Helblindi as quickly as it came. He turned away, leaning his forearm against the rubble of the broken watch-tower. A few stones shifted ominously, but the structure held as Helblindi sighed. “I tried to use the Casket to separate Loki from the effects of the sceptre – to separate enough of him so that he could return to himself. It hurt him because I...” Helblindi raised his head, staring up at the sky and still not meeting Thor's eye. “Mind and soul are not meant to be split. They are meant to work as one. I thought I might push out the sceptre’s influence altogether but...I was not successful. And I hurt him. I took a risk, because I thought I would help keep him safe.”

Helblindi rubbed a hand down his face, and finally turned to Thor. “Yes, I acted rashly, not only because I hurt Loki, but...I believe the Stone managed to touch Jane Foster as well.”

Thor blinked, sure he had misheard. “Jane? How–”

“A protective rune, imbued with Loki's magic,” Helblindi said shortly, as if that should explain everything, but Thor was just as lost as before. He didn't see how the two were connected, and Helblindi had already moved on, as if it wasn't important how Jane had been influenced by an Infinity Stone. “Last I saw her, she was unharmed by the Casket's power, as Loki should be. The sceptre, though...it has taken its toll.”

Thor felt hollowed out. It was all too much – Jane's plight like the drop in a bucket that sent its waters overflowing. He hadn't even been there when Jane had needed it most.

Numb, he slumped against the broken watch-tower’s wall, trying to untangle the knot of revelations - not just one, but two Infinity Stones infected both Loki and Jane – and in a matter of days, the Chitauri had lain their hands on three Infinity Stones–

Helblindi’s shadow shifted, the stone shifting with him, and Thor realized Helblindi was speaking. “I should return home,” he was saying. “All matters relevant to Jotunheim have been dealt with–”

“No, wait,” Thor said, putting together the pieces as he should have five minutes ago. “Helblindi, if the Chitauri knew what the Casket was, then they’ve already begun collecting Infinity Stones. We will need to warn the other realms - not only because they might know of the whereabouts of one, but the Chitauri leader spoke of how much he hated all of the Nine, not just Asgard. Any one of our realms may be next.”

A strange look crossed Helblindi’s face. “I will tell Laufey of your suspicions, but that is all I can do.”

Thor stared up at Helblindi, taken aback. “All you can do?” he repeated, not sure what he was hearing. “Did you not hear what I said? I know you are angry at Asgard – at me – but Jotunheim is in just as much danger if the Chitauri plan–”

“That is not why I will not help you, Thor,” Helblindi interrupted. His face was frighteningly blank. “Laufey did not order me, nor any Jotun to come to Midgard. In fact, he forbade it.”

Horror flooded Thor, washing away the numbness. He had suspected Laufey had not been open to the idea, or had only allowed a few, but to forbid it outright–

That was different.

That was treason.

Voice as devoid of emotion as his expression, Helblindi said, “I had messages sent to the Elders or Jarls who I knew would be sympathetic to me, or stupid enough to believe me, or willing enough to play both sides. I told them Laufey had ordered them to fight for Midgard. That means they can deny they knew that I lied.”

Thor's leg began to shake, only the ruins of the watchtower keeping him upright. Mouth working, the only word he could find to ask was, “Why?”

“For our people,” Helblindi said, then tipped his head back, staring at the cloudless blue sky above. “To redeem ourselves in Midgard's eyes. And for Loki.” He closed his eyes. Exhaustion dripped from his voice as he said, “Laufey has several options for how to deal with me. I do not know which he will choose, but I...” His voice broke off, and he started again. “I want you to tell Loki I was glad to see him in Jotun skin, and wished I could stay to see him wake.” Helblindi opened his eyes, and rolled his head to meet Thor’s gaze. “Tell him I wished I had known him better.”

Thor was already shaking his head, though dread constricted in his chest. He knew what Helblindi meant – he knew what the highest punishment for treason was in Asgard, and he didn't think it was much different on Jotunheim. “No, no,” he protested, “you can’t give up hope now – Helblindi, you're his son.”

Helblindi only looked down at Thor, his eyes sorrowful. “So is Loki.”

As Thor flinched, Helblindi raised his chin until he looked somewhere over Thor’s shoulder, at the trees beyond the compound. “When we met on the battlefield, I told you I had to speak to you, about why I asked Queen Frigga to delay any Æsir warriors coming here,” he said, a flicker of anger in his red eyes. “Before I went to ask my father for help, the Grand Vizier spoke to me. He implied he was working with Hœnir, and threatened Loki's life if my diplomats and I did not return to Jotunheim.”

“What?” Thor's hand flew to his hammer automatically. How dare they – how dare his own councillors–

“Thor.” Helblindi's voice cut through his rage. “Thor, you cannot accuse them. They already think we're tricking you – lying to you – and there are far more who think the same than just your councillors. No one will trust my word over his.” Bitterness settled thickly on every word, in a way that cut Thor to the bone.

Still, Helblindi's voice had lost its bite when he said, “Watch over Loki, as I should have. And no matter what happens, no matter how you feel about my father, remember that there is no hope for us without the Casket.”

Without another parting word, not even a nod, Helblindi walked past Thor, back towards the base, and where the rest of the Jotnar were gathered.

Thor couldn't let this be how they parted, with so much still between them.

“Helblindi, wait–” he called.

“I have tarried long enough,” Helblindi said without turning. “I have no more excuses for delaying.”

“I know – and I am sorry.” The word felt inadequate for everything Helblindi was facing. “I know I can't promise you the Casket, but I will not let Jotunheim fall.” Feeling tears prickling at his lids, Thor said, low and rough, “And if Laufey even attempts to execute you, I swear I will do everything in my power to intervene. I will not let you die.”

The Jotun prince looked down at him, face inscrutable. “Thank-you, my friend,” Helblindi said simply, dipping his head.

Then he turned and walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor was stumbling by the time he reached the Healing building. Healer Embla scolded him for taking so long to return. Thor didn't have the energy to defend himself. He only lay back and let the Healer help him.

When he trudged into Loki's room later, nothing had changed but the angle of the sun. Loki still slept on.

Thor staggered to Loki's bedside, watching the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest. Unless Asgard was under attack, or the whole of the council came down to tell Thor they needed him back, Thor could remain here a few hours longer.

Loki wouldn't have to wake alone, like Jane or Erik. He wouldn't have to be alone. And Thor might do something right today.

He settled himself in the chair beside Loki's bed to wait.

Chapter Text

Loki awoke in his soft downy bed, sunlight just barely creeping though the heavy drapes covering his windows. He stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of being able to unfold his body without any limbs falling off the edge.

(And why would his bed be any smaller? Hadn't it always been his, since he was given a separate room from Thor centuries ago?)

He was walking down Asgard's golden halls, which somehow seemed brighter than normal. Even the faces were brighter, cheerier. No one looked in his direction and scowled; in fact when he caught someone's eye – warrior or noble – they gave him a friendly smile and a nod. (And why wouldn't they? He was liked, wasn't he?)

After passing by Sif and the Warriors Three, who greeted him with welcoming smiles and laughter like they had always greeted Thor (and had it been any other way? Had there ever been any stiffness or reluctance?), he entered the private rooms reserved for the king and his family.

Just as expected, King Thor was waiting for him, resplendent in full regalia and Mjolnir in his belt. The coronation a year before had gone off without a hitch, because of course there had been no Jotnar in the vault.

(Why would there have been Jotnar in the vault? There were no Jotnar on Asgard.)

To Thor's left was Mother, wearing an elegant gown and smiling beatifically at Loki as he entered, gesturing to take his place beside Thor.

And when Loki strode easily to Thor's side, as his equal, as he always had been in the eyes of Asgard, he saw the last person in the room.

Poised in front of a fireplace, Gungnir in one hand and eyepatch gleaming in the torchlight, Father stood tall. Hale and whole. Alive.

(Why would Father be dead?)

Alive and well and beaming at Loki because Father had been waiting for Loki to arrive. They had all been waiting for Loki to arrive, for he was part of their family.

Father smiled at Loki, one of those proud smiles that had always only been given to Thor (hadn't they been given to Loki too?). He laid his hand on Loki's shoulder, and said, “Welcome, Loki. My son.”

His son. Odin's son.

Because when the Jotun had touched Loki's hand (but he had never been to Jotunheim, had he?), Loki's flesh had blackened with frostbite. And when Loki had touched the Casket in the vault (why had he gone to the vault?) his skin had remained blessedly pink, his nails clear, his eyes bright green.

Warmth bloomed in Loki's chest, as comforting as Father's hand on his shoulder – a warmth that split his lips in a wide smile before he could even think about hiding it.

The affection in Father's expression never wavered. “You have been a boon to Asgard these past months, aiding Thor in his kingship where he would have faltered on his own.”

“I wouldn't be half as good a king without you beside me, Brother,” Thor rumbled, coming to Loki's side. He draped an arm across Loki's shoulders and grinned at him, yet all the while Father's eye remained on Loki rather than drifting over to Thor, as it always had.

Joining the three of them, Mother said, “I am so proud of you, Loki.” Tears of joy shone in her eyes as one hand darted forward to briefly cup Loki's cheek.

“And I have never been prouder of my son,” Father said. He withdrew his touch, but instead of reaching towards Thor, Father returned it to Gungnir. Clasping the spear in both hands, he turned it lengthwise and held it out to Loki. Just as it had been held out to Loki when Father was in the Odinsleep and Thor banished (but Father hadn't fallen into the Odinsleep, and Thor had never been banished.)

Loki stared at Gungnir, confused, just as he had the first time it had been handed to him (no, this was the first time), before raising his gaze to Father. This was Thor's – no, Father's spear, not meant for Loki, never meant for Loki.

Father's smile had not disappeared, and his one eye still beamed with pleasure. “You are worthy of it, Loki. Worthy of standing by Thor's side as his adviser and equal, so the whole realm would know of your worth.”

Loki was worthy. Worthy of Father's love, of Thor's and Mother's and the whole kingdom's.

Slowly, he reached out and wrapped his hands around the spear, next to Father's.

The moment his hands touched the gold metal, ice spread out from his grip.

Loki's hands were blue, his nails black, and raised markings had writhed their way up his wrists.

Where his hands met Father's – where cold, dead blue met Ás skin – Father's flesh burnt and blackened.

A blank panic flooded Loki's senses, smothering him. This couldn't be – he didn't understand–

He tried to let go so he wouldn't hurt Father anymore, but his hands were stuck fast. The black still crept up Father's wrists the same way the blue had crawled across Loki's on Jotunheim.

Feeling tears prick at his eyes as he tried to tear his hands away, to move them even an inch from Father, to do anything, Loki looked up, gasping, “I – Father, I can't – I'm sorry–”

Father was still staring at Loki, but the pride was gone, replaced by a flat, dismissive look. He didn't seem to notice the black running up his arms. Voice as cold as the ice radiating from Loki's hands, he said, “I expected no better from you, Loki.”

“No, Father, please, I'm sorry–” Loki twisted his head around, searching for Thor, for Mother. “Help! Help us, please!”

Thor had drawn back, his face closed off and stormy. His shining blue eyes were now hard, full of disgust and rage. In his hand, Mjolnir crackled with power. “Monsters like you aren't meant to live,” he snarled.

“I never should have wasted my time raising you,” Mother said from Thor's side, staring at Loki as if he were something she had scraped off her shoe.

“No, please,” Loki begged, but they drew back further, until a wall of ice burst from the ground and closed them off entirely.

The moment the ice reached the ceiling, Loki's grip on the spear finally faltered and he tumbled backwards, his head cracking against the ice. Dazed, he stared upwards to where Father stood with his blacked hands twisted and blistered, but Gungnir still held strong in their grip. The spear's tip was pointed towards Loki's throat.

Loki scrambled backwards, until his back hit ice, holding up blue hands as if he could ward off the spear. “Please, Father, I didn't mean it– ”

“Stop calling me Father, Jotun. You don't deserve it,” Father sneered. Gungnir followed Loki's every move, drawing ever-closer to his neck. “You don't deserve our love. You've never deserved our love.”

It felt like a chasm had ripped open Loki's chest. A cry burst from his throat as tears streamed from his blood-red eyes.

Father growled and leaned down over Loki, his face stopping a foot from Loki's own. “Stop your wailing, you weak, cowardly, snivelling little runt. Laufey was right to leave you, I should never have taken you from that wasteland.” Spittle was flying from Father's mouth, freezing where it hit Loki's blue skin. “I should never have let you into my family, into my realm, only to have you repay us with betrayal and murder. The moment I saw you I should have dashed your brains against the ice like you deserve, you disgusting, unworthy creature.”

“Stop, stop –” Loki sobbed, still holding his hands up as if they could halt the words. “– please, please just STOP.”

Ice erupted from one of his arms, a long, sharp spear that grew past his hand and shot upward.

Straight into Father's chest.

Father's eye widened, and he stopped shouting. He looked down at the spike in his chest, and where it emerged from Loki's ice-encased hand.

Loki couldn't breathe. When he tried to suck air into his chest, a small whimpering noise escaped his mouth, but nothing came in past the fear that throttled his throat.

Father's blood dripped from the wound onto Loki's stomach. More of it ran in rivulets of red and black down the ice. Father's eye began to slip closed, and his body sagged forward, following the blood down the spear. Towards Loki.

“F-Father? Father–” Loki tried to say, the words coming out in strangled mewling sounds. The ice was soaked with blood, and Father's face had sunk to rest inches from his own, and he didn't have enough air, he couldn't breathe–

Father's eye opened. Hatred twisted his face, his blue eye staring down at Loki with loathing.

“Weak!” Father spat. Blood stained his teeth, running down his chin, spraying from his lips with the word and splattering across Loki's face. “Unworthy! Kin-Slayer! Monster!”

Loki screamed.

He woke up in a small bed in the middle of a desert in Midgard.

His hands were pushing away blankets before he could think, pushing himself out of his bed and hitting the ground with a thump. He half-crawled, half-scrambled across the floor, untangling his legs from sheets as he called a knife to hand.

He had to get the blue out before he could hurt someone again, before he could hurt Father again.

The knife was in his arm, digging into the flesh as if it could scoop out the cold, take the blue from his arm, from inside him, from all over him–

When the wave of pain hit, the fog of sleep disappeared from Loki's mind, and realized this wouldn't work. He couldn't carve the blue out. It wasn't in him. It was him.

Loki pulled the knife from his arm. His body no longer had the strength to hold itself up and he slumped to the side, shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. Body shaking as if he was cold – but he couldn't be cold, it was impossible for him to be cold – he curled his knees to his chest and drew his hands between his knees and his head. Like if he made himself small enough, the realms might pass him over, and he might disappear.

As he dragged his hands closer, something wet and solid brushed across his neck.

It was the flat of the blade, nestled against his throat. Pressed against his pulse, which beat frantically under the knife's steel.

He could turn the knife, just enough, so the edge replaced the blade's side. It wouldn't take much, just a bit more pressure. He had slit enough of his enemies' throats to know how to do it, even in the dark and half-awake.

Blood from the knife dripped down his neck to pool on the floor, like it had dripped down from Father's limp body in his dream. Except there would be more than what was currently on the knife, more than what had streamed from Father's wound. With his whole life's blood spilling out of his neck, draining with each pump of his dying heart, it would spread across the floor, soaking the sheets and bedding and floorboards.

And then all would be quiet.

Peaceful.

It wouldn't be so damned tiring, if he no longer had to struggle every day. No more passing thoughts to drag him into an endless void, no more clawing his way back up again to feel some semblance of normality.

Nothing would have to drag him down again.

Nothing would hurt him again.

Just a bit of pressure on the knife.

Easy.

He wondered if he would return to Jotun skin in death, as he had done with Father's death, since the glamour's creator was no longer there to maintain it. He wouldn't know, though. He wouldn't be the one to see it. Thor or Mother would be the ones–

No.

No, it wouldn't be either of them.

It would be Jane or Darcy.

Jane would walk in once morning came – she always rose earlier than Darcy. And she would be finished with her breakfast of cold cereal and scalding coffee, and would want Loki to explain how Asgard's magnetic field differed from Midgard's because she was thinking about it before she fell asleep and there was something that didn't quite make sense from Loki's explanation so maybe she should grab her text on magnetic field resonances so they could figure it out together, and yes, his three-dimensional illusions are brilliant and they would have been a ton of help in undergrad.

Or maybe it would be Darcy – because if Jane didn't have nagging questions, she usually let Loki sleep. And Darcy would barge in, half-hoping that Loki would be sleeping shirtless, and would want Loki's help making pancakes for breakfast because Jane could burn water and it was too much work for Darcy to do on her own and could Loki pretty pretty please change the batter different colours, especially that cool rainbow one where none of the colours bled together and it looked like little crystals of colours embedded into the pancake.

They – one of them, both of them – would walk in and see Loki's body on the floor, pale pink or cold blue, lying in a pool of his own blood, his green-red eyes open and staring at nothing.

They would scream, probably. Neither of them had seen a real dead body before, not before it had been cleaned up for their funeral rites and ready to be burned or buried or whatever it was mortals did with their dead.

They would call SHIELD first, before someone remembered Heimdall. Or maybe Heimdall would be watching and no one would have to call for him.

Then Mother and Thor would come. If they could, that was. They had not been able to come in a while. But someone would have to take Loki's body back to Asgard. Maybe it would be Jane and Darcy. Maybe Thor would let them attend the funeral.

So there would at least be four people there who cared. Who would actually mourn, instead of simply coming on the king's orders.

Or perhaps Helblindi would show (he wouldn't, if he knew Loki better). Bringing him to the funeral would be a less popular choice than bringing Jane and Darcy.

Thor would probably have to lie about the way Loki died. He and Mother wouldn't want to admit Loki had died out of cowardice, out of fear, his soul nowhere near Valhalla's gates.

It was not as if Loki had believed he would ever go to Valhalla. He had not for a long time.

Very few people had ever believed he would either.

And Loki had always hated fulfilling others' expectations.

There would be so many people happy he was gone – who wished good riddance to the Jotun coward who wished it was Ás.

But then there would be Mother and Thor, who saved Loki from the dungeons so that he might live, who had loved a Jotun enough to call it family.

And Jane and Darcy who didn't care what he was, but would walk in on his cold dead body lying in the centre of the room, blood soaking the sheets the three of them had bought together in the dusty little town, picking out which colour and style Loki thought he liked the most.

Loki gathered his magic and vanished the blood from the knife, before vanishing the knife itself. He pressed his forearms against the floor and raised himself to his hands.

Then to his knees.

Then, shakily, Loki pulled himself to his feet.

Holding his arm against his sleepwear so no more blood would drip, Loki walked to the bathing room for some towels and bandages.

It was a good thing he knew a spell for getting blood out of clothes – he wouldn't want to upset Jane or Darcy.

They always worried when he had a distressing night.