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Thor jumped out of the bed of the dark green pickup truck and thudded the metal tail gate. “Thanks, I’ve got it from here.”

The man who’d picked him up hitching a ride from the airport beeped and pulled away.

There was a fork here, in the road; the truck went down one, which would eventually take the driver to something remotely resembling civilization. The other, where Thor set his boot, was the only road to Asgard.

What a joyous time to be alive , Thor thought, heavy on the sarcasm, looking down the road. It wasn’t even paved. Somehow, he might have thought in the years since he’d been away, someone would have done something about that. In the distance, there was the faintest glow of lights from the village. At least they had electricity, even if no one bothered to put streetlights out. The road itself was dark, and there were deep ditches on either side. If someone came home from the city and was drunk, Thor would become just another statistic.

Two dead bodies in Asgard inside a week, though, and maybe they’d end up on the map, at least.

Thor took a penlight out of his pocket and looked at the news article again.

Disgraced Son of Former Mayor Accused of Murder.

The article itself couldn’t resist bringing up the fact that Loki was adopted and had fallen out of favor with their father. Someone decidedly had it out for Loki. 

Even after everything that had happened, Thor would not -- could not -- bring himself to think Loki guilty of murder. His brother was ruthless, cold, calculating. But not a killer. Thor would have sworn that, in front of a jury. Point of fact, he just might.

Lights spilled over the gravel road and Thor scrambled out of the way as a motorcycle roared past. The bike skated over the road, swinging a wide arc, spluttered, and came to a stop.

“What in the name of Hell are you doing here?”

The voice was as familiar as it was heartbreaking. Brunhilde . She called herself Val, and so did everyone else who didn’t want to find out how hard her fists were.  

“You know why I’m here,” Thor said, because she had to know.

“Huh.” She looked him up and down, as if trying to find something about him to criticize. 

“I’m sorry--,” Thor said, hesitant. “For your loss.”

“That was a long time ago,” Val said, although the way her eyes narrowed spoke differently. “Get on the bike. I’m not going to let you walk all the way into town, Thor Odinson, get on the bike.”

“Thank you,” Thor said. Val slung herself into the saddle in front of him. 

“He won’t be happy to see you.”

“I don’t expect him to be.”

“You can’t help him.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The ride into town was swift, unhindered by conversation, although memories were thick as Thor put his arms around the waist of the woman he was supposed to have married. When she pulled up in front of the only hotel in town, Thor wasn’t sure he was supposed to get off.

“You’re going to leave me here?”

Val spread her hands. “You don’t have enough money for a hotel room? Because I know you don’t have a key to your father’s old place.” Father’s current place was the Asgard Senior Center, even if Thor had never been there.

Thor didn’t quite wince. But a twitch in his shoulder felt like it wanted to be a wince when it grew up. “I haven’t spoken to Father in a long time.”

“Well, if you asked Odin, he probably spoke with you this morning,” Val said, bluntly. “He never was the same after your mother died.”

“No, I imagine not,” Thor said. 

“And you left.”

“I did do that,” Thor admitted. “I fail to see how my being here would have prevented his decline.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Val said.

“What happened?” 

“With your father?”

“With Loki.”

“Tell me, do you remember Loki’s twelfth birthday? That was the year his present was your old dirt bike.”

“I remember,” Thor said. The Odinsons were the richest family in Asgard; and while that wasn’t saying much in comparison to other places, in Asgard, they were rich, they were powerful. Everyone knew it.

“Your leftover, hand-me-down bike,” Val said, grinding the words in.

“He wanted the bike, he always said he did,” Thor protested. “And it was not run-down . I barely used it.”

“And your parents bought you a motorcycle. On Loki’s birthday.”

Thor thought he might have had the grace to be embarrassed about it. He had been his father’s favored son, the apple of his eye. His heir, big and strong and agile. Everything Odin wanted. And everything that Loki was not. “I am not to blame for my parents’ favoritism. I was a child, I didn’t know any better.”

“Well, perhaps not,” Val said. “But-- it turned out that Loki didn’t want me to be his next bicycle. Something you gave him because you had no use for it.”

*

The hotel was done up in a combination ugly viking and cheap-ass log cabin, but the bed was soft and he woke up to the breakfast tray being dropped by his door.

Eggs, bacon, a bit of fruit on top of something that was probably trying to be an all-natural grain oatmeal. Coffee and a tea bag if coffee wasn’t good enough. Toast and lingonberry jam.

He brought it inside and ate, looking out the window at the land around him.

Nothing much seemed to have changed. He tapped the room’s phone. “Can you connect me to the morgue, please?”

There was a brief pause as the desk clerk inhaled, and then checked which room it was coming from.

“Stark’s body shop, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em.” Tony Stark, probably looking at the sun from the other side of the day, sang cheerfully into his phone.

“Tony,” Thor said. Not knowing if Tony would remember him, but hoping. Maybe more than hopeful.

“ Thor ?” 

“Yes, my friend,” Thor said. “I hoped you might tell what has happened, from a less biased point of view.”

“Where are you?”

“The hotel,” Thor said. “I can walk over, if you want.” Probably better than Tony walking over here, smelling of chemicals and death and he wouldn’t even notice. 

“Why don’t-- look, I need to close this up here, so meet me in an hour at the park across from your brother’s shop? Neutral ground?”

That was a switch. Tony wasn’t big on the whole daylight thing. Probably why he became a medical examiner in the first place. Most morgue work was nighttime work. “That will be sufficient.”

“Bring coffee.”

Well, at least that much hadn’t changed. Welcome to Asgard. There was too much time between now and when he was supposed to meet Tony, but Thor’s feet were restless and if he waited too much longer, he was probably going to do something stupid.

So instead, he walked around the small town. Heimdahl’s Optometry and Eyewear was still as he remembered it from his yearly exams as a child. It was too early for that to be open. In fact, very little was, aside from the feed store and the gas station.

Without really meaning to, Thor found himself walking up to his childhood home. He wouldn’t go in, key or no key. But unless things had changed, he could still wiggle in through the basement window and knew how to jimmy the basement door lock, in case someone had locked it.

No one had, most of the time. But sometimes, when Thor had been chasing Loki for some trick or other, the smaller boy would lock it on his way through to slow Thor down.

Those memories didn’t make him smile anymore.

Sometimes Thor wondered if he’d realized he was a bully when he was a child and ignored it, or if he hadn’t reexamined his life until Mother died.

She was buried behind the house. Thor could circle around and visit her grave.

He didn’t.

The Double R fell into a hush when he entered. He ignored it as every local in the building watched him walk up to the counter. “Two coffees to go,” he said. “One black, one with cream and two sugars. And two slices of cherry pie.”

The waitress yelped as she poured coffee onto her hand, too busy staring at him to pay attention to her job. Thor ignored it. He put two tens on the table to cover the bill and tip. She’d probably resent it; Thor was one of the richest men in town, now. Caretakership had fallen to him, and he had control over his father’s vast holdings. But Thor had done nothing with the money, aside from set up an account to cover Odin’s health and housing. Another to keep the family home from falling into ruin.

He hadn’t even come home to take care of it; everything had been done through the phone, with his father’s lawyer.

He could have left the waitress a fifty dollar tip.

He didn’t.

He looped the bag over his wrist, took the coffees. Didn’t look back.

Tony met him at the gates of the park, making grabby hands at the coffee without the slightest bit of hesitation. Thor had always liked Tony. A good man who didn’t pay much attention to social norms. Even in the city, the undertaker was a dark figure. Somewhere out here, the fact that Tony liked his job, and tended to dress like a vampire from the 80s, gave him a reputation . Had never seemed to hurt him when he went out looking for a little hanky panky, but certainly kept him out of relationships . Thor had, sometimes, considered asking Tony on a date, but had always managed to resist. Putting his heart on his sleeve was not Thor’s idea of a good time, and Tony wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. Best not to try.

That’s what Thor had always told himself. Looking at Tony now, all grown up and still delightful, Thor wondered if he hadn’t just been terrified of rejection.

“Come to daddy,” Tony said, wrapping his hands around the cup and taking a deep breath. “Damn this is fine coffee. Mine’s always cold by the time I remember I poured a mug.”

“You have an unhealthy relationship with your coffee, my friend,” Thor said.

“That’s a given.”

“So, what can you tell me?” 

“Six nights ago, someone called the fire department,” Tony said. “Strange smelling smoke coming from your brother’s property.”

“Wasn’t Loki?”

“No, someone else.” Tony threw himself down on the bench, looking over at Loki’s bookshop. It was across the street from the park, the river forming the border on the west. Mother had left Loki some money at her death, and Loki had promptly bought the shop, moved out, and as far as Thor knew, never spoke to anyone else in the family again.

The shop wasn’t the sort of big box Barnes & Nobles, full of light and videos and pop up art and a trendy little cafe. It was dark, small and smelled of old pages. Loki didn’t sell New York Times Bestsellers; he restored antiques, kept track of rare books, translated ancient scrolls. Thor didn’t know if the shop actually made any money, or if it was just an excuse for Loki to do what he loved and pretend it was a job.

Tony pointed to the small dock off the side of the shop, midway down the riprap that kept the land from sliding into the water at the first sign of rain. There was police tape, looking like sad scraps of yellow paper fluttering in the breeze. The dock itself was untouched, but the shell remains of a boat had been dragged up onto the rocks.

“There was a body in the boat,” Tony reported. “Someone put a body in the boat, set it on fire. Destroyed a lot of evidence.”

“And what, someone thought Loki was stupid enough to burn a body right on the end of his own dock and walk away from it? ”

“He didn’t have an alibi,” Tony said. “And one of the things found in the boat, under the body, was a book from your brother’s shop. Frithiofs-Saga something something. Published in 1826. The fire barely touched it before it went out.”

“That’s circumstantial,” Thor protested.

“Occam’s razor,” Tony said. “What’s more reasonable, that Loki would burn a body, or that someone planted a book from his shop under the body in an attempt to frame him?”

Thor didn’t bother to grumble about it. People were all too eager to bend the facts to fit the circumstances. “What says Loki to these charges?”

“Not a damn thing,” Tony said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Fury’s holding him without bail. He’s spoken to a lawyer once, but-- no one’s in a hurry. I still don’t know who our Jane Doe is.”

“Well, find out,” Thor said,

“Yes, thank you,” Tony responded, a little waspish. “It would never have occurred to me to do my job .”

“Maybe I can help,” Thor suggested. “I have contacts--”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d tell you where to stick your contacts,” Tony said. “But I’m at a dead end -- pun intended. We just don’t have the resources up here.”

“Get me copies of what you can,” Thor said.

“Are you trying to prove Loki innocent, or guilty?”

“I’m interested in facts, Tony,” Thor said. “And what my personal wishes are do not much matter. If Loki has committed a crime, he will pay for it.”

“No one’s interested in facts,” Tony said. “It doesn’t fit the narrative. I’ll have Peter run the file by you. You might want to see if Fury will let you talk to your brother.”

Thor didn’t bother to respond to that. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to talk to Loki or not.

“Good luck. But I need to get back now.”

“Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” Tony wondered, getting to his feet. “You know, I wouldn’t miss you if you didn’t leave.”

“Did you miss me?”

Tony leaned on him from behind, a half hug, half puppy pile maneuver. “I think a lot of people around here missed you.”

“Aye, mayhap,” Thor said. “But if one of them wasn’t you, I don’t care.”

Tony hugged him again. “You care.”

It was past lunch before Peter Parker brought him the files, and Thor was on his third refill of coffee. He paged through the file idly, making copies with his phone. 

“Yes, good afternoon to you, as well, Darcy,” he said into his phone. “Do a web-crawl for me, Facebook, social media, you know the drill. Start here in Asgard and work our way out. I’m looking for a missing woman, no more than a week or so ago. Middle aged, bone structure suggests that she was at least fifty years of age. Jawbone suggests Caucisuan, but don’t rule anything out.”

“Yes, Dr. Brennan,” Darcy teased. “You want the standard weirdness file?”

“That will do nicely,” Thor said. “I’m sending you what I’ve got. Also, look for stolen boats or boat sales.”

“You want me to dig on Craigslist, or is it a new boat-- oh, nevermind, I’ve got the pictures. I’m on it, boss.”

“Thank you.”

“Me or Ian’ll get you something in a day or two. Kick back, relax. We’ll do your job for you.”

“Do you not, always?”

Darcy laughed. “You’re the hero. We just make you look good.”

Thor turned off the speaker phone. 

“What is it you do, in fact, Mr. Odinson?”

The man who sat down at the table with him was middle-aged, gently balding, and wore a cop badge on a lanyard around his neck. He was dressed in plainclothes, but that wasn’t unusual. Small areas, there weren’t that many cops, so he was always on some sort of duty. 

“Coulson,” Thor greeted him. They’d gone to school together. “Ah, you know. The usual. Missing persons, runaway teens, go-between in extortion cases. Stolen goods recovery. The sort of thing that cops should do, instead of writing speeding tickets and beating up protestors.”

“I’m sorry to hear you think that about us,” Coulson responded, his bland smile in place. Coulson probably wouldn’t tear-gas a protestor, even if someone was protesting in Asgard. He wasn’t the type to throw his authority around like that.

“I don’t work here, do I?”

“Not usually, but you’re a little out of your bailiwick.”

Thor gave him a tight grin. “Don’t need a badge to ask questions,” Thor said. “People are free to answer, or not.”

“Certainly,” Coulson said. “What is it, exactly, that you’re doing here ?”

“Trying to find the truth of what happened,” Thor said. “I don’t believe Loki guilty of murder.”

“You think he’s not the type,” Coulson suggested.

“No,” Thor said. “I think every man is capable of murder. I don’t believe Loki committed this one, however.”

“Perhaps not,” Coulson said. “He wants to see you.”

“Did he say that?” Thor didn’t even bother to be surprised that Loki already knew he was in town. Asgard was not a place of secrets. Not usually, at any rate. Gossip spread pretty quickly.

“Not in so many words,” Coulson said.

Thor nodded. He knew his brother. Loki would never ask for him . “Can I get two pieces of pie to go?”

“Sure can,” the waitress said, and brought him the check.

Coulson didn’t even bother to say goodbye. It wouldn’t matter, Thor would see him in a few minutes anyway.

Loki was sitting on the floor in his cell, barefoot, hair a tangle. He stared up at the ceiling, not looking around. “ Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes, ” he murmured as Thor sat down on the bench outside the cell. Asgard didn’t have what one would call an actual prison. Mostly just a drunk tank. Anyone serving more than a week went on to the next city over. 

“I fear the Greeks, even when bringing gifts. Pie,” Thor said, succinctly, sliding one of the boxes through the food-slot, complete with plastic fork and extra whipped cream. Couldn’t stab anyone in the neck with a plastic shank, right?

“You must think I’m truly desperate,” Loki said. He paused as if he was going to ignore the pie, and then crawled over to get it before returning to his seat. The thin mattress and blanket on the bunk looked untouched, but Thor knew Loki was capable of making a bed so tight that a quarter would bounce off it.

He had probably slept. Some. Since being incarcerated.

“You’re looking well, brother,” Thor said. He took a bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully. 

“And you look the same as always,” Loki said. He dragged the tines of his fork through the whipped cream. “What do you want?”

“I want to help.”

“Always the hero,” Loki mocked.

“Come now, Loki,” Thor said. “Mother wouldn’t want us to fight.”

“Well, she’d hardly be surprised, would she?”

Thor almost laughed; god, he’d missed his brother. Even when he didn’t want to, he had. “Did you kill the lady-- Mrs.--?”

“You won’t get anything from me so easily,” Loki said. “The walls, as they say, have ears.”

“We’re just waiting for the paperwork,” Thor said. “Finish your pie.”

“Fury gave you a bail number? Figures,” Loki said. “You always were everyone’s favorite. Even your own.”

“Loki,” Thor said, very gently, “I always thought the world of you. You… were my best friend. My brother. My rock.”

“I feel… very sorry for you, brother,” Loki said. He ate the pie in neat little bites, not so much as getting a dab of whipped cream on his lips.

“I’m not the one sitting in jail, charged with murder,” Thor pointed out.

Loki only smiled, that mysterious little smug expression that said he knew something that Thor did not.

“I spoke with Val,” Thor offered. “She seems concerned about you.” 

“Did she say that?” Loki leaned forward, seeming almost interested . “When did you see her? What, exactly, did she say?”

“Not in so many words,” Thor said. “She gave me a lift from the crossroads. And she said that you wouldn’t allow me to help you.” It was a gamble, but Loki hated living up to -- or living down to, for that matter -- other people’s expectations.

“And what do you think?”

“I think that there is more going on here than anyone else suspects, and that you will enjoy nothing better than to watch me fumble around trying to find truth you already know.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Loki said. “I do love watching you flounder.”

“Right, Odinson, get up. Your bail’s gone through.” Coulson yawned pointedly.

“Officer Coulson,” Loki said. He got to his feet, cat-like, graceful and suggesting that he only did so because he wanted to. “How’s your hand?”

Coulson held out his hand, showing off a few missing fingers. “Healing nicely, thank you.”

“What happened?” Thor wondered. That was new.

“Accident with a drunken lumberjack,” Coulson said. “Mack was hallucinating. That’s what they get for drinking that bathtub gin and partying in the woods.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Thor said, “and avoid the woods.”

When Loki was through processing, back in his own clothing instead of the bright orange jail jumper, they were met at the bottom of the stairs by Val. She held a keyring dangling off one finger. “I thought you boys might need a ride,” she said. “I borrowed my mom’s car.”

If Thor hadn’t been watching very closely, he might have missed the way his brother stiffened, the way his mouth twitched, the way his fingers opened and closed as if he was resisting reaching out for Val. “Kyrie,” he said, very softly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You should stay at the house,” she said. “Coulson’s going to be watching the shop, and the hotel is full of gossip.”

“This whole town is full of gossip,” Thor said. 

“What are you doing here?” Loki asked, but Thor noticed he took a step, and another, until they were most of the way to Val’s mom’s car.

“Satisfying my own curiosity,” Val said. “And getting the voice in my head to shut up that says you need my help. Even if neither of you deserve it.”

“We might not,” Thor said. “But I’ll be happy to treat for waffles and brunost.”

“I knew this was a good idea,” Val said. She turned to Loki very seriously. “I can always be bribed with food.”

“I shall attempt to remember,” Loki said mildly.

*

Going home was nothing like it ever should have been.

Thor knew there was no reason to expect the lights to be on, a fire in the fireplace -- Odin had always kept the home hearth blazing, even in the hottest of summers -- or the smell of Mother’s cooking drifting through the hall like a welcoming breeze.

And when he opened the door to a cold, dark, and dusty foyer, Thor would confess himself disappointed, somehow. Disappointed with the results of the things that he’d allowed to happen.

Logically, none of it was his fault.

He’d chosen to live his own life.

Not to stay and fit in the place where Odin wanted him to be.

“You look like a man with regrets, brother,” Loki said, pushing past him. With practical hands, Loki peeled up several of the white furniture covers, turning the main hall -- what would have been called a living room in any modern home -- into a place where one could rest a spell, have food, or gaze into the fire.

“I regret many things,” Thor said. “Not the least of which is failing to come home more often.”

Maybe if he’d been here when all the changes happened, he would have made his peace with it.

“Did you miss me?” Loki smirked. 

“I missed Tony,” Thor admitted. “And Val. And you. A little bit.” He held his hand out, using his forefinger and thumb to indicate a very little bit.

“Ahhh, look what I found,” Val said, digging through one of the cabinets. She started pulling out clay bottles of mead, corked and sealed. “Call him.”

“What?”

“Tony. Call him. You’re home, Loki’s out of jail, and I just found a shit-ton of free booze. Call him. It’ll be like old times. We’ll all get shitfaced and fall asleep on the bear skin rugs.”

Loki pulled out one of the wine knives and peeled the wax off a bottle with professional skill. His brother had always been extraordinarily graceful. Good with his hands. Clever. And he was smiling in that oddly gentle way of his that he didn’t like other people to see. 

Welcome home, Thor thought, and then he pulled out his phone. Come up to the house, when you’re done with work , he texted.

Tony texted back. Already done. Strange as it might seem, not a lot of people die in Asgard on a regular basis. You got something for me?

Mostly just mead and good company.

Light a fire, Tony suggested , and I’ll be there in an hour.

Thor tucked his phone back into his pocket. “He’s on his way.”

“Oh hurrah,” Loki said. 

“If it helps, Tony does not believe you murdered that woman either,” Thor said, not even stressing either because Loki should know better by now. Of course Thor didn’t believe him to be a murderer. 

“No, of course not,” Loki said. “That would require that Anthony suffer from a lack of imagination, and that has never been his failing.” He poured out several glasses of mead, the soft honey smell filling the air.

“You didn’t kill her,” Val said. She picked up a glass, drained it and slammed it onto the wooden table.

“Did you doubt?”

“I’m just wondering,” Val said, grabbing another glass, “why you wouldn’t say anything to the cops about it.”

“They weren’t asking the right questions,” Loki said. “Coulson hasn’t the imagination to believe anything aside from what he sees, and Fury would like nothing better than to leave me in a cell for the rest of my life.”

“Will you tell us what happened?”

“When Anthony arrives,” Loki said. “I only wish to tell the story once.”

The fire was blazing well when Tony arrived, holding up a few paper grocery bags filled with cheese and breads and a small fondue pot. “I thought I’d bring food, before you Odinsons drink me under the table.”

“It’s comfy down here,” Val said. She was already laying on one of the bearskin rugs, her hair spread out behind her like a cape. “Feed me.” She opened her mouth like a baby bird, and Thor was shocked to watch Loki twist into a squat and put a tiny gherkin in her waiting mouth.

There was something tender in that moment, and Thor looked away, like he wasn’t supposed to be seeing it. 

Tony’s provisions were all finger food, or something to stab on a fork and dip in molten cheese. “You always did like cheese,” Thor said.

“What’s not to like?”

They passed at least an hour, just eating, drinking. Commenting on the food. Loki asked Val about her work, and Tony complimented Thor’s attire. Or at least, Thor thought it was a compliment.

With Tony, it was hard to be sure. Sometimes the man just talked to hear the sound of his own voice.

Finally, when the last of the cheese had been scraped out of the fondue pot, Thor brought the question home at last. “Will you tell us what you know, brother?”

“That might take longer than we all have left,” Loki said, and Tony scoffed into the bottom of his mug. “But I shall attempt to stick to the basics. Unfortunately, the answers you want will not reveal themselves. I do not know who they were.”

“They?”

“Of course,” Loki said. “And I cannot prove any of it. What I do know is the book that was found with the body was sold two weeks prior.”

Tony waved his hand. “You didn’t tell Fury that?”

“I don’t have any evidence of that,” Loki said. “The transaction was cash only. Nor really, does it matter. I thought I might tell you some things about the man who bought the book.”

“Go on,” Thor said, settling back in one of the padded cowhide chairs and putting his feet up. Tony, who rarely sat down like a normal person, flopped on the floor at Thor’s side and leaned heavily against his thigh. Thor found that a good position; he could run his hand through Tony’s hair. 

Loki shifted his glass slowly, as if looking for omens in the liquor. “There are more places in the realms of the dead aside from Valhalla,” he said, completely off the subject, and Thor thought about protesting, but Tony patted his thigh and Thor decided to let Loki get there, round about if he needed to.

“But it’s the most popular,” Val said. She had rolled over on the rug and was looking up at them while leaning her chin against her hands, kicking her legs up and down. It made her look much younger than she was. Strange, how Thor felt younger with his old friends around him. His hand in Tony’s hair tightened just a little, pulling at the short hair at the back of Tony’s neck and Tony made a soft, needy little sound that sent all of Thor’s thoughts in a different direction.

Did you miss me?

“True,” Loki said. “And people are greatly prejudiced by the fact that one of the realms of the dead is called Hel. As Christians are prone to portray Hades as the same sort of wicked demon that Lucifer is supposed to be, it is very unlikely for someone to believe they should go to Hel, one L.”

“I always thought Folkvang sounded more relaxing,” Tony piped up. “Who wants to sit around with a bunch of drunk Vikings and wait until the world ends? Boring. Like being sentenced to spend eternity in a sports bar.”

“True as that may be,” Loki said, “the Hall of Heroes is considered the great prize. So what happens when a heroic loved one is nearing the end of their life, and picking up a weapon is not the most feasible option? Perhaps I spoke with this man about it.”

“What did he say?”

“That his mother was dying from pancreatic cancer,” Loki said. “And that she wasn’t going to go to Valhalla on her death.”

“That is untrue,” Thor said. “The Valkyries select heroes--”

“And I heard that fighting cancer, or fighting whatever disease it is, that counts.”

“It’s a technicality to many,” Loki said. “They want to be sure. But pancreatic cancer is almost universally lethal. From the time of first symptoms and detection, the rate of survivability is staggeringly low.”

Tony was nodding thoughtfully. “Some people, with very good care, have had an extra eight or nine years, most mostly that time is measured in months.”

“With palliative care,” Loki went on, “it’s often over in a matter of weeks.”

“Did your Jane Doe have cancer?”

“I didn’t check,” Tony admitted. “I was more concentrating on the whole stab wound in her chest part.”

“Can you check?”

“Yeah, she’s still in the freezer,” Tony said.

“I can run a check of local doctors who’ve seen cases recently,” Thor said, tapping out a message to Darcy.

“So what do you think happened?”

“I might have suggested, if he needed to be sure, that he give his mother a sword and--”

“Stab her to death at the very last moment?”

“Well, yes. But I was being sarcastic.” There was a note to his voice, a tip of his head, that said Loki had not been sarcastic at all.

Mother had gone, not quietly, but not in terribly much pain. A stroke, and then a few months where she wasn’t quite herself anymore, and one night she’d gone to sleep and never woken up. There was no way to know what happened to her soul after death. Had she been collected by the Valkyrie and taken off to paradise?

Thor hadn’t really worried about that. What happened after a person died was unknown and unknowable. He’d find out eventually. Or he wouldn’t. His mind would just cease and that would be all. He wasn’t scared of that. He hadn’t existed for centuries before his birth. There was no sadness to be had in going back to that state of non-being. The sadness was in the ones left behind to mourn and to miss.

But maybe… maybe Loki had thought about it in the months while Father was slowly losing his grip on the present. While Loki was the one making all the decisions. Alone.

Abandoned.

Brother, I’m sorry.

Loki didn’t look up. He couldn’t read Thor’s mind, and Thor shouldn’t expect him to.

“So, why didn’t you tell Fury any of this?”

“Because maybe I don’t believe our murderer is wrong? That he cared deeply about his mother, and the state of her soul, the destination of her spirit after death. When Fury decided to be so stupid as to think I’d done this, I knew I could protect him.”

“I can probably prove that you did not,” Thor said.

“But can you do it without implicating my customer?”

“It’s hard to say,” Thor said. “Fury may continue his investigation--”

“Then I will stand my trial. It will take many months, but in the meanwhile, the clues will grow cold.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because no one did it for me,” Loki said.

Thor choked out his brother’s name. “I--”

“You can’t change it, brother,” Loki said, calmly. “And I’ve made my peace with it. It remains, however, that you left, and you left me to fill your responsibilities. If you wish, somehow, to make amends--”

“Help your client,” Thor said. He knew he would. Accessory to murder. Or maybe just assisted suicide. It would depend if they were caught, would depend on the judge. It would depend on a lot of things.

Tony scrubbed his teeth with his tongue. “Improper disposal of a corpse is a misdemeanor,” he pointed out. “Let me muck around with the autopsy. Desecration -- you know, for the giant stab wound -- can be a felony, with up to seven years prison time. Althoug,h usually it’s the person’s family who has to press charges for that, unless it’s both public and obscene.”

“It is supposed to worry me that you know that off the top of your head, Stark?”

“Bitch, please,” Tony said. “It’s my job to know these things.”

Val scowled at Tony, making tiger claws in the air in his direction.

“Oh, scary,” he teased.

Thor pulled out his phone again. Change of plans. Deep Delete all queries on this case.

“What’s a Deep Delete?” Tony asked as he grabbed Thor’s phone, yanking it down to be a nosy little bastard.

“We do that in cases of missing persons who have a damn good reason for being missing; abused spouses on the run, teenage kids who were thrown out of their homes for getting pregnant or being gay. People who deserve their second change. Darcy will scrub all my queries, and she’ll delete as much of the data as she can get to that we found. Clean getaway.”

“We’ll get you off the murder charge,” Val said.

“And your customer-- will just disappear.”

Loki was stunned, his face rigid with shock. “Why?”

“Because you’re right,” Thor said. “We-- I treated you badly. And I can’t make up for it.”

“Speak for yourself, big guy,” Tony said, cuddling against Thor’s knee. “I haven’t done anything. But I agree with your customer. People should have the right to die the way they want. This whole extension of life to the last possible second? I think it’s cruel. Unpopular opinion, I know. At some point, quality really has to matter over quantity. Life’s not special, unique, or particularly rare, and if you’re in pain? And that’s what you want? Your body, your business.”

“And why are you helping?” Loki asked Val, eyebrow going up. 

“Boredom,” Val said, easily. “And you’re letting me drink your booze.”

Everyone turned and looked at her.

“What? Not everything has to be all dramatic.”

“Looks like we’re all agreed,” Thor said. He raised his glass. “For Loki.”

*

There was a small crushed-rock path from the back of the house out to the family cemetery. Someone had lined it with solar lanterns and the broken white pebbles seemed to glow in the evening air.

“Do you want to be alone?” Tony leaned out of the back door. 

“No,” Thor admitted. He was going to do his duty, stern and cold as it was, but he didn’t need solitude for it. “Come and bear me company.”

“All you have to do is ask,” Tony said. “You know that, right?”

“In truth, you have been a better friend than I have,” Thor said. Tony fit right under his arm, a warm, lithe presence at his side. 

“If I had called and asked you to come back, would you?”

Thor had to think about that. His father had called, several times, to demand his return. But Loki had never called. And Tony had never called. “I cannot say,” Thor said, “but I think I would have given it a much more serious consideration than what Father wanted from me.”

“Then there’s blame to go around,” Tony said. “Phone lines go both ways. I never even called just to see how you were doing. You left and I was angry.”

“I should have-- it wasn’t your fault, you know,” Thor said. “I wasn’t--”

“Interested?” Tony interrupted, looking somewhat stricken.

“Ready,” Thor said. “I wasn’t ready to admit that I found you attractive, combined with everything that was going on at home. But you couldn’t have known, and I did not handle it well.”

“I’ve had worse reactions from people I’ve tried to kiss,” Tony said, lightly. 

“You should have had better,” Thor said. 

“You didn’t slap me,” Tony said. “Really, that puts you ahead of Maria by miles .”

Thor laughed. “If you attempted to kiss Maria Hill, I have to say, you were asking for that.”

“I was in second grade,” Tony said with a shrug. “She knocked out two of my teeth.”

They reached the end of the little path. Ancestors that Thor had never met were buried there, along with his grandparents. When Thor and Loki had been children, they’d played here. He remembered knocking off the memorial statuette from Grandfather’s grave, and Loki had hidden for several hours, sure that he would be blamed.

The statuette was still missing its head, the headless, winged angel seemed to disapprove of Thor.

That was all right. It wasn’t Bor that Thor was here to see.

He stopped in front of Frigga’s headstone, a simple white marble. Frigga, beloved wife and mother. Under the dates of her birth and death were carved a series of puffy clouds and a cat, curled up to sleep.

Thor hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t been here since the funeral, and the stone itself took weeks to arrive. Or so Odin had informed him over one of their terse phone conversations.

He should have brought flowers.

He opened his mouth to say so and Tony placed a few loose flowers in his hand. Somewhat bedraggled from the neglected house garden. But Tony had thought of it.

“Again, I am in your debt,” Thor said.

“You can pay me back with eternal servitude,” Tony said, lightly. “I could make use of you.”

There was just enough suggestion in Tony’s voice to make it into a dirty joke, which might have been disrespectful, except Thor thought his mother would approve. Or at least, shoo him off, telling him to go be happy in whatever manner suited him.

He couldn’t voice any of those thoughts, however. He placed his hand on his mother’s gravestone. “I miss you. Sorry it took so long to come and say goodbye. I suppose I thought if I didn’t-- I could just go on pretending you were here. Missing me, a little. Disappointed in me. But still here. If I didn’t come home and see the empty house, it wasn’t real.”

Tony squeezed his hand. “You know she would understand, right?”

“She always knew us better than we knew ourselves, expected from each of us, exactly what we were capable of, no more and no less. And she wanted, more than accomplishments or accolades, for us to be happy.”

“Are you happy?”

Thor tightened his fingers around Tony’s hand, feeling warmth, compassion. A question.

He wasn’t quite sure. Certainly, he wasn’t happy now . He wasn’t particularly miserable, and his job was interesting. But it was also empty. Maybe… maybe it was time to stop fighting who he was and just let himself be himself . Not what his father expected of him, and not the persona he’d built up to deny his father.

But who he was.

He’d have to figure that out, maybe. With some help.

“I could be,” Thor said. “If you’ll help me.”

“All you ever had to do was ask.”

fin

Here’s the moodboard that was used as a prompt inspiration for the fic. The top left is a screenshoot from Thor Ragnarok. The wood photo next to it I took few months ago and photos other than actors playing characters in MCU are from royalty free websites like pixabay or pexels.-cruria