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Chapter Text

Fall 1970

“How many more times do I have to tell you not to touch my things,” growls their father and Odin takes a step forward to hide his little brother behind him as best as he can. “Household items aren’t toys for you two little poopheads to break!”

Pap’s eyes are red and dry and furious, like two fire dragons.

“Run,” Odin whispers.

Tyr clings to his hand and shakes his head.

“He won’t catch you,” Odin insists under his breath. “He’s already drunk.”

Pap’s words come out as one word in a slur. “What did you just say?” He huffs and takes a step forward. “You unruly rascal! Do I really have to beat some respect into you, hm?”

Pap yanks Odin up by the hair and slaps his face so hard that his cheeks sting. Tyr screams and begs him to stop with tears in his eyes. Poor idiot. He’s still too small to understand that crying always makes it worse.

“Run and hide, you oaf,” Odin hisses.

This time, Tyr listens to his big brother and his escape makes pap even more furious. He shakes Odin by the shoulders and then he uses his whole fist and he doesn’t stop yelling about the unhooked rotary dial and the vase they broke last week when they played tennis in the living room because it was raining outside and then he loudly keeps on complaining about the ‘blatant (?) insubordination’ and ‘lack of discipline’ in the house. Odin’s face is burning hot and his eyes really want to cry because his father’s blows hurt even when he’s swaying drunk but he knows it’ll take longer if he does because pap hates it when boys cry. If Odin holds the tears back, he’ll be let off the hook sooner because pap’ll know that he ‘learned his lesson’ and ‘assumes responsibility’, so that’s what he does. He swallows the pain down and squints away the unmanly weakness. He nods and apologizes, and then he scurries away when pap is done and collapses into an armchair because, apparently, hitting someone can be a very exhausting activity.

*

“Your nose,” wails Tyr when Odin finds his little brother behind the wall of boxes in the attic. “It’s all bloody.”

“It’s fine,” lies Odin. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Come on, papa’s asleep now. Let’s go outside.”

*

“Oh, elskan,” exclaims mamma when she comes home from the market to cook their dinner. She looks sad and horrified. Odin doesn’t like that expression very much.

“What happened to your face?”

“I fell down the stairs,” lies Odin because truths hurt people and, in his opinion, there is enough hurt in this house already and absolutely no need to empower the fear and the pain even more by giving them actual words.

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve 1994

Hela is excited; mostly good-excited but also a little bad-excited because Mom and Hela’s new Dad have been tense the whole week. Odin says it’s because he has so much work to do before they fly to Norway. Mom says it’s because she hates flying but Hela doesn’t understand how she can hate flying when she’s never been on a plane before because they couldn’t afford it earlier. Hela thinks they’re both lying.

Grown-ups do that a lot.

Hela doesn’t know why.

The truth always comes out anyway.

The airport is crowded and very loud but so colorful and there’s so much to see! Hela runs to one of the shops that sell plushies and picks up a panda that looks super fluffy. Mom is angry and slaps her cheeks when she finds her and yells at her to stay close. She takes her by the hand and holds it so tight that it hurts. Hela squirms in her grasp but Mom doesn’t let go.

Odin buys her the panda.

Mom yells at him that she’s about to get a ton of gifts and doesn’t need another stuffie. Dad tells her to stop making a fuss. Hela presses the panda to her chest.

The plane is big and the seats are super comfy. Mom pops a sleeping pill even if they make her cranky and passes out. Dad says she’s nervous about meeting the in-laws and pets her head. Odin doesn’t really know how to give a proper hug, so he pets Hela like a dog but that’s alright. At least he doesn’t hit her Mom.

Flying is amazing!! They get served shrimp cocktails and chocolate cakes by the flight attendants and the clouds look so pretty when the sun shines on them. There is another girl in first class and Dad says she can go play with her. Her name is Daisy and they play the whole flight.

Norway is already dark and very cold. Mom told her so but Hela didn’t think it could be so cold. Mom is very grumpy now and drags Hela across the parking lot.

The man who comes to greet them is her new uncle. His name is Tyr and he’s Odin’s little brother. Hela finds that funny because he isn’t little at all. He is big and strong, and he pulls Dad into a real hug, and then he shakes Mom’s hand and tells her that it’s nice to meet her. He has a friendly face. He asks Hela if she wants a lollipop and gives her an orange Chupa Chups. Orange is her favorite flavor.

Mom isn’t happy about that either. She sometimes says they don’t deserve all the money Dad is spending on them. Hela thinks it’s nice to have all these toys.

The drive is long and Hela falls asleep watching the snow outside.

At the house, she meets Odin’s parents, Bor and Bestla, Tyr’s wife Zisa and a bunch of dogs!! There’s a pair of shepherds named Fred and Barney, Zisa tells her, a white husky with very pretty blue eyes named Kari and two snow collies named Cody and Cooper. They’re very excited and wag their tails and Hela doesn’t know who to pet first!

Mom doesn’t like dogs.

She isn’t scared of them, she just thinks they’re dirty and smelly.

Bor doesn’t like that Mom doesn’t like dogs and he talks to Odin in Norwegian on purpose, so they can’t hear what he says. He looks very mean when he squints at them. Hela knows that look and hopes that Odin’s Dad doesn’t hit people either.

Bestla and Zisa are very nice though and they show her the house and help her unpack and choose a Christmas sweater for the celebration.

Bor drinks a lot, just like Hela’s real Dad, and the longer they’re in the same room, the more he scares Hela because he hardly says anything at first. He just sits in his armchair looking grumpy and smacking his lips. At some point, Odin excuses himself and leaves the room to take a phone call and Hela is suddenly alone with Bor because Zisa and Tyr are out walking the dogs before dinner (Mom told her she couldn’t go with them because her legs are too little to keep up with the dogs) and Bestla is in the kitchen and Mom went ... Hela doesn’t know where Mom went or when. Hela’s heart starts beating very fast and her tummy twists a little.

“Don’t you like to speak?” Hela asks Bor because she isn’t a chicken.

Bor’s eyes travel to her but he says nothing.

“Odin said you speak English,” Hela tries again because she can’t stand the silence and because fear grows bigger if you stay afraid and shrinks when you’re brave.

“I do,” he finally says and his accent makes his voice sound very drunk. “But that does not mean that I enjoy speaking it or that I wish to speak to my guests all the time.”

Hela nods and goes back to the game she’s been playing on the floor but she can’t focus anymore because the fear didn’t shrink this time. It sinks into her belly like a rock and she flees to the kitchen where it’s warm and the air smells like meat and mashed potatoes and hot chocolate and cookies.

Bestla calls her sweetheart.

Hela bursts out crying.

Bestla looks confused but she picks Hela up and seats her down on the kitchen counter. “What’s the matter, darling?”

Everything feels wrong and she knows now, why Mom didn’t wanna come here. Hela shrugs and Bestla gives her a cuddle and kisses her forehead. That makes it a little better. “You must feel overwhelmed by all these new impressions, you poor thing. But you know what always makes everything better? A good meal. You know how they say laughter is brightest where food is best? Luckily, you’ve come to the right place. Wanna help your grandmother taste the roast, sweetheart?”

Hela nods.

Bestla is so nice. Why do the nicest people always have the meanest husbands?

One of her friends back home, Brianna, had such a nice Mom too but her Dad also got grumpy very easily and one time he threw a vase through the window when they were playing at her place. They moved away shortly after that and Hela never saw Brianna again.

Hela just doesn’t understand why nice people fall in love with nasty people. She’s probably too young. That’s what grown-ups always say, isn’t it.

You’re too young to understand.

We’ll talk about this when you’re older.

Well, when Hela grows up, she won’t marry someone who is mean and nasty and hits people.

Tyr and Zisa come back with the dogs soon and she plays with them until dinner. Kari and Cooper are her favorites because they have the prettiest eyes. Dog eyes aren’t like people’s eyes because dog eyes don’t lie. That’s what Hela loves most about them.

She asks Odin if they can have a dog back home and he says maybe next year, when she’s old enough to walk him before school. Mom says that won’t ever happen. Odin reminds her that it’s still his house and that he can buy a dog if he pleases. He sounds different here. Nastier.

“So,” Bor asks Mom when they’re all eating, “what do you like most about my son? Aside from his money, of course.” He drinks more wine and laughs a laugh that sounds like a loud boom. It makes the hairs on Hela’s arm prickle.

“Excuse me?” Odin asks because Mom just stares at Bor and suddenly everyone gets very tense. Hela doesn’t know why because everyone likes money very much.

“You heard me, boy.”

He still calls Odin ‘boy’ even if he’s a grown-up.

“I did. I’m just not entirely certain. Did you just accuse her of being a gold digger or did you insult me by implying that a woman couldn’t possibly find me attractive?” Odin asks in his lawyer voice.

Hela has no clue what digging gold has to do with anything.

“He can do both in one breath, you know that, brother,” says Tyr.

“Please, let us eat in peace,” says Bestla.

“My Mom doesn’t even like the money,” Hela tells Bor then. “She always tells him not to buy me nice things. He bought me a panda at the airport and she got mad.”

Bor glowers at her and makes Hela squirm. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Leave my baby alone,” Mom says then. She’s sounding a little tipsy too. “She didn’t do anything wrong and she’s not lying.”

For a moment, they stare at each other.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Bor reminds Mom then.

“Pap, just let it go already,” Tyr sighs. “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s fine. I think what I like most about him,” Mom says with her nasty drunk smirk, “is that he doesn’t take after his father.”

Tyr’s eyes bulge.

Zisa spits out her wine and coughs.

Bor barks a mean laugh. “I have to say, you’ve got more wits about you than your appearance suggests,” he slurs and makes Mom speechless again.

Odin slams his flat hand on the table and makes everyone jump. “Alright, you’ve had your fun, father, but it’s quite enough!” His voice is roaring like a storm. “Either you eat some food now to soak up all that liquor you’ve been drinking or we’ll leave and spend our vacation at the Fjord where no one accuses my wife of greed and stupidity. Your choice.”

Hela tries not to chew but she still has food in her mouth and it’s getting soggy.

“That is completely out of the question,” says Bestla. “I haven’t seen you in two years and you only just arrived, darling. Please, I missed you s—”

“Is that how you’re talking to me in my own house?” Bor talks over her. He stands up then and sways a little. “You’ll show me some respect, boy!”

Hela swallows the food.

Her heart beats very quickly now and her cheeks and ears grow hot.

Her tummy is in knots.

Odin’s face is deep red now. “You don’t deserve my respect anymore, you pathetic old drunk!”

“Brother, stop,” pleads Tyr. “You’re only making it worse.”

“This is all her fault,” Bor shouts.

“Oh, really? Who started this, hm?” Odin asks.

“You did. By getting married to that whore in secret!”

Odin’s jaw falls open. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, I wonder why you didn’t get an invite. You’re such great company,” snaps Mom and stomps out of the room.

“Bor, please,” begs Bestla. “Calm yourself.”

They’re all standing now and Tyr is holding Odin back by the arm.

They’re gonna fight, Hela knows it. They’re gonna fight and yell and maybe throw dishes and someone’s gonna get hurt. It’s just like before, when they were living together with Hela’s real Dad. Hela thought that was over.

She really, really doesn’t wanna see anyone else get hurt ever.

“Come here, sweetie,” Zisa says, scoops Hela up and holds her close to her chest. Hela bursts out crying again and loops her arms around Zisa’s neck. She always cries when people are nice to her because it feels so good and that feeling is so strong that she can’t hold the tears back. “Shshsh, let’s get you out of here. Let’s go find your mama.”

“No,” Hela snivels into Zisa’s hair. “Mom is drunk.”

“They all are, I’m afraid,” Zisa sighs. “But I’ll tell you a secret. It’s okay not to like people when they’re drunk. It doesn’t mean you love them less when they aren’t drunk, okay?” She fondles a strand of hair out of Hela’s face that stuck to the tears on her skin.

“I don’t like my Mom when she drinks,” Hela confesses and feels bad.

“I don’t like Tyr when he drinks either, sweetie,” Zisa tells her and cups her head. “That’s okay. It doesn’t make you a bad daughter.”

Hela gets cold and shivers. She clings tight and sobs.

“Hey, you poor thing,” Zisa shushes and rubs her back. She rocks her gently and then she carries her into the smaller living room in the back of the house where they can’t hear the fighting. She lights a fire, sits down in an armchair and starts singing a song. Hela doesn’t know the words. They sound strange but also very soothing and she burrows into Zisa and plays with Zisa’s hair.

The fire sizzles.

Hela’s eyes are getting heavy.

Her new aunt is so warm and soft, so different from any grown-up Hela ever met.

Why can’t Hela have a Mom like Zisa, Hela thinks before she drifts off into sleep, who doesn’t pick boyfriends who are loud and mean and nasty or have loud and mean and nasty fathers? Someone who smells lovely, has a soft voice, says nice things and doesn’t get drunk?

She’s so, so tired of being scared.

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve 1997

To say that Frigga Fjörgyndottir is nervous when she pulls up at Tromsø airport to pick Odin up after having spent a few days with her old friends from high school prior to his arrival is probably an understatement. At thirty years old, she’s finally going to meet the (potential) in-laws for the first time and Odin cautioned her quite urgently that she should not think anything of it if his father ‘gets a bit difficult’ because his old man’s behavior has nothing to do with her as a person.

She asked him what that entailed.

“He just likes to needle,” Odin replied and the warning is still reverberating through her mind when her boyfriend strides out of the airport with a large suitcase in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

“Hey,” Frigga murmurs and rolls down her window when he circles the car, letting in a whiff of icy winter air. “How was your flight, darling?”

“Terrific,” Odin grouses and plants a long kiss on her lips. “Should I drive?”

“No, I’m good. Just put your bag in the trunk and hop in.”

“Are you sure? Because the road up there is quite—”

“Am I sure?” chuckles Frigga. “Sure that I can navigate the rough terrain of the country I grew up in? Yes, I think I am. Are you sure you’re fine with a woman behind the wheel?”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Odin defends himself.

Frigga winks. “I know. Because if you did, I wouldn’t be here to meet your family. Now, get in.”

Odin sighs and does her bidding.

He is very restless and fidgety on the drive, which does nothing to slow down the speed at which Frigga’s mind is fabricating hypothetical horror scenarios, let alone soothe their impact. “Are you alright?”

Odin wets his lips. “Listen, I have a confession to make. I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”

For a moment, her mind latches onto his first wife and Frigga’s nerves coil tight. “About what?”

Odin clears his throat, looking perfectly remorseful. “About my command of Norwegian. I, uh, I’m still fluent actually.”

Um … what?

What a strange thing to lie about.

“Then why did you tell me you weren’t?”

Frigga can almost hear Ingunn tell her that if he lied about his linguistic competence, the chances are high he lied about other things too and that she’d better tread more carefully from now on, and Hilde would probably advise her to dump him straight away even though the lie didn’t truly do her any harm.

“Because I thought it’d be a strange favor to ask of you not to speak it just because I’m not overly fond of it,” Odin murmurs and fishes his pager out of his coat pocket. “Quite foolish, hm?”

“Indeed.” Frigga hums her agreement and squeezes his hand. “But I’ll forgive you if,” she says and takes the pager out of his hand, “you honor our agreement. No electronic devices until New Year’s.”

“I just need to—”

“No electronic devices until New Year’s,” Frigga purrs. “You promised.”

Odin flashes her one of his irresistible grins. “I thought perhaps we could renegotiate the fine print should the need arise.”

“Nice try but no,” tsks Frigga and switches off the device with a smirk of her own before throwing it onto the backseat. “Velkommen til ferien.”

*

The family home is very picturesque, a large wood-paneled structure tucked into a snowy mountainscape and framed by large wych elms. Inside, a pack of five dogs is snoring on a rug in front of a fireplace, festive tunes are playing in the background and the smell of eggnog, tea, biscuits and a pot roast hangs in the air. The scene makes Frigga yearn for a family of her own while she mourns a past of jolly gatherings she never experienced in her own home after her mother succumbed to grief. She swallows, blinking back a tear.

Odin’s father Bor is … quite an imposing man. He is tall and muscular, with a deep voice and very firm handshake. “Now, don’t you look lovely?” he booms and even brings her hand up to his lips to brush a kiss onto its back. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you too, sir,” Frigga replies.

“See?” Bor rumbles and gives Odin a hearty clap on the back. “I knew you could do a lot better than Angie Davis.” He laughs nastily and turns back to Frigga with a wink that makes her insides cringe. “That first wife of his? Not the right person for my son. She was awfully uncultured, a bit dense and a train wreck of a mother. You should have seen that woman. Truly awful, that broad.”

Frigga did see Angrboda once when she walked into the firm and heard Odin’s ex asking for the money that Odin had offered her during the divorce settlements earlier this year. She’d rejected it initially but, by then, her new boyfriend had blown through her savings to buy drugs, which is why Odin denied her request and sent her into such a state that she had to be escorted outside by security. She knows better than to point it out, though, so she just smiles awkwardly and silently prays for a change of subject.

“Pap, please,” sighs Odin. “Can’t you just let it go?”

“What?” Bor defends himself. Frigga isn’t entirely certain but, judged by his flushed cheeks, he might be a bit tipsy already. “I’m just making conversation.”

Thankfully, Tyr comes to her rescue then. “No, papa, you’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

“You’ve become too sensitive, the lot of you,” chuckles Bor. “You mess up, you endure the taunts. That’s how it goes.”

Tyr ignores him and shakes Frigga’s hand. “Hi, I’m Odin’s younger brother. Welcome to Tromvik. It’s nice to meet you.” He motions towards his very pregnant wife and the baby on her hip. “This is Zisa and this munchkin over here”—he boops the little one’s nose—“is our son Bjørn.”

“And his baby brother Leif,” Zisa adds, her hands stroking over her belly. “Who is due on February 4th.”

Bjørn smiles and babbles, and Frigga’s chest fills with warmth at the sight of the boy’s cute little face. “Aw, you’re gorgeous. How old is he?”

“Thirteen months.”

“And already so big! When did he get this big?” Odin exclaims and holds out his finger. Bjørn grabs it and yanks it around in the air. “And what a strong grip he has! You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“My darling boy,” flutes Odin’s mother as she whirls into the room and stands on her toes to loop her arms around her son’s neck. “I missed you so much!”

*

“So, tell me Frigga,” Bor addresses her midway through a delicious home-cooked Julaften banquet, an accusatory undertone coloring his words, “since my son is pathologically incapable of answering that question, what is wrong with this beautiful country?”

Frigga pauses mid-movement and puts the fork back down. Next to her, Odin sighs and, across from her, Tyr rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand the question,” she replies as politely as she can.

Bor takes another sip of his wine. “You live in America, not here. Surely there must be a good reason for that?”

“Oh.” Frigga clears her throat. That she can answer. “Well, my mother died young. I was only twenty-two when she passed and my father sold the house afterwards. After completing my law degree in Trondheim, I traveled to the States to do a postgraduate in business administration with my inheritance for, uh, a change of scenery and a bit of cultural exchange to broaden my horizon. Initially, I planned to return here but then I met someone and started a job after graduation. When that relationship ended, I’d already settled in, so I stayed and eventually applied for the management position Odin was advertising and here we are.”

She can’t tell if Bor is satisfied with her reply and chides herself because his approval matters so much to her.

“That must have been horrible,” says Zisa. “To lose a parent at such a young age. My condolences.”

“Thank you. I mean—”

“What did she die from?” cuts Bor and Frigga’s stomach clenches a bit.

“Pap,” hisses Odin.

“What?”

Bestla chuckles nervously and puts a hand on her husband’s arm. “That is none of our business, elskan.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Bor rumbles. “I’m just trying to get to know her.”

Frigga has an inkling that what he is really trying to do is to establish dominance and insert himself into their lives to influence their decisions.

“There are other, more socially appropriate things to ask to get to know people, pap,” Tyr tells his father, to which Bor responds by means of throwing a glower in his direction. “Such as—”

“Do you plan to give me any grandchildren?” Bor cuts again, with a highly disconcerting disregard for anyone else’s opinion at the table.

Frigga glances at Zisa, who is spoon-feeding Bjørn mashed potatoes. She knows she technically doesn’t have to answer this question either, for Bor is unduly inquisitive to the extent that she feels more and more as though she were trapped in the middle of the world’s longest job interview with every passing second, but she does anyway because she loves Odin even after so short a time and there is nothing she wants more than a child of her own. “I absolutely do, sir.”

“But not instantly,” Odin clarifies. “Our current focus is on our careers.”

“You shouldn’t wait too long either though,” Bor says with a sharky grin pulling at his wine-stained lips. “Neither of you is getting any younger, if you know what I mean. And I trust that you”—his attention swings back to Frigga—“aren’t one of those women who’d choose their ‘career’ over caring for a child?”

Excuse me, splutters her inner voice and a part of Frigga can’t help but think that ‘difficult’ was a bit of an understatement but, then again, she has survived worse. “As Odin said, we haven’t yet discussed any of this but I’m sure I’ll stay home and care for the child until he or she is ready to go to kindergarten and receive a proper education together with his or her peers.”

Why is she justifying herself like this?

Ugh.

That man is truly a handful but, at least, he does look remotely satisfied.

Before he can reply though, little Bjørn begins to wail in his high chair, monopolizing the attention of everyone.

Frigga sighs inwardly, turns back to her dinner and hopes ardently that Odin will not take after his father.

Chapter Text

April 8^th, 1999, 10:36 a.m.

Frigga pauses mid-movement and gasps out in pain when her lower back begins to cramp, her vision blurring instantly. She sways, supporting herself against the kitchen counter as the pressure travels across her sides to the middle of her swollen abdomen.

“Odin?” she gasps but receives no answer.

She groans, holding on for dear life because the pain is ... Well, if she previously thought the sharp stabbing ache of menstrual cramps was unbearable at times, this is about ten times worse. No, scratch that. It’s probably a hundred times worse.

She grits her teeth. “Odin!”

Oh, the curse of living in such a big house.

Frigga tries to breathe through it, waiting for the pain relief because soon she’ll be hugging her son to her chest; a little, pink bundle basking in the warmth of her body. She imagines him, their little Thor, tiny infant hands curling around her index finger. She thinks about what color his eyes are going to be, if they’ll be blue like hers or on the paler side like his father’s. She tries to imagine the shape of his nose, his eyes, his ears, and how much fluffy hair might have grown on his little head.

When the first contraction passes, Frigga retrieves the overnight bag from where it’s been sitting atop the bed in the downstairs guestroom for the past two weeks and, as she walks over to Odin’s office, she feels something pop inside her, soon followed by a steady stream of fluid trickling into her panties. She opens the door and finds her husband on the phone.

“If you’ll excuse me for a minute,” Odin tells his interlocutor and swivels around on his chair, pressing the phone to his chest. “Is everything alright, darling?”

“My water just broke,” Frigga tells him, her heart fluttering with joyous anticipation because how often does it happen that women go into labor on their actual due date? “I had my first contraction.”

Odin’s eyes go wide. “Y-you mean ... it’s going to h-happen now? You’re ...”

“Yes,” laughs Frigga, tears of happiness pooling into the corners of her eyes. “Our son is right on time.”

Odin merely gapes at her. “That’s amazing,” he gushes eventually, beaming. “We’re going to be parents by the end of the day. Parents!”

“Yes,” Frigga says, glancing at the phone in his hands for emphasis.

Odin breathes out. “Amazing, that’s ... I can’t believe it’s truly happening. Alright, give me fifteen minutes to wrap this up,” he says then. “You can hold on for fifteen more minutes, right? I’ll meet you in the car.”

Frigga’s grip tightens around the strap of her bag as another wave of pain builds up in her lower back. Technically, she should be able to wait for fifteen more minutes. She was told there was no need to rush to the hospital instantly, that she should try to relax during early labor, but if that first contraction she just suffered through was a mild one, she is fairly certain she won’t survive active labor.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Peterson,” Odin purrs into the phone because, apparently, the full meaning of ‘we’re going to be parents’ has yet to sink in. “As I was saying—”

Frigga snatches the phone away from him with her free hand. “Hi, Mr. Peterson,” she gasps into the phone. “I’m truly sorry but I’ve just gone into labor and I need my husband by my side, so this conversation will have to wait until another time. Have a nice day.”

She ends the call midway through the guy’s confused congratulations and throws the phone onto the table, and then doubles over in pain again. “You’re ... going to ... be ... a ... father,” she wheezes.

“Right, I’m sorry,” Odin stammers and rises to his feet, his hands awkwardly reaching out to her. “I’m an idiot. Gods, what was I thinking?” He gulps, looking like a kicked puppy. “Okay, okay. What d-do I do? I don’t ... Just tell me what to do!”

Frigga heaves a breath. Struggling to stand upright, she thrusts her overnight bag into her husband’s hands. “Car,” she wheezes. “Hospital. Now.”

Odin might be an idiot sometimes, yes, but when Frigga watches him cradle their infant son to his chest as she awakes the following morning, humming softly as he paces the length of her room in the maternity ward, his eyes gleaming with adoration and love, she can’t find a reason not to forgive him for the occasional slip-up.

“Give him to me,” she whispers and her husband sits down on the edge of her bed, lowering Thor into her arms before brushing a kiss onto her forehead.

“He’s perfect,” Frigga breathes, afraid to startle their little miracle out of his sleep.

“He has your beautiful eyes,” Odin tells her, with a dreamy smile on his face. Despite her morning breath, they share a kiss and Thor opens his eyes, blinking at them.

“Good morning, my love,” Frigga murmurs and gently caresses her son’s tiny chest with two of her fingers before tickling his chin. “I hope you slept well.”

Thor opens his mouth but then produces an adorable grunting sound that comes out through his nose, his big blue eyes wide open, fixed entirely on her.

And all Frigga feels is pure bliss, the pains of labor already forgotten.

Chapter Text

July 2003

A loud thud followed by a shrill yelp startles Odin out of the witness statements he’s been sifting through. His head snaps up. “Thor?” he calls out.

For a few seconds, there is no answer and then his son begins to weep. Odin blows out an exasperated breath and rises to his feet. He finds his boy on the patio outside in his Batman cape and facemask, both of his knees and his left shin skinned. “What happened?”

Thor is bawling so loudly that Odin doesn’t understand a word. He sighs and scoops his son up, balancing him on his hip as he wipes away his tears. “Hey, shhshshsh. Stop crying. You’re okay, son. It’s just a scratch.”

“B-but i-it huuuurts.”

“That’s just the shock. You startled yourself when you fell.” Odin scans the deckchairs. “How did that happen anyway?”

Thor blubbers something into his neck.

“Oh, come now, enough with the sobbing.” He thought he was over the memories but he still can’t stand the sound of a crying child. It makes his stomach lurch a little every time. “You’re my big boy, aren’t you?”

Thor glances up. “Uh-huh.”

“Big boys don’t cry over a few scratches,” Odin tells him and ruffles his hair. He carries him back into the house, fetches the first aid kit and positions Thor on the kitchen counter. “Now, tell me what happened.”

His son wipes his runny nose with the back of his hand. “I p-played f-flying,” he snivels.

“Batman can’t fly,” Odin chuckles and unscrews the bottle of Betadine. “No wonder you crashed.”

Thor’s eyes go wide. “He can’t?”

Odin shakes his head. “No. He’s just a vindictive vigilante in a fancy suit who believes himself above the law. Now, grit your teeth, boy, because this”—he holds up the pipet and shakes it a little—“will definitely hurt a bit.”

Thor screws up his little face, looking exactly like Tyr when he was four. “But I know you’re brave,” Odin encourages him, pushing the image of his crying little brother out of his mind.

Thor nods eagerly. “I’m very brave, daddy.”

He is.

Only one more silent tear rolls down his cheek as Odin patches him up. “The bravest boy in all of Nevada,” he tells his son when he’s finished. “But no more flying, okay? Because I’ve got work to finish.” He kisses the top of his head and sets Thor back down on the floor.

“No more flying, daddy,” Thor promises and scuttles off again.

Odin shakes his head smiling and asks himself for the millionth time how he managed to create such a perfect boy with his lousy, rotten genes.

Chapter Text

November 1^st, 2003

The day begins like any other.

It is a Saturday, the day after Halloween, during an unusually cold fall with very persistent, sudden downpours, one of which ruined Thor’s trick-or-treat adventure the previous night and put her preschooler in such a sour mood that he hurled his half-filled bucket of candy across the living room floor.

She spends the morning with him, most of which consists of trying to coax him into letting her help with the assembly of a tower crane and construction Lego set which her stubborn boy insists on being able to “build all by myself!”; even if he possesses neither the patience nor the fine-motor skills for the task. To nobody’s surprise, the endeavor ends with him destroying the half-built model and stamping his little feet in frustration, which she probably shouldn’t find as adorable as she does.

In the afternoon, she brings him over to Tony’s house for the boys’ monthly sleepover and then drives to the firm to file a few things away and tidy up the messes she didn’t manage to finish during the week because she swore to herself that she’d be on time to pick Thor up from kindergarten every day lest a dire catastrophe befell Asgardia.

She returns shortly after seven p.m. with a bag full of groceries to cook dinner for her and Odin, smirking to herself. Their poor little son was so proud of himself when he managed ‘to talk them into agreeing’ and oh so blissfully oblivious to the fact they mainly did so because it provides them with the opportunity to regularly have what passes for a date night now that they are exhausted from raising a preschooler while working full-time.

Just as she is about to begin cutting the vegetables, she remembers the book she ordered online a few days ago and decides to check the mailbox.

That’s when the day turns into one of the most memorable ones of her entire life.

Frigga swings the door open and ... sees a little bundle lying on the concrete steps. The implications don’t register all at once but her stomach gives a violent lurch and her heart starts beating up her throat before her brain catches up. She drops to her knees, her breathing ragged and heavy with dread, and peels away the thin, dirty blanket. For a frantic heartbeat or two, the world stops spinning around its axis. It’s a ... baby. A goddamn baby. A newborn, by the look of it. It’s lying still, his eyes closed, lips slightly open, a faint blue tinge to the skin of its face.

Later, she will often agonize over the fact that it was nothing but pure luck that she even found the baby that day. That she only checked the mailbox because she couldn’t wait to read that book. That if she hadn’t ordered it, Odin would have found a corpse later that night or the next morning when he would’ve gone out to pick up the newspaper.

Right now, however, Frigga’s heart is beating so fast now that she is afraid she’ll pass out. She needs help. She needs ...

“Odiiiiin?” she cries before she remembers that he probably won’t be home until eight. She picks up the baby, her breath shuddering.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Its skin is ice-cold and it isn’t breathing.

What cruel twist of fate is this?

A piece of paper sails to the floor as she cradles the baby close to rub some warmth into it. It’s the blank back of the title page of the owner manual of a Buick. This is your fault, she reads and, apparently, it was Hela who wrote it. I hope you enjoy your gift. The girl signed it with a grinning skull and crossbones under her name.

Oh, please.

How can something as outrageous as this be happening outside a movie theater? Why didn’t she try harder with that girl?

The world stands still for another two seconds but then Frigga’s body shifts into autopilot. Later, she will have no memory of how she hoisted the baby into her car and drove the 1.7 miles to the ER of Summerlin Medical Center one-handed and only very blurry ones of how she ran through the doors screaming for help.

The fluorescent light is too bright, the hassle around almost splitting her eardrums. Fuzzy shapes in blue scrubs swarm her instantly, demanding to know what happened, and what could she possibly tell them that will not result in a Child Services investigation or an arrest or ....

Fueled by the adrenaline of panic sharpening her mind, she starts explaining herself in Norwegian, which shuts them up for the moment and buys her some time. They take the baby and bring it to a room where they hook it up to their medical equipment.

“We have a faint pulse,” shouts someone.

“Ma’am, we need you to wait outside,” someone else tells her but she refuses. They let her be because she is crying by now, not knowing when exactly the tears ambushed her, crying over that poor frostbitten little soul and maybe over Hela too. What happened to that poor girl that she’d abandon such a precious, helpless little creature to fend for itself in the cold? How far has she fallen? Why didn’t she ring the doorbell? How much trouble is she in?

They offer to sedate her but Frigga refuses that too because a sedative won’t help her frenzied attempts to come up with a believable explanation that wouldn’t put anyone at risk, including that poor, poor baby that finally, after what feels like an eternity, begins to cry.

It’s simultaneously the most horrific and the most beautiful sound Frigga ever heard, and her knees buckle under the weight of it as tears of gratitude well into her eyes.

“Ma’am, the baby is alive,” a man says to her, speaking loud and slow, enunciating each word. “Can you tell us what happened? Do you understand me? Do we need to get you a translator?”

For a moment, she considers the possibility of playing along for a little longer but if she did, they might try to fetch her a translator or, worse, involve the police, who will ask for her ID and expose her as a freshly neutralized American citizen. They’ll surely pull her medical files too and they’ll find out she did not give birth to another child after having Thor in this very hospital four-and-a-half years ago.

“I-I am sorry,” begins Frigga. “I don’t know why I switched languages like this.” She feigns a nervous chuckle. “That, uh, usually doesn’t happen.”

“It happens under stress. Come on,” he says, his face finally swimming into focus. He takes her by the arm and leads her to a seating area. Gets her a glass of water. “Now, what happened to that baby?”

“I don’t know,” Frigga begins in a low voice because her brain finally supplied a believable narrative of the using-a-lie-to-tell-the-truth variety. Well, sort of. “M-my husband, he’s a lawyer. He is defending a client whose daughter was in serious trouble. She had a lot of mental problems, was involved in drugs, ran away frequently. I knew she was pregnant and I offered her my help because I believe she was abused and in no state to raise a child. CPS was aware of her case but she denied everything, so there wasn’t much the state could do for her. You know how it is, Doctor. Sadly, we can’t always save the people we wish to save. Anyway, earlier tonight, that girl rang my doorbell, thrust her baby into my arms and begged me to take care of it before she ran away. My first impulse was not to chase after her but to save her child. I have no idea where she is now.”

“What’s the mother’s name?” asks the doctor.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose any personal information, I’m afraid,” says Frigga, the words spilling out entirely by themselves at this point. “This is an ongoing investigation.”

“I do but I’ll need her to corroborate this story,” says the doctor, naturally suspicious because who wouldn’t be? She glances at his nametag then.

“With all due respect, Dr. Maverick, you are a doctor. Your job is to save lives, which you did, but you’re not law enforcement. You don’t usually need to corroborate anyone’s story when they come here and ask for treatment, do you? I understand where you’re coming from, of course,” she adds when he is about to protest. “As a physician, the state requires you to report cases of suspected child abuse and child endangerment to the authorities. I’m aware of that, sir. I am. But I canʼt violate attorney-client privilege and this baby? It has been through a lot in its short life and so has its mother.”

“He,” supplies Dr. Maverick.

“He,” Frigga echoes, suddenly feeling all warm inside. She can see herself taking the tiny little guy home and sitting with him by the fire, singing to him, nurturing him, raising him, until Hela is ready for motherhood. She can see it so clearly, she will no longer accept any another outcome, come what may. “Involving CPS or the police would only damage them further. Putting his mother in prison or in a mental facility will not help her, not at this point. It will aggravate her and make her feel betrayed because she did the right thing and it will make her suspicious of the system if she is judged for doing so, sparking aggression and possibly violence. Not to mention that placing children in foster care can be detrimental to their health. There is no need to do this to that baby. I saved his life by bringing him here and I can give him a good home and a family. I can do what this girl asked me to do. I have a son of four-and-a-half at home, sir. That baby will be safe with us, I promise you. I will take care of him. And should the mother return, I will involve the authorities myself to ensure that he will be safe.” 

The doctor draws a breath. “I cannot simply take you by your word.”

“No, but you can think about it before you decide rashly, Dr. Maverick. You swore an oath to save lives, didn’t you? And you swore it in a system that is far from perfect. We all need to make decisions every day based on the legal and moral guidelines available to us but the problem is that they are faulty, all of them. We both know that. You will do right by the law if you call Child Services now and report the baby’s mother but will you also do right by the baby’s mental state if you place him into foster care now until appropriate custody can be determined instead of letting him stay with me? That’s a different matter altogether.”

The doctor shakes his head and chuckles. “You must be a star in the courtroom.”

“Oh, I don’t practice law myself.”

“Well, you should.” He sighs. “Alright, I will think about it.”

Frigga thanks him with a nod and a smile before she goes in search for a payphone.

“Where the hell are you?” Odin blares into the receiver, not bothering with a greeting. “What could have been so important you took off on me without your purse or your phone?! You scared the heck out of me, woman!”

“I, uh, I’m at the hospital. Something came up.”

“Last time I checked, we were married,” barks Odin when she finished her tale and he his accusations that she put his reputation on the line for Hela’s baby and what did she even think, making such a weighty decision without consulting him first? His face is deep red, his eyes bulging. She hasn’t seen him this angry in a long time but now that she does, Thor’s low frustration tolerance is no longer a mystery. “How dare you go behind my back like that?”

“I didn’t think,” Frigga admits, holding his gaze.

“Of course you didn’t,” snaps Odin. “It’s that damn savior complex of yours.”

“Savior complex? That’s the most ridiculous thing you ever said to me.”

“Is it really that ridiculous? Is it?” He is staring at her as if she were a dense child. “You couldn’t fix Hela and now you think you can fix that you couldn’t fix her by taking care of her baby.”

“That baby didn’t do anyone any harm,” Frigga insists. “He deserves a chance.”

“I agree but I will not be the one who raises that troublemaker’s boy, do you hear me? With all the drugs she’s been taking, he’ll be a mess. Look,” he relents, softening up when tears spring to her eyes. He even takes her hands into his, squeezing them softly. “We talked about having another baby and we both agreed that, with our workload, it wouldn’t be fair to Thor. What makes you think it’d be fair to him to just show up with a sibling out of nowhere? If you truly want another baby, we’ll make one. We’ll give Thor a sibling. But it will be ours, not Hela’s, and we’ll give our son a chance to adjust to the idea. We won’t just dump this on him.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand,” says Odin. “My decision is final.”

Thankfully, her husband loves and admires her deeply and is by no means immune to the art of persuasion she mastered long ago. After debating the issue for a few hours, he reluctantly agrees, which leaves the question of what they will tell Thor.

“And everyone else basically,” Odin tacks on. “Because if the doctor agrees and if that boy is to be my child, I will not have him grow up with this stigma attached to him. I will not have people think that a son of mine is the discarded baby of a drug addict we took in out of pity. He will grow up as ours. He will not have to agonize over where he truly came from and if Hela ever returns to reclaim him, we will tell her that we gave the baby up for adoption. She made her choice and we’ll make ours. These are my terms.”

“Hela didn’t make a choice, Odin. She is sixteen years old. She is confused, mentally unstable,” Frigga tells him. “If she changes her mind—”

“Do you want to raise that baby or not?”

“I do,” says Frigga because she can still negotiate the fine print later, shall the need arise. “But what are you saying, really? I was at work today. We celebrated Halloween with our friends and neighbors yesterday. Everyone saw me in a very, very un-pregnant state.”

“Cryptic pregnancies happen,” says Odin. “They aren’t even that rare in fact. The media covered them. There are some women who didn’t realize they were pregnant until they actually gave birth.”

“Precedent,” Frigga muses. “Alright, fine. But just to be clear, you intend to go home and tell Thor I had a baby when you pick him up tomorrow morning and then we’ll just lie to everyone for the rest of our lives?”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about lying when you were the one who got this ball rolling,” Odin reminds her grimly.

Fair enough.

In the end, Frigga finds, they get away with the ruse even a little too easily because, as it turns out, Dr. Maverick has a brother who is a cosmetic surgeon and who was one of Odin’s actual clients a while back.

“You saved Brian’s reputation and his career,” Dr. Maverick tells Odin over a hearty handshake accompanied by a fair share of manly claps on each other’s upper arms.

“Does that mean I can trust you to return the favor by allowing my wife to take this baby home?” Odin asks sweetly. “It means a lot to her. And your generosity will not go unrewarded, of course,” he tacks on with a sharkish grin, offering the man a generous donation that’d allow them to finally repair the west wing of the hospital that has been in dire need of modernization for years.

Listen well, children, forget honesty. Good connections and bribery are far more efficient if you want to go places in life.

Frigga feels a little filthy with the development but eventually succeeds at compartmentalizing because the baby’s health is far more important to her.

Loki.

The name comes to her out of nowhere when she hears him cry and watches him struggle while one of the nurses is bathing him for the first time, and it feels so very right.

Thor and Loki.

Loki and Thor.

The newborn has to stay in the hospital for a few weeks because he is malnourished and in overall poor health, which benefits their chosen narrative and gives Thor a little time to get accustomed to the prospect of having a baby brother soon. Frigga visits him every day when she picks him up from kindergarten and stays with him until it’s time to tuck him into bed, and every day, his excitement level rises until it practically skyrockets. Given how easy to irritate Thor has been lately, she was scared he’d react a lot differently; particularly since he hasn’t had the usual nine months to get accustomed to the idea and that alone lifts a weight off Frigga’s chest.

That and the way Loki starts responding to her when he becomes more aware of his surroundings. Soon, he recognizes her voice, relaxes in her embrace when she plays with his tiny little fingers as she rocks him to sleep, starts crying for her when she isn’t around and even starts to make noises at her that babies this young aren’t yet supposed to make.

“He is so aware,” marvel the nurses because whatever lie Dr. Maverick fed his staff, they are under the impression that she is holding her own son. “You gave birth to a very intelligent boy, Ma’am.”

Frigga is finally allowed to take Loki home on Friday, November 21^st, and she is shaking a little when she buckles on the infant seat. The baby is asleep, making adorable newborn noises.

“Shshsh,” murmurs Frigga and plants a kiss onto his bald head, not knowing if she’s reassuring him or her own beating heart. “You’re safe now, with us. We’re going to meet your big brother now.” She strokes his cheek, kisses his forehead. Gosh, he’s so tiny and so beautiful, she’ll never be able to stop touching him.

Loki begins to cry as soon as she switches on the engine and doesn’t calm down until she switches it off again in the garage back home. His face is blotchy and red by then, even after so short a drive. “Hey, come here, little prince. Did that car scare you? I’m sorry, baby. Shshshsh. You’re fine now.”

Loki gurgles in response.

“Yes, I know, cars are awfully loud, aren’t they?” She peels him out of the seat and cradles him close to her heart. “And the big city streets too.”

Another gurgle.

“I know, I know. But you made it, sweetie.” Her hand cups his tiny head and she kisses him again. Gosh, how much she missed showering a baby with kisses ever since Thor entered the stage where he decided she has to earn his affection on most days. “You’re home now, Loki. No one will ever harm you here, I promise.”

Odin took the day off to stay home with Thor because not even an army of thousands would have been able to coerce their jittery boy into going to kindergarten that day. He has been waiting for them impatiently, brimming with excitement when they enter the house. “Mommy, mommy, mommeeeee!” he squeals and runs up to her, leaping up and down like a bouncy ball. “Show me my new baby brother!”

“Thor,” chides Odin, barely able to contain a laugh. “We talked about this. If you want to hold him, you need to sit down quietly. You’ll scare him if you don’t stop bouncing.”

“But I’m too exciteeeed, daddy,” squeaks Thor, his little face flushed a deep pink. “I can’t stop bouncing!”

“I know,” says Odin and scoops their wriggling son up, holding him close. “To the couch.”

“Daddyyyyy,” wails Thor, half-laughing, half-complaining.

“To the couch,” repeats Odin, tickling him as they walk over. “Now.”

He sits a bouncing and giggling Thor down and arranges his legs. “Your mother will put the baby on your lap,” instructs Odin as he sits down next to him. “But you’ll have to keep your legs still, alright?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You have to be still and gentle, okay?” asks Frigga as she carefully lowers Loki into his new brother’s arms.

“You hold him like this,” demonstrates Odin, guiding Thor’s little hand to steady the baby’s head.

Loki emits a few crying sounds, his tiny lips trembling.

“He is so cuuute,” exclaims Thor as he begins to clumsily pet the infant’s head. “You’re soooo cute. Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry.” He bends down to place a boisterous wet smooch on Loki’s forehead.

“Thor, be careful,” cautions Frigga.

“I am,” says Thor and the way he pets the baby’s head seriously makes her wonder how this can be the same boy who throws his toys around in a tantrum whenever something upsets him. “Don’t cry, baby.”

Eventually, Loki’s unease dissolves and he looks at Thor with curiosity, his big green eyes full of longing and wonder.

“I’m your big brother,” Thor tells him proudly, poking his cheek a little. “And I’m gonna play with you eeeeevery day.”

“He can’t really play yet,” Odin says on a chuckle. “He’s a baby.”

“I will teach him,” says Thor with so much certainty that Frigga’s heart melts into a puddle instantly.

She and Odin sit like this for a while, watching Thor and Loki get acquainted.

“Come on,” says Frigga when the baby starts yawning after about thirty minutes, stretching out her arms for emphasis. “I’ll take him now. He needs to sleep.”

“No,” says Thor.

An astonished chuckle rises in Frigga’s throat. “What do you mean ‘no’, honey?”

“The baby stays with me,” decides Thor, his little face deadly serious. “He can sleep in my lap. I won’t wake him.”

And that unconditional love her son is expressing towards his little brother is all the proof Frigga needed that, dubious or not, she made the right choice.

Chapter Text

November 28^th, 2003, 11:23 p.m.

Odin glances up from the file of the precedential case he’s been studying when he hears Frigga groan and shift her weight a little to accommodate Hela’s little boy. “No, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice sounding pained under its sleep-induced hoarseness.

“Is everything alright?”

“He’s diving for my nipples again.” Frigga releases a stuttering breath and shushes the boy when he starts to whine. She cradles him close and he begins to suckle at the collarbone with sloshy slurping sounds. “See? The poor darling is still trying to nurse.”

“You look exhausted,” Odin says and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I am exhausted,” Frigga confirms pointedly as she struggles into a sitting position and glances at him expectantly.

“What?” Odin asks uneasily. His wife brought Loki home from the hospital exactly one week ago and it’s been an emotional challenge, to say the least.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Frigga sighs with a faint undertone of mischief to her words. “How about a ‘Please, lie back down and rest, honey, I’ll go prepare a bottle for him’?”

“I didn’t realize he was hungry,” Odin defends himself.

Frigga huffs a small laugh. “Then why else would he try to nurse? Are you opening the fridge if you aren’t hungry?”

“I thought perhaps he was just trying to kiss you or make contact or—” Odin interrupts himself before he can make himself sound like even more of an imbecile. “You’re right. Why else?” He brushes a kiss onto the crown of Frigga’s head. “What was I thinking? I’ll go prepare a bottle for him.”

“Thank you.” Frigga smiles at him a little wickedly. “And please don’t use the microwave. If you do, he’ll burn his mouth.”

“I won’t,” Odin promises and the last thing he hears before he leaves the room is a soft, “Shshsh, your daddy will be back with your food in a sec, little prince.”

It’s been twenty-eight days since Frigga found the frozen bundle on their doorstep and Odin’s stomach still clenches when she refers to him as the child’s father. He can’t help it because what they did, what they decided on the spur of the moment, can only be regarded as utter madness with the benefit of a bit of hindsight. What if Hela does come back to claim her own flesh and blood? What if they’ll have to tell Thor that the baby brother he is so excited about can’t stay with them after all? What if someone uncovers the truth and accuses him of bribery and false testimony, which technically wasn’t false because Frigga used a lie to tell the truth? One night, Odin even dreamed that he was sentenced to a prison sentence for human trafficking by a judge that looked suspiciously like his father. Bor wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he found out that Odin decided to raise ‘the bastard child of a bastard child’ as his own. He can hear his old man’s jarring voice loud and clear, and shudders. No, for the sake of familial peace and his own sanity, they’re going to stick to the lie; whatever the cost.

Besides, it’s not as if Frigga is likely to part with the baby any time soon and, even if his own brain chooses to torment Odin sometimes, the beautiful sight of his gorgeous wife holding a newborn baby close to her breasts is worth all the trouble.

Chapter Text

December 26th, 2003, early morning:

“Mama?”

It’s nothing more than a faint whimper but it startles her awake immediately. She scrambles into a half-sitting position and switches on the bedside lamp, cradling Loki against her chest, her palm cupping the backside of his tiny head. “What is it, honey?”

Thor is lurking in the doorway, his small face scrunched up in discomfort. “I’m gonna be sick,” he wails.

“Then what are you doing here? Off to the bathroom with you,” Frigga gasps. She hastily lowers Loki onto the mattress and positions a few pillows around him so that he won’t roll over and tumble from the bed. “Quick!” she urges Thor as she rises to her feet. She grabs his hand, gently tugging him towards the bathroom and the toilet.

Loki begins to cry as soon as she sets as much as a toe out of the door, a gut-wrenching hysterical sobbing-gurgling spell.

Frigga opens the toilet seat and Thor plops down onto his knees, retching. Parenting is such a blissful experience, she thinks as she strokes his hair, minus the tears and the snot of course and minus the vomit that is splashing against the walls of the toilet bowl right now, leaving slimy brown stains. “What is this, hm?” Frigga purrs as she inspects her son’s handiwork. “That looks suspiciously like chocolate, don’t you think? Like an awful lot of chocolate.”

Thor glances up at her, looking contrite. 

“Did someone eat the rest of their Christmas candy all at once after lights out?” Frigga asks him and his shoulders slump. She retrieves a cloth and holds it under the sink. “Now, let that be a lesson for you, my love,” she whispers as she cleans him up around the mouth, Loki’s cries ringing in her ears. “If you eat too much candy, you’re gonna get sick, okay?” She pokes his tummy. “Think about that before you sneak out of bed next time.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes are glued to the floor and his voice is barely more than an embarrassed whisper. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Of course, honey,” says Frigga as she flushes the toilet. “Go see how your brother is doing while I get you a glass of water, okay?”

Thor nods and tiptoes into the master bedroom. She retrieves a glass and fills it with water and when she comes back, Thor is lying on his side and he’s stroking Loki’s bald head, which apparently calmed him down for his hysterical sobs have subsided to a quiet whimpering. Loki has been with them for a little over a month now and Frigga still marvels at how easily he is comforted by Thor’s affection even though her firstborn’s fine-motor skills are still very much in development and his stormy caressing is anything but gentle sometimes. Loki doesn’t seem to mind though. “Where is Daddy?”

“He’s downstairs,” says Frigga, handing Thor a glass of water. “Working.”

He drinks greedily and smacks his lips when she takes the glass from him. She then picks Loki up again and cradles him to her right breast while opening her left arm for Thor to snuggle up against her.

Yes, sometimes, parenting is bliss. 

The next morning, she goes to wake Thor after making breakfast and feeding Loki and strapping him to her chest in his baby wrap carrier. “Rise and shine, honey.”

Thor is lying on his belly, legs sprawled away from him, and he mumbles something against the fabric of the pillow he buried his head in. She bends down, gently shaking him, but she only receives more murmuring as an answer. She starts tickling him then, which has to be every parent’s secret weapon; and for a good reason. Thor starts giggling, squirming under her touch, before he rolls over onto his back. “Does your tummy still hurt?”

He shakes his head and then props his arms up on his elbows, scrambling into a sitting position against the backrest, his eyes never leaving hers.

“What?” asks Frigga.

“Why do you always have to carry him?” Thor asks back. 

“Because he needs love. He is a baby, honey. Babies need lots of love and lots of attention from their mommies or else they’re gonna feel unsafe and if they feel unsafe, they start crying.”

“But we’re safe here,” Thor insists.

“Yes, we are but Loki …” Her heart gives a lurch. “He doesn’t know that yet.” She sits down, cupping Thor’s cheek. “He still needs to learn that I’ll keep him safe, do you understand that?”

Thor doesn’t look convinced. “Why does he learn so slow?” he asks and Loki half-gurgles, half-whimpers as if in protest. “Is he dumb?”

“No, he isn’t dumb. He is a baby, sweetheart,” Frigga repeats on a small sigh. “Babies don’t learn everything all at once.”

Thor’s eyebrows hike up as he gazes at Loki tucked into his baby sling, his cheek resting on the patch of skin beneath her collarbone, and something flashes through his eyes. “Then I help you,” he whispers almost solemnly.

“Help me with what?”

Thor bends over and plants one of his rambunctious kisses on Loki’s head. “Make sure he doesn’t feel unsafe.”

“Oh, honey, you’re already doing that,” says Frigga and then she scoops him up too and balances him against her other hip, pressing him close, showering him with kisses.

Chapter Text

February 2004

“Loki wants to bathe with me,” singsongs Thor from the tub where he’s been reenacting a pirate war with five toy ships for the past fifteen minutes when Loki starts whining in his infant seat.

“There’s hardly any room in that tub for you,” Frigga replies as she tousles through his wet hair. “Plus, I think what your brother wants is to get his diapers changed.” She picks the baby up and sniffs his bottom. Loki gurgles. “Yes, we have a winner.”

“Can he bathe with me, Mommy?” asks Thor as he watches her unbutton Loki’s onesie.

“No. He’s too small to sit in that big tub with you, honey.”

“But the water will make his booty clean.”

“Booty?” Frigga echoes, flicking an inquiring glance at her soon-to-be five-year-old. “Who taught you that word?”

He shrugs, pulling his head back like a turtle. “You can just put his feet inside.”

“Baby, your brother is not going to bathe with you, okay?” sighs Frigga as she returns to the task of disposing of the nuclear waste in Loki’s diaper. Motherhood would be so rewarding if your sense of smell were subdued until they go to elementary.

“Why not?”

“Because he is too small to sit in that big tub with you,” Frigga repeats as she wipes Loki’s tiny pink bottom.

“But I can hold him tight,” insists Thor. “He won’t slip.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I said no.”

“And I said yes.” Thor locks eyes with her and looks so deadly serious that she can’t bite back the chuckle that rises in her throat. Children are so sweet and hilarious and so incredibly precious. Until they throw a tantrum, which, in this case, means that her beloved son stands up and, before Frigga can stop him, reaches for one of the ships, hurls the water contained in it towards the changing table and douses his brother, who promptly starts bawling.

“Thor Odinson,” snaps Frigga because what even is patience when you are raising two feisty little boys. “Why did you do that just now, hm? I told you your brother doesn’t need a bath!”

Thor looks utterly wretched and horrified, bites his lip and soon the tears run freely down his cheeks too, blessing her with two crying children at once. “Come here,” sighs Frigga, pulling him out of the tub and into a side-hug while cradling Loki to her chest with her other hand, which is to say that before long, she is wet and has a streak of poop on her sleeve where Loki rests in the crook of her elbow.

“I made him cry,” whimpers Thor.

“Yes. Because you startled him, honey. You can’t just splash a little baby like this.”

“But water is fun,” sobs her son.

“I know but Loki is too small to have fun like that,” says Frigga. “You can bathe together when he’s a little older, okay? And next time I tell you no, you remember that I only say no to keep you both safe and happy and not to ruin your fun, yes? I am not an evil witch.” She playfully pinches his cheek. “I’m your mother.”

“Yes,” sniffles Thor, on a giggle. He carefully pets Loki’s head with his hand, in response to which her youngest hiccups. “You can stop crying now, baby brother,” Thor whispers as he caresses him. “I won’t do it again, pinky swear.” He kisses Loki’s head, astonishingly gentle. “I love you, baby brother.”

Loki babbles back and squeals softly when Thor keeps kissing his forehead and the fluffy wisps of black hair, melting Frigga into a puddle of love-struck slush.

And then it comes, almost lost among the delightful baby noises, a sound like a “Toh”.

“Did he just,” murmurs Frigga, her lips gaping open. That can’t be. He is only four months old. He can’t—

“He said my name,” cries Thor, all sparkling eyes, and then he wriggles free and sprints out the door like an arrow shot from a bow, leaving a trail of soapy bath water puddles in his wake. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddeeeeeeeee! Loki said my naaaaameeeeee!”

Deep sigh.

Chapter Text

March 2004

“Is something wrong, sweetie?” Frigga asks her soon-to-be-five-year-old, who has been watching her feed Loki with gimlet eyes for the past five minutes.

Thor bites his lip, looking pensive.

“Your brother will fall back asleep soon and then the two us are going to play, okay?” Frigga adjusts the bottle between her thumb and index finger while stroking under the baby’s chin with her ring finger. “I promise.”

Thor nods.

“Come here, sit beside me,” coos Frigga and pats the couch with her free hand. “What is the matter, darling? Something is on your mind, I can tell.”

Thor breathes in and out. Then glances down and whispers, almost conspiratorially, “Why do you never let Loki drink from your boobies, mommy?”

The question hits Frigga out of nowhere and she catches herself stammering as she defends Odin’s darned lie, “Be-c-cause not all babies l-like to drink from the breast, honey.”

“Why not?”

“Because they have difficulties latching on to the nipple,” Frigga tells him, which technically isn’t a lie, right?

Yeah, right.

They are doomed.

If she were a believer, she would be terrified of posthumous punishment.

“I could show him,” Thor offers, bless his precious little soul.

“That’s so nice of you but I’ve been bottle-feeding your brother for months,” sighs Frigga, feeling like an utter wretch when she sees Thor’s sad expression. “My breasts stopped producing milk.”

Chapter Text

April 2004

“This is Rex,” Thor tells his baby brother and lines up another one of his dinosaurs in front of Loki’s infant carrier as Frigga returns from the bathroom. “He is a t-rex, that’s why I named him that. This is a Triceratops,” he continues and giggles, mostly to himself. A child’s laugh, such a beautiful, innocent sound. “Daddy said his name is Kristoff but Daddy was just joking. Kristoff isn’t a dinosaur name, is it? Daddy must know that.” Another giggle.

Loki is watching his brother intently, green eyes wide open and gleaming with curiosity, his tiny fingers curled up in the blanket Frigga put around him.

Oh, her two beautiful, precious boys. She is fairly certain she won’t ever tire of looking at them.

“We name him, uh,” Thor begins, then pauses, letting out a small huff. “You name him, brother.”

As if he understood, and sometimes Frigga is sure he does understand a lot more than they realize, Loki makes an adorable sound that is half-gurgle, half-squeak.

“Girk?” Thor repeats and bites his lip. His little face scrunches up in a frown. “That’s not a name.”

“Loki can’t speak yet,” Frigga says, softly. “He’s six months old, darling.”

“He said our names,” Thor reminds her, looking very serious as he glances up at her. “You said he was a smart baby.”

“Smart or not, I’d be very surprised if any baby could be picking dinosaur names at that age. Come now, it’s time for kindergarten, my love.”

“But he needs a name,” insists her five-year-old. “He’s the only one who doesn’t have one yet.”

“Why don’t you take ‘Girk’ with you and see if you can come up with a name together with your friends, hm?” Frigga suggests, which has about a fifty percent chance of success.

Luckily, the stars are on her side this morning.

Thor’s face lights up. “Yesss,” he squeals and clutches the toy close to his chest.

“Alright, then off to the car with you, little man,” Frigga hurries and picks up Loki’s baby carrier and Thor’s backpack in one fluid motion.

“Girk,” babbles Loki as she buckles him, surprising her once again. She’ll probably have to start a diary to keep up with his speech development.

“That’s not gonna be his name,” giggles Thor.

Loki coos, as if in protest.

In the end, the poor Triceratops doesn’t stand a chance.

“Girk?” Odin asks his boy that evening, forehead in a deep frown. “What kind of a name is that? And how is that any better than Kristoff?”

Thor shrugs. “Loki picked it,” he informs his father and, in his little world, that is justification enough.

Bless his heart.

Chapter Text

Sunday, June 27^th, 2004

Seven months after Frigga brought Loki into the family

After finally singing and rocking their youngest to sleep, Frigga steps out onto the porch where her husband is currently sitting on a deck chair, basking his face in the late afternoon sun as he enjoys a glass of Scotch and watches their eldest chase his friend Tony across the lawn with a water hose.

“It just occurred to me,” Frigga murmurs, wrapping her arms around Odin’s shoulders from behind, startling him a little, “that Loki needs a passport if we want to travel to Norway again this Christmas, and I was wondering if maybe you could submit the application next week?”

Odin cranes his neck to look at her, his eyebrows hiking up in surprise. “Why me?”

Frigga lowers herself into the chair next to him. “You could do it when you’re at the courthouse on Wednesday. I just checked. They accept passport applications.”

“Yeah but I couldn’t possibly make an appointment, could I? Who knows how long I’ll be stuck in the courtroom?” Odin counters, confusion mixed with suspicion washing over his features as he takes one of her hands in his. “It’ll be much easier if you do it because your schedule is far more predictable. Besides, since when do you need me running errands for you? You know where all the relevant documents are and you’re the manager, right? Just go manage.”

There’s really no way to argue with that – since she usually is the one taking care of these kind of things, inside and outside of Asgardia – but she tries anyway. “I’m not a manager right now, in case you forgot,” murmurs Frigga and brushes a kiss onto his wrist. “I’m on parental leave. And I could really use some help right now.”

Although, come to think of it, there is little difference between managing a firm and managing a family.

As expected, Odin’s pale blue gaze pierces right through her argument. “No, you don’t, so what’s this really about, hm?”

“Alright,” sighs she, admitting defeat. Frigga didn’t plan on sharing her qualms with her husband because she didn’t want to start the kind of conversation that will undoubtedly result in allocations of blame but it can’t be helped now. Caring for Loki earlier depleted all of her mental energy, so she lowers her voice to a discreet whisper. “I’m a little anxious about walking in there with a forgery. What if they see right through me?”

“The official, government-issued birth certificate is not a forgery,” Odin reminds her sweetly, flaunting the unshakable confidence that makes him such a persuasive lawyer. “And neither is the one issued by the hospital, come to think of it. All signatures, seals and stamps are legitimate. Meaning you have nothing to worry about, my dear. They won’t see through you if you don’t start acting suspiciously. And why would you?”

That quality of his is alluring but it’s also beyond frustrating sometimes. At least it is when she finds herself at the receiving end of his eloquence.

“Why would I?” echoes Frigga. “Because …” She glances up, watching Thor and Tony splash each other with cold water, accompanied by squeals of delight. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I actually don’t,” says Odin, not a trace of insincerity in either his voice or gaze. “Loki is our son, just like Thor. We’re his parents, his real family. So, why would you be worried about applying for Loki’s passport when you weren’t the least bit worried about applying for Thor’s? There’s no difference, right?”

He’s in an exceptionally good mood today, sounding utterly convincing as he solidifies their daily-lived truth with his – seemingly – irrefutable assertion, but a tiny little voice pipes up in Frigga’s subconscious anyway, wondering if he’s playing her for a fool, manipulating her.

She brushes that voice aside because, after a few months of an admittedly rather rocky settling-in period, they finally seem to be on the same page.

And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

Chapter Text

2005

Loki. 

His baby brother is the first thing Thor thinks about when he wakes up early in the morning because he had a dream that Loki was crying on his own birthday!! Heʼs gonna turn two soon and itʼd be so sad if something on his birthday made him cry. Mommy will make sure everything is super special (and Thor helped pick the cake and itʼs one with dinosaurs and trees on it!!!) but he has to be extra careful too that no one makes Loki cry. 

Thor doesnʼt understand why people make his brother cry sometimes. Loki is the cutest, tiniest brother in the whole wide world. Everything about Loki is just so much smaller. Especially his fingers and his little toes when he stands barefoot on the bathroom tiles in his pajamas and tries to reach the sink. That is the cutest!!! Thor doesnʼt understand why some people donʼt wanna hug him all the time because he does. 

Thor wants to hug Loki real bad all the time because heʼs just so tiny and Loki loves his hugs too. Very much. He always squeals when Thor hugs him or smiles or sighs happily. 

Heʼs the best big brother, Mommy always says and it makes Thor very proud. 

Thor tiptoes into the master bedroom. Daddy is on a business trip (Mommy says heʼll be back for Lokiʼs birthday but Thor is scared he wonʼt be and that this is whatʼs gonna make Loki cry) and Mommy and Loki are still in bed. Loki is wearing his favorite black cat onesie that has a hood with ears on it and a tail. He lies in Mommy's arm, thumb in his mouth, sucking. His green eyes are wide open. 

Thor climbs onto Daddyʼs side of the bed and pets Lokiʼs cheek. “Good morning, brother. I love you.”

“Thor,” Loki whispers and his entire cute little face lights up.

Mommy groans. Itʼs her morning groan, for when she doesnʼt wanna wake up yet. 

Loki scoots over to Thor. He always comes to Thor and Thor opens his arms super-wide to give Loki a big, squishy hug and a ton of good morning kisses because Loki likes them too. 

Loki squeals. 

“Boys,” murmurs Mommy, one eye half open. “Really? Youʼre both awake? Itʼs not even five am.” 

“Itʼs never too early to hug my baby brother,” Thor declares and Loki giggles. He clings extra tight this morning and it makes Thor all warm and fluffy inside.

Mommy smiles at him when she gets up and brushes a kiss onto Thorʼs head. “I think you might be right about that. Good morning, sweetie. I love you,” she murmurs and her voice is so soft.  

She is proud of him too because he always tries to be the best big brother. She doesnʼt even need to say it!!! Thor can feel it!!!

It feels nice. 

Very nice, actually, but not as nice as having a baby brother to hug in the first place. Thor is sure there isnʼt anything in the world that feels nicer than that. 

He is sure Loki thinks the same. 

Chapter Text

Winter 2006

Frigga hears her three-year-old cry out as soon as she closes the bathroom door behind her. She sighs and tries to hurry her business along but this time, the wailing stops after a few moments. Maybe Loki is finally growing accustomed to the concept of her being in another room for a few minutes, thinks—hopes—Frigga because she has no way of knowing, or even suspecting because who does, that her husband, in an act of sheer, sleep-deprived despair, is covering her baby’s mouth on the other side of the door.

She washes her hands and returns to the master bedroom. Loki jerks away from Odin immediately and burrows into her, shivering, whimpering. “Shshshsh, it’s okay, sweetie, I am here,” Frigga coos, pressing him close. “You can go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t. He keeps shivering and whimpering, his breathing sharp and hitching. After a while, she picks him up because her husband is just this side of getting really annoyed. “Come on, baby, we let your father sleep, okay?” she whispers.

Odin merely grunts and Frigga carries Loki into one of the guestrooms where he eventually calms down even though he doesn’t let go of her the entire night, instead keeping his tiny arms looped around her neck, his face buried between her breasts.

Loki won’t even let go the next morning. He keeps clinging to her, refusing to be un-cuddled. “Honey, what’s going on?” Frigga asks, her voice shaky with uneasiness because, even considering how hard it has always been for the poor thing to find rest at night, this is still different and, admittedly, a little bit scary. “Did something happen? Did you have a bad dream, darling?”

Loki shakes his tiny head.

“Then, what is it?” Frigga untangles herself to look her baby in the eye. She can see fear flicker across them but mostly, mostly it’s a longing so deep she suddenly worries she might never be able to fill up the hole in his wee little heart. She brushes against his soft cheek with the back of her fingers, caressing him. “Talk to me, sweetie.”

“I just wanna hug you,” whispers Loki and Frigga’s heart melts as she sweeps him back into a tight embrace. “I wanna hug you all day.”

“How am I supposed to make breakfast for you and your brother while hugging you, though? Maybe you can hug my leg instead, so that I have my hands free when we walk into the kitchen,” Frigga suggests.

“I don’t wanna hug your leg,” says Loki, his fingers playing with her hair, his next words melting the rest of her body. “I wanna hug your heart.”

Chapter Text

March 2006

“Mama?” Loki asks from across the table where he’s been assembling a Lego dinosaur with his tiny hands until now. Thor, who’s been struggling with his first grade writing assignment for the past half hour or so to the point where he almost threw his pencil across the room twice in a burst of anger, lets out a heavy grunt.

“Yes?”

Loki doesn’t answer immediately, his face pinched in a pensive frown.

“I’m trying to help your brother with his homework here,” Frigga tells her youngest, stating the obvious. “Just give us a few more minutes.”

“But his homework is stupid,” Loki points out with utter conviction.

“It is,” concurs Thor, sticking his chin out in defiance.

“It might be tedious at times,” Frigga assures them both, her patience slowly thinning, “but homework is never stupid, boys. Learning how to write is very important.”

“But,” protests Loki.

“No buts,” Frigga orders. “You finish your dinosaur and Thor finishes his homework and then the two of you can go play, alright?”

“But it is stupid,” Loki persists. “Why do you say ‘candy’?” It’s a word on Thor’s worksheet they’ve been trying to fill out. Frigga didn’t even think Loki was listening even though she probably should have anticipated it. “It starts with a ‘c’.”

And that, that completely takes her by surprise because even though Loki has known the alphabet for a while now, Frigga had no idea he already started stringing letters together or reading actual words and all she manages is a not very eloquent ‘uh’.

“Like cat or clown or cake. Why are they said like that? They start with a ‘c’ too, mama, not a ‘k’ like ...” He looks deeply troubled now, her smarter-than-she-previously-assumed toddler of two and a half. “K—k,” Loki stammers, his brain is feverishly working.

“Why can you read?” blusters Thor, little hurricane that he is. “You’re a baby!”

“K-king,” Loki exclaims before sticking his pink little tongue out at his big brother. “And I’m no baby!”

“Boys, please,” shushes Frigga. “No fighting.” She turns to Loki. “For how long have you been ... I mean how can you ... Since when are you reading?”

“I have books in my room,” Loki informs her, his eyebrows hiking up as if she just asked the stupidest question he ever heard. “And you read with Thor. I listened.” He’s very proud now, his eyes gleaming bright green.

“That’s incredible, honey,” Frigga exclaims.

Thor grunts again, louder this time, before he sweeps his homework off the table with his elbow in a fluster, leaps to his feet and stomps away, huffing in frustration. He’s going to turn seven in less than a month but his impulse control is still very much that of a smaller child on some days.

“You come back here, little man!” Frigga shouts after him. “You still have to finish your—”

“No!” Thor yells, quickly padding up the stairs.

“Did I say something wrong?” asks Loki, his pride swept away by fear. His lip is quivering.

“No, baby. You didn’t. It’s just, your brother gets angry easily when things don’t go his way.” Frigga sighs. “And to answer your question,” she continues because she knows she’ll have to at some point and might as well get it over with now, “letters are sometimes pronounced, uh, they sound different than in the alphabet song when you make actual words out of them. They have different sounds.”

“Why?” Loki’s innate curiosity is in full bloom now.

Because there are hard sounds and soft sounds depending on which vowel follows the consonant but why that is the case and why there are exceptions such as girl being pronounced with a hard ‘g’ even if it is followed by an ‘i’, she has no idea because Frigga Fjörgyndottir is not a goddamn linguist. “I don’t know, honey. It’s complex. You’ll learn all about it when you go to school, okay?”

Which will have to be sooner rather than later and not to a regular preschool either, she realizes then, with a nameless negative emotion tugging at her heart.

“You don’t know, mama?” gloats Loki.

“I do but it’s, uh, it’s a little complicated.”

“Tell me anyway,” her son demands.

“The letter ‘c’ from the alphabet song is only said like this when it’s followed by an ‘i’ or an ‘e’ or a ‘y’,” Frigga replies because, apparently, she has something to prove to her baby son. His facial expression changes then, confusion twisting it into another frown. “When it’s followed by an ‘a’, like ‘cat’, or an ‘o’ like ‘coat’, or a ‘u’ like, uh, ‘cuddle’, you say it like a ‘k’. English is just ... it’s a very odd language and things don’t always make sense. Now, I’ll have to go get your brother and you can finish your dinosaur, okay?”

She kisses the top of his head and ruffles through his hair. “Thor needs to finish this but I promise you we’ll read together when you go to bed later and then you can show me what you learned, baby.”

Loki’s eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically before focusing his attention on the Lego pieces in front of him again.

“Honey?” Frigga asks as she softly knocks at Thor’s door. By now, she figures, enough time has passed for his outburst to quench itself. He gets angry easily, yes, but he calms down just as quickly most of the time. She pushes the handle down and steps into his room, finding him on his bed on his belly, face buried in the pillows, arms and legs splayed out. “Darling, what is it?”

“Why can Loki read?” Thor asks, his words muffled by the pillows. “He’s so small.”

“People are different,” Frigga explains as she sits down on the bed and starts caressing his back, rubbing large circles onto his back. “Every child is different. Every child starts reading at a different age.”

“But he’s not even in kindergarten yet,” wails Thor.

“I know,” says Frigga, stroking his back. “And I’m as surprised as you are, believe me.”

“I couldn’t read in kindergarten,” says Thor, pausing before he goes on. “Am I dumb?”

“No, you aren’t dumb. Come here.” Frigga gently pulls him up by the shoulders. “Look at me, Thor. You are not dumb. You’re exactly the way you should be. Most kids can’t read in kindergarten.”

“Then why can Loki ...” His words trail off.

“Because, apparently, your brother is smarter than other kids. Some people are just born really, really smart. But that doesn’t mean,” Frigga hurries to add when she sees a frown deepen on his forehead, “that all other people are dumb. You’re perfect the way you are and so is Loki. You’re just ... different, the two of you, but I love you both the same and I always will.”

Thor doesn’t look convinced at all, the poor thing.

“Loki isn’t good at some things you could already do in kindergarten,” she tries then, listing everything that pops into her mind, unreflecting, “like running really fast or riding a bicycle or climbing trees without falling down or catching a ball. You’re brothers but you’re two different children, baby.”

“And I’m not scared all the time,” Thor adds with a sudden, rapidly widening smile, which isn’t quite what she would have brought up on her own but here it is.

“Yes. You’re brave, aren’t you?” Frigga asks even if Loki is brave too, in his own, very different way but his big brother is far too young to understand that.

“I am!” Thor exclaims.

“Good! Because there’s some homework waiting for you down there that you need to convince you’re not afraid of it,” Frigga continues because, hey, eighty percent of parenting small children consists of outwitting them and everyone who insists otherwise is probably either lying or a saint.

Thor takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Frigga asks.

“Yes!” shouts Thor and springs to his feet like a lightning blast.

She won this round, yes, but Frigga knows that, as different as her sons are, there’ll be many more to win in the years to come.

Chapter Text

May 2006

“What do you say, baby,” Frigga flutes as she interrupts her soft humming, a half-folded bedsheet in hand, “shall we—oh. Loki, darling. What are you doing?”

Her toddler sits on the floor in the laundry room, the box of detergent pods open in front of him, one grabbed in his tiny fist, which is very quickly on the way to his face.

She barely looked away for one second, dammit, how do kids do that?! Frigga plops down on her knees and pries the pod out of her son’s fingers. “These aren’t for children, baby.”

“But I like their smell,” Loki protests. “They smell like you.”

“They smell like all our clothes.” She kisses the top of his head and hands him a pillowcase. “Here, smell this instead,” she says and, as he buries his adorable little face in the fabric, inhaling loudly, she inspects the box, turning it in her hands and muttering to herself. “I thought these come with child safety locks.”

“They do,” Loki beams at her. He puts the pillowcase down and reaches for the box again. “But this one is easy, mama, you just have to press all three latches at the same time.” He demonstrates it, giggling proudly. “See?”

Easy, huh?

He isn’t even three yet. The gods know what his brain will accomplish when he’s older.

“Yes, I see,” sighs Frigga and scoops him up, tickling his belly with her nose and making him shriek. “I see that you’ve become too smart for child safety devices already.”

“Mamaaaa,” wheezes Loki, giggling.

“Too smart,” Frigga repeats and tickles him some more because she might very well be addicted to the sound of his laughter.

Chapter Text

August 2006

Loki clings to Frigga’s neck like a koala to a tree when she tries to set him down, his tiny arms almost choking her. He already knows the school. They visited there twice, the first time for an hour and then for three and, while he’d been shy at first, he eventually opened up to the other kids the second time and even told her that he was looking forward to go. But those two times, Frigga stayed, allowing her son to settle in and familiarize himself with his new surroundings.

Today, she is leaving.

Or trying to.

“Baby, it’s okay, I’m going to pick you up again in a few hours,” she shushes, rocking him gently. She knew it wouldn’t be a smooth ride to drop him off but she still hoped he wouldn’t cry himself into such a frenzy that he’s trembling all over, tiny body shivering with his sobs.

“No, mamaaaaaa,” snivels Loki, his grip tightening. He hiccups. “Don’t go.”

“I have to,” she whispers. “Today’s your first day of school and my first day back at work. And I’ll be here at twelve sharp and we’ll have lunch together, okay?”

Better take it easy, she’d thought. Better start with four hours a day for a while instead of being apart from him the whole time. But even four hours are too long for her precious, little boy. Frigga gives him another kiss. “I promise, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Nooooo-hoooo.”

“Don’t you want to go to school like Thor?”

“Uh-uhhhhh. Loki wants his mama,” wails Loki.

Frigga gulps. Loki skipped over the phase in which he referred to himself in the third person. To hear him use it now twinges her stomach a little.

“It’s alright, Loki,” coos the teacher, holding out her hands. “I’ll be taking you now, so that your mama can leave for work, okay?”

As soon as she cuts into his personal space, Loki bites her.

The woman yelps and pulls her arm back, her lips a perfect ‘o’.

Loki cries harder.

“I’m s-so sorry,” stammers Frigga, embarrassment flushing her cheeks hot and crimson. “He never ...” She trails off and pries her son away from her neck. “Baby, you can’t bite Miss Sylvie. You’re not a cat or a dog, are you? Humans don’t bite other humans. It’s not a nice thing to do, Loki, no matter how upset you are.”

She sets him down then, which costs a bit of effort because his arms, tiny as they might be, reach for her, grabbing her wrists like vises. Frigga frees herself over the sound of her breaking heart. Why does it have to hurt so much to cut the cord?!

“Mamaaaaaa, no.”

“Darling, I—”

Before she can finish, Loki sinks to the floor, arms and legs flailing around his little body, and his sobs come out in gurgling fits, voice squeaky and trembling.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, squatting down beside him. “Darling, I know you’re upset and I’m gonna miss you too but we have to—”

He’s crying like a … almost like a newborn. Instinctively, Frigga picks him up again—she has a heart, goddammit—and cradles her aching child close to it. “It’s okay, baby.” She glances at the teacher again. “I don’t know why … His older brother, he wasn’t like that at all. He didn’t even look at me. I’m sorry to disturb your morn—”

“Please, don’t be sorry,” assures Miss Sylvie. “Separation anxiety is normal and a very important developmental milestone for a child; it lasts longer in some than it does in others, true, but it’s generally healthy. And you’re reassuring him that you understand why he’s upset, which is good, but you shouldn’t focus too long on the distress.”

The teacher stretches out her hand again. “Hey, Loki, can you listen to me for a minute?” Loki burrows into Frigga’s neck, his snotty nose wet against her skin. “The other children are waiting for you to play with them. They’re really excited to meet you.”

Loki lifts his head about a millimeter.

“I don’t wanna play with someone who bites,” declares a little girl, a serious scowl on her freckled face, red ponytails bobbing as she shakes her head for emphasis.

And back to jaw vise tight her son’s grip goes, followed by a hiccup. And despite how much she can empathize with the child, Frigga still curses her a bit in the silent safety of her head.

“Sybil,” admonishes Miss Sylvie. “Loki only bit me because he was upset. He’s a nice boy.”

“What if he gets upset with me?” Sybil asks back and stomps off.

“Don’t mind her,” the teacher whispers, mock-conspiratorially. “She’s a little feisty sometimes. But there are Marcus and Lee, over there. At the table. You played with them last time.” Loki’s grip doesn’t loosen but his head shifts a tiny bit again. “Shall we take a look what they’re doing?”

Loki moves a bit more.

“They’re doing a puzzle. You like puzzles, don’t you?”

A vague shadow of a nod.

“Then let’s go join them,” says Miss Sylvie and, this time, he doesn’t recoil when she stretches out her arms.

He only starts crying again when Frigga, reluctantly, (and let it be known once and for all that it is as hard for a mother to leave her child as it is for a child to see her leave; the only difference being that most adults are better equipped to deal with unpleasant emotions) passes him over.

“Your mother will say goodbye now and then she’ll leave,” says Miss Sylvie, pressing Loki’s struggling body close.

“Goodbye, my darling,” says Frigga because she has to, because children need to learn independence, and kisses his forehead. His sobs tear through her like a thousand hot needles. She can feel tears beginning to sting into her own eyeballs and swallows. “I love you and I’ll miss you but I’ll be here for lunch, I promise. Now, you have a good day, baby.”

“Mamaaaaaa, nooooo,” wails Loki, kicking the air.

Miss Sylvie motions her head and Frigga turns around.

“Mamaaaaaaaaa, staaaaayyyyy,” Loki howls, slicing into her heart and making it bleed. “Mamaaaaaaaaa!”

Frigga turns back around one last time, waves a little and blows him one last kiss. “I’ll be back soon, baby. I love you.”

She can still hear his cries after the door clicked shut behind her.

On her way to the firm, Frigga too sheds a few silent tears.

Chapter Text

May 2007

“I can’t believe Rox is really going to marry that guy,” Frigga groans, referring to the only female in Odin’s team of junior partners as she places the steaming hot baking dish onto the table. “He’s so very obviously after her because of the money. Did you see how he was lusting after the expensive décor at the last Christmas party instead of after his fiancée? I’m telling you, he is going to scam her.”

“So? Are we her babysitters?” Odin laughs. “It’s none of our business who she marries and she can do with her salary as she pleases.”

“Are you still going to say that if he ends up doing any damage to the firm?” Frigga asks. “Wriggle his way in, perhaps? I swear, that guy just has this sleazy vibe to him. I can feel it.”

“Well, good thing I have complete faith in my manager then,” Odin tries to charm her.

“When I grow up, I’ll marry Thor,” Loki announces as he tries to climb his chair.

“That’s not possible, sweetie,” Frigga laughs and gives his tiny buttocks a shove upwards.

Loki’s eyes go wide. “Why not?”

“Because you’re brothers,” Frigga says at the same time as Odin says, “Because you’re both boys.”

Her lips part as she fixes her husband, several thoughts weaving themselves into a sticky web of ‘What the hell did he just say?’ in her brain. While it’s technically true that a gay couple isn’t (yet) allowed to marry in Nevada, how on earth did that reason occur to him before the fact that they’re siblings? “Well, two boys can love each other too,” she tells Loki—and more importantly, freshly baked eight-year-old Thor, who tends to parrot his father’s every opinion—in order to bring forth a potential homophobic side she never even suspected based on prior interactions.

“You see, some children don’t have a mommy and a daddy,” Frigga continues, ruffling through both of her sons’ hair. “They have two mommies or two daddies or just a mommy or a daddy.” And some have biological parents and some have adopted parents, she could add and explain everything right then because this is the perfect opportunity, isn’t it? But something holds her back and she doesn’t. Because Loki is only three-and-a-half. She has all the time in the world to tell him the truth. “There are many relationships in this world and many ways people can fall in love.”

“That still doesn’t make same-sex marriage legal,” Odin mutters under his breath and takes a sip of his wine.

“Well, by the time our boys are of age, it will hopefully be perfectly legal to marry the person you love regardless of their gender,” Frigga shoots back, ignoring her husband’s scoff for now. “Now, let us eat.”

“There’s something I want you to know,” Frigga announces when she slips under the covers next to her husband later that night.

“Let me guess.” Odin sighs, barely lifting his eyes off the law journal he’s thumbing through. “Here comes the ‘internalized homophobia’ lecture? I merely stated facts, alright? I have nothing against these people personally.”

Ah.

Frigga inhales a breath. “What if Loki or Thor grow into ‘one of these people’? Will you consider them less?”

“Please,” snorts Odin. “That thought is ridiculous.”

“The thought that either one of them could be queer or that you’d consider them less?” Frigga prompts, stabbed by the sudden painful clarity that her having to ask this question doesn’t exactly bear convincing testimony to a healthy marital union.

“How little do you think of me, hm?” Odin looks mortally offended. “The latter of course.”

“Good,” says Frigga. “Because if either one of them ever came out as gay or bisexual and you ended up making them feel any less loved because of it, I wouldn’t hesitate to let you feel the consequences. Just so you’re prepared.” She flashes him a sly smile and rolls onto her side without a kiss. “Good night, darling.”

Chapter Text

2007

“Why are you making soft-boiled eggs?” whines her eight-year-old when he walks into the kitchen. “No one likes them!” 

“Your brother does,” Frigga tells him, wondering briefly how he could have forgotten. 

“So youʼre making them just for Loki?” Thor asks. 

“Yes, I am. The same way Iʼm making them sunny-side up just for you even though your father and I prefer them scrambled.”

“Yeah but I was here first,” Thor says and sticks his little nose up in the air. “Iʼm the oldest. You should be making special things for me!” 

He sounds exactly like Odin. 

Frigga scrutinizes her boy for a moment. Heʼs been tight-drawn all week and his expression is several shades darker than usual. She crouches down to meet him at eye-level. “Whatʼs the matter, my love? Are you alright? Did something happen?” 

Thor huffs and squirms under her gaze.

“Did your father talk to you about that?” Frigga probes. 

“You always make everything just for Loki,” Thor whispers, eyes on the floor. 

“That is not true,” says Frigga and tilts her boyʼs chin up with her index finger. His pout is extraordinary. “And just because Loki is younger than you doesnʼt mean he canʼt have a special breakfast cooked for him. Age doesnʼt make one of you more important or special than the other. Youʼre both equally special and deserving, okay?” She taps onto his nose, making him smile a little.

“I guess so,” he relents. 

“Now where is this truly coming from, honey?” asks Frigga because her sons are usually hand in glove with each other. “What is really bothering you?” 

Thor bites his lip, flees her eyes again. 

“Thor.”

“Daddy said …” Thor gulps. “Daddy said that to Mr. Stark. That youʼre always making special things just for Loki. As if …” Tears spring to his eyes. “As if you donʼt love me as much anymore, because all your love goes to Loki.”

“Oh baby,” exclaims Frigga and sweeps him into a tight hug. “Your father talks nonsense sometimes. I have so much love inside my heart, itʼs more than enough for the both of you. I swear I love you both the same and I always will. What I make for breakfast is not an indication of who I love more, okay?” 

Thor snivels into the fabric of her shirt. 

Loki comes tiptoeing into the kitchen then, a horrified expression on his tiny face. “Thor?” whispers he, his voice a little shaky. “Are you sad?” 

Thor struggles out of her embrace instantly and wipes at his eyes. “Itʼs okay. Iʼm not sad anymore.”

Her three-year-old isnʼt convinced. “Are you sure, brother?” 

“Yeah,” says Thor and ruffles through his hair, feigning a carefree chuckle. “Letʼs just get breakfast.”

When Lokiʼs face instantly lights up again, Frigga makes a mental note to talk to Thor about his tendency to suppress his emotions in his baby brotherʼs presence and to Odin about his, well, Odin-ness. 

As most mental notes, it cheekily deletes itself during the day. 

Chapter Text

October 2007

A few days before Loki’s 4^th birthday

It’s only a few days until Halloween and Thor is super excited to show his baby brother the old treasure chest where Mommy keeps their old costumes. They’re all in there—dragon, lion, fireman, knight, tiger, Viking, scuba diver—and they still look cool, which is why Thor had the idea to dress up in them to play Halloween before the actual Halloween gets there and they can finally wear their new astronaut and pirate costumes!

“Try that on, brother,” Thor says and hands Loki the dragon costume that is the coolest of the old ones. Of all of them, the new pirate costume is going to be the coolest because it has a sword, a hat, a bandana and an eyepatch.

“Why that one?” asks Loki.

“Because it was mine and I like it when you wear things that used to be mine.”

Loki’s cute pink little face twists into a frown. “Why?”

“I just do,” says Thor, with a shrug. Loki always has to make things so complicated. Thor doesn’t understand why. Some things just are and there is no reason to explain them.

Loki is pulling out a purple dress, eying it curiously.

“No, put that back. That’s Mommy’s,” giggles Thor. “It’s the only one she kept.”

“Why are there no other girl costumes?” asks Loki. His baby brother surely asks weird questions sometimes.

“Because we’re boys,” Thor explains.

Loki shakes his head. “I’m not. I wanna wear this.” He holds up Frigga’s dress.

He’s playing pretend. Thor is very proud that he remembers what that means because Daddy explained that Thor did that too when he was Loki’s age, that children pretend to be all sorts of things to build their imagination. Thor doesn’t understand why his brother would pretend he was a girl but it’s fine with him anyway. Everything that makes his brother happy is fine with him.

He helps his baby brother into Mommy’s costume and the long skirt spills onto the floor. If Loki isn’t careful, he’ll trip on it and fall over.

“But if you’re a girl, I can’t call you Loki anymore,” Thor exclaims and he’s proud too that he remembered just before they started playing. “You need a new name.”

“Leah,” says Loki and smiles.

Chapter Text

November 1 ^st , 2007, 12:04 a.m.

Frigga steps down from the ladder she used to replace all the Halloween decorations with colorful balloons, glittering birthday garlands, confetti and bright serpentine paper streamers, and admires her handiwork. It is admittedly a bit stressful to have to change the living area’s theme from spooky to festive in a few hours during the evening after all the trick and treating excitement and the fruitless attempts to tuck wired children stuffed to the brink with sugar into bed but she finds that she gets the work done more quickly every year.

“Thor’s finally asleep,” Odin murmurs as he steps up behind her and kisses her neck whilst handing her a glass of red wine. “And it’s after midnight. Do you know what that means?”

“It’s Loki’s fourth birthday,” Frigga replies, deliberately missing his point, and rewards herself with a sip of rich, velvety Burgundy.

“And?” Odin prompts, his lips brushing against the skin under her ear.

“It’s been four years to the date. We can no longer be legally prosecuted for bribing the doctor on shift into putting our names on Loki’s birth certificate and forging a medical document in exchange for a very generous donation.” Frigga takes another, larger gulp because no matter which way she looks at it, it still makes her a little nauseous to think about how easily they got away with appropriating Hela’s child.

“Exactly,” beams her husband, oblivious to the pangs of her guilt. “We’re free. We can finally stop worrying.” He stiffens behind her when she inhales a sharp breath. “Why are you acting like this is a bad thing?”

“Because it is a bad thing,” Frigga tells the fridge in front of her. “We committed a crime, Odin. Two crimes, actually.”

“They won’t be crimes anymore from now on because we haven’t been charged,” he reminds her in almost a sing-song and for once miraculously doesn’t point out that he only went through with any of it because she begged him to. “That’s why statute of limitations exist, to protect the defendant. In the eyes of the law, we’ve now officially never committed any offense.”

“Still,” huffs Frigga.

“Oh, come on, you can relax a little,” Odin murmurs and moves in closer, his teeth searching for her lobe. “Why don’t you?”

A shiver creeps down her spine and Frigga jerks away and spins around, almost sloshing a bit of the wine. “Don’t do that!”

His wide-eyed expression is the embodiment of innocence. “Do what?”

“Nibble my ear and try to arouse me when I want to stay mad at myself,” she fumes and takes another sip before putting the glass on the kitchen island with a loud clink.

“Why would you want to stay mad at yourself, hm?” Odin asks her. “This is a cause for celebration and relief. You did a good thing, Frigga.” He grabs both of her shoulders then and squeezes them gently as he pierces her with his gaze. “Look, I know you have a strong moral compass and a conscience large enough for the both of us, and I know you’re still thinking about Hela sometimes, but that girl did not want our help. There’s nothing you could’ve done for her back in the day. Except for saving her son, which you did. You gave Loki a life and a home and so much love. You rescued him, Frigga. That isn’t a crime. That’s something a good person with a big heart like yours will do for a child in need without batting an eyelash. You have to give yourself some credit for that, okay? Besides, a forgery charge would never have stuck in the first place because at no point did we intend to commit fraud.”

He is right, about all of it, and she hates it. Which is why she reminds him that he still bribed Dr. Maverick.

“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” Odin murmurs, a flicker of mischief lighting up his pale blue eyes, and she asks herself for the umpteenth time how she could have possibly fallen for someone this slick. “I, for one, choose to focus on how much better care Summerlin Medical Center was able to provide for their patients after our money allowed them to finally modernize the west wing.”

A chuckle builds in her throat despite her best intentions. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what makes me such a good lawyer,” Odin replies and waggles his eyebrows at her before moving in for another kiss.

“I know, I know,” sighs Frigga. She finally responds—softly, though, and not too stormily or hungrily; gently thanking him for the conversation and the encouragement rather than accepting his invitation—and then she lets go of him. “But I’m really tired, so I’m going to bed. We can celebrate tomorrow, okay?”

Chapter Text

Summer 2008

“Can you believe it?” Howard Stark complains, chewing Odin’s ear off during their annual neighborhood BBQ. The other man’s ramblings are painful to listen to because he has the perfect wife by his side (not as perfect or beautiful as Frigga, of course, but admirable enough) but still can’t stop whining. “You give ‘em a simple instruction, as simple as it gets, really, and they still manage to muck things up. Women.”

His neighbor’s free hand stabs the air.

Odin hums, faking his non-existent agreement while his gaze is lingering on Thor, who, at only nine years old, just threw a football across the yard with the precision and the grace of a star athlete.

“That’s quite a throw your boy got there,” Howard acknowledges with a whistle and slaps Odin’s back. Hard. “He’ll probably catch scholarships left and right with that arm and you”—he takes a sip of his drink—“won’t have to pay a single dime for college.”

Odin longs to ask the other man if there’s a point to this conversation but a part of him can tell that Howard is just tipsy and itching for a fight. “I’m counting on it,” he says.

“Oh, I bet you are. I suppose you must be quite proud,” Howard continues his blathering. “Of one of your sons, at least,” he tacks on, his eyes traveling to Loki; who is clinging to Frigga’s legs.

At those words, anger begins to fester in the pit of Odin’s stomach. “What are you trying to say, hm?” he blusters. “Loki’s a great kid.”

He isn’t his kid and the gods know Odin wishes Loki wouldn’t be so needy and fragile but who does his neighbor think he is, trying to stir up some shit?

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” Howard replies and takes another large sip of his scotch. “He’s just really quiet and a bit shy, isn’t he? Very skinny and sickly and sensitive, too, from what I heard. Nerdy, a bit of a loner, doesn’t get along well with other kids?”

“Like your son, you mean?” Odin fires back because even if Loki isn’t his, he and Frigga committed to a narrative and he’ll stick to it, come what may. “I’m sure Tony could teach him how to get along with other kids or be less of a nerdy outsider.”

Howard flinches from the verbal blow and takes another sip, emptying his glass. “At least they got the brains,” he sighs.

It’s a peace offering of sorts but Odin isn’t done yet because Howard decided to play with fire and now he’ll burn. He swirls his own glass in his hands and mock-sighs. “Yeah. It’s a shame though.”

Howard perks up then, utter moron that he is. “What do you mean?”

“That Frigga didn’t realize she was pregnant the second time around,” Odin elaborates, the long perfected lie rolling smoothly off his tongue. “When she was pregnant with Thor, she took great care of herself. She cooked plenty of vegetables, everything steamed, organic and germ-free, took her vitamins and nutritional supplements; everything to ensure the baby’s health, strength and size. She didn’t do that while she was pregnant with Loki, obviously. She just carried on, working long hours, drinking the occasional glass of wine, not paying religious attention to a balanced diet.”

He fakes another trembling breath. “Sometimes, I just wish that we had known,” Odin says, because, you see, Frigga and Maria Stark were pregnant at roughly the same time, giving birth to Thor and Tony only one-and-a-half months apart from each other, and they both took great care ensuring the healthy growth of their future sons. “Maybe Loki would be healthier and stronger if we had.”

If Howard Stark’s facial expression is any indication, Odin won this round. “But there’s no use to dwell on the past when our wives did all they could to nurture these kids inside their wombs, right?” he laughs and returns the forceful slap on the back with all he’s got. “I’m gonna go grab one of these burgers. How about you?”

“I’m gonna go grab another drink,” Howard mutters and struts away in search for another victim he can put down to massage his oversized ego.

What an imbecile.

Chapter Text

October 2008

“Boys, come in here,” Odin shouts from his office at the end of the hallway, his deep voice bouncing off the walls.

Nine-year-old Thor and almost-five-year-old Loki exchange a glance and then gaze at Frigga, who is sitting across from them at the table where the three of them have been playing Parcheesi.

“Go,” she encourages them with a smile; even if her husband sounded a little harsh after being cooped up all day.

They dart off and Frigga follows them. Odin swivels around on his desk chair when they all appear in the doorframe and turns away from the computer screen where he opened the tab of an online shop. “Sooo,” begins he, taking the gruff edge off his voice with some difficulty. “Who do you want to dress up as for Halloween this year?”

“Darth Vader,” exclaims Thor, who (re)watched the entire Star Wars trilogy with his friend Tony the other day and has been talking about little else since.

“And you?” Odin asks Loki.

“I wanna be a fairy,” says her youngest, eyes cast down.

“A fairy.” Odin laughs. “That’s a girl costume, son. The other kids will make fun of you if you go trick or treating dressed up as a fairy. Pick something else.”

“But I wanna be a fairy,” Loki whispers. “With wings.”

Odin shakes his head. “No.”

“He can wear whatever he wants,” asserts Frigga in a sweet voice that nonetheless carries an unspoken threat and crouches down beside her son, rubbing his back. “Darling, if you want to be a fairy, your father will order a fairy costume for you and if he refuses, the two of us will go shopping for one tomorrow. Alright?”

He nods shyly, a little smile lighting up his entire face.

“But Daddy’s right,” Thor says then, looking incredibly pained. He’s biting his lip, fleeing both Loki’s and Frigga’s gazes as he reaches for his baby brother’s hand. “Some of the older kids are mean, you know that. They’ll laugh if you dress up in girls’ clothes and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“See?” sighs Odin, spearing Frigga with his pale eyes. “I mean, what kind of parent would intentionally turn their own son into a target for bullies, hm? Just think of something else, son,” he tells Loki. “We’ll order the costumes tomorrow.”

Tears spring to Loki’s eyes. “Okay,” he snivels, wiping them away with the back of his hand.

“No, it’s not okay,” Frigga grits through clenched teeth. She is boiling on the inside by now but she usually takes great care not to start a discussion in front of their children. “Boys, can you wait outside for a moment, please?”

“Oh come on,” groans Odin but Thor is already taking Loki by the hand and leading him out of their father’s office.

Frigga closes the door behind them. “What was that?” she demands, her arms crossing in front of her chest of their own accord.

“What was what?” Odin blusters the way he sometimes does when he’s drowning in work that sends his blood pressure through the roof. “You can’t possibly think it’s a good idea to dress Loki up like a girl? Have you lost your mind? You already took him out of preschool and got him this private tutor I’m paying a lot of money for because he can’t keep it together in front of other kids. He’s already having difficulties to fit in. There’s no need to make it worse by allowing him to go outside in a goddamn dress!”

“That is so not the point here,” hisses Frigga. “We shouldn’t teach children to act a certain way just so they won’t be bullied or made fun of. We should teach them to not make fun of each other in the first place and educate them!”

Odin barks a laugh. “Yeah, well. Good luck with that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Boys will be boys, Frigga,” he sighs. “They pick on the weakest link. Always did, always will. You’d better think about that before making your decision.”

That said, he turns back around and refocuses his attention on the computer screen, signaling her unmistakably that the discussion is over.

*

Frigga orders a fairy costume for Loki as soon as the brothers are asleep that very night but, as soon as the big day comes, her little boy runs a fever and has to spend Halloween in bed.

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve 2008

About two months after Loki’s 5^th birthday

They’re gonna fly to Norway for the holidays, to meet grandma and grandpa and Aunt Zisa and Uncle Tyr and their cousins, and everyone is super excited to see the family. Mama is smiling a lot and she hums to herself when she packs. Papa promised that they’ll go see the Geirangerfjord this time because it’s breathtaking in winter. Loki doesn’t know why papa said that like it’s a good thing because it doesn’t feel nice at all when Loki can’t breathe and he doesn’t like the cold either. Feeling cold makes him wanna cry but papa doesn’t like that very much. Maybe mama should just buy warmer clothes for him, thinks Loki.

He isn’t excited at all because of the cold and because they’re always shouting at each other, grandpa and papa and Uncle Tyr, and they’re all SO LOUD and Loki’s heart starts beating really fast when they’re all together in one room with their loud voices and their red faces and then his chest starts to hurt and he can’t breathe like he normally can. He hates it when that happens. Thor doesn’t mind the shouting. He’s loud too sometimes. But he sweeps Loki into a hug when Loki gets that way and he kisses his head and tells him they’re just loud because they’re drunk and that Loki shouldn’t pay attention to them. Loki has no idea what that means.

It never matters, as long as Thor is there. But Thor always wants them to play with their cousins when they’re around because they don’t see them very often. But then their cousins don’t like it when Thor says that he wants Loki to play with them too. They make Thor choose because they don’t like to be around Loki. They tease him about his black hair or because he is the smallest and can’t keep up when they run. Loki doesn’t like them very much. Loki thinks it’s a good thing they don’t see them very often but Thor likes them, so he tells Thor he can go play with them instead because it doesn’t make Loki’s belly feel very good when Thor is sad.

“Aren’t you excited, brother?” Thor asks, all bouncy. “Norway is so beautiful!”

No, Loki isn’t excited at all because he is small and quiet and nobody likes that and he just doesn’t understand why he was made so different in mama’s belly when Thor was made exactly like papa and the others. Mama says everyone is different but Loki thinks even mamas lie sometimes even if lying is bad.

No, no, Loki doesn’t want to go AT ALL and the tears come when they arrive at the airport. He tries to be brave for papa but he can’t because his chest hurts so much and his belly too.

Mama scoops him up and cradles him close to her heart. “It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see,” she coos and says that planes look scary and sound scary but aren’t. She tells him that planes are safe and that they’re flying first class, with not many people around.

That promise makes his heart race a little slower but Loki still can’t breathe and everything is blurry around him and his head hurts and his heart is growing so hot and papa will take them to a place that takes even more breath away and grandpa will yell at Loki and nobody will wanna play with him and everything will be so loud and hectic and mama won’t have as much time and he really, really doesn’t want to see the family.

He clings to mama’s hair and she rocks him gently.

Papa shouts something and Loki squeezes his eyes shut because he really, really doesn’t want to go. If he keeps them closed long enough, maybe his wish comes true.

When his eyes open again, he’s back in his room and mama is sitting by his bedside.

See?!

It was only a bad dream!!

He woke up and made the holidays go away!!

His chest doesn’t hurt anymore.

Everything is quiet.

It was just a bad dream.

It was a very long dream, too, because Christmas is already over and Loki has lots and lots of new toys to play with. He isn’t sure why he slept that long but maybe he just got sick again and had to stay in bed.

But he’s better now and there are all these toys!!!

Loki doesn’t even know which one to play with first.

Chapter Text

2009

The crying doesn't wake him up anymore because Loki cries almost every night. He is used to the noise. He only wakes up when Loki tiptoes into his room and climbs up on his bed and shakes him.

“What,” Thor mumbles drowsily, hoping that Loki will fall back asleep without him having to say too much. He doesn't want to talk right now. He wants to sleep.

“I'm scared,” cries Loki.

“You don't need to be scared,” Thor tells him even though he recently discovered that Loki won't stop being scared just because he says so. Loki doesn't believe people when they tell him things. He half-opens his eyes. Loki's eyes are red and puffy and he's shaking. He does that a lot. Thor lifts his arm a little to let him snuggle in. Loki throws himself against him, burrowing into his chest, clutching first at his shirt and then his chin, his cheek.

“Go to sleep,” says Thor because he is tired. He is very tired.

“But I'm scared,” wails Loki.

“Of what?” relents Thor even though he really, really doesn't want to talk. The nights he has to talk are the worst because he can’t fall back asleep if he does too much talking and then he gets really tired in school the next day. Loki only whimpers. Thor hugs him tighter. Loki likes it when he does that. Loki calms down when he hugs him real, real tight. “Look, whatever it is, my hug protects you, okay? You can go to sleep.”

Loki sniffles. “Promise?”

“Promise. My hug is like a shield,” Thor mumbles and Loki stops whimpering so loudly. He just whimpers softly and quietly and that's a very familiar noise and very lulling. As always, Thor falls back asleep long before Loki does.

Chapter Text

April 2009

The door to her son’s room is open but Frigga still knocks before she enters. Loki is sitting on the floor, hunched over a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle that is in the early stages of completion. He’s barely been doing anything else lately, withdrawing into himself on most days, and he is so focused that he doesn’t acknowledge her presence, his face pinched in deep frown of concentration.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs, torn between fascination and concern.

Loki still doesn’t look up.

“We need to pick up some groceries.”

“No,” comes the soft answer.

“Yes.”

“Not until I’m done,” says Loki, finally looking up.

“And how long is that going to take, hm?” Frigga asks as she lowers herself into a sitting position beside him. She doesn’t mean to invalidate him, of course. He’s five years old and astonishingly, sometimes almost frighteningly, intelligent. But even if he is assembling puzzles that have been designed for kids a lot older, she does need to get those groceries.

“As long as it takes.”

“That is not an answer, honey,” laughs Frigga, ruffling through her boy’s hair.

“Papa says it when we ask how long it’s gonna take to go places in the car,” Loki informs her, his intense green eyes meeting hers. “It is an answer.”

Ouch. There is no other way to describe how it feels like to be outwitted by your own children. She tried. Many times. “Touché, honey. But, you see, you can still finish the puzzle when we get back, okay? It’ll still be here.”

“No.”

“Yes,” says Frigga, her patience thinning a bit.

“Why are you talking to me when I’m having fun?” Loki asks.

And that? That hurts in a lot of ways; not least of all because her beautiful boy considers solitude fun. “So is talking to me not fun?” Frigga tries.

“Not right now,” Loki replies bluntly.

Children are such precious creatures. “You’re breaking my heart,” Frigga sighs in jest.

Loki doesn’t, probably can’t yet, understand it that way. His little head snaps back up, naked terror washing over his face, painting his skin a ghostly pale. “Nooooo!” he wails, tears welling into his eyes. “Not your heart, mama! You can’t live without your heart! I’m sorry, mama!”

“I-I,” Frigga stammers, dumbfounded by the intense reaction.

“Not your heart,” cries Loki. He climbs onto her lap, shaking like a leaf in the wind when he clings to her with a need so raw and so overpowering that it sends a chill creeping down her spine.

“Hey,” coos Frigga. “Shshshsh. It’s okay. I was just ...” Joking? Not really, no. Can’t tell him that. “It’s just ... It’s a thing people say instead of saying they’re sad. My heart isn’t actually breaking. It’s just ... People just say these sorts of things sometimes, saying one thing and meaning it ... differently.” Gosh, this must be so confusing.

“You are sad?” sobs Loki.

“No, not really. I mean, I ...” This is impossible. “Loki, please, look at me,” Frigga shushes but she can’t pry the trembling bundle in her arms away from her neck.

“Your heart can’t ever break,” whimpers Loki, his words muffled.

“It won’t,” Frigga assures him as she cradles him close, cupping the back of his head. “It can’t. Everything’s going to be—”

Alright, she is just about to say when she feels a warm liquid seeping into the fabric of her jeans, the sensation stopping her dead in her tracks. Loki hasn’t wet himself in forever.

“Baby?” Frigga whispers.

“Your heart can’t ever break,” wails Loki, clinging tighter than ever.

“It won’t,” Frigga tries again but he won’t listen.

Maybe she’ll have to consider professional help after all.

Chapter Text

2009

Mom and Dad are fighting. They’ve been in Dad’s office for the past thirty minutes, shouting at each other behind the closed door, and they don’t stop until the doorbell rings and Mom takes their dinner from the steakhouse delivery guy. Thor hates it (the bickering, not the steaks) but, even more than that, he hates how quiet Loki gets when their parents argue about work. His little brother is placing the napkins on the plates Thor put on the table, his eyes cast down, his shoulders tense. He hasn’t said a single word since they came down the stairs.

“I’m just saying,” Dad rumbles as he follows Mom into the dining area.

“I know what you’re saying,” hisses Mom, cutting him off. “I heard you the first twenty times you tried to make your point.” She sighs and musters a smile for Thor and his baby brother. “And I’m done talking about this. We’re going to eat now and we’re going to eat in peace.”

“Of course,” scoffs Dad and yanks back a chair so forcefully it scrapes over the floor and makes Thor’s ears ring. “If only you could admit that it was your fault, we could move past this but you’re incapable of acknowledging a mistake!”

“I am incapable of acknowledging a mistake?” Mom shoots back and laughs a grim, dark-evil-witch laugh as she forcefully rips open the plastic bags containing their food. “Please. I’m standing by a decision I thought was right at the time. There’s a difference and I can’t believe I have to expl—”

“Mom!” Thor cuts because Loki is too quiet and too scared. He reaches for his brother’s hand under the table. “You said you were gonna stop.”

“I know, I’m sorry, honey,” she sighs, glaring at Dad. “We shouldn’t be fighting in front of you. We’re going to eat now and not argue about this anymore until we’re back in the office tomorrow morning and can look at the actual file.”

Dad mutters something about her turning him into the bad guy.

Mom narrows her eyes at him. “What was that?”

“If you say so,” says Dad.

Thor swallows.

“Yes, I say so,” Mom snaps and unpacks the rest of the boxes. “Please, let’s just eat now, okay?” She glances at Loki. “Are you alright, baby?”

His brother nods and they all dig in.

The food is very tasty and eating it makes Thor feel a lot better.

“What is it, son?” Dad asks Loki, whose plate is still almost full. “Eat your dinner. You’ll never grow big and strong if you pick at your food like a bird.”

“I’m not hungry, papa,” whispers Loki.

“That’s alright,” says Mom before Dad can answer. “You can go play if you want.”

Loki takes off immediately.

“He should eat more,” says Dad.

“Maybe he would,” mutters Mom, “if we didn’t stress him out.”

“Stress him out, stress him out. Look at Thor,” Dad beams when Thor helps himself to another refill after cleaning his own and his brother’s plate. “That boy’s got a proper appetite.”

Mom doesn’t look too happy. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Thor smiles at her and finishes his third portion, reaching for the spoon in the mashed potato box again.

“Hey,” Mom says and puts her hand on his. “I think you’ve had enough, honey.”

“But I’m still hungry,” Thor insists.

“You might feel like that but it takes the brain a bit to realize that you’re already full sometimes,” Mom tells him. Dad tsks when she pries his fingers off the spoon. “You just have to wait a few minutes, my darling. And if you’re still hungry then, we’ll cut up some fruit for dessert, alright?”

Fruit isn’t nearly as tasty as mashed potatoes doused in gravy but Mom has this look on her face that tolerates no backtalk, so Thor just nods.

Chapter Text

June 2009

“Mom?” whispers Thor. Yes, her thunderous ten-year-old honest-to-the-fates whispers and he tiptoes too instead of his usual striding or stomping. “I finished my homework.”

“I’m proud of you.” Frigga smiles at him from where she’s sitting on the couch, dabbing Loki’s burning forehead with a cold cloth. Thor has been struggling in school for a long time but he finally seems to be catching on; mainly because he has finally mastered the art of sitting still for a prolonged period of time without getting antsy or bored. “You can go outside and play now. I’ll make dinner in the meantime. I want you back in by six, okay?”

Thor’s gaze lingers on his baby brother, who is curled up on the couch in a delirious doze, his blanket kicked away into a crumbled heap. “Is Loki doing better, Mom?” His voice trembles a little.

“The fever’s not coming down,” Frigga tells him. It’s still hovering at 104 and if the medication won’t break it, she’ll have to get him to a doctor, she doesn’t add.

“Then he shouldn’t be alone while you make dinner,” Thor decides. He looks very determined, very serious and, somehow, much older all of a sudden. “Loki doesn’t like to be alone and he shouldn’t be alone when he’s sick.”

Frigga’s heart might as well have just melted into a puddle. That boy truly has a heart of gold. “That’s very considerate of you but your brother is sleeping and you’ve been holed up inside all day. You’ll just get cranky if you don’t blow off some steam outside. It’s fine, darling.” She rises to her feet and brushes a kiss onto his golden locks. “Just go out and have some fun.”

Thor cranes his neck, sticks out his chin and huffs. Eventually, he obeys but instead of going over to Tony’s house to play, he just runs the length of the yard twenty times and then comes back in with reddened cheeks and tousled hair. “Energy spent,” he announces before he sits down on the couch next to his brother. And yes, there comes a time when your children begin to trick you, which is both hilarious and depressing.

From where Frigga is preparing the casserole, she observes how Thor slips down next to his little brother on the couch, who has been alternating between hot flashes and fever chills all afternoon and now begins to shiver. Thor pulls him into a hug and Loki loops his arms around him, and they seem to fuse into one, her two beautiful sons, her gleaming sun and her pale moon, merging into the embodiment of pure, unconditional brotherly love. She’d make a run for her camera if she didn’t already have so many pictures of them curling up together like two furry little pets. Thor pulls the blanket closer, wraps him up and kisses Loki’s forehead. “You’ll get warm soon, okay?”

Loki whimpers. “Thor?”

“Yeah. I’m finished with my homework now.”

“Is it a school day,” Loki murmurs but he hasn’t been conscious or awake enough to engage in conversation the entire afternoon.

“Yeah and it was totally boring,” Thor tries anyway. “We had to look at stones and gems and memorize their stupid names and colors.”

“That sounds cool,” Loki slurs.

“It’s not. You’re only saying that because you’re a nerd,” Thor says but squeezes him again and plants another kiss on his forehead. Loki murmurs something unintelligible. “A nerd is smart and artsy and wants to know everything about boring stuff like you.”

“Thor, please,” urges Frigga. “Let your brother rest. You can sit with him but don’t encourage him to speak.”

Thor sulks for a minute. “Can I at least switch on the TV?”

You can go back outside if you want entertainment, Frigga doesn’t say because not even if she wielded the world’s largest crowbar would she be able to separate Thor from his feverish baby brother. “Only if you keep the volume down, okay?”

Chapter Text

February 2010

“Mommeeee?” comes Loki’s wailing voice from the door of the boys’ bathroom in which Frigga is currently crouching, cleaning the toilet bowl.

“What, honey?” asks she, turning around. “Are you done with your jigsaw puzzle already?”

“You can’t stick your hand in there,” gushes Loki. “What if you get swallowed?”

“Baby, I won’t get swallowed. There are no monsters down there,” Frigga tells him. “It’s just a toilet and I have to clean it because your brother is quite a ...” She swallows whatever she was about to say, tsk-ing to herself. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s aiming all the way from where you’re standing right now.” Thor will be eleven soon, on the verge of discovering himself and his genitals.

Loki shakes his head. “Not from all the way here.” He tiptoes into the room, stopping mid-way. “From here,” he beams, green eyes lighting up. “He showed me.”

“That’s ... well. Why am I not surprised?” sighs Frigga.

“Because you are smart,” her six-year-old tells her with utter conviction. He’s truly precious, that one.

“Aaaw,” gushes Frigga, tackling her sweet boy into a hug. “That’s so sweet, Loki. You know, your father could really take a leaf out of your book when it comes to compliments. Now, will you let me finish?”

“Can I help?” asks Loki.

“I’m almost done,” says Frigga. “You’ll get back to your puzzle and then we can do something together, okay?”

“Okay,” says Loki, biting his lip. “But can you, uh ...” He reaches for her hand. “Can you promise you won’t get swallowed?”

“Of course. There is nothing in there to be afraid of, I promise you,” Frigga assures him as softly as she can, wondering, silently, whether his therapist was right when he said he’ll outgrow his fears at some point.  

*

Later that evening, when Odin comes home, Loki takes him by the hand and tugs at his arm, pulling him down, towards him. “You know what,” he tells his father in a solemn whisper, “if you want to make mama a compliment, you can tell her she’s smart.”

Odin barks a laugh as he scoops Loki up. “Very smooth,” he says, fixing Frigga with his eyes.

“You’re missing a bit of context there,” she informs him, laughing.

“Oh yes?” asks her husband.

“Yes,” says Frigga, focusing her attention on Thor. “And you, young man, you won’t use the bathroom for target practice anymore, you hear me? The toilet bowl is not a dartboard.”

Thor looks all kinds of flustered. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” Frigga cuts him off. “And if you don’t start using it properly again, I’ll teach you how to clean it yourself.”

“Oh come on,” laughs Odin. “Let the boy be. Let’s just hire someone, yes?”

“How is that going to teach him to clean up after himself?” Frigga asks, knowing her arguments will fall on deaf ears anyway.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Odin. “We didn’t work this hard to clean up after ourselves, did we? Now, how about we all go out for dinner?”

“Can we go to the steakhouse?” shouts Thor.

“Can I take Jörmungandr if we go?” asks Loki, referring to his favorite stuffed animal.

“Yes to both,” says Odin, jerking his head in Frigga’s direction. “Come on, darling. Let’s go. I’m starving.”

She sighs because what choice does she have, really?

Chapter Text

Summer 2010

As Odin Borson dreaded ever since Frigga told him about her dentist appointment earlier in the week, Loki’s little face starts quaking as soon as the door falls shut behind her.

“You know your mother is going to be back soon,” Odin tells him with as much patience and reassurance as he can muster because he shouldn’t have to have to tell him this again. Frigga told him the same thing several times; the last of those times having occurred a mere minute ago, followed by a kiss on his forehead. Loki should be able to understand. He is smart, that boy.

Well except when it comes to Frigga’s departures, it seems.

“Right?” prompts Odin.

Loki nods. He fights the hysterical outburst lurking beneath those delicate quivering features. He always tries and every day Odin hopes that this will be the day his son finally rises above that needy, whiny, oversensitive thing that drives him to the brink of insanity. And every time he fails, Odin sighs inwardly (or outwardly, depending on how stressed he is) and chides himself for his own ignorance. He sometimes catches himself lamenting that he should’ve seen this coming only to be reminded that he did see it coming—the boy’s biological mother was a hysterical, self-entitled drama queen after all—and tried to warn his wife but Frigga didn’t listen to him in the past and still doesn’t listen to him now. He gets furious with her then and how could he not? He loves her dearly but she can be utterly blind when it comes to certain things. If Frigga made more of an effort to toughen the boy up instead of continuously coddling him like a goddamn newborn, Loki might have a chance to grow out of these tantrums and stop terrorizing the entire house.

Because except for those, Loki is a formidable little man. When Frigga is near, he is quiet, polite and eager to please. He is very perceptive, far cleverer and less hotheaded than his older brother and far more cooperative in the homework department than Thor was when he was Loki’s age. If only Loki would grow out of the irrational, baseless fear that Frigga won’t ever return if she dares to leave him somewhere for a few hours. He might very well be a perfect little Odinson if he wasn’t so unbearably dramatic sometimes.

Odin suppresses a sigh this time and puts a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’re going to be a big boy today, aren’t you?”

Loki nods again. Bites his lip.

“Good.”

You need to spend more time with him, to get to know him better, Frigga would say, especially after that disastrous incident the previous week when Loki fell into hysteria just because Odin picked him up from school. Loki’s temper had spiraled so badly that, out of sheer despair, Odin slipped (again) and pressed the boy’s mouth shut (he swore to himself he’d never do that again but the crying is so nerve-wrecking sometimes he just can’t help himself), which used to work in the past but didn’t then. In the end, he had no choice but to return home with a still crying Loki writhing on his hips.

What happened? asked Frigga, aghast.

He wanted you to pick him up, Odin told her, which was probably true. Not that he could make out many words once Loki started bawling, except for the obvious: Demanding his mama.

Always demanding his mama who isn’t even his.

Oh baby, Frigga cooed and cradled him, fussing all over him as he clung to her for hours as if that’d teach him to learn to exist without her like a kid his age should have learned by now. And Odin is his father, goddammit. He adopted him, gave him his home and his name. Why is he making such a fuss in the presence of his own father? Being left with strangers in preschool, alright, Odin can get on board with why that would be a little disconcerting for a child, but why is being left with his own father apparently such an impossible punishment to endure?

Sometimes, Odin is all but convinced that Loki decided from the very first that he doesn’t want him as a father the same way Hela never wanted him as one. As a baby, Loki cried every time he heard Odin’s voice, cried every time Odin tried to touch him. He was terrified of him, outright rejected him, making it quite impossible to build a connection.

It got a little better over the years but now Loki seems to have reverted to rejecting him. He can’t imagine why. All he wants is for Loki to grow into a healthy, independent child, a less stressed and less troubled child, but apparently he isn’t very good at conveying his intentions to either him or Frigga.

And here they are now, together, a few hours of unavoidable father-son-time ahead of them. “Do you want to play something?” Odin tries.

Loki half-shrugs and shifts uncomfortably.

“How about the matching pairs memory game you like?”

Loki casts his eyes down. “I don’t like that anymore.”

Alright.

A little voice inside his mind whispers that Loki is rejecting him on purpose, just to spite him, but he ignores that voice. It isn’t of any true assistance. He takes a deep breath instead because he can do this. He can try a little harder. He is a grown man and, if he doesn’t get his boy something to focus his attention on very soon, Odin’s nerves will be treated to another merciless assault. “Something else then?”

Aaaand the first sob rises in the boy’s throat. His eyes fill with tears and he snivels. “I want mama.”

See how impossible this is?

Just as he apprehended all week, Loki won’t even make an effort. He won’t even try to spend time with him. He wants Frigga and Thor and no one else, the obstinate thing.

“You’re almost seven years old,” Odin reminds him grimly. “You’re too old to be wanting your mama like that, alright?”

Loki breaks out sobbing and buries his head in his hands.

The lords have mercy.

“Loki, please,” begs Odin and even though he tries to fight it, his voice rises in accord with his impatience. “She just left, okay? She’ll be home in a few hours, I swear it. You’ll see.”

He is full-on bawling by now. “How long is a few hours?”

“You know how long a few hours are, don’t you?” Odin crouches down in front of him. He can do this. He can. “You’re good at math. Wanna show me some—”

Loki flinches away from him with a shriek when Odin touches him and, if at all possible, cries harder. “I want my maamaaaaa!”

See? That boy won’t even give him a chance!

Odin huffs. “I told you ...” If there is a language Loki understands, he certainly doesn’t speak it and he trails off, looking for words he’ll probably never find.

Loki drops to the floor like a goddamn toddler and screams.

He just screams.

If they were living in a cartoon, every single pane of glass in the entire house would shatter, unable to withstand the high-pitched noise.

“Oh for heaven’s sakes, Loki, stop crying,” Odin hollers and, before he knows it, his temper has him firmly locked inside its massive claws and he has grabbed the boy by the arms in a desperate attempt to shake some sense into him. It has to be possible to calm him down. It has to. One day, he’ll succeed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Your mother is seeing her doctor and I don’t know when she’ll be back. Am I speaking Chinese?! How hard can that be to understand, huh?” He shakes him again, accidentally makes his teeth clatter. Shame and guilt chew a few holes into the thickness of his anger. “How hard?!”

Loki sniffs. “But Daddeeeee—”

((You never wanted to be like this.))

“Don’t you ‘but daddy’ me, son,” Odin tells him, his patience tearing with a snap. “You said you were going to be a big boy today. Did you lie to me?”

((You swore.))

Loki shakes his head and another sob stutters out of his throat.

“Then stop crying or I swear to God I’ll lose my mind,” Odin yells even though he might have lost his sanity already. On some days, he isn’t quite sure anymore.

Loki doesn’t stop.

“Alright, that’s it,” Odin huffs, scoops Loki up and carries him up the stairs. Loki struggles and screams. “If you won’t even try to behave, you’ll stay in your room. You know the rules.”

“Daddeee, nooooo!”

Hear that high-pitched noise? It’s excruciatingly unbearable.

“Do you or do you not know the rules?” Odin asks, giving him another chance. At some point, Loki has to understand. He is so smart, dammit, why won’t he just listen?!

Loki cries harder.

This is impossible. Why can’t Frigga see just how impossible raising this boy is? Even though he wants to have relationship with Loki—he does, the fates be his witness, he would love to get close enough to the boy to be able to look inside his head—Loki just makes it so, so difficult; so damn nearly impossible.

Odin locks the door behind him.

He won’t ever learn to pull himself together if you continue to let him get away with acting like a baby.

Loki pounds his little fists against them from the other side. “Daddeeee,” he screams, almost choking on a hiccup. “Let me ooooout.”

The terrified wail is hard to listen to but what choice does he have?

((Discipline helps build character, son.))

“You can come out as soon as you’re ready to be a big boy,” Odin declares because someone has to teach that boy some discipline and if Frigga doesn’t have the heart, what choice does he have but to put his foot down for her?

It’s for Loki’s own good, Odin tells his incensed conscience. He won’t make it through school if he doesn’t toughen up. If he continues to make such an easy target, he’ll end up being shoved around, bullied and ridiculed. Smart as he is, he won’t have it easy to begin with but at least Odin can ensure that he won’t end up as someone’s punching bag. At least his punishment might help Loki to finally understand that, soon enough, people will no longer cave in to him just because he doesn’t stop crying.

*

After about fifteen minutes, the crying abates.

When Odin checks upon him, he finds his son hunched over the unfinished jigsaw puzzle he started the previous day. “Now, there’s my big boy,” he says and beams at Loki. “I’m proud of you.”

Loki glances up at him and flicks him a shy smile.

“May I sit?” asks Odin. Loki nods vaguely and continues to single out pieces in the shades of yellow, orange and red, lips pinched in concentration. He’s much less quicker about it than usual, which is a little disconcerting. “Do you maybe need some help with that?”

Loki bites the inside of his cheek, then points to the pile of sky pieces.

“What? Are you not going to speak to me at all anymore?” Odin’s heart sinks when he realizes that he might have overstepped the mark a little but who can blame him, really?

That boy is just so unpredictably full of extremes.

*

Loki doesn’t utter a single word until Frigga returns from her dentist appointment.

It is a little worrisome, that is true, but Odin would be lying if he claimed that he didn’t prefer the boy’s stubborn silence over his uncontrollable crying fits.

Chapter Text

November 2010

“Loki?” asks Frigga as she approaches the couch where her son sits assembling one of the new Lego models he got for his birthday with a deep frown on his face. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Her freshly baked seven-year-old glances up and nods.

“I just got a call from Craig’s mother,” Frigga begins and sits down beside him. “She called to ask me why I wouldn’t let you play with her son.” And accused her and Odin of thinking themselves superior out of the blue, which stung in places she didn’t know something could sting. “She said you’d told Craig several times that I’d said ‘no’ when he asked if you wanted to come to his house after school.”

Loki shrugs.

“Did you tell him that even though you never asked me?”

Loki shrugs again but under her gaze, he eventually confesses with a vague nod. Frigga reaches for his cheek and cups it gently. “Why did you lie to that boy, sweetie?”

“I didn’t want to make him feel bad,” Loki says and turns a brick in his little hands.

Frigga is about to tell him that being lied to makes people feel really bad as well but reigns it back in because it’d make her feel like too much of a hypocrite. “Don’t you want to play with him?” she asks instead. After the whole preschool disaster that ended with her decision to have him home-schooled she hoped he’d at least make friends in elementary now that he is older and a little more socially mature.

Loki shakes his head.

“Why not? Was he being mean to you?”

Another shake of the head.

“Then why don’t you want to go play at your friend’s house?”

“He isn’t my friend, mama.”

“But he could be,” Frigga tries again and caresses his hair. “Apparently, he really likes you and it can be fun to make friends. Don’t you want to give it a try?”

“I play with Craig in school sometimes,” Loki grouses, deadly serious. “But when classes end, I’ve just had enough of people.”

Frigga can’t stop the chuckle that comes out of her mouth because children say the cutest, darndest things and catch you entirely off-guard even though there is nothing funny about Loki’s self-isolation. “Oh, baby.”

“Why are you laughing?” Loki pouts. “I like to play alone.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Frigga strokes over his cheek. “But what if you’ll ever get bored all by yourself? It’d be nice to have some friends then, right?”

“I won’t,” Loki says and turns his attention back to his Lego set. “And I won’t lie to him again, I promise. Are you done with your conversation now?”

“Yes,” sighs Frigga. She isn’t but her youngest had a rough night filled with terrors and she doesn’t want to stress him out any further. Not to mention that she has to formulate an inquiry and handle a few transactions she should have handled by the beginning of the week. She kisses the top of his head and leaves him be.

*

“My Mom said you lied to me,” Craig says to Loki the following Monday and shoves his shoulder a little. “Why did you lie to me?”

“Because I don’t wanna come to your house,” Loki says truthfully even if his heart is beating very fast. But he made a promise to his mama and his stupid little heart won’t stop him from keeping it.

“Why not?”

Loki shrugs. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t really like anyone besides mama and Thor. Other people scare him even when they’re nice. Maybe it’s because he’s always the smallest or because other kids are always so loud when they play.

His eyes do that funny thing where everything blurs for a bit and then other students come closer and they yell at him and they shove him, and Loki doesn’t understand what just happened. He didn’t say anything mean, did he?

“I bet it’s because he’s stinking rich!”

“Their house is huge and his daddy has a boat!”

“And he thinks he’s smarter than us!”

“Weirdo!”

“Little baby!”

“Scaredy-pants!”

“‘I don’t want any friends’,” Miles mocks him and pushes Loki so hard he lands on his butt. His eyes get all teary and the other kids stand above him and laugh until the teacher comes and helps him up.

Craig doesn’t want to play with Loki anymore after that.

No one does.

Chapter Text

May 2011

Odin can feel he is about to lose control. Again. He tries to hold on to it but he isn’t very successful because his temper is boiling and his patience is evaporating veeery quickly. As per usual, he has no clue what he did wrong to push Loki over the edge; except, of course, that Frigga is out of town for the weekend because she is attending a meeting in Carson City. But they all had breakfast together, during which Thor entertained his baby brother, and they were just in the process of gathering their things to go to the pool outside and Loki wanted to take his notebook and a ballpoint.

Nothing that could possibly cause a tantrum, right?

If only.

Because, you see, the ballpoint he wants is nowhere to be seen. There are a bunch of other ballpoints on the counter though and Odin points that circumstance out to his über-sensitive son. “Why don’t you take one of these?”

Loki’s lips quiver and his eyes glaze over.

Because of a fucking ballpoint.

Can you believe it?

Thor is already in the water by now.

Okay, deep breaths.

It’s been a year almost since Frigga’s visit to the dental clinic (and the fateful day he picked him up from preschool) and he swore to himself he would never lay hand on Loki again.

And he hasn’t.

Because Odin Borson swore an oath that he wouldn’t turn into his father.

And he means it.

He does.

If only Loki would show him a little bit of mercy from time to time.

“Because I want the UNLV pen,” Loki insists. “It’s my favorite because it draws and writes nicely.”

“But it’s not here, is it?” Odin’s voice comes out as a hiss. “Or do you see it somewhere?”

Loki shakes his head.

“So, choose another.” He picks up one of the Asgardia ballpoints. “This one writes nicely. I can vouch for it.”

Loki clutches his notebook to his chest. “But—”

Odin clenches his throbbing fingers around the pen. Jesus, why is he so impatient today? He just closed a major case two days ago, he had a relatively good night’s sleep and enough coffee. “No ‘buts’, Loki. It’s just a pen! What do you want me to do, hm? Search the whole house for a goddamn pen? Please. You’re being whiny and ridiculous. Now, get your skinny little butt outside before I’m losing my mind!”

A little tear spills out and streaks down his cheeks.

Somehow, that tear makes Odin very furious and disgusted with himself.

Why does he always have to flip out like this? Why does he always have to shout?

“Hey,” he murmurs when Loki turns around and picks him up, trying to calm himself. Loki goes stockstill in his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, son. I’m a little on edge.”

Loki nods.

“I try to be more patient, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But you have to promise me that you won’t keep letting little things like this get to you. Because it drives people nuts if you cry for no reason at all. You’re not a baby anymore, are you? You’re my big boy now.”

Loki nods again. His eyes are still shiny but this time, he swallows the sob.

“See?” Odin boops his nose. “Now, let’s go see how your brother is doing, shall we?”

Chapter Text

2010

Loki heard grown-ups say that they hate things or even people before. He isn’t quite sure what it means but he thinks it’s really unpleasant to hate someone. Maybe it’s as unpleasant as having to cross the schoolyard from the entrance stairs to the fence at the very end where his brother will be waiting by the gate so they can hop on the bus together. It’s a long way and there are so many other kids he has to pass and they’re all so much taller and stronger and they’re talking and shouting, but if he doesn’t hurry, Thor will probably go home without him and he’ll have to walk back all by himself.

Sometimes, Loki thinks he hates having to go to school because of the older kids but mama wouldn’t like it if he said so. Mama is proud of him that he’s so smart he could start school in third grade. Loki wishes he wasn’t smart, so he could be in a class with children his age. Sometimes, he even wishes he’d just get sick all the time because when he’s sick he can stay at home or drive to the lake cabin with mama where there are no other people.

People scare him and there are so many of them in school!

Why are there so many people in schools?

Loki wants to cry. He wants Thor to come to the door and take him by the hand but Thor isn’t going to this school and he said it’s probably not allowed. Loki has no idea if that is true or if Thor just doesn’t want to step on this crowded schoolyard either.

Loki grabs the straps of his backpack, holds on tight and starts running. He doesn’t look at anyone. If he doesn’t catch their gazes, they can’t snap at him or ask him what he’s staring at. He hears laughter but he doesn’t stop to see who is laughing, unknown faces flying past his own in a blur.

He’s almost there. He almost made it. He’s almost safe.

But then someone grabs him by his backpack and yanks him back so hard that his teeth clack together. Loki freezes, his heart thumping so wildly it beats all the way up into his throat, like in the cartoons. Tears spring to his eyes. Everything stands still and the voices get so much louder. He shivers.

“Look, little Loki is running home to mommy,” says Miles.

“Look how scared he is,” says Brett.

“I bet he’s gonna pee himself,” laughs Scott and shoves him against Miles.

Miles pushes him back against Scott. “Are you gonna pee yourself, you big baby?”

Loki shakes his head and bites his lip.

“Oooooh, are you gonna cry?” asks Brett and imitates the noise of a crying baby, rubbing his eyes. “Loki’s gonna cry for his mommeeeee.”

Loki shakes his head. Daddy told him not to cry. If he doesn’t cry, they’ll leave him alone.

But Miles grabs his neck anyway and pushes him down, onto his knees.

Loki doesn’t know why they don’t like him. He didn’t do anything wrong. He is always nice and polite. He knows all the answers in class. He doesn’t make any trouble. He tries to be quiet.

There’s a puddle right next to his legs because it’s been raining a lot. Scott crouches down, scoops up some of the muddy water and splashes it into his face.

Loki starts crying then because he’s just so scared, he can’t be brave anymore.

The older boys laugh and grab his shoulders and push him facedown into the puddle. Loki gets the dirty water into his mouth and coughs, whimpering for help. He gets dizzy. Brett, Miles and Scott keep talking but Loki’s ears are whoosh-y and he can’t hear what they’re saying. All he can hear is their laughter until—

“Hey,” shouts another voice he knows very well. “Leave my brother alone!”

Thor!

As soon as his big brother shows up, the older kids let him go and Loki can look up again. He whimpers and splutters. The boys are trying to run away but Thor catches Miles by the arm. Miles cries out.

“You wanna know what it feels like to be picked on by older kids?” yells Thor. His voice is shaking. He looks serious and his face is dark and angry. Miles shakes his head and looks very scared himself now. Thor pushes him down and presses his face into the puddle of muddy water until it’s Miles who gurgles and gasps for air.

Loki watches and his heart slowly stops beating so awfully fast.

Thor yanks Miles’ head back up. “It feels like this,” he says and pushes the other boy down one more time before pulling him up again and letting him go. “If you ever hurt my baby brother again, I’ll come to your house when you sleep and I’ll hurt you worse and break all your toys, you understand? And if you tell your Mom, I’ll tell her what you did!”

Miles nods and runs away.

“Thor,” whimpers Loki.

“Hey,” shushes his brother and pulls him into a very tight hug. “Come here. They won’t hurt you again, I promise. I’m here.”

Loki clings tight and nods against Thor’s shirt. He’s sobbing and shivering and his brother doesn’t let go until he can stand up and go to the bus.

*

Miles, Brett and Scott leave him alone the next day and every day after that.

Chapter Text

Summer 2011

Daddy bought a beach house in Malibu. It was a surprise and he kept it secret for weeks but today, they are going there for their very first vacation. Thor is super excited because he wants to learn how to surf and now that he turned twelve, mama finally said yes. Daddy says mama worries too much. Daddy says they are raising boys after all. 

Loki doesnʼt know what exactly that means. Itʼs important to Daddy that they are not girls but how that is connected to ... anything, Loki has no clue but he has no time to think about this. 

He is too scared to think about it, too scared to be excited. Too scared that something will happen to his brother if Thor surfs. The waves in the pacific ocean can grow very large because there is a lot of wind on the west coast and a much larger fetch than in the atlantic. Thatʼs what they said on discovery channel and Loki saw the waves on the screen with his own eyes. They are huge!! They could swallow Thor and never spit him out again, like an angry sea monster. The thought makes Lokiʼs heart beat so fast he canʼt breathe anymore.

“Are you all packed, honey?” asks mama.

Loki nods. He wants to cry. 

The drive is long and Thor is playing a game on his phone with his earphones in and he is cursing a lot and mama is chiding him every time. Loki closes his eyes so that his tears wonʼt spill out (going on vacation is a happy occasion and daddy wouldnʼt understand, daddy thinks Loki is too dramatic) and thinks of palm trees and thickets with pink flowers and vines and tree houses and tropical fruits.

You canʼt drown in a jungle.

Loki likes the house very much but the beach and the ocean are right below and they go there immediately after changing into their bathing clothes and taking some towels and blankets and snacks.

“Come on,” shouts Thor and grabs Lokiʼs hand. He sprints directly towards the water. The waves arenʼt that high today but they are loud and ... Loki jerks away from his brother and stands rooted to the spot, watching as Thor runs straight into the ocean and dives headfirst into the next wave. He stays under for a moment and Lokiʼs chest grows very, very tight. His vision blurs. Daddy swooshes past him and dives in too, headfirst, like Thor (they do a lot of things the same way, daddy and Thor). Loki gets a little dizzy and closes his eyes. The sun on his face feels nice and warm. For a moment, he forgets the ocean, forgets the waves. 

For a moment, Thor is safe which means that Loki is safe. 

“What about you, baby?” comes mamaʼs voice from very far away. 

Loki blinks. Thor is right there, above the surface, fooling around with daddy and shaking out his hair. He has a tan already. Loki never gets one because he spends too much time inside. 

“Itʼs too cold,” says Loki because that is a fact. If he admitted he is scared Thor will drown, that would be dramatic. 

“Nonsense,” says daddy as he comes out of the water again, emerging from the sea dripping wet, like Poseidon. He ruffles Lokiʼs hair. “The weather is beautiful, boy. Donʼt make such a fuss.” 

“This is the pacific. Of course the water is cold,” mama snaps, with a shake of her head that makes her curls bop. She kneels down beside Loki and scoops up a bit of water with her hands to wet his chest, his back, his belly. “Better?”

Loki shakes his head. He hates everything cold and so he just stands undecided, with his little feet in the water, until Thor comes out again. 

“Why donʼt you come swim with me, brother?” he asks. His eyes are very blue, bluer than the ocean. 

“Iʼm scared of the water,” whispers Loki because Thor wonʼt tell him heʼs making a fuss. Thor is taking him seriously. He can tell Thor everything. “Of drowning.”

“Hey, I am right here, okay?” Thor smiles at him and squeezes his hand. “Wanna climb on my back and hold on to me?” 

Loki gulps but then he nods (he wants to play with him after all) and Thor scoops him up. He is muscly and very strong for a kid his age, daddy says. Loki likes that a lot. He loops his arms around his brotherʼs neck and his legs around his waist, and when he clings tight, Thor charges into the waves again. 

Mama shouts after him to be careful. 

The water is ice cold. 

Loki shivers and clings tight. Holds on. He doesnʼt wanna always ruin the fun. 

“So bad?” asks Thor. “Shit, youʼre turning blue. Come on, weʼre gonna build a sandcastle instead. A big one. An entire sandpalace!” 

Mama looks so worried when Lokiʼs teeth clatter from the cold. She wraps him up in a towel and tries to rub him warm. It makes her sad when Loki gets so cold and he doesnʼt know why. He wishes mama wouldnʼt be sad. 

Thor doesnʼt need a towel. He dries from the sun as he pops cheese and grapes from the snack box into his mouth. Loki scoots over to him because he knows Thor is warmer than mama. Especially now, in the sun. His brotherʼs body is like Lokiʼs own personal heater and he snuggles up to it to warm himself up. Thor pulls him into half a hug. He smells of sun and salt and safety, his brother. 

If only Loki could stay here forever, in Thorʼs strong, warm arms, if he could freeze time, maybe he wouldnʼt be so scared all the time anymore.

Chapter Text

2012

Thor just switched on the TV and got himself comfortable on his bed, drinks and snacks at the ready for a SAW marathon, when Loki slips into his room.

Really?? Now?? Can he really not have one single night to himself to enjoy a bit of gory, splattery horror movie goodness without his baby brother laying claim to his free time? He hasnʼt even fucking learned how to knock yet, apparently. 

Donʼt get him wrong. He loves Loki, sure he does, his brother is a great kid and he usually loves to cuddle up to him, but that doesnʼt mean he needs to spend every waking minute with him and Frigga will have his head if he lets Loki watch this stuff. Sheʼll probably have his head anyway but, hey, he is thirteen. He can process a bit of blood just fine. Plus, Stark said the movies werenʼt even that bad. 

“Hey, you okay, squirt?” sighs Thor. “I, uh, was just about to ...” He gestures to the TV, where the creepy clown sits on his creepy tricycle, waiting for him to press play. 

“Can I stay?” Loki is biting his lip, eyes shiny. If Thor says no, thereʼs a thousand percent chance, heʼll make him cry.

“Sure,” he mutters because he isnʼt made of stone and Jigsaw can wait a bit longer.

Thor selects Back to the Future instead and Loki snuggles up to him, laying his head on his lap. Thor watches with one eye and browses his phone with the other as he  caresses his little brotherʼs hair and face, waiting for Loki to fall asleep.

When he touches his cheek, Loki flinches with a whimper. 

“What did I ...” Thorʼs words trail off. The skin around his brotherʼs left eye is hot to the touch and a bit swollen. Anger begins to coil in the pit of his stomach, like a poisonous fire snake. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” Loki murmurs into the fabric of Thorʼs shirt.

Nobody my ass, fumes Thor. The older kids are out to get his baby brother all the time just because Loki is smarter than everyone else and people hate him for it. The bastards. He is trying his best to watch out for the bullies but unfortunately heʼs often busy with football practice.

“Who hurt you?” Thor asks again, stroking him more gently. 

“Nobody. I tripped and I fell over,” Loki insists, voice snuffly. 

Fine. Thor will find out anyway and heʼll make them pay. 

*

Later that night, Odin pokes his head through the door to say goodnight, his eyes on Loki. “Are you guys okay?” he asks, sounding a bit flustered. 

“Yeah. Why?” Thor narrows his eyes at him. His father usually isnʼt like that.

Odin shrugs, his gaze still lingering on Lokiʼs slender, sleeping frame. He looks a bit out of his depth. “Just ... Did your brother, uh, say anything?” 

“About what?” 

“He seemed upset, earlier,” says Odin. 

“Heʼs fine,” says Thor because his father doesnʼt need to know the truth. Heʼll only scoff and insist that Loki learns to defend himself and stand up for himself. “Good night, Dad.”

Chapter Text

September 2013

“Baby?” Frigga asks as she softly pushes the door to Loki’s room open and pokes her head in. “Are you still up?” Loki whimpers his response, and guilt sprouts in her chest. Why did she allow herself to get caught up at work again? That’s the fourth time she came home this late since school started. “Hey, sweetie. Is everything alright?” She sits down on the edge of his bed and strokes over his back.

“My heart hurts,” her son whispers.

Guilt gives way to terror. “What do you mean, baby?”

He sits up, pale and trembling. His breathing is heavy. “It just hurts,” he says and clutches at his chest.

Frigga scoops him up and drives him to the ER with no hesitation.

*

The grim doctor hooks him up to an EKG and watches him for a while, scrunching up his nose. “There is nothing wrong, Mrs. Fjörgyndottir.”

“That’s not possible,” Frigga insists.

“With all due respect, Ma’am, I’m the doctor here and I’m telling you that your son is fine. Does he have a penchant for faking health problems? To get your attention, maybe?”

Ugh.

Why did she have to tell that man that she’d just come home and basically admit to neglecting him?

His conceited attitude serves her right.

*

“It didn’t hurt anymore in the hospital,” Loki assures her as she tucks him in.

“How about now?”

“It’s starting again.”

“Come here, my love,” Frigga murmurs and cradles him to her chest. The realization that she won’t be able to fit him into her arms forever makes her heart twinge. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for dinner earlier, sweetie. I promise I’ll cut down my hours once your father closed this case. I know it’s been a rough month.”

“Uh-huh,” Loki murmurs against the fabric of her blouse and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Your heart beats a little fast too.”

“Because you scared me, baby,” Frigga says into his black hair. “I thought you were seriously ill.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It’s just … very hard for a mother when her children are unwell and she doesn’t know how to help them.”

“Your heart helps. Mrs. Duncan said that babies can hear their mom’s heartbeat in the womb,” Loki says and the guilt returns, jerking through her. Violently. “They can hear everything but hearing their mother’s heart makes them feel safe because they hear it for the whole pregnancy and it’s always close.”

Frigga bites back a sob. She is so, so tired of eschewing certain topics and telling herself that she didn’t technically lie afterwards. “Does it make you feel safe now?”

Loki nods and slowly drifts off to sleep.

*

“I want to tell him,” Frigga greets her husband when he walks into the master bedroom three minutes before midnight. “He deserves to know.”

“Who?” Odin asks before the obvious answer dawns on him and when it does, he snorts. “I just got home and I’m exhausted. Do we have to have that conversation in the middle of the night?”

“He’ll be ten in a little over a month,” Frigga argues and closes her book. “I think he’s still young enough to believe that we love him just the same but the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to break it to him and the older he gets, the more questions he’ll have about why he looks the way he looks. So far we’ve been lucky that you have a type but that won’t save us forever.”

“A type?” Odin looks mortally offended as he loosens his tie. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That his maternal grandmother and I share quite a few features but Hela’s black hair—”

“You look nothing like Angie Davis,” Odin splutters, his eyes bulging.

She chuckles incredulously because men. Ugh. “Of course I do but that’s beside the point. The point is that Loki deserves the truth.”

“What truth, Frigga? The truth is that you’re the only mother the boy’s ever known,” Odin tells her and spears her with his gaze, his tone sharp. “You really want to burden him with the knowledge that Hela left him there on the eve of winter? That his ‘mother’ was a drug addict who didn’t care if he survived? That she probably ODed long ago?” He rolls his eyes at her and throws his tie onto the dresser. “Is that what he ‘deserves’? Please. He’ll be better off if he remains oblivious to his bloodline and you know it.”

“He won’t stay oblivious forever,” Frigga insists. “He’s smart and sensitive and he’s suffering. He’ll find out one day and then we have to explain why we lied.”

Odin shakes his head and unbuttons his shirt. “We lied to protect him from the ugly truth that he wasn’t wanted. Jesus, Frigga, you aren’t usually that dense.”

“I’m trying to do right by him,” she snaps, fury roiling in her gut. Odin glowers at her and crumples his shirt into a ball. She crosses her arms, holds his gaze. “Are you doing the same? Or are you just too much of a coward to admit that you lied to your own family?” She pauses for effect. “To your own brother and father?”

Odin’s fingers clench and his knuckles stick out white. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he grinds out. “My old man doesn’t dictate what I tell my son. If I thought it was a good ide—”

They both startle when Loki begins to scream.

“Go ahead,” Odin grumbles and jerks his head in the direction of the door. “Try to tell him the truth. I bet you an annual salary that you won’t have the heart to shatter his world to pieces once he looks at you with those huge, green eyes of his.”

*

Frigga doesn’t have the heart that night or the next.

Or the guts to bring it up again for another six years.

If only she’d known what their secrecy would unleash, she might have scraped together enough courage to be truthful.

Chapter Text

August 2013

Loki is sitting at his desk, drawing a jungle with lots of palm trees and vines and pink flowers everywhere.

Downstairs, his parents are arguing because daddy is about to leave for a business trip and Thor is about to leave for football camp and they’re all screaming at each other. Daddy screams the loudest but Thor yells at mama to help him find his stuff and mama yells back that he’s old enough to know that, if he doesn’t put his clothes into the laundry room in time, the housekeeper won’t wash them because neither Miss Fletcher nor Frigga herself will dig through his duffel full of sweaty jerseys anymore and risk choking on a whiff of testosterone. Thor yells back that his parents should pay her more then.

Loki is drawing hectically by now, the marker all but digging into the paper, because he doesn’t like it loud and his heart is beating a bit too fast. Loki likes it quiet and, on days like this, the house scares him. Loki can’t tell anyone that, of course, because nobody understands. Daddy says he’s too emotional and that he’s imagining things and making big deals out of nothing. 

Loki presses his hands to his ears, trying to drown out all the yelling.

He wants it to go away. He wants them all to go away; even if that is probably a mean thing to think and look what happened to Kevin in Home Alone.

He presses his eyes shut and ... then finds himself on the floor, an almost finished jigsaw puzzle in front of him.

Finally, everything is quiet.

Loki finishes the puzzle and gazes at the clock. It’s evening now, which is strange because it was morning just a minute ago but maybe he just wished fiercely enough that time would pass and made it happen. People say faith can move mountains after all. Maybe that is true.

Loki tiptoes out of his room and pads down the stairs.

His mama is in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. There’s a baking dish filled with pasta and a glass of red wine on the counter she takes a few sips from every now and then while she’s cutting zucchinis, carrots, leek and garlic. She looks unhappy and a bit mad, Loki thinks, and slides down beside one of the dining room chairs, quietly watching her.

Mama gets a bit of butter from the fridge and spoons it into a cooking pot, taking another sip and another, before taking the board with the cut vegetables and scraping them into the pot with the knife. She stirs the mixture a bit and drinks up her glass, then pours a new one, turns up the music and sings along.

Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the streetwise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?

She stirs the mixture with the cooking spoon and dances around the cooking island.

Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed
Late at night, I toss and I turn
And I dream of what I need

Loki stiffens because that isn’t the mama he knows.

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night

Mama spoons something from a glass into the mixture and curses under her breath when a blob lands on the stove. She wipes it away with her sleeve and stirs some more before licking the spoon. She smacks her lips and hums, a faint smile returning to her face.

“Mama?” Loki asks because he can’t hide any longer.

“Oh, hey, sweetie,” mama coos. “Have you finished your puzzle?”

Loki nods because it’s true, isn’t it? He did finish it just now, so surely he must have started it at some point.  

“I hope you’re hungry. I’m making a pasta bake. You want to give me a hand and get the grated cheese out of the fridge while I see to the breadcrumbs?”

Loki complies but, by the time he hands her the cheese, he bursts out crying.

“Hey, hey.” Mama drops down in front of him and finally transforms back into the mama he knows even if her lips are a bit purple and her breath smells a bit sour. “What’s wrong?”

Loki can only sob.

Mama cradles him close, one of her hands on his back, the other in his hair, while the vegetables are sizzling on the stove. “I know this morning was a bit much, I’m sorry, baby. Your father and I, we—”

“But you acted all strange just now,” Loki blubbers.

“I know, I know,” sighs mama. “I was—am—a bit upset.” She cards her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes, grown-ups fight and it’s really foolish but it makes them act all irrational nonetheless and turns them into idiots.” She takes a deep breath. “But I tell you what. We have the entire house to ourselves for a few days.” She gets up, takes her wine glass and pours the rest into the sink while simultaneously switching on and preparing the coffee maker. Nobody would believe it but his mama can do ten different things in the kitchen all at once. “We’ll have dinner together and you can tell me all the things you want to do, okay?”

His chest yawns open. “Just the two of us?” Loki snivels.

“Just the two of us,” mama promises and pets his cheek before standing up again to pour the vegetable mixture into the baking dish, add the grated cheese and the breadcrumbs, and put the dish into the oven.

“Why were you so upset?” Loki dares to ask later when they’re sprawled out on the couch after eating, his head on her lap, each of them reading a book.

“Oh, baby,” sighs mama and presses him closer. “I don’t even know, to be honest. I was just mad at your father and your brother is in the midst of puberty, which can be a bit difficult sometimes. But you don’t have to worry about it, okay? It was just an argument. We’ll sort things out once your father gets back, I’m sure.”

Loki isn’t convinced at all because they always say that and then comes another fight with a lot of yelling. “You are?”

“I am. He was under a lot of stress this morning,” mama says. “I’m sure we can talk about it once he’s calm again.”

Loki nods because his mama sounds very sincere but a part of his nine-year-old-going-on-ten brain shrieks at him that daddy is never really calm.

Chapter Text

November 2014

Thor hears the muffled crying from the other side of his brother’s room when he wobbles out of his, half asleep en route to the bathroom they share.

He sighs (he could’ve expected this, with their Mom being away on an advanced training for two nights and all but, hey, Loki just turned eleven, so Thor was optimistic, okay?), quickly takes a leak and goes to check on him.

He finds his brother on his bed, his face pressed into the pillow, shoulders trembling with the intensity of his sobs. “Hey,” he whispers, closes the door behind him and sits down. “I’m here.”

Loki bawls into the pillow, whatever he might have wanted to say butchered by hiccup-y sobs and muffled by the fabric.

“Hey,” Thor repeats and pulls him up. His brother’s face is red and puffy and wet, his eyes swollen. “At this rate, you’re gonna run out of air.” He reaches for Loki’s hair and tenderly strokes it out of his face. “You need to breathe while you cry.”

“I don’t wanna wake Daddy.” Loki gulps back a sob or tries to, anyway, but he chokes on it and then a string of coughs splutters from his snotty lips. “I’m scared.” He puts his fist into his mouth and bites to stop any sound from coming out.

“Of waking him?” Thor asks, incredulous. That’s a really strong reaction, isn’t it? There’s probably more to it. His brother had to have had a nightmare or something. “Why?”

Loki mewls but says nothing.

“Don’t worry, squirt. Dad sleeps like a rock. Hey.” He pries Loki’s hand out of his mouth and stares at the crescent-shaped marks his brother’s teeth have left on his own skin. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“You sleep like a rock and you’re awake.” Loki draws a trembling breath, slumps back down and reburies his head in the pillow.

Thor lies down next to him and rolls him over. “Come here,” he whispers and his brother melts into him, clinging tight. He’s so small and delicate, and just overall so easily breakable. “I woke up because I had to pee.”

“Are you sure?” whimpers Loki.

“Am I sure?” Thor chuckles, aiming for humor. “Do you trust me to be able to tell when I have to pee?”

He doesn’t reply but, in his embrace, his brother finally calms down a bit.

“Mom’s gonna be back soon, you know that, right?” asks Thor.

Loki’s head moves up and down against Thor’s pajama shirt. He quivers in his arms for a bit longer but then he goes still.

“Thor?” he whispers shyly, and with a much higher pitch.

“Yeah?”

“Can you read me a story?”

“Aren’t you a bit too old for that?” Thor asks and his mood plummets. He loves his brother to bits and he can hug him all night if he has to but reading to him? Nah, that’s Frigga’s job. Not to mention that he’s awful at it.

“Please? Just until I fall asleep?”

“Alright,” sighs Thor because he just can’t deny Loki anything when his brother is this needy. He glances at the nightstand. “Which one would you like me to read?”

“Treasure Island.”

Okay, that’s at least not the lamest story in existence. Thor reaches for the book and Loki burrows into him as he reads, and he giggles when Thor imitates the different voices. It’s such a great feeling, to be able to make his brother stop crying and make him feel happier and safer just by holding him. It makes Thor feel so incredibly warm inside.

Loki’s lids flutter close and his breathing slows after a few pages but Thor doesn’t stop and he doesn’t let go either.

He stays with him all night.

Chapter Text

January 2015

“Mom?” Thor asks, his head poking through the bathroom door. “Can you drive me to Steve’s?”

“Can’t you see that I’m a bit busy?” Frigga moans because, surely, it could not have escaped her teenage son’s notice that she’s currently on her knees scrubbing the shower with a sponge despite her stuffy nose because their housekeeper called in sick. “Ask your father.”

“I already did but he said no because he’s busy, which is why I’m asking you,” Thor says.

“Well,” sighs Frigga and sniffs back a load of snot, “as I said, I’m busy too. So, no.”

Thor stares at her as if she just casually told him that she’d written him out of her will. “But someone has to drive me because I’m still waiting for the delivery of my new bike tires,” he says with all the self-entitled authority of the truly spoiled. “And Dad’s working. You’re just, like, cleaning. You can drive me and then pick up where you left off.”

“Nice try.” Frigga inhales deeply because, clearly, they’ve overdone it and the time has come to set some boundaries before it’s entirely too late. She flashes her son a wicked smile. “But last time I checked, there was a bus stop down the block. Alternatively, you’ll find the telephone numbers for two different cab companies and the local Uber pinned to the fridge.”

Thor’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“I am. Have fun with your friends, honey,” flutes Frigga. “And be back by seven thirty. I want us all to have dinner together.”

“I have decided,” she announces once they’ve finished eating (and arguing), “to suspend all housekeeping activities for a month.”

“What?” Thor and Odin blurt out in unison.

“From now on, we’ll split the chores—dusting, vacuuming, laundry, dishwashing, sweeping, yard work—between the four of us so that we learn to appreciate once more what the people working for us are doing for us,” Frigga finishes, her gaze lingering on Thor, who turns towards his father, silently asking for support with his eyes.

Odin shakes his head at him. “This is ridiculous,” he says. “Your mother has a cold, which obviously clouds her thinking.”

Frigga hisses a small laugh. “I appreciate your concern but my thinking is very clear, darling. We’re rich but that doesn’t give us the right to dismiss household duties as ‘just a bit of cleaning’.” Another glance at Thor before she fixes Odin again. “As parents, it is our duty to ensure that our sons grow up to appreciate what they have and not take any of this”—she makes a sweeping hand gesture encompassing the dining area—“for granted.”

Her husband mutters something under his breath.

“And should I find out that you called Miss Fletcher behind my back,” Frigga tells him, “I swear I’ll use all of my accrued vacation time at once and won’t lift as much as my little finger for Asgardia for the entirety of it. Are we clear?”

Loki nods dutifully.

“No. This is absolute bullshit, Mom,” grouses Thor as he stands abruptly, sending his chair clattering to the floor in the process. “There’s no reason not to employ those people if we can pay them.” Another glance at his father, ever the co-conspirator. “Right?”

“We can pay them, yes,” Frigga corrects, followed by another sniff because her blocked nose is relentless. “But you, my love, cannot.”

“Sorry, boys,” sighs Odin even though Loki doesn’t seem overly troubled by the idea because he’s the only male in this house who already keeps his things neat and clean of his own free will. “But there’s no way to argue with that.”

“Fine,” Thor huffs and starts gathering their empty plates, slamming them onto each other to make a point.

In the end, her husband doesn’t contribute to her little experiment at all except for clipping the hedge the very next day and sweeping the driveway once or twice but a week into it, Thor offers to set the table without any prompting.

Chapter Text

June 2016

Two months to Loki’s enrollment in High School

“Dammit, Mom,” yells Thor and throws her a glower from where he’s standing by the sink, hot water gushing from the faucet and releasing tiny wafts of steam. “Why d’you always have to turn up the water so hot? Fuck.”

“Because I just cleaned the pans? And don’t curse into my face like this, young man,” Frigga admonishes him. With his broad shoulders and muscular chest, his voice a low baritone, her seventeen-year-old emerged from puberty as quite an imposing, awe-inspiring creature but she’d be damned if she let her own son intimidate her.

“Every time,” growls he, impatiently waiting for the water to get cold. “This happens every time.”

Frigga shakes her head in exasperation. Her son isn’t a fool but he hides that fact well sometimes. “If it happens every time, why don’t you just think before you act and check the water temperature before sticking your hand in the sink?”

“Why don’t you just use cold water?” Thor snaps at her.

“Because the heat breaks up the double binds between the atoms and separates the food from the surface of the dishes more quickly,” Loki replies without looking up from the crossword puzzle he’s doing on the kitchen island, perched on one of the bar seats, feet tucked under his buttocks. “Plus, water evaporates faster at higher temperatures, so the dishes dry quicker.”

“Brother,” sighs her eldest, looking almost pained. “This is exactly why other people don’t like you.”

Frigga’s face, well, her entire everything falls. Loki glances up then and the hurt flickering over his expression is raw and runs deeper than she can probably imagine. She stares at him, then at Thor.

“Thor! How ...” She chokes on the reprimand.

“You can’t keep broadcasting your smarts like that once you come to Infinity,” Thor goes on, unperturbed and so utterly ignorant that it hurts her physically. “Like, when people are having a normal conversation, you can’t just barge in there with nerdy stuff because people hate it when you make them feel stupid, okay, squirt?”

Loki nods, his posture submission made flesh. “I just wanted to explain.”

“Don’t listen to your brother,” Frigga grits out, spearing Thor with her gaze. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him today. Maybe he is just jealous of your intelligence?”

Thor barks a laugh and sends a shiver creeping down her spine. He sounds exactly like Odin. When did that happen? “Why would I be jealous, Mom? Being super-smart literally gets you nowhere in high school.”

“It gets you to college,” Frigga snaps back, trying to process the irony of that statement.

“So do athletic scholarships.” Thor flashes her a toothy smirk. The air between them thickens with his arrogance. “Anyway, I’m not saying that to be mean, Lokes. I love you, you know that. I’m just trying to prepare you because I know how people in that school tick—”

“Thor, that’s quite enough,” cuts Frigga.

“—and they don’t like smartasses, Mom. I’m just looking out for him, okay? Relax.”

That said, he just strides away.

“Thor,” Frigga shouts after him but he stopped listening to her a while ago. Raising a teenager can be so brutal sometimes. She only hopes Loki won’t turn against her too when he enters adolescence.

“I was just trying to explain,” Loki repeats, voice shifting. From one minute to the next, he looks much younger than twelve; almost like a child again.

“I know, baby,” sighs Frigga and strokes his back. “Your brother didn’t mean to insult you like this. He doesn’t think before he ... Well, he just doesn’t think at all sometimes.” A grim chuckle, followed by a sigh. “He takes after his father.”

Chapter Text

April 2017

“Thor?”

Odin is striding into the living room waving a sheet of paper, which he slams onto the desk where Thor and Frigga were just going over the final changes to the catering for his upcoming birthday celebration. His father is huffing like a bull, his face lobster red.

Uh-oh.

“Yes, Dad?” Thor tries his best innocent smile because he messed up big time and his father has been busy with his tax returns all morning.

It really only was a matter of time.

Odin taps the sheet of paper for emphasis—he’s stabbing it really; if he used a little more force he’d probably drill a hole into the tabletop—and, sure enough, it’s the bill of Thor’s credit card in black and white.

Shit.

“I, uh, might have overdone it a little,” Thor allows but who can blame him? He’ll be eighteen in four days. He is a man with a driver’s license and a car who’ll graduate high school this fucking summer. It’s his duty to drive places with girls and buy them nice things to impress them and make them happy and giggly. It’s the fucking law. “I’m sorry? I mean it’s not like we don’t have the mo—”

“Overdone it a little?” Odin cuts in. His eyes are ice and the veins in his neck are throbbing. “You withdrew four-thousand dollars from an ATM in Caesars Palace on New Year’s Eve. In the casino. You paid for drinks there too. Do you think that was in any way subtle or clever?”

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

He almost forgot about that.

“What?” Frigga drops her pen. “I thought Maria had rented a cabin for you guys?”

“I, uh …” The words die in his throat because he doesn’t have an excuse except that he was far too cocky and already a bit tipsy when he met that dancer (stripper?). It was an epic night though (he got to shag her on the balcony and who the hell cares), so whatever the punishment, it’ll be worth it.

“Answer your mother!” Odin blares.

“I lied,” Thor mumbles as if they haven’t figured that out by now. “About the cabin. Stark booked us into a suite. We stayed the night.”

“Honey, you are seventeen years old.” Frigga’s voice breaks. Awesome. There’s part numero uno of said punishment, his mother’s concern and the sadness in her eyes. “You are neither old enough to gamble nor to drink. How did you …”

She trails off.

“It wasn’t for me. I didn’t gamble.”

That much is true. Gambling doesn’t fascinate him because it’s basically just pure dumb luck and he’s been pretty damn lucky all his life. Not to mention rich. The confession high-key makes everything worse though and the second part of The Punishment ^TM is a slap in the face that makes Thor’s ears ring. It’s fine, really. He deserves it.

“How?” Frigga asks.

“Tony has older friends,” Thor lies because if he told them that Stark made fake IDs for all of them for the occasion there would be carnage. Howard Stark would probably beat his best friend to a pulp or something. Odin can be a little scary when he’s blowing a fuse but he’s a tame, little pussycat compared against Tony’s dad. Thor can’t let that happen, won’t let it. He wouldn’t forgive himself. “Obviously. I mean, he skipped like five grades. They bought the chips for us.”

He can only hope that the casino doesn’t store security footage for longer than three months.

“What!? You gave my money to a bunch of strangers?” Odin is still huffing. If he continues to breathe like that, he’ll probably have a heart attack. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear the answer. I’m sick of listening to your voice right now! You’ll go two months without your credit card. If you want money, you’ll either get a job or you’ll ask us for it and you’ll tell us exactly what you need it for, understood?”

That’s a small price to pay for saving Stark’s skin. “Yes, Dad.”

Odin grabs the sheet of paper and stomps off again.

Hey, at least they stopped grounding him a while ago when they realized their schedule was way too crammed to ensure that he’d stay put.

Frigga is still shaking her head. “Darling, you committed a crime. Underage gambling and drinking are criminal offenses. Do you realize this? If you’d gotten caught …”

Thor crosses his arms. “I wasn’t. Relax.”

“Yeah, well. You could have. You could have lost your driver’s license or ended up with a disorderly on your criminal record. We could’ve been stuck with fines or—”

“But I wasn’t,” protests Thor. “And I told you. I wasn’t gambling.” His date for the night was (and she wasn’t a minor, thank you very much). The only thing he is guilty of is spending money on a fourteen-hundred-dollar dress that brought out the color in her eyes. “I met a girl and I, uh, they bought the chips for her. She wanted to … And I didn’t …”

Frigga’s piercing gaze takes no fucking prisoners.

Jesus, this is going nowhere. Thor deflates like a balloon and sighs. Then, he changes gears. “Okay, I was drinking and I wasn’t thinking very clearly anymore, obviously, but come on, Mom. You were young once. You probably did stupid shit too.”

“I did, yes.” Frigga crumples the grocery list they’ve been working on in her hands. “But I never willfully broke the law.”

Shit, she’s serious.

It’s her Asgardia voice and her eyes are …

Fuck.

“W-what are you saying?” Thor stammers but a part of him already knows.

“You heard your father,” says Frigga and his heart sinks. “There won’t be a birthday party unless you manage to come up with a way to pay for it yourself and, no, asking Tony to throw you one at the last minute doesn’t count. I’ll be speaking to his mother, of course.” She stretches out her hand. “Credit card?”

Okay, that’s a huge fucking price to pay but it’s still better than Howard Stark finding out about the fake IDs.

It’s a huge fucking blow but he’ll take it.

Eighteen isn’t such an important birthday anyway.

Frigga leaves the room and his baby brother, who Thor totally forgot about on the couch, lowers his book into his lap with an incredulous gaze and a snort. “Seriously? Dammit. If your brain was a pasture, the sheep would starve,” Loki says drily.

“If your brain was a pasture, they would get lost in all that overgrowth and the result would be pretty much the same,” Thor growls back and storms out into the yard, where he batters the stem of a palm tree until his knuckles are bloody.

Why does being a teenager have to be so fucking unfair?!

Ugggghgh.

Chapter Text

August 2016

Eight months to the birth of Nikias

“Shit,” Thor mutters under his breath when he almost trips over his own feet after closing the front door shut behind him. “Fuck, I’m drunker than I thought. Damn you and your fucking vodka, Stark, I swear. Every time. Every fucking time.”

He clamors up the stairs, cursing his poor life choices because, seriously, being shitfaced isn’t even that much fucking fun, is it? Why do people waste their time like this and is that why it’s called getting wasted? His vision is slightly blurry and spin-y. Spin-ish? Spinning-y-ish? Anyway. Ugh. Big godawful ugh. “Fuck everything.”

He prays he won’t have to barf.

Loki is standing in the hallway in his blue The Force Awakens pajamas, just staring at him. Sometimes, he’s scaring the living shit out of him, his baby brother. He’s all smooth white skin and innocent angel features by day but right now, burning his gaze into Thor in the dim light, he wouldn’t be out of place on the cover of a creepy ass horror movie.

“Not a word to Mom,” Thor warns and wiggles his index finger in Loki’s face.

His brother flinches from him, then shakes his head.

“What’re you doing up, squirt?”

Loki shrugs, eyes huge.

“Had a nightmare?” Thor tries even if he has zero patience for this shit right now. All he wants is to crash and sleep off his fucking jag but when big brother duty calls you’d better answer; especially when your parents aren’t home and you invited your buddy over and got drunk playing videogames in the living room instead of, you know, spending time with your hypersensitive kid brother. “Were we too loud?”

Another shrug.

Fuck’s sakes.

“Since when aren’t you fucking talking to me, Lokes?” Thor asks. Maybe he yells it but he’s running out of patience and can you blame him? It’s two am. On a fucking school night.

Loki draws a deep breath, lips quivering.

“Shit, just come with me, okay,” mumbles Thor and takes him by the hand, leading him into his room and into his bed.

Loki slips under the covers and makes a tiny mewling sound.

Thor hurries the whole struggling out of his clothes business along because if his brother starts crying now, he’ll lose his fucking marbles. He only has five hours of sleep left as it is. He slips under the covers next to his brother and wraps him up in a hug.

That should do.

“Thor?” asks Loki, voice squeaky.

“Yeah?”

Loki’s hand is tracing his chest muscles. “Why are you so big?”

What kind of question is that? His brother is so fucking weird sometimes, like seriously. “Because I’m stuffing my face with 4000 calories a day and spend about twenty percent of my time exercising? Why are you talking like a child?”

“I am a child,” says Loki.

“You’re fucking twelve, squirt. Stop using that voice,” Thor demands, which makes Loki flinch, then whimper. Thor hugs him tighter and tries to make his voice softer. “And don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”

He cups the back of Loki’s head, entangles his fingers in his hair. “Everything is fine,” he murmurs. “Just go to sleep, okay? It’s really late.”

Loki sniffles.

“No crying, no crying,” Thor slurs in a singsong, his eyelids falling shut.

“No crying,” whispers Loki.

“Mhmhm.”

The last sensation that registers before sleep pulls him in is Loki’s hand, clumsily landing on his cheek.

Chapter Text

September 2017

A year after Loki’s enrollment in High School

About five months after the birth of Nikias

“Hey, you wanna grab some dessert?” Thor asks and pulls onto the parking lot of a burger joint before Loki can answer.

“I guess I do now,” his little brother grumbles. They’re on their back from Malibu because school starts again on Monday; which is probably the reason for his shitty mood. Loki hates Infinity High with a passion because he’s über-smart and no matter how ironic this might sound to Frigga but high school really isn’t a fun place to be if you’re über-smart. Especially not if you, against your big brother’s well intentioned (but, according to your mother, poorly delivered) advice, are being a smug prick about your ginormous brain and rub everyone’s faces into their average-level intelligence.

Sometimes, Thor really wishes Loki would still listen to him because if he did, he wouldn’t get pushed around so often and if he didn’t get pushed around so often, Thor would have to spend less time putting actual or potential bullies in their place but that punk has grown pretty fucking stubborn.

Sometimes, he wonders if looking out for him is still worth the trouble if Loki is so intent on putting himself in the line of fire without a weapon.

“A small Oreo shake, please,” his brother orders.

“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger with a side of cheese fries,” Thor says with a bright smile because the employee is kinda cute. “And a large coke, extra ice.”

Loki stares at him as if he just landed on earth from another planet when the girl behind the counter turns around to fix their beverages. “You said dessert. That’s a whole ass meal you ordered and we literally just had lunch!”

“And I’m literally still hungry,” Thor defends himself. “I guess I must have hit my last growth spurt or something. Plus, it’s hardly my fault that Mom’s portions are always so small.”

Loki is still staring. “Eating a few thousand calories just for lunch? That’s not a growth spurt. If you weren’t this fit, people would suspect you have an eating disorder.”

“Yeah, right.” Thor barks a laugh but his brother isn’t smiling. “Wait, you’re actually serious, squirt?” He laughs again and ruffles his brother’s hair. “I’m not the crazy one, remember? And if you actually started to work out instead of burying your nose in a book all the time, you’d be a lot hungrier too. I mean, you’re a growing teenage boy going on fourteen. It’s a law of nature that we eat a ton.”

A giggle slips past the employee’s lips as she places their drinks on the counter and Thor winks at her. “Stunning as you look, you probably have a boyfriend, right?” He glances down at her nametag. “Callie?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “And he packs away so much food, it’s unbelievable. He’s a quarterback, actually.”

Thor beams at her and rests his arm on the counter, leaning in closer. “So am I.”

“Are you now? What a shame that he isn’t quite as handsome,” purrs Callie as she leans in too, reaching for her necklace and twisting it in the process, parting her full, glossy lips just the tiniest little bit.

“Nobody is as handsome, so if you want a piece of Thor, get in line,” Loki cuts in. “Spoiler alert: It’s a very long line.”

“You have to forgive my little brother,” Thor kids and makes Callie giggle again. And blush a little too, which makes every girl look ten times more adorable. “He isn’t always that charming.”

The girl’s face falls a little. “Wait, you guys are related?”

“Unfortunately, we are. Otherwise I would never hang out with the type.” Loki makes a grab for his milkshake. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“Teenagers,” Thor kids and mock-rolls his eyes.

“Younger siblings, more like,” sighs Callie and they share a hearty laugh and a few more looks until his order is ready.

“Seriously,” Loki complains when Thor gets back with his own food. “You’re insufferable.”

“Oh yeah?” Thor asks and dumps the paper bag in his brother’s lap. “If I’m so insufferable, then why didn’t you fly back with Mom and Dad, huh? That would’ve taken you less than half the time but still you chose to ride home with me.”

“Because they’ve been bickering all morning and I thought hearing your voice for five hours straight was going to be the lesser evil but, apparently, I was very wrong and I deeply regret my foolishness. Now drive.”

“I know you still want to spend time with me, squirt,” Thor pokes him as he switches on the engine. “You don’t have to be so shy about it, bro.”

Loki’s face is darker than the tarmac. “I said drive.”

“You aren’t really into the whole flirting, dating thing yet, are you?” Thor says when he merges into traffic and reaches into the bag for a handful of fries. “I noticed that you aren’t really interested in girls yet, don’t yet find them attractive. I mean that’s totally okay because you’re still young. So just in case you’re asking yourself if it’s weird that you don’t really get it yet, it’s not weird. Not at all. And if you feel a bit awkward around girls because you’re kind of an outsider, I can teach you a few things. Wait, do you even like girls?”

“Two words,” Loki grumbles. “Two simple words, as basic a directive as it gets, and still you can’t follow the instruction.”

“What?” Thor asks with his mouth full of salty, potato-y, cheesy goodness. Loki merely sighs and slurps his milkshake. See: stubborn punk. “Why do you always have to be like that? Can we not just have a normal conversation anymore?”

“Perhaps I would still confide in you if you didn’t call me crazy or weird all the time,” Loki snaps.

“I’m just joking around,” Thor defends himself and blindly gropes for his second course. “I don’t mean it like that. You know I love you, right?”

Loki huffs a breath and slaps his hand away to unwrap his burger for him. “Then don’t say it if you don’t mean it because I’m sure as hell not laughing.”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Thor relents. “I’ll try to remember. But in return you could maybe try a bit harder not to call me stupid all the time because that gets to me too, you know.”

Loki hums.

“So, do you like girls? I mean, if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. Just so you know,” Thor tells his brother between two bites.

“You wouldn’t?”

Thor shakes his head and tries to ignore the little pang in his chest when it begins to dawn on him that his brother apparently assumed otherwise. “No. Stark and Rogers are bi and I’m totally cool with that.”

“Rogers?” Loki’s eyes almost pop out of his face. “Steve Rogers is bi?”

“Not officially. He’s still closeted—he’s so far inside the closet, he might as well be in Narnia actually—but I’m pretty sure, yeah.” Thor chuckles at his friend’s pitiful attempts to mask how desperately he’s pining for Bucky Barnes.

“A jock with a gaydar,” Loki tsks. “That’d be a first.”

“Maybe we’re both a bit weird,” Thor kids but the mood in the car remains a bit tense and Loki walks straight into his room as soon as they arrive, and quietly shuts the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Early 2018

Thor is standing bent over the stove when Frigga returns from her Saturday morning stroll, eating bacon straight from the pan with his fingers because, apparently, a starving quarterback has no time to waste on plates and cutlery. He catches her staring at the empty mega pack of bacon.

“What?”

Frigga grimaces. “Please don’t tell me you ate over a pound of bacon by yourself?”

“I waff hungry.”

Frigga looks at the grease in the pan, looks at her son’s bulging biceps. He is the epitome of youth and strength, her boy, but the diet he favors can’t be healthy for anyone. “I know but”—she shudders—“honey, just looking at that grease is going to elevate my cholesterol.”

“Choleffterol iff a myth,” Thor informs her around another mouth full before he has mercy on her and swallows loudly. “Cholesterol isn’t what causes heart attacks. Did you know that eating bacon is healthier than eating a banana? Because a banana has sugar in it and bacon doesn’t.”

Frigga can’t bite back the incredulous chuckle. “According to whom?”

“My coach.”

“All hail the wisdom of Nicholas Tyree,” Loki quips as he pads into the kitchen, still in his pajamas that, after his latest growth spurt, are riding up a little when he stretches, revealing a pair of sharp hipbones. He is growing so tall, they’re both soon going to be giants towering over her.

“He has a degree, okay?” Thor informs his little brother with an indignant huff. The poor thing. Going on nineteen and thinking himself a man.

Loki isn’t satisfied with that. Of course he isn’t. He raises one eyebrow instead. “Oh yeah, in what?”

“Dunno.” Thor shrugs. “I forgot.”

Loki snorts a laugh and shoots Frigga a challenging glance. “And you’re surprised he isn’t acing law school? Really?”

“Hey,” protests Thor and the vein in his neck begins to throb.

Frigga’s heart sinks. Her sons are in a bickering mood again and Loki appears to be dead set on walking the warpath this morning.

“What?” asks her youngest. “Don’t you agree that it’d be a valuable cognitive skill for a lawyer to be able to retain information?”

“Oh, shut up,” Thor snaps back before Frigga can intervene, glaring daggers at his brother. “No one likes a smartass, Lokes.”

Loki shrugs and flashes Thor a sharkish grin. “I do.”

“That’s because you are weird,” Thor shoots back.

“Boys, please,” Frigga sighs. “Stop insulting each other. You used to be each other’s favorite person in the world. What happened to that?”

Neither of them gives her an answer or even says another word. They merely glare at each other for a moment, wordlessly daring the other to answer her question.

Neither of them succumbs.

Eventually, Thor huffs and digs back into his breakfast, and Loki tiptoes to the fridge to retrieve a water bottle before leaving the kitchen again.

If someone had told Frigga that raising teenage boys would involve so much not-talking a few years prior, she would’ve tapped her forehead at them. Now, she realizes that she barely exchanges a dozen sentences with either of them on any given day.

It’s frustrating, really, and she’ll have to up her game several leagues if she truly wants to mend the rift between them.

Chapter Text

October 2019

The floor moves without warning and Hela spills her drink on the way back to her desk, gin sloshing onto her thighs. Her stomach drops about five feet and she curses under her breath, blinking as the room starts to tremble. This isn’t the right time to lose her shit. She needs to finish the drawing of that tattoo and she needs to finish it tonight.

Fuck.

Why did she have to take another 80?

The oxy is gonna fuck her up before she can get the job done and then she’ll lose another client. Her feet are already leaving the ground, dammit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Suddenly, the apartment sort of twists from side to side, like a ship. One of the shelves topples down and crashes to the floor, burying a bunch of folders.

Wait a min—

“What the fuck is going on?” the kid shrieks as he appears in the doorway, his fingers curled around a tumbler of his own, panic flickering in his eyes.

“You’re feelin’ it too?” Hela breathes out a relieved chuckle. “Damn, I thought I was on a bad trip, ha! Nice.”

“Nice?” As usual, the kid glares at her as if she lost her mind. “What is happening? Everything is fucking shaking! Why is everything shaking?”

“Relax, dumbass. It’s just an earthquake.”

“A what?! Are you fucking making up words again?”

Okay, maybe she is on a bad trip after all because did he just ... seriously ... ask her ... if she made up ... earthquakes?! “We live in California, genius,” Hela giggles. “Earthquakes happen. Look it up.”

The kid swallows. “What are we gonna do? How do we make it stop?”

Hela snorts another laugh and takes a sip of her drink. “We can’t. We gotta wait it out. But if you’re scared, just get your plastered ass outside, so the building won’t collapse on top of you.”

The kid pales. “I-is that what’s gonna happen?”

“Do I look like a scientist to you?” Hela giggles. “I don’t fucking know what’s gonna happen. If you wanna know, switch on the news.” Maybe the building will collapse on top of them and they’ll finally be rid of the crazies in their heads.

The kid knocks back his drink and spits, “You’re the least empathetic person on this entire godforsaken planet!”

“At least I know what a fucking earthquake is,” Hela shoots back. “And your Dad really said you were smart. Tsk.” She giggles again.

“Odin is not my father,” snarls the kid with that blood-chilling glare in his eyes that instantly freezes the laugh in her throat.

“Of course not,” Hela gulps as the earthquake fucks off again. A long forgotten panic strikes her in the chest. While Odin was never father of the year, the guy who claimed to be the kid’s father way back when was a violent, possessive scumbag who didn’t even try to appear civil and Hela just hopes that it’s not him or at least, that if it is, her son won’t ever find out the truth.

“What?” snaps the kid.

“Nothing,” says Hela because she once swore she’d take his name to her grave and that is what she will do. “Can you grab some dinner for me? I need to sober up.”

Chapter Text

October 2019

Hela stubs out her cigarette and sighs. It’s one of those nights she’s aware enough to feel how everything just fucking hurts, physically and emotionally, and to realize consciously that she made a mess of literally everything in her entire goddamn life, and that she’s dying of cancer and that the man she refers to as her boyfriend in that screwed, bald head of hers is an abusive piece of manipulative shit and that the baby she left for dead on Frigga’s doorstep all those years ago is a teenager now who’s currently sleeping on her couch with a stuffed elephant pressed closed to his chest.

She knocks back the rest of her gin, pours herself a refill, lights the umpteenth fag.

Thinks of Ri and sobs but no tears come.

Hela has unlearned to cry.

Drugs will do that to you. They deaden you until you lose the ability to get in touch with your emotions.

The kid coos in his sleep.

Another drink, another fag, another sigh, heavy with self-pity.

If she’d stayed in Vegas, maybe ...

No.

Don’t go there.

It’s water under the fucking bridge, you sorry ass whore.

Hela buries her head in her hands, groans and ughs, and bites into her left palm.

Another drink, another fag.

She doesn’t feel anything.

She’s about to burst.

So empty and yet so full.

You should just kill yourself, snarls a nasty voice. Why wait?

Nobody will miss you.

And leave the kid with Thanos? asks another voice.

He’ll treat him like a pet on a leash.

Worse.

He’ll fuck him; if he hasn’t already.

Her stomach revolts against the mental image.

Still no tears.

No real feelings either, just the urge to claw her own eyes out.

She gets up then, and almost trips over her own feet.

That’s the worst, when the body’s already drunk but the mind’s still up and running. Someone didn’t get the fucking memo.

Hela sits down next to the kid.

His lips are slightly open and his eyes are twitching under his closed lids. She stretches out her hand, traces his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones, his jawline with her index finger. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him. He’s pale and sickly but still beautiful in an ethereal sort of dark and frigid way, like a Dorian Gray or an Edgar Allan Poe, like a model an artist could paint in a gothic mansion in eighteenth century attire.

And she made him.

He grew inside of her.

How is that possible?

How did she create something so beautiful and fragile and delicate and just ... so fucking perfect?

The kid whimpers and snuggles his stupid elephant closer but Hela can’t stop touching his cheek.

She gave birth to him.

This tall, skinny, pretty creature came out of her pussy.

How?

Just how?

She thinks of Ri again.

What if we raised him together?

We’re kids, stupid.

I said no.

No, no, no.

Don’t. Go. There.

Her chest yawns open.

Hela sucks in a breath.

Right now, it’d be helpful if she could cry, could flush out all the tainted and the rotten.

But no luck.

Hela sighs and leaves her son—her son!!!—alone, grabs the gin from the table, goes to bed, hides beneath the covers and drinks straight from the bottle until she passes out.

Chapter Text

October 2019

“Hey, what are you doing?” Hela slurs as soon as Nikias picks up the orange bottle from the table and rattles the pills inside, proving once again that, even when zonked as fuck, she still notices stuff. He doesn’t know how that’s even remotely possible but it is. “Don’t even think of taking this shit. Ever. It’ll fucking ruin your life.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Nikias snarls as nastily as he can, his eyes on the bottle. “I don’t wanna end up like you.”

Hela half-grunts, half-laughs. “You still gonna end up as an alcoholic though, if you keep walkin’ down that path.”

Oh, how much he hates her. Sometimes, a part of Nikias wants to beat her to a pulp and leave her for dead by the side of the road but, as soon as his thoughts go into that direction, another part always pipes up and feels sorry for her. At first he assumed that part was Leah but, nope, something inside of Nikias feels almost sort of connected to Hela in a weird, twisted way.

“You really been on this shit since you were, like, fourteen?” Nikias asks because that part somehow fucking cares even if that whore slouching on the couch across from them almost killed Loki’s sorry ass.

“On and off,” Hela drawls, apparently in the mood to tell him her entire fucking life story. “I got hooked when I was thirteen and it was all I could think of for years. But then I got busted for solicitation shortly after I turned seventeen. The court tried me as an adult and I had to get off the dope in prison. I thought I was gonna fucking die but once it was over, I was free.” She giggles to herself. “You know you mucked up your life real bad if you feel free in the tank, so I swore to myself I wouldn’t ever go through that hell again. Ever. When I got out, I stayed clean for a while but then I relapsed on coke. Which was still bad but not as bad, I guess? I mean, it did get me off the tar. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t be alive today.”

Hela coughs. Clears her throat. Giggles again. “Flash forward twelve years, I get diagnosed with cancer shortly after I hit the big three-o and my doctor puts me on Percocet for the pain while lecturing me about drug abuse as if he wasn’t prescribing me a narcotic! He literally told me I should take it in moderation and stop with the rest. What a fucking dickface.”

Hela cackles and reaches for her cigarettes, struggling with the lighter.

Nikias lights her fag for her.

“Incompetent assholes, the lot of ‘em,” Hela fumes and takes a deep drag. “They’re fucking feeding you poppy seeds while tryna tell you that you need to get off the dope! You wanna know the worst part, kiddo? It’s all fucking legal. Those assholes prescribe you pills that sell for a hundred bucks a piece on the streets and call it medicine. They call you a fucking junkie while stuffing you full of opiates for treatment! Like, why don’t you just give me a bag of heroin and get it over with? Seriously. Isn’t that the most fucked-up thing you ever heard?”

Hela stubs out her fag and sends ashes flying everywhere.

Nikias has no frigging clue what ‘poppy seeds’ and ‘tar’ are and he isn’t entirely sure about the difference between narcotics and opiates either but he shrugs anyway.

“I swear, it’s totally friggin’ fucked-up in all sorts of ways,” Hela grumbles before she closes her eyes and sighs. “Damn. You ever get that feeling that no one really fucking understands where you’re coming from? Like, people look at you and judge you and shit and you’re just totally a 100% clueless why others can’t see why you’re doing the stuff you’re doing? It’s totally obvious but no one gets it?” She giggles and a bit of spit trickles from her mouth. “And you’re wondering why everyone is so dense even though you’re the one who’s a bit fuzzy-headed?”

“You mean stuff like leaving half-dead babies alone in cars?” Nikias challenges her even though every inch of him can relate to her words.

Hela sighs. “No, not that. That was totally 100% my bad. Although, in my defense, you were, like, pretty damn resistant and stubborn and tough. I mean I tried to starve you to death in my womb but you were like, ‘Nope, you won’t kill me, bitch’.”

Nikias’ mouth gapes. “What did you just say?”

“I was fifteen when I got pregnant, dumbass. Of course I tried to not get pregnant. I starved myself every time I fucked a client without a latex but you refused like, ‘Nope, I’m gonna turn into a fetus even without food’.”

Fuck her.

“And when you found out? Did you try to get rid of him?” Nikias asks before he can stop himself. “Me. Did you try to get rid of me?”

Hela opens one eye. “Yeah. I tried the usual, like falling down the stairs or punching my belly but I couldn’t … I just couldn’t pull through with it.”

“Oh look, a sliver of humanity,” Nikias snaps.

“Oh, look, I know I fucked up, okay? Stop pestering me about it,” Hela slurs, her lids drooping. “Fuck …”

And then follows something that’s no longer intelligible.

Nikias wants to smack her but Leah’s consciousness willows close and tells him to put a blanket around her because she’s sick.

Sick my ass.

She’s a fucking junkie, Nikias wants to scream but he swallows it down because he doesn’t want to soil Leah’s innocent little heart. He gets that damn blanket, pours some gin into the ashtray so the apartment won’t go up in flames and then he seriously considers calling Frigga because, apparently, Hela’s lunacy rubbed off on him.

When the urge passes, Nikias decides to hide the folder with Hela’s latest drawings behind the bathroom cabinet instead and, come next morning, he doesn’t correct her when she mutters to herself that she must’ve misplaced it while she was high.

Ha, ha.

Gotcha, bitch.

Chapter Text

Late November 2019

Loki sits curled up in one of the black leather armchairs when Thanos returns to his apartment. He has two blankets huddled around his trembling frame, his face is pale and glistening with sweat. The blood has drained from his lips, leaving them almost white, with a faint blue tinge. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused, and he shivers so badly that his teeth clack together when he speaks. “I’m n-no use to-today.”

Oh, what a glorious sight before him. Finally, Thanos can loosen the leash a little. His dick responds instantly and he can feel the throbbing pulse of his groin in every vein of his muscular body.

“I’ve g-got the flu or s-something,” Loki blabbers on as Thanos retrieves a bucket from the kitchen. He’s the perfect embodiment of youthful ignorance, that boy.

Thanos sets the bucket down and chuckles, cupping Loki’s chin. “Or something.”

“W-what do you mean ...” The boy trails off, confusion twisting his chiseled features.

“I think you’re intelligent enough to realize what’s happening to you right now,” Thanos murmurs and bends down a little, his lips close to Loki’s ears as he runs his fingers through his hair, “and that the flu has actually very little to do with it.”

“I ...” That big brain of his works feverishly behind his clammy forehead for a few more seconds before understanding flares up in those green eyes like the proverbial lightbulb, followed by shock and anger racing each other across his face.

“I’m in withdrawal,” Loki gasps and, when he locks eyes with Thanos, the fury wins. “Y-you got me fucking addicted to this shit and ... and”—his voice turns shrill then, his breathing ragged and heavy—“I d-don’t even know what the hell it is!”

Thanos barks a laugh. “Oh no, you got yourself addicted.”

“You asshole,” spits Loki.

“Oh, come on now. Did I tie you up and force the drugs down your throat, hm? I don’t fucking think so. You downed almost a whole bottle of gin by yourself the first day I met you,” Thanos purrs into his ear. “You were an addict long before we even met, weren’t you?” He fishes a translucent bag out of his jeans pocket and dangles it in front of the boy’s face. “I merely gave you something more effective.”

“N-no.”

“Shhshsh, it’s okay, Loki,” Thanos murmurs, cupping the back of his head. “Some people simply carry too much pain inside of them to endure their life sober. It’s not your fault that you need this. It doesn’t make you broken or weak. Some people simply can’t cope and there’s no shame in that. That’s what I am here for.”

“No.” Loki shakes his head. “You’re a liar and a fucking h-hypocrite.” He struggles to his feet. “I’ve h-heard you call junkies pathetic before so just t-take your fucking speech a-and shove it up your ass. I’m n-not gonna end up drooling on the f-floor like my Mom.” His breath hitches and he retches. “You t-take those fucking pills away from me.” He shoves away Thanos’ hand holding the drugs out to him. “I won’t end up like her, you h-hear me?” He cackles, an edge of shrill despair to the sound. “I mean, how long c-can this p-possibly take anyway? Three days?” He retches again. “I can e-endure this for three days. I can ... I can ...”

Loki doubles over and vomits straight into the bucket Thanos is holding out to him.

“No one can endure this for three days,” Thanos tells the boy with a smirk. In fact, most don’t even last a few hours in this state and even if some of his precious assets did manage to escape in the past, they always came crawling back and begging for more because Thanos isn’t only reselling drugs he bought elsewhere. That’d be downright foolish because an addict doesn’t discriminate when it comes to their H, their coke, their meth. They’d buy it off the first person who approaches them, not giving a single flying fuck about how laced or clean their dope is going to be. The only way to bind someone you don’t wish to lose permanently to you is to get them hooked on something no one else has to offer. He learned that lesson long ago and he spent years perfecting the recipe for his own unique pill, carefully monitoring how much of it gets distributed in the streets and thus making sure that people will always have to come back to the source.

Loki wipes his mouth with his sleeve, his fingers shaking. “Watch me,” he croaks and stalks into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“We’ll see about that,” Thanos shouts after him. “I give you another hour, tops!”

After fifty-three minutes, Loki emerges from his room again, his face ghostly white. “Alright, you win,” he whispers, his eyes teary. “J-just give me s-something to m-make it stop.”

And that?

That’s how it works.

Chapter Text

December 2019

Three days until Hela’s release

“Get off the balcony,” Thanos shouts for what must be the third time but the boy doesn’t even bother with a reply. “Hey, didn’t you fucking hear me? I’m leaving. Come in here! Loki?”

No response.

“Robin!” Thanos barks because, for a second, he forgot that the kid changed his name and anger flares through him when he has to get him himself. You see, the downside of doing any of this with children is that they act like children. If it didn’t give him so much satisfaction to see those helpless, beautiful creatures entirely at this mercy (as far as dicks go, his is disproportionately greedy and even more stubborn), he wouldn’t bother with anyone younger than twenty.

“You’ll catch pneumonia if you fall asleep out here, strung-out as you are,” Thanos snaps and yanks him away from the banister while spinning him around. “Get your ass inside or I’ll—”

Before he can finish, the kid leans in, loops his arms around Thanos’ neck and presses his face into his muscular tits.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Repulsed by the sudden unexpected physical contact, Thanos pushes Hela’s bastard son away out of pure instinct and the boy sways, trips over his own feet and then the sill, and sails face-first onto the living room floor, muttering something unintelligible.

“If you got something to say, you better speak up,” Thanos snarls at him and slams the door shut behind them.

“I don’t want you to leave,” slurs the kid. “Please, don’t leave.”

My, my, isn’t that a most unexpected development?

His cock pulsating hotly between his legs, Thanos crouches down and puts a hand on the kid’s back. He has him. Finally, he has him right where he wants him and, truth be told, he never expected it to happen so quickly after the boy’s change of heart a few weeks (or has it been months?) back. Although it wasn’t as simple as a change of heart. It was more a change of, well, everything.

At first, he assumed Loki—Robin—had simply bitten off just a tiiiiny liiiittle bit more than he could chew when he flirted with him for weeks, practically giving himself to Thanos. He was still a bit clumsy about it (deliberately provocative and sexy and sly as a snake or not, at the end of the day, he was still a teenage boy) but he knew when to lick his lips and he knew where to touch himself to push the right buttons. He knew how to suggestively run his fingers along the collar of his shirt or rest his hands on his thighs, his fingers an inch from his own dick. He stopped doing that after Thanos ruthlessly took what the kid had been offering, fucking into that tight, smooth, pale ass. The boy winced and cried into the pillow but insisted he was fine nonetheless; insisted that he was enjoying himself even. Thanos knew then that he was lying and he knew it with even more certainty afterwards. They always lie, just to please. Stupid and naïve, the whole lot of them. If only they weren’t so goddamn pretty.

Anyway, Robin stopped what he’d been doing before because he’d had no idea what he’d been asking for or so Thanos thought at first. And he knew that the kid wouldn’t come to him again if he didn’t offer a more attractive alternative (i.e. drugs and, as it turned out, pain) and he knew he had to hold himself back until the boy was entirely at his mercy again before he could even think about fucking him once more without making it feel like rape. That he had to get him to a point where he’d give consent again because he knew that, otherwise, Robin wouldn’t ever feel as emotionally attached to him as he (finally, thankfully) does now.

But, somehow, things appear to be more complicated than that.

Thanos didn’t notice it at first but Robin didn’t only stop flirting with him. He never flirted with anyone ever again and, from what Thanos could see, he never got hard (which could be the drugs but still) and he never stroke him as horny in any way. And in his business, Thanos has to know what horniness looks like in all its different shades and, according to his experience, male teenagers are usually particularly prone to defer to its power. Not Robin though. Not anymore. Not after Thanos fucked him. From what Gamora and Midnight told him, the kid never once charmed any of the girls they tried to lure off the street like he’d tried to, for want of a better word, seduce Thanos a few weeks ago.

Robin can’t relate to any of it, Midnight had said one day after the girls had spent another evening with the kid. Almost like his understanding of sex is purely theoretical, Gamora had added. It’s fascinating really.

Fascinating indeed.

Because Thanos has the boy quite literally at his feet right this second, the spitting image of his birthmother in many ways. Robin is a drugged, needy mess with a freight container full of daddy issues if Thanos’ casual investigation into the boy’s adoptive father is anything to go by. He’s quite an imposing man, Odin Borson, and people working for that man defended people like those working for Thanos in a court of law before. Hardly the nurturing type, that guy.

Meaning that kid would do anything for a bit of reassurance.

He can feel it.

Thanos could take what he wants right now; take what he wanted all along.

For some reason though, he does not.

Instead, he picks Robin up, carries him to his room and gently lowers him onto his bed. He puts a blanket over him and sits down beside him, stroking his hair.

He does not recoil when Robin rolls over and puts his head on his lap.

So beautifully vulnerable, so full of need, as fragile as a statue of glass.

Why hurry?

Anticipation is half the pleasure after all.

And with mommy dearest out of the picture, Thanos has all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

December 2019

People say there are five or maybe seven stages of grief, depending on the source, as if one follows the other, and they say that anger comes first or second, after shock, pain, denial and guilt. In Thor’s world, however, the anger was already there to begin with and, as far as he is concerned, all the shrinks of this world can go fuck themselves. Why isn’t anybody talking about the ache festering like a splinter in the pit of your stomach or the paralyzing void that grief leaves in its wake or the loss of faith in anything good or how hard it seems just to breathe sometimes? Why isn’t anybody talking about how much grief fucking exhausts you, to the point where everyday activities like brushing your teeth and tying your shoes cost too much damn effort? Why isn’t anybody talking about the goddamn bleakness that swallows you whole and spits you out over and over and over again or the emptiness that grows inside of you while you’re at the same time so fucking full of rage and sadness and hatred and despair that you feel as if you’re gonna combust?

Grief is just a fucking word and not a concept that can be neatly split into stages. Grief is all of these things and so much more. It’s numbing, enraging, maddening; a black hole sucking in every spark of joy, determination, hope.

And Thor’s grief isn’t at all like his mother’s grief, he realized, and that’s not only because she’s still in denial. People grieve differently and even if he tried to put his feelings into words, Frigga wouldn’t understand his grief because his grief is unique in all its corrosive glory.

Sometimes, the only thing that helps him feel something is junk food. Tons of junk food that he wolfs down until he is so full he’s sure his stomach is gonna burst because only when his stuffed gut presses against his lungs and makes him wheeze, he feels something that isn’t related to mourning the loss of his baby brother.

Which is why Thor finds himself in the kitchen yet again, mechanically putting slice upon slice of cheese onto slice upon slice of toast because Frigga isn’t there to call him out on it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, son?” Odin barks, startling him out of his daze. His old man doesn’t sound overly mean (at least not yet or right now); he just barks it casually because that’s what his voice sounds like when he, well, talks.

“Making myself a snack?” Thor asks back and pointedly loads another grilled cheese sandwich onto the growing pile on his plate. He kinda forgot that his Dad returned from Norway but that can’t be helped now.

“A snack?! That’s not a snack.” Odin squints at him like he’d squint at a mosquito buzzing him awake in the middle of the night when Thor makes the effort to glance up at his father. “That’s eight slices of toast drenched in fat. How do you expect to get back in shape if you stuff yourself full of junk crap? I can’t believe you’d do this to your body.”

“It’ll be months until I can play again, Dad,” Thor grumbles. “Relax.”

“You’re going to school on a full athletic scholarship,” Odin reminds him grimly, his voice carrying an unspoken threat, and yanks the plate out of Thor’s hands. “Act accordingly!”

“Who do you think you are telling me what to eat?” Thor growls. “I’m no longer five.”

“No?” Odin barks a laugh. And this time, it does sound mean. “Then why are you acting like a goddamn child?”

“Fuck you. Just give me that,” snaps Thor.

“No.” Odin turns around, opens the garbage disposal with his foot and unceremoniously wipes the sandwiches into it with the back of his hand. “I’m not gonna stand by and watch you gorge yourself into a stupor! Where are your self-discipline and self-control, hm?”

His fucking self-discipline? Really?

“Look, I only wants what’s best for you, son,” Odin backpedals. “As your father—”

“My father? Don’t you dare give me that crap talk right now,” Thor cuts in a roar because another thing that helps is a good old fucking fight. “You drove Loki out of the house and then you just fucked off and left me wasting away in the hospital! What makes you think I’m still gonna listen to you, Dad? Your fucking concern or whatever this is means nothing to me because you’re a fucking train wreck of a father!”

Odin slaps him across the cheek. “I know you’re grieving but as long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll show me some respect,” he hollers.

The way Thor’s flesh stings is almost invigorating.

He slaps back.

He laughs and says, “Only if you start showing me some respect!”

“I would if you weren’t acting like a brat,” Odin grunts, rubbing his cheek where Thor’s blow landed. His father’s pale skin is bright red.

“And did you ever ask yourself why?” Thor bellows and shoves his father. Hard. “Just once?”

Odin shoves him back. “You stop this right now, boy.”

“Or what?” cackles Thor and shoves him again because a live punching bag just feels so much better than an inanimate thing filled with grains. “If you keep coming at me, who do you think will win?”

Something flickers across his father’s face then. It’s nothing he ever saw before. After a few seconds, Odin bites his lip and takes two steps back. “You’re not yourself, son,” gasps he and holds up his hands, palm facing forward. “You’re angry.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“So are you,” Thor grinds out.

“I know.” Odin takes a deep breath. Gathers his wits back together, it seems. “Look, why don’t we, uh, just talk about why we’re so angry for a change? I’m sure your mother would appreciate it if we left her kitchen alone this time.”

Chapter Text

January 2020

Loki lies on his side on the couch in the living room, knees pulled up almost all the way to his chin, and moans softly in his sleep, his face half-buried in the stuffed elephant he brought home from Los Angeles. The sight of Loki (a haunted ghost of him really) living with them again, however briefly, is quite surreal after having spent weeks sharing the house with the weighty, invisible presence of Thor’s grief that spurred on his appetite and his anger (and almost ignited a fistfight between them once).

How small he looks, marvels Odin, shoving the reminder of their tempers away. Loki grew at least two inches during the time he was ‘missing’, standing almost as tall as Thor now. It should be impossible for him to curl in on himself like this and make himself look so young.

A memory of Hela in her hospital bed begins to unfurl its petals but Odin stomps on the delicate flower before his guilty conscience can blossom. He sits down on the edge of the sofa, searching for the National Law Review in the stack of magazines under the table.

Loki murmurs something that sounds like ‘Ma’o’kih’ (or something; a name perhaps), and a shiver runs through him.

“Hey,” Odin says and puts a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

Loki spasms and rolls around, pressing his forehead against Odin’s thigh, mumbling something else, followed by a faint whimper.

It is then that Odin smells the liquor on his breath. His gaze flits over to the liquor cabinet, landing on a decanter of scotch he filled up the previous night. It’s near empty now and Odin’s anger stirs unbidden. Why does this boy always have to bring trouble upon himself? Why can’t he just stop sabotaging his own health? Why can’t he just listen for once instead of making things worse for everyone and worrying his poor mother half to death?

Loki mewls and puts his head on Odin’s lap.

The unexpected touch startles him and, for a second, he seems to have forgotten what to do with his hands.

“You’re having a nightmare,” Odin says as soon as he gathered his wits back together and shakes Loki’s shoulder again. “Wake up.”

Loki’s head snaps up and he scrambles into a sitting-position. “Where am I?” he slurs.

“Home,” Odin replies and, as he watches Loki’s gaze, unfocused and dull, search the room and realizes how drunk he is, his nose wrinkles on its own accord. He can’t help it. It shouldn’t but it disgusts him and it angers him, and it makes him want to grab this kid and shake him until he stops harming himself.

Loki rakes his fingers through his hair and inhales shakily. His hand is trembling.

“You’re wasted,” Odin says, his anger swelling to a tsunami that sweeps him off his feet and swirls him around until every last bit of perspective is skewed.

“So?” Loki presses the elephant (a gift from Hela) to his chest. “How else am I supposed to fall asleep?”

Memories spin around Odin in the colossal wave. Hela, fourteen years old and drugged to her eyeballs, whirling a tiny, squealing Thor through the air, her pupils like pinpricks. Hela shouting at Odin, her spit flying everywhere, her arms flailing. Hela in her hospital bed, her body ravaged by opioids and cancer. Her letter. I have no excuse. Drugs were always more important to me than people. Drugs, always the goddamn drugs, the goddamn booze, and now the cutting too. Can anyone imagine how hard it is to have to watch your children destroy themselves? How impossible it is to accept that they won’t let you help and force you to just stand idly by while they numb themselves and drive blades into their flesh?

Odin can’t.

He won’t.

He—

“We had a deal,” blusters he. “No self-destructive behaviors or you’ll go back—”

“Forget it!” Loki shakes his head. “I won’t go back to a place where they tie me up, Dad!” His voice breaks and tears pool into his eyes. He hiccups and wipes them away.

He looks so pitiful.

“Perhaps you should have thought about that before you got drunk.”

Pitiful or no, he sticks out his chin and threatens, “If you send me back, I’ll kill myself.”

Kill hims...

After Hela just asked him to help her commit suic...

After Odin saw the injuries, read Loki’s medical file ...

Not to mention that he heard rumors about what Thanos is capable of ...

After all Loki survived, he’s now threatening to ...

Odin’s vision explodes in crimson sparks and his hand flips forward before he can hold it back, slapping against Loki’s cheek with a loud smack. “Don’t you dare say something like that ever again! Or do you want to break your mother’s heart? And what of Thor? Do you ever think how your actions impact any of us?”

(( Hypocrite .))

Odin breathes out and guilt chokes him up as he watches the tears spill out of Loki’s eyes and down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ...”

((We swore we’d never harm our children. What the hell happened to you over there, brother? What could possibly justify—))

Loki rubs his reddened cheek with the elephant’s ear and bites his lip.

“We just ... we’re trying to stop you from sabotaging yourself,” Odin tries a bit more gently and the bitter irony that he just hurt Loki to make him stop hurting himself is not entirely lost on him. “It drives us insane to watch you like this. And I just don’t understand. You witnessed how this stuff brutally cut short Hela’s life. Do you really want to end up like her?”

Do you truly want to die, won’t travel across his lips because how does a parent ...

Gruesome images flood Odin’s mind then.

Loki dead in the gutter, a needle sticking out of his arm.

Loki turning tricks in a dark alley.

Loki lying on a table in the morgue, his chest cut open.

How dare he threaten them—

Loki lowers his head but says nothing.

“I’m trying to talk to you,” fumes Odin.

Loki shakes his head and mouthes a toneless ‘no’.

Ugggh, this boy.

“Is everything alright?” Frigga asks as she appears in the living room area with a towel wrapped around her hair.

Odin simultaneously feels relief that he can finally hand the reins over and dread because she caught him in the act.

Or didn’t she?

He isn’t quite certain.

Frigga’s face is grim, her expression unforgiving.

Loki nods wordlessly and smiles at his mother before focusing his attention on the garden magazine that now lies atop the stack. Odin pats his leg, grabs the magazine he came for and flees.

Or tries to.

Frigga doesn’t let him off the hook so easily. She hisses his name and positions herself between him and the hallway, making him feel like a worm for having laid hands on his children again. “What happened?”

Odin shrugs. “How am I supposed to know? I was in my office until ten minutes ago. When I came into the room, he had a nightmare.” Lying with the truth has become second nature over the years but somewhere along the way, all the dishonesty regarding his own parental failures left him feeling no small amount of awful about himself.

He lowers his voice and gestures towards the liquor cabinet. “He helped himself to some scotch though and was a bit disoriented when I woke him up,” rolls off his tongue with accursed ease despite his best intentions. “I’ll go look for a lock to put on this thing.”

That said, he excuses himself and hurries back into his office.

Chapter Text

January 2020

Three days to Loki’s admission to the treatment center

It has been a rough couple of days for all of them since Loki’s release from the psychiatric care unit and Frigga is hyperaware of her son’s every movement. They have a deal—if he harms himself again and they find themselves unable to stop him or help him through it, they will admit him again to ensure his safety—but Loki isn’t hurting and punishing himself like he used to. He does it in more subtle ways; ways that do not present themselves as obvious cases of self-mutilation at first glance and certainly don’t pose an immediate danger to his health.

But still, more often than not, Frigga catches herself religiously monitoring her boy’s every step—and if she allowed herself to dwell on it for a bit, she might be able to admit to herself just how ridiculously overprotective her behavior is—and not letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. Rationally, Frigga knows that her son isn’t a child anymore except when he regresses and that she’s probably doing him a disservice by hovering over him as if he were still a toddler but, emotionally, she finds herself unable to take a step back because he went through enough pain and she doesn’t want anyone else to ever hurt him again.

Least of all himself.

Which, on some days, proves unavoidable even despite her best efforts.

They’re alone in the house at the moment, with Thor out for a run and Odin having retreated to the firm in the morning, and she just got off the phone with Maria Stark. Despite her own struggles with Tony, the other woman was such a great help and a constant source of emotional support during Thor’s time in the hospital that Frigga simply didn’t have the heart to cut her short when she called. When she returns to the living room, she finds Loki in front of his father’s liquor cabinet. They put a lock on it but, evidently, he figured out a way to unlock it without a key and is currently in the process of chugging scotch straight from one of the decanters.

Before Frigga can come up with something that interrupts his recent attempt to numb himself without sounding too accusatory or just plain afraid—what do other mothers say in such situations and how do they cope, she sometimes wonders—he becomes aware of her presence and turns around.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ll put it back. See?” He places the decanter back into the cabinet and gently closes the door before he tiptoes back to the couch and collapses headfirst into the pillows he arranged there earlier this morning.

“Loki,” Frigga all but sobs.

“I’m okay,” he says, words muffled by the fabric. “Please, don’t ... I’ll be okay.”

Seeing him in such pain and remembering the scars on his body, remembering Hela’s instruction to do a rape-kit (which came back negative but still), Frigga’s heart breaks all over again. Sometimes, she isn’t sure how it is still beating.

A shiver runs through Loki’s body. “Mom?” he squeaks.

“Yes?”

“I’m so cold. Can you sit with me?”

“Of course, my darling.” Frigga crosses the living room in three large strides and sits down beside him. He rests his head in her lap and she pulls the blanket over his trembling body, rubbing his back to warm him up.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t adopt a healthier baby,” Loki whimpers. “I swear I don’t mean to be such a burden.”

“Hey, hey, you’re not a burden, my love,” Frigga shushes and begins to card her fingers through his hair. “You mean the world to me, Loki. I love you more than anything and I wouldn’t ever trade you for a healthier child, do you hear me? We’ll get through this as a family and every minute of this battle will be worth it because you are worth it. I wouldn’t want it any other way if that meant having another son instead of you.”

“Do you think I’ll ever get better?” Loki mewls against her.

“Of course,” Frigga assures him even if, right this minute, it appears very unlikely that he’ll ever be in less pain. “Dr. van Dyne is an excellent therapist. She’s been great so far. She even came to our house to check in on you when she wouldn’t have had to. I have faith in her and you did trust her too, didn’t you? I’m sure you’ll work well together.”

“But I don’t wanna leave again so soon,” Loki sobs.

“I know but it’s necessary, honey. And I’ll come with you. You won’t be alone down there. The apartment I found is just twenty-six minutes away from the treatment center, okay?”

“But I’m so scared,” he blubbers. “What if they can’t help me?”

“They can and they will, I promise you that,” Frigga soothes. “A few months from now, you’ll be doing much better.”

Loki draws a trembling breath. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” she says, reassuring them both.

“Can you sing to me?” Loki asks, his voice a shy wisp.

“Of course,” Frigga murmurs and starts chanting one of his favorite Norwegian lullabies. Within moments, whether it’s because of the alcohol he downed or the comfort of her voice or both, Loki drifts off to sleep.

And Frigga stays right where she is.

She doesn’t even get up when Thor clamors back into the house.

Chapter Text

February 2020

About a month into treatment

“Mindfulness starts with observation,” the DBT instructor drawls, the sound of his voice like thorns pricking the delicate flesh of Loki’s eardrums. “It’s one of the six core skills and helps us to pay attention to our surroundings and ourselves.”

Loki sucks in a breath, biting back a scream because this is fucking ridiculous.

“Now, let’s start with a simple exercise, alright? I want you to look outside the window,” continues the guy, “and fix your eyes on that tree over there. Become fully aware of it, of its leaves, how they move in the breeze, the texture of its trunk, anything really, but pay attention.”

Loki snorts a rogue laugh through his nose because seriously? Is there even a point to this esoteric, nonsensical, hipster-y bullshit?

“Do you have something to say to the group?” The instructor looks at him with something that closely resembles pity, which makes Loki fume even more.

“I’m sure my mother would be thrilled if she found out that she’s paying thousands of dollars a month just so I can look at a goddamn tree,” Loki snarks and earns a few glances from the other patients. He doesn’t care. He is dangerously close to vibrating out of his own skin by now because these people are supposed to fucking help him and not waste his goddamn time on practicing meditation and shit like fucking mindfulness. Who in their right mind would want to be mindful if they’re miserable and lost and alone and in fucking pain? There’s nothing Loki wants to become fully aware of, not his fucking emotions and certainly not a stupid, lame ass tree! “I mean, what is this? Preschool?”

“As I said, the tree’s just practice,” says the instructor, unfazed by Loki’s attitude. “Our ultimate goal is to be mindful of our emotions and of other people’s emotions, so we can improve our relationships and minimize interpersonal conflict.”

Loki huffs.

“Now, focus on the tree.” He softens his voice. “Please.”

It’s a bloody fucking cypress, Loki wants to scream but bites it back. Native to the southwestern United States if he’s not mistaken, about forty-five feet tall, with a spread of maybe twenty feet and gray-green with a tinge of teal in color and, look, he’s suddenly fucking cured of all his problems. He doesn’t say any of that. What he says is, “It’s a conifer. Their defining characteristic is that they don’t have leaves we can focus on.”

Which elicits a chuckle from two women and finally ruffles the instructor’s feathers a little.

Loki curls his lips into a smirk and if you’re convinced by now that he is very determined to make this guy hate him, you’re absolutely right because his DBT baloney is an insult to Loki’s intelligence and he just wants to go the fuck home.

Chapter Text

February 2020

Sorting through some boxes in her Phoenix home, Frigga finds her diaries from when Thor and Loki were little. She was looking for some old photos to dust off and maybe reframe but she foregoes this task in favor of sitting down on the floor amidst the clutter, crossing her legs and flipping through the pages for a few hours, losing herself in the memories.

Thor’s first word at eight months, his first attempts at crawling at nine months, his first steps at thirteen months. The first time they gave him ice cream and he scrunched up his little face. Their visit to the ER when he was two because he jumped off the couch table before anyone could stop him and splintered his ankle. His first day in the kindergarten. His first swimming lesson.

She flips forward but the older Thor got, the less time she apparently found for these entries because raising that rambunctious boy was a full-time job that had her fall asleep as soon as her head touched the mattress.

Sometimes, she lingers over an entry and strokes the pages as if it could bring her back to these simpler times.

21^st of September, 2002

Out of nowhere, Thor asked me if there was a ‘front sea’. I asked him what he meant but he just repeated the question several times. Eventually, I said ‘No, not to my knowledge’ and asked why he was convinced there should be such a thing. He told me there was ‘a back sea too’, so why wasn’t there a front sea? I needed a moment to understand that he was referring to the black sea. Children’s minds surely work in mysterious ways and it’s a delight.

1^st of March, 2003

Today we told Thor that his first word was ‘dada’. Odin teased that he said his name first because he was his favorite parent but Thor just looked at him and shook his head, looking gravely serious, before he said, “No, daddy. I learned your name first because you’re the oldest.” The unshakable confidence of a toddler’s logic is the most beautiful thing. I love this boy so much.

5^th of May, 2003

Thor and his friend Tony found an injured cat today. We took it to the vet but it was too late. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it had died, so I said the owners had found him and brought him back home. He looked devastated, the poor thing. I asked Odin if we could adopt a cat of our own but he was worried about the furniture. Thor recovered quickly tough and told me he would have only taken the cat because it was sick and needed looking after (he has a heart of gold, that precious boy). That he’d rather have a dog anyways. He said he’d call him ‘Spencer’. Odin told him he can have a dog when he’s old enough to walk him every morning before school. I don’t see that ever happening.

Just as she predicted, it never did.

At first, she is surprised that she never wrote about finding Loki but, then again, she knows now that she herself suffered trauma that day. There are few entries from when Loki was an infant but not many because, by that time, she had two boys to care for and not a single second of free time to herself.

6^th of January, 2004

Today, Thor tried to wipe Loki’s nose with the sleeve of his shirt. He was way too fierce and made his brother cry but it truly astonishes me how observant he is when it comes to his baby brother’s needs. The other day, there was a thunderstorm.

Oh, Frigga remembers that night very clearly and, suddenly, she finds herself thrown back into that moment as if no time had passed at all.

It was a coldish night after a few unnaturally warm days, just before New Year’s Eve. The storm started around two in the morning, with a few distant rumbles at first that quickly turned into the ferocious beating of a thousand drums, with lightning blasts in quick succession illuminating the room in a ghostly white light.

Loki screamed from the bottom of his little soul, his green eyes wide awake in terror, and eventually she walked downstairs with him when Odin wouldn’t stop huffing and grumbling in his half-sleep. She rocked him, shushed him, but Loki did not stop bawling.

“Mommy?” Thor asked in a thin voice.

“Hey, honey, are you scared too?” asked Frigga, patting the mattress of the guestroom bed. “Come here.”

“I heard Loki cry,” said Thor.

“Yeah, he’s scared, the poor thing. Come here.”

Thor snuggled up to her, reaching for Loki’s tiny fingers. “Is that the first time he hears thunder?” he asked.

Frigga hadn’t even thought about that but it might have been very well be the case and she was, once again, astonished at her boy’s perceptiveness. “Yeah, probably. What about you? Are you scared too?”

“I’m the big brother,” he told her, oh so very proud of himself. “I’m not scared anymore. Daddy said the gods are bowling in the sky when it thunders and the lightning comes when they knock down all the pins because they celebrate.”

“Your father is very wise,” said Frigga even if she would’ve probably tried to explain the truth to him.

“Do you hear that,” whispered Thor, playing with Loki’s infant fingers. “The gods are having fun. You don’t need to cry, baby. Don’t cry, baby.”

Frigga no longer remembers how or when they eventually managed to fall asleep. What she does remember is how Thor woke her up by enthusiastically shaking her shoulders after what felt like only a few minutes of rest to announce that the storm had passed. The clock read five a.m.

“Thank you for telling me that,” mumbled Frigga drowsily. “Do you think you can go back to sleep for a bit longer?”

He shook his head. “I’m gonna make breakfast for myself.”

“Honey, you can’t make breakfast for yourself yet.”

“I can,” he objected and leaped out of bed.

Frigga struggled to wake up and Loki started mewling in his sleep as soon as she put him down and cushioned him with a few pillows, the soft noise evolving into ugly bawling as she dare to walk through the door. When she reached the kitchen, Thor had already retrieved the peanut butter jar from the counter with the help of a chair and was helping himself to the creamy substance with his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Frigga asked, unable to bite back a chuckle.

“Eating breakfast,” he informed her around a mouth full.

“Honey, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar is not breakfast,” she told him, laughing. “Come here. I’ll make you something else.”

It’s odd, Frigga thinks now, how she sometimes alternates between yearning for these simpler, seemingly happier times and being grateful that she no longer has to parent two little children.

She continues to leave through the pages.

24^th of February, 2004

I think Loki said his first word today when he called his brother ‘Toh’. I can’t be sure since he’s only four months old but the nurses did tell me he was very astute and intelligent. If it is true though, neither of my boys said ‘mama’ first. It’s probably not saying anything about their love for me but I can’t deny that I was a little disappointed.

There are a few more entries when Loki got a little older.

His first clear word at five months (and yes, it was his brother’s name but mama came shortly after, thank you very much), his first attempts at crawling at six months, his first steps at ten months.

15^th of August, 2004

Loki started walking today. Out of nowhere?! I saw him trying to pull himself up by the furniture a few times before but today, he just started running after Thor when his brother shot out of the room. He made it a few steps before he swayed and fell (and cried), which means it’s time to start babyproofing the entire house again, which I’m not looking forward to, but I am too happy and too relieved to be bothered by it. There were many things to be worried about when we brought Loki home but the love my boys have for each other is heartwarming and even Odin admitted that he was wrong about Loki’s development having been impaired by drugs.

She continues to read, sifting through two years’ worth of occasional entries mainly detailing Loki’s rapid speech development and his first attempts at reading, which still astonish her.

12^th of February, 2006

Today, Loki announced that he was going to be president one day. Thor told him he couldn’t because he isn’t old and wrinkled. Unfortunately, I’d just taken a sip of water. The boys broke out giggling when I snorted it out through my nose and didn’t stop for a good ten minutes.

15^th of June, 2006

Today was one of the days Thor made a big thing out of having to finish his veggies at dinner. Loki turned all pensive all of a sudden and asked me, in a very solemn voice, if veggies have feelings and if they get sad when Thor doesn’t want them. Thor laughed and said he was a baby if he believed that veggies could have feelings because they don’t have a heart and “you can only have feelings when you have a heart.”

“But mama wraps the salad up in a blanket sometimes,” said Loki.

As soon as my heart stopped melting, I had to tell him that, no, it isn’t a blanket but a wet towel I use so the salad won’t wilt as quickly.

Loki insisted that flowers wilt when they are sad. “It says so in my books, Thor.”

Thor did finish his veggies then, if only to make the forlorn expression vanish from his brother’s face.

Those two love each other so much; it’s more than I could have ever hoped for when I brought Loki home.

It’s the last page of this particular diary and Frigga closes the book tentatively, placing her hand on the cover.

It’s such a tragedy, she thinks, wiping away a stray tear, that they have lost the ability to express their love for one another unguardedly along the way even if everyone, including their therapists, knows it is still as strong as it was when they were little.

Chapter Text

March 2020

About two months into treatment

Loki’s nightmares are never easy to endure because whose mother’s heart would not shatter a tiny bit each time she had to witness such gruesome memories torment her child but this one sends a particularly nasty chill down Frigga’s spine. He’s squirming under the blanket he’s kicked halfway down his waist, throwing his head from one side to the other, murmuring the name of his abuser over and over again.

Thanos.

She shouldn’t have, she knows this, but Frigga researched everything she could about the drug lord who she’d presumed to be an urban legend until Hela told her he’d been very much real and what she found made her renounce coffee for a week because her upset stomach couldn’t handle it.  

“Thanos,” moans Loki.

“Hey, you’re dreaming,” shushes Frigga, her stomach in her throat. She pulls the blanket back up and rubs his arms. “It’s just a dream.”

“Thanos.”

“No, he isn’t here,” Frigga soothes, gently shaking his shoulder. “You’re having a nightmare, baby. You’re safe here, with me. You can wake up.”

Loki groans, then whimpers.

“Hey, wake up,” Frigga urges because she can’t take any more of this. She jolts her son. “You have to wake up, okay?”

“Mom?” Loki’s eyes snap open and he sits up, panting. His eyes flit across the room. “Where’s Thanos?”

“He’s not here,” Frigga assures him in a brittle voice, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. “You’re safe.”

“But ...” Loki gulps and his lips quiver. “Where is he? Where am I?”

“Honey, you’re in my new apartment and he is dead,” Frigga reminds him and cups his cheek. He bursts into tears. “Hela shot him. Thanos is dead.”

Loki throws his trembling body into her arms and starts bawling. “W-why does everyone a-always have to leave me?”

“Leave you?” Frigga repeats. A bomb filled with particles of terror and disgust crashlands in the pit of her stomach and squeezes against all her vital organs, threatening to explode inside of her. She rubs her boy’s back almost on autopilot. “What do you mean leave you?”

Loki only whimpers in response and then slowly cries himself back to sleep while Frigga’s brain zealously builds a wall around the fact that her sweet child has formed an emotional attachment to the man who held him captive to the point where he’s crying out to him in sleep and apparently mourns his death.

“Gimme som’thin’,” Loki moans against her chest, clinging tight, “to ... ta’e the ... edge off ... jus’ a lil somethin’ ... Please.”

Of course, thinks Frigga.

It’s not the man himself her son mourns. It’s the drugs he gave him; the drugs that numbed his aches and took away his pain.

How could she, even for one fraction of a second, assume otherwise?

Chapter Text

April 2020

Frigga doesn’t realize she has started singing along to the pop song out loud while doing the dishes but the lyrics are truly stimulating.

No damsel in distress, don’t need to save me
Once I start breathin’ fire, you can’t tame me
And you might think I’m weak without a sword
But I’m stronger than I ever was before

If all of the kings had their queens on the throne
We would pop champagne and raise a toast
To all of the queens who are fighting alone
Baby, you’re not dancin’ on your own

In chess, the king can move one space at a time
But queens are free to go wherever they like
You get too close, you’ll get a royalty high
So breathe it in to feel the love

She swings around and sees Thor lurking in the doorway with his arms crossed and an expression of astonishment stamped across his face.

She harrumphs, feeling slightly foolish as she lowers the dish scrubber she misappropriated as a microphone. “Why are you looking at me as if I were an alien? Can’t I sing and dance a little in my own kitchen?”

“Of course you can. It’s just ...” Thor’s eyes are wide open, his lips stand slightly apart. “I just realized that you’re, like, a human being.”

A spark of mischievous humor catches fire in her chest. “Well, I’m not sure if I should be worried that my own flesh and blood, whom I carried in my womb for nine months, pushed out of my vagina in great pain and then breastfed for two years, was oblivious of that fact until now. Should I?”

“Ew,” says Thor and scrunches up his nose. “Did you really have to make it all awkward and disgusting by talking about your ... Gah.”

Her son is a rock most of the time, except when he is caught unawares. In those rare cases, he is cute and embarrassed, squirming like a fish on a hook. “Did you really just say ‘ew’ because I mentioned my private parts? I hope you never called any of your ex-girlfriends’ vaginas disgusting.”

“Mom!” howls Thor. He is deep red now. “Of course not.”

She bats her eyelashes at him. “Really?”

“During their period maybe? I d-don’t remember and why are we e-even talking about this?” blusters Thor. “You’re my mom. I don’t want to hear about these ... things.”

“These things?” Frigga echoes, enjoying herself a little too much. “You are a good person at heart but, growing up with your father, you have internalized a few toxic ideas about womanhood and you’d better listen to me and let me educate you before you put your foot in it with another girl by calling her period disgusting, alright? You wouldn’t even exist if women didn’t menstruate, my dear boy. Do you think it’s fair to us to call what gave you life disgusting?”

“Oh come on, mom. You find your period disgusting, don’t you? Every girl is, like, grossed out by it. The ones I met at least.”

“And guess what?” chuckles Frigga. “The only reason we’re grossed out by it is because our culture teaches us from a very early age that our period is something to be ashamed of, something that we have to conceal because men find it disgusting. It’s just blood, Thor. You have no problem of tending to your brother’s wounds when he hurts himself even if that is something you had a far less exposure to over the course of your life, right?”

Thor gulps. “Alright, alright. I think I get it.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. It’s like when Loki calls himself disgusting and he is kinda allowed to because he belongs to the group of mentally ill people. I donʼt get to speak on or or joke about self-harm because I have no clue, so maybe I should shut up about periods too because I don’t have them either.”

Frigga smiles and pinches his cheek. “And here your baby brother keeps insisting you aren’t smart. I’m so proud of you, you know that? And I love you. Damn. How could I make something so beautiful?”

“Gosh, Mom!” whines Thor. He jerks away but can’t stifle a hearty chuckle. “You’re literally the worst when you’re in a good mood!”

“What were you going to say earlier?” asks Frigga when the rush of silliness ebbs away. “What made you realize that I am a human being?”

“I don’t know, like, I guess I never really saw you as a person?” Thor asks, his cheeks flushing again. “Geez, I am bad at this, aren’t I?”

“Outright terrible,” confirms Frigga.

“What I mean is you were always just my mom to me. But I just realized, not just give it a fleeting thought, that you had a life before we were born. You’re not just our mother. You and dad probably went out dancing and stuff.”

“A couple of hundred years ago, we did, yes,” sighs Frigga.

Thor chuckles. “Did he ask you out?”

“He did.” Frigga loses herself in the memory for a moment and feels a melancholic smile stealing onto her lips. “Your father was a different man back then. I admired him and he didn’t take advantage of it. He respected me. He was even a little shy when he made his move, a little clumsy. I appreciated that he was afraid of the possibility that I might reject him because he always seemed so sure of himself. I mean, you know your father, so yes ... That, uh, surprised and impressed me a little, which is why I decided to give him a chance.”

“Did you know he was still married?”

“He wasn’t. He didn’t ask me out until after divorcing Angie Davis,” says Frigga. “He even showed me the papers. Hela probably remembered things a little differently but, while your father did fall in love with me immediately according to his own statements, he never cheated on his first wife.”

“You know that he still loves you, right?” Thor asks after a thoughtful pause, a flicker of hope in his sea-blue eyes.

“I do but, honey, it’s over between us,” Frigga says. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up just because I get a little dreamy when I think about how handsome your father was twenty-five years ago, alright? This divorce is final.”

“I know,” sighs Thor.

“Good.”

“Now tell me: Was he really awkward?”

“Oh yes. Let’s sit down on the couch,” beams Frigga. “You’re going to love this story.”

Chapter Text

Summer 2020

Loki has been tense and switchy all afternoon.

Wanda doesn’t know why. He had DBT right after lunch but she long ago stopped prying. They talk often these days and spend a lot of time together discussing books and playing games but even if it gives her a lot of comfort to tell him about the family she lost (he’s as close to his own brother as she was to Pietro—maybe even closer despite the fact that Thor is more than four years older—and she just knows he understands), Loki never really confides anything personal or private in her. Much of what happened to him and his system, she gathered in group therapy or from Leah; who, being the dutiful protector that she is, assured Wanda multiple times that Loki likes her too but doesn’t yet trust people with his secrets.

When they’re out in the yard that particular afternoon though, it isn’t Leah who finally fronts after Loki drifted in and out of consciousness for almost thirty minutes.

Not that Wanda can tell all of the children apart by now, she isn’t even sure Loki can, but Leah knows her and this child, whose panicked eyes are flitting across the area, huge and open and vulnerable, clearly doesn’t and the way he slumps down onto the cobbled stone as if his legs wouldn’t carry him only proves her suspicion.

Wanda crouches down beside the little alter. “Hey,” she murmurs, as softly and unthreateningly as she can; which isn’t exactly easy given where they are but she tries her best. “My name is Wanda.”

The child hides his face in his hands and whimpers.

“I’m a friend of Loki’s and Leah’s.” Wanda carefully puts both her hands on his shoulders. It’s tricky, sometimes, to find the balance between respecting someone’s privacy and personal space and grounding a hurting child alter with a gentle touch. “We’re all in the hospital together. What’s your name?”

He only cries harder.

“Hey, hey,” shushes Wanda. “You can tell me. You’re safe here, I promise.”

“Loptr,” he snivels, face still buried.

“Hello, Loptr, it’s nice to meet you,” coos Wanda. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The child bursts out crying again and clumsily rubs his eyes. “My mommy,” he gurgles. “I want my mommy.”

“Sure,” soothes Wanda. “I take you inside and we can call her together, okay?”

Finally, he looks up, a flicker of hope chasing across his quivering face. “She come here?”

“I don’t know that but I promise you can see her, okay?” Wanda says softly and takes him by the hand, gently leading him into the building on wobbly legs, and heading straight towards the nurses’ lounge, where Ryle Ramirez is sifting through some files. “We need Loki’s phone to call his mother,” she tells him.

Loptr is shaking so badly she can feel his hand vibrate in hers as Ryle hands her the cell with a sympathetic smile. Wanda guides the little guy to the couch where they’ll be alone (it’s a warm, sunny afternoon and those patients who aren’t currently engaged in group activities or therapy are enjoying the sun outside) and gently seats him down.

“I need you to look up for me,” she instructs and holds the phone in front of his face to unlock the screen via facial recognition when he complies.

“Where’s mommy?” Loptr whispers.

“In here,” Wanda says and shakes the phone for emphasis before she facetimes Frigga’s, the boy’s incredulous gaze finally fixed on her.

Loki’s mother is nothing if not dedicated and answers after the first ring. “Hello, my darl—”

“Mommeeeeeeeee,” cuts the child in a high-pitched wail, his hands clumsily reaching for the screen.

“Hi baby,” coos Frigga.

“I’m here with Loptr and he asked for you,” Wanda explains.

“Why you in there?” snivels Loptr and pokes the screen with his index finger, almost disconnecting the call. “You too small. Come oooouut.”

“Oh baby,” sighs Frigga and the heartbreak in her voice is almost palpable. “I can’t come out of this device because I’m not really ... where you are. I’m at my home, sweetie, and you’re in the hospital with the others. But I assure you, you’re safe there and you’re all there to get better, okay? There are very nice people there who can help you.”

Loptr whimpers and burrows into Wanda’s side, seeking her comfort. It feels strange, to be this close to Loki’s body (which she usually only experiences during Leah’s brief, enthusiastic displays of affection) considering that he still has difficulties accepting a simple, friendly hug.

“How about I sing you a song?” Frigga suggests and Loptr nods against Wanda’s shoulder, another quiet sob escaping his mouth.

On the tiny display, his mother smiles and starts chanting in a foreign language that Wanda doesn’t recognize. Within minutes, the child’s lids flutter closed and he starts relaxing against her. By the end of the song, he’s asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” murmurs Frigga. “That can’t be easy and I really appreciate it. I would offer to come over but, by the time I make it, he might not be there anymore and I would probably disrupt—”

“I understand. And you’re welcome,” says Wanda, a little shyly. “I’ll stay with him.”

“I wish I could tell you just how grateful I am that you’re being a friend to my son,” says Frigga, making Wanda blush deep red with embarrassment.

“Having a friend is a new experience for both of us,” she eventually settles on saying. “Loki has helped me too, in a lot of ways. He’s been wonderful to me. I’m gladly returning the favor.”

Frigga’s smile in response to that is so full of motherly warmth that Wanda has to blink back tears of both grief and gratefulness that are pooling into the corners of her eye.

Chapter Text

May 2020

“What are you doing?” asks Loki as he walks into the kitchen. Heʼs pale and lost a bit of weight again recently, his cheeks just this side of looking sunken. Nightmares, he told her. Itʼs a good thing, Mom, he added when he saw her forehead twist into a frown of worry. It means Iʼm processing things.

“I was going to make a cheesecake,” says Frigga because even her teenage son can still be bribed with baked goods on some days.

“Which one?” asks Leah, her eyes glistening with the purerest light of a child’s joy. 

“Definitely not blueberry. If you keep eating so many blueberries you’re gonna turn into one, like Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” chides Loki playfully. “Right, mother dearest? How about caramel instead?”

“I was going for raspberry,” Frigga informs them, already anticipating to be met with some form of resistance.

Loki shakes his head and Leah scrunches up her face. It astonishes Frigga every time that they seem to be moving, and sometimes even speaking, simultaneously; even though how that should be physically, anatomically possible she has no clue. 

“Chocolate chips?” suggests Loki and Leah signals her agreement with an enthusiastic nod.

“Alright,” sighs Frigga and they both smile. “But just because I love you two so much,” she adds, brushing a kiss onto their forehead.

“Can I watch?” asks Leah.

“Sure,” Frigga says. “And, just so you know, you aren’t going to turn into a blueberry, honey," she tacks on. “Loki was just joking.”

“I know,” giggles Leah and Frigga proceeds to show her how to make the batter and the crust, the girl’s eyes never leaving her hands. She is as attentive, curious, intelligent and eager to discover as Loki was when he was her age, leaving little doubt that they were once twins.

“Now that we’re done with this,” she tells Leah after packing the crust tightly into the springform pan, flattening it with the bottom of a small measuring cup, “we’re going to—”

“But you aren’t done, mama,” Leah cuts.

“Of course I am.”

“But it still has cracks,” Leah points out. “It’s not perfect yet.”

“Well, it doesn’t need to be perfect,” says Frigga. “We’ll pour the actual cheesecake over it. Nobody’s going to notice.”

“Can you still make it smooth, please?” asks Leah. “It should be smooth.”

“Nothing is ever perfectly smooth,” Frigga tells her because she suddenly has an inkling that, even if the girl is only four years old, they aren’t exclusively talking about the cake anymore. “Just because something has tiny cracks, it doesn’t mean it isn’t perfect, my darling.”

Leah searches for her eyes, her face in a deep frown. “Why?”

“Because if something has cracks, it’s unique. There isn’t ever going to be anything like it and that makes it perfect and very precious.”

Leah ponders this for a while, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip in deep concentration. “Loki is right. You are very wise,” she says eventually, in an almost solemn whisper, and then darts out of the kitchen like an arrow shot from a bow.

Frigga wipes away a single stray tear of happiness with the back of her thumb, damn near bursting with love.

Chapter Text

Summer 2020

“Hi,” says her neighbor’s seventeen-year-old son when he rings Frigga’s doorbell. “My mom asked me to, uh, return these to you.” He thrusts the bowls she brought to their BBQ the other day into her hand. “She hurt her back.”

“Thanks.”

“Hi. I’m Tyler. You must be Loki,” he says to Leah who is just passing behind Frigga.

The girl flinches, then nods, holding up her elephant. “And this is George.”

Tyler mutters something under his breath as he stares at her. Leah’s shoulders slump and she scurries away.

“Hey,” urges Frigga.

“Shit,” mumbles the boy, slowly averting his gaze. “Did I scare him? My mom didn’t tell me he was, um, retarded.”

According to his own mother, Tyler is a good kid and he seems genuinely upset. But Frigga had a looong day. “Because he is not and even if he were, it’d be none of your business,” she snaps. “But most importantly, ‘retard’ is an ableist insult that is quite offensive and I sincerely hope you will never use the term again.”

He gulps. Hurries out a clipped “Yes, Ma’am” and flees.

Leah has retreated to the couch, her teeth worrying at her lip. “I’m sorry, baby. He—”

“Why do people keep saying this to us?” Leah whimpers, her eyes shiny.

“What?” Frigga sits down beside her, petting her arm. “Who else said that to you?”

Leah gulps. “Hela. She always said we had our ‘retard days’ but she never explained what it means.”

“Oh honey, Hela wasn’t very educated,” sighs Frigga, stroking her cheek, brushing away the tears. “And she wasn’t a nice person. She didn’t figure your condition out. She didn’t know what was going on and she had no right to call you that, okay?”

“But what does it mean?” Leah insists.

“People say that to people who aren’t as developed as people with, uh, healthy brains should be at a certain age,” concedes Frigga and Leah stares at her in utter confusion. “Like, when someone has an intellectual disability and processes things a little slower as other people that are the same age.”

“So, a dumb person,” she concludes.

“No, no, baby,” Frigga insists and reaches for a strand of her hair. They’ve been growing it out for so long it almost reaches their nipples now. “Just a person with a different brain.”

Leah looks utterly wretched, the poor thing. “But people think I’m slow for my age?”

“No, honey. They don’t. They don’t know it’s you. They see Loki and they expect him to act like a teenager and when he doesn’t, they’re confused. That’s why, Janet said, child alters are usually not allowed to front.”

“I want my own body,” cries Leah and throws herself into Frigga’s arms, pressing her face against her aching chest.

An extremely long day. One that doesn’t seem to have any intention of ending any time soon. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, sweetie,” Frigga murmurs into her hair. “I wish I could give you a body.”

“I want to grow up,” howls Leah.

“I think you already are,” Frigga says.

Her head snaps up and a sparkle in her eyes shines through her tears like a ray of sunlight splitting open a clouded sky. “I am?”

“Yes. Every time you front, you learn new things. That is how a person grows.”

The smile on her face is everything. She stretches out her hands and places them on Frigga’s cheeks. “I love you, mama,” she says.

“I love you too, sweet one.”

Chapter Text

Early September 2020

“I asked Mom not to tell you before,” Loki whispers into the warmth wafting off Thor’s naked chest. They’re lying curled up together in bed, and his heart is still hammering from the nightmare he just woke from, shivering and on the verge of tears. “But I relapsed and took some Vicodin a couple of days ago. I ... I just dreamt that you ... were mad at me because I didn’t come to you for help before taking ‘em and you screamed at me and shook me by the shoulders. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” Gulp. “Please tell me you’re not gonna think less of me. I just ... I couldn’t ... ” He trails off.

Inside his chest withers a barren wasteland.

“Oh, squirt,” sighs Thor. “What do you think?”

His throat aches. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

His voice is brittle.

“I’m sorry I treated you like that in the past,” rumbles Thor, his deep voice hoarse from slumber. “That I ever made you afraid of me.”

Why is it so hard to swallow?

“I was a brute and an ignorant douche but I won’t think less of you ever again because of your illness or a relapse or anything what-we-were-raised-to-interpret-as-weakness-related, I swear. You’re fighting this shit every day and it’s okay to stumble sometimes as long as you don’t throw in the towel. And even if you did that, I’d still love you and support you the same, okay Lokes?”

And why can’t he just believe his brother?

“Are you sure,” Loki whimpers.

“Am I sure?” Thor echoes and begins to tickle him, as Frigga did when they were little. “What do you think?”

“No, please.” Loki squeaks his name but his brother shows him no mercy. “Stop it.”

“What. Do. You. Think.”

“Alright, alright,” pants Loki. “You won’t turn your back on me because I’m an addict.”

“Aaaand?”

“You’ll always love me, no matter what. That voice of doubt is just my insecure dumbass BPD brain talking.”

“Ding, ding, ding; correct answer,” Thor praises and brushes a kiss against Loki’s forehead that makes new life sprout across the desolation in his heart. “If it’s okay for you, let’s try to go back to sleep, okay? I have to get up real early tomorrow.”

“Right,” whispers Loki and curls up against those strong, warm muscles. “Good night, brother.”

“Good night, squirt.”

Chapter Text

October 2020

Frigga sighs and waves her phone for emphasis. “Iʼm sorry,” she tells the other woman, whom she only met a few hours ago and whom she shouldnʼt feel so bad about just because she is going to leave the table for a few minutes. “I have to make a quick call.” 

“Is everything alright?” asks Laurel. “You look very worried.” 

Frigga laughs. “That is my default state where my children are concerned, Iʼm afraid. But Iʼm sure itʼs nothing. They just want to hear my voice.” 

“Separation anxiety, huh?” Laurel chuckles. “Weʼve all been there, donʼt worry. Mine got the hang of it in second grade. How old are yours?” 

Frigga glances at the emojis again. 

Sixteen, says her brain.

“Two and four,” says she, which technically isnʼt a lie, right? Right?!

“Awww, such a cute age,” gushes Laurel. “Go ahead and talk to them. Iʼll be fine for a few minutes.” 

Chapter Text

End of July 2020

“Thor?” asks Leah, in a teary voice.

Even though he’s been slouching on a lounge chair in Frigga’s garden after his morning run, eyes closed against the warmth of the sun on his lids, deeply relaxed, he’s on his feet in an instant. “What is it, princess?”

Leah’s lip is quivering, her eyes glued to her bare feet.

“You know you can tell me everything, right?”

“I wet myself,” she whispers eventually. “And the bed.”

“That’s alright, baby. It happens sometimes. It’s not a big deal. Mom’s gonna clean it up later,” Thor assures her instinctively before he remembers the conversation they had a few weeks back. “Or I’m gonna clean it up right now, before Loki fronts and gets embarrassed too. How about that?”

Because he isn’t some chauvinist prick who believes cleaning to be a woman’s job. He isn’t.

“Where is mama?”

“She’s getting eggs for breakfast,” Thor says and reaches for her hand. “Come on, baby.”

Inside, he helps her out of Loki’s soiled pajama bottoms and into the bathtub to rinse her off, and his stomach gives a violent lurch when he sees the deep, ragged scars around the body’s groin.

“What?”

“Nothing,” says Thor. I was just imagining a blade cutting into my fucking balls and owwww. Fucking ow. He doesn’t know if he wants to know whether Loki did that to himself or ... Nope, not going there. He doesn’t even know which would be worse. He tries to distract himself by thinking about how Loki’s female alters feel about having a dick in the first place, about how he’d feel if he suddenly woke up with boobs and a goddamn pussy. He reaches for a towel, rubs the body dry and helps her into a new pair of pants.

When Thor yanks back the bottom sheet, he spots some dark brown splatters in the middle of the yellowish puddle.

Leah’s mouth gapes. “I-is that blood?”

“Yeah,” sighs Thor because it still feels like a blow to the lungs every single time.

Tears spring to Leah’s eyes again and whatever dream she had, it must have been pretty upsetting, for the brave little trooper isn’t usually this easily disturbed. She rolls up her sleeve out of curiosity and reveals three long gashes that have ripped through the scar tissue and are in the early stages of scabbing.

Shit.

They’re deep. They must have bled a lot.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Does it hurt?” asks Thor.

“No, but it itches,” wails Leah. “Why does it itch now? It didn’t itch before.”

“Well, that’s because you know it’s there now,” explains Thor, “so your brain basically has to think about it. Before you saw it, you didn’t know there was something that could itch, so you didn’t notice the itching.”

Leah makes a grimace at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” admits Thor. “But that’s alright. No one fully understands the human brain.”

“Not even Janet?”

“Not even Janet.”

“That can’t be true,” says Leah and her confidence in their therapist puts a smile on Thor’s face. He goes to look for antiseptic ointment in the bathroom. Stuffs the sheets into the laundry basket. Lotions the wounds and bandages them so she won’t scratch her arm.

“Thank you,” whispers Leah, a diffluent, sobbing mess. “For being so nice to me. You’re the best brother.”

“Oh princess, you’re having a really bad day, aren’t you?” asks Thor and his heart breaks for the poor girl.

“And it only just started,” sobs Leah.

“C’mere.” Thor picks her up and cradles her close, which has become a bit more of an effort now that Loki finally put some weight back on the body, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to comfort her. He’ll rock her until his arms go numb if he has to. “I know you’re upset that Loki’s still hurting himself sometimes but that’s how he learned to make himself feel less stressed, less sad, less upset. He might not ever be able to stop entirely, no matter how much better he gets, okay? I know it’s hard, for me too, because we don’t want him to get hurt, but we can’t help other people all the time, with everything. With some things, they’ll have to deal all by themselves.”

“That’s not fair.”

Thor brushes a kiss onto her forehead. “I know. Is there anything else you wanna talk about? Did you have a bad dream?”

She nods.

“Do you wanna tell me about it?”

She opens her mouth but whatever it is she was going to say is swept away by another flood of tears, so Thor just holds her. Rocks her. Kisses her. Until it passes.

For the moment.

But since the little bean is having a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day, she dissolves into a crying bundle once again as soon as Frigga puts her breakfast in front of her and pets her head. “Thank you for always giving me food when I’m hungry,” she snivels.

“Of course, baby,” says their mother, exchanging a glance with Thor.

Where the hell is this coming from?

“But you’re so nice to me,” Leah insists and Thor can guess what she’s been reliving in her dreams.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” asks Frigga.

Leah shrugs, looking so helpless and small. It shouldn’t be possible because it’s still the same body Loki went to bed in looking like a seventeen-year-old boy the previous night but there you have it.

“We’re not even being extra nice,” Thor tells the girl, rubbing her back. “We’re taking care of you and Loki the way a family is supposed to take care of each other. That’s how it should be, okay? The people who were nasty to you, how they treated you, it was wrong and not normal. No one should treat other people that way. You don’t have to be grateful when we help you. You deserve love and care. You deserve a Mom who cooks you nice breakfast and a big brother who makes sure you don’t get hurt. That’s your birthright. Every child should have that.”

That opens the floodgates for real. Leah climbs onto Thor’s lap and holds on for dear life, draped around him like a human octopus.

“Shshshsh, we’re here, princess. We’re here,” whispers Thor as Frigga strokes over both their hair with each of her hands. “We won’t ever leave you with those bad people again, okay? We’re here. We’ve got you, all of you. And we won’t go anywhere.”

Literally.

Because Leah clings to him almost the entire day. Thor doesn’t mind.

Even terrible, horrible, no good very bad days have to come to an end eventually and when Loki fronts during dinner, he locks eyes with Thor and flashes him an exhausted smile. “She was right, you know? You are the best brother.”

Chapter Text

October 2020

“Mommeeeeeeee!”

The high-pitched scream bounces off the walls of his apartment and startles Thor out of an apocalyptic dream so freaking weird that he needs a moment to orient himself in the waking world. Deep breaths; assess the situation. Frigga out of town for a weekend, kid brother on the couch, a not immediately identifiable baby or child alter (neither Leah nor Loki refer to her as ‘mommy’) calling for her. Just another day at the Odinson-Fjörgyndottir office.

You got this.

The little starts bawling his eyes out for real as soon as Thor switches on the light and he spots him looming over the couch.

“Hey,” shushes Thor.

Panic flickers across the kid’s features. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, Thor,” he says and his heart shatters like a plate dropped to the floor. “Loki’s brother. Can I sit?”

“But you’re so big,” howls the child.

“I know, I know,” he gulps. “I grew up while you were inside but we’ve talked to each other before, haven’t we? You’re Loptr, right?”

He nods, vaguely. “B-but,” snivels he, “w-why are you so big?”

“Because my body grew, same as your system’s body did, but you see this?” Thor holds out his left hand, shows him his palm and points to a little, a-little-over-an-inch-long scar at the base of the thumb right above the wrist with his right index finger. “My hands are bigger now but that’s still the same scar. I got it when I was six.” And tried to play baseball for the first time, he doesn’t add, which ended with him hitting a glass decanter on the porch table and trying to help Odin clean up the shards before their mother would notice, and is probably the reason his father encouraged him to get into football instead. “You remember that scar?”

“You can sit,” whispers Loptr.

“Thank you.”

The little guy snuggles up to him instantly. “Where’s mommy?”

Thor cradles him closes. “She’s in Albuquerque, for work.”

“Where’s Ablu ...” Loptr trails off.

“Albuquerque. It’s a weird name, I know. It’s a city in New Mexico. She’ll be back on Sunday evening and pick you up, okay?”

Loptr whimpers.

“Is that alright?” asks Thor. “Or should we call her?”

“Nooo,” the little one protests. “She be locked in a tiny box when you call.”

It takes Thor a moment to make sense of that but eventually he thinks he gets it. “Yeah. It’s not the same. So, should we just try to go back to sleep? I’ll stay here with you if you want.”

“Uh-huh.”

The little shivers in his arms when Thor wraps the blanket around them both and starts singing softly, mostly to soothe himself, it seems. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, R ...” Loptr trails off and starts again. “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P.” He hesitates a bit and continues with, “R, Q, T,” before stopping himself and trying again.

It feels a bit weird to see the kid struggle with something like the alphabet song when Loki was already starting to read at, what, two but Thor joins in anyway and helps him with the rest. “J, K, L, M, N, O, P,” Thor sings. “Q, R, S, T, U and V, W, X, Y and Z. Now you know your ABC. Next time you won’t need to sing with me,” he improvises, all off-key but who cares.

“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P,” Loptr tries again. “Q, R, S, T, U and V, W, X, Y and Z. Now I know my ABC, twenty-six letters for me to see.”

“Hey, great job!” beams Thor.

“I remembered the whole song,” Loptr squeals.

“You did,” Thor whispers against his baby brother’s head and, promptly, his eyes fall shut. “Good night, kiddo.”

Within minutes, they’re both asleep again.

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 7^th, 2020

“Aaaaand here she is,” Loki gushes, leading Wanda into his bedroom, where his kitten is sleeping on his bed, curled up against George’s belly, her nose disappearing into the stuffed animal’s hind legs, its trunk serving as some sort of blanket.

“You were right, she is adorable,” Wanda gasps.

“I know, right? Hey, sleepyhead,” Loki coos and gently massages the kitty’s side. “Wake up. You have a visitor.”

“But,” stammers Wanda, “what if she doesn’t like me?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Loki asks back as Lilah stirs, stretching out her front paws as far as they could possibly go, making her body shiver in the process. “You are one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You’re smart and perceptive and empathetic, and she’ll be delighted to meet you once she’s fully awake. Just wait here. I’ll go get a treat you can give to her.”

Wanda blushes and he winks at her.

When Loki returns from the kitchen with a salmon stick, Lilah has risen to her paws, and is now curiously eying this foreign human creature sitting on their bed. “Here,” says Loki, holding the snack out to Wanda. “She’ll warm up to you if you feed her.” He breaks off a piece and dangles it far enough out of reach that Lilah has to stand up on her hind legs, greedily snatching at it because, you know, they haven’t fed her since she arrived.

He gives the rest of the treat to Wanda and watches her feed the kitten in that shy, adorable way of hers. When the stick is gone, Lilah examines Wanda with her beautiful green eyes.

“And what now?” Wanda asks, daring to pet Lilah’s head.

“We play,” Loki announces and retrieves a long, black shoelace. “This is her favorite toy. She likes her actual cat toys well enough but this one drives her crazy. She’ll chase after it for hours. Watch.” He demonstrates that too, swirling the string around in the air, and Lilah switches to hunting mode almost instantly, trying to grab the inconspicuous item with her claws and her teeth alike, running in circles like a living, breathing spin top.

“Your turn,” Loki says and hands Wanda the lace.

His friend is shy at first but as soon as she realizes that the kitten is truly enjoying the activity, she warms up and she and Lilah bond over the play session.

It’s such a lovely sight, Loki thinks, because Wanda went through so much as a child and watching her unrestrainedly shriek with joy as Lilah pounces on the makeshift cat toy adds at least seven years to his life.

At least it does until the kitten almost wraps the lace around her neck. Wanda tries to take it off of her so she won’t accidentally strangle herself but, out of nowhere, Lilah strikes at her with her claws out.

“Wh-what do I do now?” Wanda asks, her voice slightly panicky.

“You just try to,” Loki begins while trying to withdraw the shoelace himself and getting very close to Lilah’s paws even though she is still poised to attack.

He is promptly rewarded with three scratches on the back of his hand deep enough to bleed.

Wait, what was that?

Rewarded?

Fuck.

The unexpected sting delights Loki far more than it should at this point and he can’t help but wonder, if only briefly, whether the risk of him self-harming by proxy crossed Frigga’s mind when she adopted this feisty little furball. Or whether he could get away with cutting in the future if he told his mother that it was Lilah who scratched him.

He shouldn’t be having these thoughts, Loki knows it, and he’s been doing so well, but mental illness brains can be very stubborn, it seems.

“Hey, are you alright?” Wanda asks.

Loki blinks, trying to drag himself out of the mental pitfall he just maneuvered himself into. “Yeah, I ...” He scans the room and notices that Lilah freed herself without incident and is now watching them expectantly. “Sorry.” He draws a deep breath, caressing the thin, bleeding scratches with the tip of his index finger. “It’s just ...” He trails off.

Wanda takes his hands into hers. “Triggers,” she simply says and pulls him into a hug because neither of them has to explain themselves. Even if Wanda never self-harmed, Loki knows she understands him anyway because he understands her too without having lived through what she’d had to live through.

That’s the beauty of their friendship, really.

They come from very different backgrounds, very different families, and developed very different coping mechanisms to deal with the traumas they endured, but, in the end, they still understand each other, often without words.

“Can I ask ... I mean, it’s probably a stupid question but did you ever suspect?” Wanda asks him when they both pull free after a few moments, her gaze on a family photo showing Frigga hugging her two sons. “That you were adopted?”

“It seems almost kind of foolish now that I never did, doesn’t it?” Loki sighs and tries to see what she must be seeing. Frigga and Thor, with their sparkling blue eyes and their blond, almost golden hair, posing next to a pale-skinned and raven-haired Loki with his green eyes and much sharper cheekbones than he ever saw on anyone else.

“Well, that depends on how your fa—your adoptive father looks like,” Wanda says, scanning the photos for a glimpse of him but Frigga was very thorough when she chose the pictures she put on display.

“Like the guy who plays Hannibal Lecter,” Loki tells her, which makes her laugh. Usually, the sound of her laugh fills him with warmth but in this case, well, it kind of stings. “I’m actually serious. He does look like that but, at the same time, he looks like Thor in old; which shouldn’t be possible but ...” Loki shrugs the rest.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Wanda. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s alright,” Loki says even though it isn’t while, at the same time, it actually kind of is. Wild. “I, uh, I’m trying to make my peace with it. It’ll probably take me a while but I feel like I’m getting there, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Wanda and Loki knows that she does.

“She isn’t done though,” Loki laughs when Lilah meows at them. “She can play with this aaaall day.”

“You’re kidding,” Wanda giggles.

“I really am not,” says Loki and picks up the lace again. “Just watch.”

Chapter Text

November 2020

“Hey, Mom?” Thor asks as he flops down next to her on the couch, a smirk on his lips as he whips out his phone.

“Yes?” Frigga asks back, slightly unsettled by the mischief gleaming brightly in her son’s eyes.

Thor swipes the screen. “You really wanna know why I told you it was creepy when you said ‘mother knows best’ the other day?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“Check this out,” Thor beams and hands his phone over, showing her a video from the animated Rapunzel movie in which the sorceress sings to the imprisoned princess from the shadows, insulting her while trying to coerce her into staying.

“Okay, okay.” Frigga grimaces, gently shoving her son’s hand away. “I won’t ever say it again.”

“Mother understands,” Thor repeats with a wink, breaking into song, “mother’s here to help you.”

“Stop it.”

“Mother’s right here,” her son continues in a singing voice imitating a growling beast, “mother will protect you.”

“Shut up,” laughs Frigga and playfully punches his biceps.

“Mother knows best, take it from your mumsy, on your own you won’t surviiiiiive,” Thor teases, startling Lilah out of her nap with his rumbling baritone.

Frigga shakes her head with a grin because she knows she couldn’t stop him from teasing her if she tried and silently endures it, all the while pondering over what terrible songs sometimes make it into movies with children as the primary target audience.

Chapter Text

Late November 2020

For a few moments, Frigga’s subconscious interprets the scream as a part of her nightmare because it fits eerily well with the catastrophic, borderline apocalyptic scenario her mind has woven together in dream. She jerks from one side to the other, sweat chilling her forehead, but then she wakes with a sudden start, heart pounding, vision blurred by sleep.

The screams haven’t stopped though.

“Mamaaaaaaaa!”

They’re coming from the next room.

“Mamaaaaaa, heeeeelp!”

Frigga’s eyes snap open and she scrambles out of bed, almost tripping over Lilah in the dark hallway. The kitten, who must have fled from Loki’s room because of the noise, makes a sound at her that is half-growl, half-hiss. She hastily pets her head before switching on the light. “Loki?”

“Heeeeelp!”

He’s still asleep, writhing beneath the sheets, his facial expression looking as though it has been frozen in a grimace of pain. “Baby?” Frigga asks and sits down beside him, her heat still beating out of her chest as she gently cups his face in her hands. “Can you hear me? I’m here. You can wake up now. You’re safe.”

Loki’s lids flutter open but that doesn’t stop the crying. “Mamaaaaa,” he hiccups and she cradles him close, realizing then that it must be one of the children because her son doesn’t call her that when he’s awake. He never did. He wouldn’t. Unless ...   

“Hey, I’m here, baby,” she shushes. “I’m here.”

Her son is a sobbing, mewling bundle, clinging tight.

“I’m here,” Frigga whispers into his hair, holding him, rocking him. There was a time when she might have crumbled in the face of an episode as devastating as this but she learned to be stronger for her son. She has mental resources she can draw on now. “You had a bad dream, sweetie. You’re awake now.”

More unintelligible mewling, spluttering sounds.

He wouldn’t. Unless ...

“I’m here.”

“But,” the child blubbers, followed by more incoherent babbling. His breath is erratic, like shots fired from an automatic gun.

“Sshshhsshshsh,” coos Frigga. “I know you’re scared right now but I am here, okay? I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Here,” comes out between two sobs; followed by something, well, unintelligible. Again.

“Yes, I’m here,” repeats Frigga. “And you can tell me what bothers you. You can tell me what you’re afraid of. I can help.”

He mewls again, trembling inside her embrace.

“I’m here for you, baby,” Frigga soothes even though a part of her still somewhat sleep-befuddled brain realizes that her reassurance isn’t enough. Not this time. “What are you afraid of?”

The answer comes slowly, almost lost among the sobs and the hectic breaths and the hiccups. “No ... want ... Daddy ... come home ...”

Unless ... he were having a flashback.

And that?

That ...

Even if she wanted to, Frigga couldn’t even begin to describe what the realization does to her body. It fills her stomach with acid, that’s for sure, and threatens to drown her in the toxic wastewaters of guilt. How could she ...

No, that is not what is important right now.

Get a grip.

“Baby, look at me,” Frigga murmurs, her breath hitching. She cups Loki’s (?) chin and gently maneuvers him out of her embrace, so she can look him in the eye. He squirms, trying to hide again. “Your daddy isn’t going to come home.”

The child’s mouth quivers.

“I promise you, your daddy is never coming home again,” Frigga says, brushing away the strands of hair that stick to his cheeks and forehead in a mixture of sweat, snot and tears. “It’s just the two of us now.”

The child blinks.

“No daddy?” he whispers.

“That’s right,” Frigga soldiers on even though a vital part of her might as well be shriveling inside. “Because, you see, we’re not mama and daddy anymore.” She strokes his cheek, slipping into baby talk without noticing it. “Daddy is gone because mama realized that daddy hurt her baby and she won’t let that happen ever again, so she left and took her baby to safety. We’re living in another house now, in another city, in another state, and daddy is far, far away. It’s just mama now, okay?”

“Just mama?” the child sobs.

“Just mama,” Frigga soothes, willing her tears into submission. “No one else is here and no one else will be coming home. It’s just the two of us.”

As if in protest, Lilah meows.

Loki doesn’t even seem to notice.

“My beautiful boy,” Frigga whispers, her thumbs tracing her son’s cheekbones. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Those two last words still leave a sour taste on her tongue but Loki (?) finally relaxes a bit and curls up against her. “Just mama,” he babbles in a sleepy drawl. “Jus’ ... ma ... ma ...”

“Just mama,” Frigga whispers softly and, as soon as her son has drifted back into sleep, she begins to weep as silently as she possibly can.

And Lilah the kitten jumps onto the bed, climbs onto her and settles down on her side, the animal’s buttocks on hers, her paws digging into the skin beneath her shoulder pits, and she’s purring as if trying to give her comfort. Frigga struggles to free one of her hands to pet the kitty without waking Loki again because, well, it’s actually working.

Apparently, the vibrations of a cat’s purr do have a therapeutic effect on human beings.

Chapter Text

January 2021

Chapter Text

Early December 2020

Frigga looks up from the bills she has been sifting through on the living room table just in time to watch Lilah awaken from her nap. The kitten arches her back—her fur bristling as she stretches herself—before she yawns and hops down from the couch, tiptoeing towards Leah who has been drawing on the floor for the past hour.

Frigga doesn’t say anything. She just watches them and reaches for her cup of coffee, which has gone cold in the meantime, and grimaces when she takes a sip of the stale brew.

Leah doesn’t notice Lilah until the kitten nudges one of the pens with her paws, trying to play. The girl’s head snaps up then. “No,” she orders, shoving the tiny cat away. “Leave Loki’s copic markers alone. He’ll be mad if you break them.”

Lilah is entirely unimpressed. She stalks right back up to Leah and gets her paw on another marker, shoving it around on the ground.

“Mama,” Leah whines.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” Frigga tells her. “She just wants to play.”

“With markers?” Leah asks, her eyes going wide.

“Cats play with everything,” Frigga explains. She gets up and reaches for one of the toys she bought; a black plastic stick with three feathery strings attached to it. She walks over to them and tells Leah to watch as she waves it over the kitten’s face. Lilah tries to catch the toy immediately, paws flying everywhere.

“She looks like a tiny black tiger but with pointier ears,” Leah giggles. “Why is she chasing that?”

“Because cats are, well, they descended from predators like lions and tigers and have a hunting instinct,” Frigga tells her as she teases Lilah with the toy. “They try to catch everything that moves. See?”

“Can I try?” Leah beams, the picture she’s been working on and the markers on the floor entirely forgotten.

“Of course,” Frigga says and hands the toy over. “You’ll have to hold it like this.” She encases the body’s hands in hers. “Just a biiit out of reach and then wave it until—”

The kitten pounces and is standing on her hind legs before Frigga can as much as blink, reaching for the toy and making Leah squeal.

They play with the kitten together for a few minutes before Leah gets the gist of it and tells her she can do it by herself.

Frigga nods and, sigh, gets back to her bills, half-heartedly studying them while watching Leah and Lilah chase each other across the apartment with one eye, listening to them shriek and meow and mewl in pure delight.

When they’ve finally exhausted themselves, Leah collapses onto the couch and Lilah curls up in a ball inside the crook of her arm. “Mama, look,” gasps the girl. “The kitten likes me too!”

“Of course she does. You’re such a sweet soul, princess,” Frigga coos.

“You are too, mama,” Leah replies, clumsily petting Lilah. “You are the sweetest soul of all.”

Tears of happiness and gratitude pool into the corners of Frigga’s eyes because deciding on buying this little furball for her son was probably one of the best decisions she ever made.

A/N: This is what Leah ended up drawing and of course she included Lilah ♥

Chapter Text

December 28th, 2020

“Thor,” yells Leah, her voice urgent and slightly panicky, hands and nose pressed to the pane of the large floor-to-ceiling window in the wood-paneled Mount Charleston cabin Thor rented for the week. She is bouncing up and down on her heels where Loki stood calmly admiring the view only moments before.

“Thor, come here! Quick!”

A jolt of uneasiness strikes him straight in the chest. “What?”

“The rain,” exclaims Leah, pointing erratically. “The rain is weird!”

Thor looks outside and chuckles in relief. “Because that’s not rain, princess. It’s snow.”

Leah’s green eyes go impossibly wide and even after all this time, Thor is still taken aback sometimes that the body’s eyes can look so innocent and somehow pure when one of the littles is in control. “Snow?! But snow isn’t real!”

Okay ... ummm ... what?!

“What do you mean? Of course snow is real.” Thor needs a moment to gather his thoughts and sift through his memories. He puts his hands on her shoulders and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “You saw snow before, didn’t you? When Mom watched the fireworks with you on New Year’s Eve after you came back from LA, the whole of Vegas was covered in snow.”

Leah bites her lip. “But ... but ...”

“But maybe you forgot that,” Thor says. “Living in a jungle for almost all of your life, I guess you never saw any up-close ever again, hm?”

“I didn’t forget that,” Leah insists, her features still twisted by confusion. “But why ... Snow is just decoration! It doesn’t come out of the sky!”

Thor can feel his own eyes widen. “Who taught you that?”

“It was just there,” continues Leah, ignoring his question altogether. “When I watched with mama. Like cotton candy or cotton balls! Someone put it there. It didn’t come out of the sky!”

“It came out of the sky before you came back here from LA,” Thor tells her. “It’s not decoration. Nobody put it there. It came out of the sky and then it stayed because it didn’t melt again. Snow is coming out of the sky just like rain because snow basically is rain but in a frozen form.”

“You talk funny sometimes,” giggles Leah.

“No, I’m actually serious,” laughs Thor. He should probably leave it at that but something inside of him revolts against the idea of not even trying to educate her as much as his limited scholastic knowledge allows him to after Frigga told him that the girl had expressed a desire to grow up. “When it gets cold enough, water freezes into snow or ice. If it’s raining outside and the temperatures drop, rain turns to snow.”

Leah is eying him suspiciously then, as if convinced he’s out to trick her or something. “How?”

“Water can change its form,” Thor explains. “If you put water into the freezer, you can make ice cubes, right? But if you take them out, they melt again. If you boil water on the stove, it evaporates and you get this steam coming out of the pot. So, it exists like normal, fluid water above freezing point and below boiling point but when it reaches either of those it just, uh, changes but it’s basically still water.”

Is it really?

Are the chemical properties (is it even called that?) of water still the same once it changes matter? Is it still H2O, whatever that actually means?

Thor has no frigging clue.

He really should’ve left it at talking funny.

Ugh.

“That doesn’t sound right,” Leah tells him, deadly serious now.

Thor has to bite back a chuckle because, news flash, children are freaking adorable. “It is, princess. You can ask Loki next time you see him,” he tells her because he is sure his baby brother will have a much more educated answer.

Leah isn’t yet satisfied though. “But you said it’s still water. Why is it called snow then?”

“Because it’s a different thing once it crystalized into something, uh, solid?” Thor guesses.

“But you said it’s still water,” Leah persists.

Heck, do I really look as if I know what I’m talking about?

Thor blows out a breath. He really should’ve paid more attention in school. If he had, he might be able to give her a satisfactory explanation instead of making himself look like an idiot in front of his kid sister. “It is and it’s not, I guess. But I don’t really know,” he relents then because pretending ain’t gonna work. “I never asked myself that question, to be honest. I’m not as intrigued by how the world works as Loki and you are.”

Leah studies him for a moment. “But you know why water does that, right?” she asks then.

“As I said, water reacts to temperatures,” Thor tries again, gesturing outside. “It’s really cold out all the way up here, so the cold kinda forces the water to get icy. That’s all you need to know. It doesn’t really matter how or why. The most important thing is that snow is a real thing and that it’s beautiful.” The flurry outside is getting denser by the minute. “We should just enjoy it instead of wondering why it exists.”

“Enjoy?” echoes Leah, eyes widening again. “How?”

“We could put on some warm clothes and go outside, trying to catch snowflakes with our tongues,” says Thor.

Leah’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “That sounds like fun,” squeals she.

“It is fun,” exclaims Loki even though it’s still recognizably Leah in front of him. “We haven’t done that in ages!”

“About time then,” announces Thor.

*

When they return to the cabin after two hours of fooling around in the rapidly descending winter, Thor is giddy with happiness because Leah and Loki have been co-fronting ever since they stepped out of the cabin and he’s been able to enjoy time with both of them simultaneously; a crushingly rare occurrence.

They are capable of it, obviously, but they can’t yet (even after all this time, Thor doesn’t want to think but does, because, sadly, therapeutic progress doesn’t extinguish the most stubborn residues of selfishness) control it or initiate it.

He shoves the thought away because he knows he should be grateful.

And looking at them a few minutes later when he returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of hot choc, curled up on the couch beneath a mountain of blankets, exhausted but at peace and delightfully giggly, Thor finds that gratitude isn’t as hard to come by as it used to be.

Chapter Text

Monday, February 8^th, 2021, 1:04 a.m.

Frigga wakes to sharp teeth biting into her nose and gasps out in pain as she reaches for the light switch. Lilah is sitting on her chest, urgently meowing at her.

“What the,” she mutters, trying to massage away the sting. “You bit me, you little rascal. Why’d you bite me, hm? If you do that to me again, I swear I’ll close my door during the night, you hear me? And I won’t let you in even if you scratch your mischievous little heart out in the hallway.”

Lilah meows again, her bright feline gaze almost spearing her.

“What?”

The kitten jumps off the bed and walks to the door, then turns around, mewling urgently once more.

“Is something the matter?” Frigga asks then, as if the cat would actually be able to answer her in a language she can make sense of. Still, something about the kitty’s behavior is decidedly off and it is Loki’s first day of day treatment tomorrow after all; meaning tomorrow will be the first Monday he won’t wake up in the center and won’t be having breakfast with the other patients. And even if her son told her that he was fine with it “because nothing’s gonna change, Mom, not really,” she knows for a fact that he’s been anxious about it all weekend. Frigga tries to shove these thoughts away, vowing not to slip into her old overprotective, helicoptering patterns. But, as soon as she switches off the light and crawls back under the duvet, Lilah jumps back onto the bed and tugs at the sleeve of her nightgown with her sharp, little teeth.

Frigga sighs, rolls herself out of bed and goes to check in on her son in the darkness of the night; the only light coming from the pale blue light of the sickle moon seeping into the apartment through the drapes.

Loki is lying on his side, his back to the door, his breathing heavy.

“Are you awake, honey?” Frigga whispers.

“Yeah,” Loki murmurs back. “I can’t sleep. But you can go back to bed, Mom. I’m fine.”

“That’s what I thought until your kitty bit me in the nose and basically dragged me here to check on you,” Frigga tells him and sits down, reaching for his shoulder.

“Traitor,” Loki says and sucks in a sharp breath.

“You want me to stay?” asks Frigga, gently rubbing his back.

“I’m seventeen,” he grouses, followed by another gulp of air. “I’ll be okay.”

Frigga lies down beside him and rolls onto her side, putting her hands on his shoulders. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Loki grumbles, his voice brittle. “It’s just ... my heart is beating too fast. That’s all.”

“Anxiety attack?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Frigga asks gently. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go back to my room, of course. But you don’t have to worry about me staying. You know by now it’s not a sign of weakness, right? If you need—”

Loki shudders and reaches for her hand, putting it on his chest so that she can feel his madly thumping heart. She massages his chest, whispers of encouragement fluttering out of her mouth. Lilah jumps back on the bed and mounts Frigga, making biscuits as Loki tries to get his breathing back under control until she eventually settles on Frigga’s shoulder, right in the crook of her neck. Even if cats can’t be trained to be legally considered service animals, the little angel is doing a marvelous job, Frigga thinks before sleep takes her again.

“Good morning, my darlings,” Frigga mumbles when she hears her alarm go off in the next room a few hours later, trying to disentangle herself from the impossible domestic bliss of a warm fluffy blanket, an arm looped around her waist and a kitten’s paw on her cheek. It’s on days like this she sometimes regrets that she went back to work. “It’s time to rise.”

Loki groans in protest.

“Rise and shine,” Frigga coos and pokes him in the side.

“Ugh, Moooooom. Wha’ timeissit?” Loki drawls.

“Six a.m.,” Frigga tells him, trying to shake off her own sleepiness. “But I told you we’ll have to get up this early because I don’t know how bad traffic is going to be in the morning and I need to be back at the office by shortly after eight. I have an appointment at eight thirty that I can’t miss.” She shakes him. “Come on, we talked about this.”

“Uggggh,” Loki groans into his pillow. “Can you not just call me a cab to be here at seven thirty? I wanna sleep for another hour.”

“If you want to take a cab,” Frigga tells him as she sits up and swings her tired legs out of bed, “you’ll have to phone one yourself. I need to take a shower.”

“But that’d involve conversation,” Loki whines.

On the foot of the bed, Lilah stretches with one of her cute yawns. If only those teeth weren’t so sharp.

“And being wedged in a cab with a driver for forty minutes while you’re stuck in traffic will not involve conversation?” Frigga asks him on a chuckle because even though he is seventeen now and has matured admirably during the last year, some things have yet to change. “Come on,” she encourages him again, shaking him by the ankles. “You need to feed your kitty.”

Loki ughs again.

“Lilah will be hungry, honey,” Frigga sing-songs before she closes the bathroom door behind her.

When she steps out of the steaming shower, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts into her nose from under the door. She hugs a bathrobe around her, wraps her hair up in a towel and follows the delicious smell. Lilah is munching away on her wet food over by the couch when she makes it to the living area and Loki is sitting at the dining room table, a mug releasing curling puffs of steam into the air in front of him.

“Since when are you drinking coffee?” asks Frigga, not bothering to ask whether he actually called a cab because she knows her son well enough to be certain he’d rather consume a bowl of live locusts than to sit in a car with a total stranger for a prolonged period of time.

“Since I have to get up at six a.m.,” Loki mutters.

“Fair enough,” says Frigga, biting back the reply that instantly jumps onto her tongue because she and Thor both nudged Loki in the direction of contemplating driver’s ed again several times during the past few months with no success. The time will come, she tells herself. One step at a time, etcetera, etcetera. “What about breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry,” Loki mumbles and takes another sip.

Frigga nods and helps herself to a mug of her own, schooling her expression into one of neutral acknowledgement even though her heart just gave the tiniest of little lurches.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

Chapter Text

February 2021

First week of day treatment

“What is it, sweetie?” Janet van Dyne asks when Darcy brings a sniffling Leah into her office first thing in the morning. She gives the nurse a nod, takes the girl’s hand and leads her to the couch, gently seating her as the door is falling shut.

“I had a bad dream,” Leah sobs and rubs her eyes.

Janet sits down beside her. “Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“I can’t.”

“May I touch you?” The girl nods and Janet puts a hand on her shoulder. “Why can’t you talk about it?”

Leah shrugs.

“You won’t get into trouble, I promise. Nobody will be mad at you,” she promises. “They all know it’s very important to talk about bad dreams because they sometimes help me explain why your feelings hurt and why your chest is all achy.”

Her breath trembling, Leah pulls up her legs, loops her arms around them and buries her nose between her knees, making the body look a good ten inches shorter. “My chest is very achy right now,” she snivels.

“Yeah, I can see that, sweetie,” Janet says softly and pulls her into a side-hug, gently rocking her. “Whenever you’re ready, you can start talking. Also about something else, if you want. But we can also just sit here together if that’s what you need, okay?”

“I’m scared,” Leah repeats, voice still brittle and now muffled by the fabric of Loki’s sweatpants, “because I don’t know the words. There were no words in the dream. It was just”—she sobs again, a crocodile tear spilling out of her left eye and rolling down her cheek—“bad and dark, and I was so scared.”

Janet inhales a breath to steel herself. “I’m sure you were. If there are no words, maybe you’d like to draw something out of your dream for me?”

Leah’s head snaps up then. She mulls it over for a bit, then mumbles, “Yes, I can do that.”

“Okay,” Janet murmurs and fights the urge to kiss her forehead or the top of her head. It’s quite a feat on some days, to maintain professional boundaries when a hurting child alter is fronting. She rises to her feet again and retrieves a sheet of paper along with the extensive set of markers and pencils Loki showed up with one day, telling her he’d brought it from home where he didn’t currently need it. Janet instantly noticed that it was brand new, of course, but chose to accept the gift anyway.

Leah wipes at her eyes and begins drawing instantly, almost urgently, coloring the whole page in shades of black and gray.

This is undoubtedly the hardest part of Janet’s job; widening the cracks in the amnesic walls in order to shine light on the trauma, pulling away brick after brick the brain piled up around the threatening experience until the suffering of a young child at the mercy of their alleged caregiver is finally out in the open. And that suffering is always glaring back at her, a red-eyed monster that hid and gorged itself in the darkness and is now waiting to pounce on her and rip her throat to shreds for exposing its lair. Watching Leah draw with one eye, Janet loses herself in her thoughts, her mind revisiting all the little kids she worked with, all the boys and girls violated by the adults supposed to protect them, biological children and DID system members alike, subjected to the most abhorrent forms of abuse with no one to defend them.

“I’m done,” Leah says and hands her the picture, almost climbing on her lap.

Janet takes it into both of her hands and gazes at it for a long time, trying to take in all the gloomy details of the drawing (which is as sophisticated as all of the work she’s done under Mac’s supervision).

This is very obviously a child abuse scenario showing a crying girl in a bed or a playpen of sorts and a threatening person marked as such by culturally well-established evil attributes such as sharp teeth and claw-like hands advancing towards her. And yes, it strikes Janet deep in the chest that even the little teddy bear is shedding a few tears. There are other common elements too, such as darkness or a stairway leading to a seemingly out-of-reach door she has seen before, but there are others she has not.

Janet clears her throat and lifts one of her arms, allowing Leah to snuggle against her. “This is you, isn’t it?” she asks, pointing to the girl on the bed.

Leah nods.

“What’s your stuffie’s name?”

“Heimdall.”

“And what is happening to you and Heimdall?” Janet proceeds gently.

“She’ll take him away from me,” snivels Leah. “She’ll throw him to the other side of the room, so I can’t cuddle him anymore and he can’t watch out for me anymore. She tore his head off one day and I missed him a lot but now I have George and no one ever hurt George. Loptr and I love George very much. He’s always there when we wake up.”

Janet can feel the blood weeping from her heart. “And what else is this person doing to you?”

“Nasty things.” Leah shudders. “I can’t say.”

“That’s alright. What is happening outside?” Janet asks then because she didn’t come into work today to unnecessarily torture a traumatized girl.

“It’s night. There’s the moon!”

“I can see the moon. I love how you drew it, too. It looks very nice,” she murmurs and Leah beams. “And who is this?” Janet asks then, tapping her finger on the blond-haired woman flailing about outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“That’s mama,” the girl tells her, confirming Janet’s silent suspicions. “She’s upset because she can’t get inside.”

“Does she want to?”

Leah nods.

“Does she know what’s happening to you inside?”

Leah bites her lip, pondering, then shrugs, then shakes her head. “She’s upset because she doesn’t know.”

Present knowledge seeping into memories of the past in dream, Janet surmises. “Does it bother you, that she didn’t know? Are you sad about it?”

No reply, just a half-shrug.

“And who are those?” Janet asks next, tapping onto the three shapes lurking next to the door. “What are they doing there?”

“They keep mama away,” Leah whispers. “From the door.”

“Are they ghosts?”

Leah shivers. “I don’t know but they were howling.”

“Okay,” Janet shushes as she presses her close, making a mental note of them. “Is there anything else you want to tell me about this picture or your dream? Do you have any questions?”

Tears spring to her eyes. “She’s ... Amora,” she whispers, her voice shattering on the name, “she’s m-making me naked a-and”—sob—“she’s hurting me. She laughs when I’m crying.” The tears are flowing freely now, the memory washing over her. “She says my crying is beautiful.” Leah wipes at her eyes, her breath hitching.

Janet gets up to bring her tissues.

“She h-hurts me to make me cry h-harder,” Leah bawls, her words attacked by a string of hiccups. “And Lokiʼs daddy says people won’t h-hurt you if you don’t cry b-because then they know y-you’re strong”—sob—“but I can’t”—sniff—“I c-can’t hold it in. It hurts too bad and I’m too scared and Thor is playing with Anthony and mama is gone and I’m all alone and I can’t stop crying and that’s what Amora likes best.”

“It’s perfectly understandable that you cried,” Janet whispers and drops down beside her, pulling her into her arms. “Everyone cries when they get hurt. Your nanny should never have done that to you. It was very wrong but the important thing to remember is that you didn’t do anything wrong that caused her to do this to you and you didn’t deserve it, okay?”

Her eyes are red and wet when she glances up, and filled with raw pain. “Then why me? And why Loki?”

Janet draws a deep breath. “You know, many people are hurting or in pain. They feel very bad about themselves because they can’t change and they feel helpless and that scares them. And nobody likes to be scared, right?”

Leah shakes her head.

“So what some people do is they hurt other people,” Janet explains. “Smaller people or people with not enough physical strength, people who can’t defend themselves, so they can feel stronger, taller, more powerful. It has nothing to do with who you or Loki are as a person. You were just unable to fight back and that’s what made you vulnerable to these kind of people. But it says all about how bad they are and not how bad you are because all children deserve someone who picks them up and soothe them when they cry, not someone who makes them cry or tells them to stop crying when they’re hurting.”

Leah sags against her and releases a trembling breath, starting to play with the tip of Janet’s ponytail. She lets her. “Is your chest a little less achy now?”

Leah nods against her blouse and says, “You always make me better. Thor says you don’t know everything but he’s wrong. You’re the best doctor in the world.”

And that?

That lures out a few tears, god help her.

Chapter Text

February 2021

“What was Thor’s favorite breakfast when he was little?” asks Leah as Frigga puts two slices of whole-grain toast into the toaster and she tells the girl that her eldest favored his eggs sunny-side up, making her frown. “That’s a funny name. How do you make those?”

Frigga smiles at her. “Want me to show you?”

Leah nods enthusiastically.

“They actually taste great on bread,” Frigga tells her and reaches for the ingredients. “Okay, so first we put a bit of butter in here and wait until it melts.” She swirls the butter around by moving the pan until the cloudiness of the butter begins to dissipate. “And then we crack the egg into the pan and”—for some reason, the skin covering the yolk tears and there goes the sun, bleeding into the egg white—“whoops. That is actually not how you make them.” She chuckles. “I’m losing my touch. I’ll go get another one.”

Thankfully, the next egg is a bit more cooperative. “This is how it’s supposed to look.”

“Because it looks like the sun,” Leah beams.

Frigga nods, spoons a bit of the sizzling butter onto the top of both eggs and waits until they’re fully cooked.  “Go get the bread and put it on the plates,” she instructs and, when Leah holds the plates out to her, she lifts the eggs onto the slices with a spatula. “There you go. I’ll have the ruined one.”

They sit down and dig into their breakfast.

“Thor would poke the yolk with his fork until it ran all over his plate and then he’d just take the plate and lick it all off, getting his entire little face all greasy,” Frigga reminisces with a smile and Leah giggles. “Speaking of greasy though, the eggs are a bit too buttery, aren’t they?” She sighs. “I’m sorry, baby. I am losing my touch.”

“I like it buttery,” Leah says.

Frigga chuckles and thumbs away the grease dripping from the body’s chin. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“And you’re not losing your touch, mama,” the little princess tacks on. “You’re touching me right now.”

“That’s just a figure of speech, honey. What I meant was that I’m apparently forgetting how to cook meals I used to make on a regular basis,” Frigga clarifies, fully aware that referring to something as simple as an egg as a meal is a biiit of a stretch.

“But you cook much better than Hela,” Leah tells her very seriously.

And that? That doesn’t feel like much of a compliment because, for a number of reasons, Frigga just can’t imagine that Hela would’ve had the patience or the drive to prepare a meal. She suppresses another sigh. “To be honest, I’m surprised that Hela took the time to cook for you at all. She tried to look after you, that’s good.”

“But only sometimes.” Leah casts her eyes down, her teeth pulling at her lip. “Most of the time she was too sick and her kitchen was sticky and she had no vegetables and her fridge smelled really bad and there were ashes on the table.”

Frigga winces. She could really do without any type of information related to the actual condition of Hela’s apartment after picturing it as a scruffy dump for months after Loki’s return but neither the girl nor her son rarely ever speak of their time in LA and a part of her is still craving answers. “What did Hela cook?”

“She made eggs once,” Leah says. “But they didn’t taste very nice. She made me sandwiches or brought white boxes with food in them. And Thanos made burgers and steaks sometimes. Those were tasty.”

Oh boy.

Frigga sets aside her fork, her appetite vanquished by the dread in the pit of her stomach. She accepted a while ago that she wouldn’t receive answers any time soon and now they’re within her reach. She swallows and soldiers on. “Did they live together, Hela and Thanos?”

“No.” Leah shakes her head. “He just came to bring her medicine or sleep in her room for a while or to have drinks and then he went away again. Hela didn’t like him very much because he was very mean to her.”

Gulp.

“What did he do?”

“He hit her or yelled and he ...” Tears spring to her eyes and her face starts to vibrate. A tiny mewl escapes her lips.

“I’m sorry.” Frigga pulls her into a hug and rocks her gently. “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to—”

“I wasn’t supposed to be there,” Leah sobs. “Am I gonna get in trouble?”

“No, sweetie, you’re not gonna get in trouble. I’m sure you only tried to look out for whoever was fronting at the time.”

She nods. “Because Robin’s thoughts were all murky and then Hela brought George and I wanted to hold him but then she and Thanos had a very bad fight and I got so scared. Thanos yelled mean words at her and she spit at him and he grabbed her neck and made her choke and she told Robin and me to hide in the bathroom. We did but they made weird noises and Hela coughed and then there was a loud bang but she told us not to look and ... and ...” Leah is all sobs now and clings to her, shivering.

“Shshshsssh, it’s over now, my love,” Frigga soothes. “You’re safe. Thanos can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I know but,” blubbers Leah. “But ...”

“What is it, my darling?”

“I f-feel so bad for Hela,” Leah cries. “She was scared of him too and she was always so sad and I ... I know she wasn’t my real mama and she did bad things but I m-miss her. I-is that bad? Will the others be mad?”

“No, honey, that’s not bad at all,” Frigga coos and cards her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “It’s understandable that you form a connection when you live with someone for a while and she was still your biological mother or, at least, she was Loki’s biological mother. I’m not really sure if ... Well, Hela gave birth to your body. Aaand that doesn’t sound any better, does it?”

Leah giggles a wet, teary giggle. “No, mama.”

“I thought so. But it’s understandable that you miss someone who you were close with, even if it was just for a short time and I’m sure if you ask Nikias or Robin, they’ll tell you they miss her too and maybe you can talk about your memories with them,” Frigga tells her softly, playing with her hair.

Leah’s eyes widen and her tears run dry. “Do you think I can do that?”

“I’m sure you can, baby.” Frigga smiles. “Very sure.”

Leah smiles back, her lips curving hesitantly upwards. Then she throws herself into Frigga’s arms and clings very tight, almost melting her heart with her next words. “I miss her but you’re a much better mama and I love you much, much more.”

Chapter Text

March 2021

“We need to clean up,” urges Leah and pushes him out just as Loki was about to put the final additions to the roof of the first Lego castle tower.

Come on, let me finish, pleads Loki, wondering—not for first and certainly not for the last time—who the real preschooler is.

“But mama said the floor should be clean by two.”

She’s not gonna expect us to put a whole Lego castle away, Loki assures her as the vacuum cleaner whirs into life in the living room. “She’s not gonna expect you to, I mean. You’re a kid, so. Just tell her you can’t yet tell the time.”

“But you can.”

But I’m not even here, says Loki, with a smirk.

Leah chuckles with delight as she surrenders control over the body’s limbs again to let him finish assembling the model, which he tries to do before Frigga is done vacuuming the rest of the house. As it turns out though, their mother cleans as swiftly as a blast of lightning and she knocks long before the castle is ready, opening the door to the scattered mayhem of an almost eight-thousand pieces Lego set with an astonishing number of spare parts.

Their mother switches off the vacuum cleaner and pins Loki down with her enquiring blue gaze. “I believe I told you quite unmistakably that you were supposed to clear the floor.”

“But we aren’t done yet,” Leah objects dutifully.

“I can see that but you could’ve moved the pieces onto the bed or the desk by now,” says Frigga.

“But I don’t know when now is,” Leah tries in her best innocent-little-girl voice. “I can’t tell the time yet.”

Frigga flashes them a knowing smirk. “But Loki surely can and even if he weren’t with you right now—which I know he is because I can see it in your eyes and if you two think you can outwit me, my little darlings, think again—I’m sure you heard me switch on the vacuum cleaner.”

“We were kind of absorbed in the building process,” Loki says with what he knows is a winsome smile that works (almost) every time.

“Too absorbed to hear this?” Frigga asks, switching the beastly domestic appliance back on. “Nice try, honey.” She pulls the plug and shoves the vacuum cleaner towards them with her foot. “I would’ve cleaned it for you if you’d cleared the floor but since you haven’t”—and here comes a mock sigh—“you’ll get to clean it yourself.”

“But it’s my room, Mom,” whines Loki. They used to pay people for doing these things for them in the past, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t anyone ask him how he felt about this annoying downgrade? “It’s clean enough for me.”

“And it’s my house and I say you clean your room before dinner,” Frigga replies with a smirk. “Alright?”

“What if I don’t?” Loki argues because he is the world’s oldest toddler after all.

Frigga grabs the half-built Lego castle and tucks it under her arm. “You won’t get this back.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” begs Loki. “Seriously? I’m not a goddamn child anymore. I was building this thing for Leah, so that she can play with it.”

You wanted to play with it too.

“And you can continue to do so once you’ve vacuumed the floor,” Frigga says sweetly before turning around and leaving the room.

“Damn,” grumbles Loki. “Our period of grace has come to an untimely end, it seems. Sorry about that.”

What’s a grace of period? asks Leah.

“A period of grace. It’s, uh, it’s a metaphor. It means ... Well, we enjoyed special treatment because we’re sick for a long time, meaning we got away with a lot of things.” Loki lets out a deep sigh and squats to collect the Lego bricks. “But, apparently, that’s over now.”

Chapter Text

April 2021

Frigga is sitting on the couch, deeply immersed in the story of two young female abuse survivors who fall in love and carefully explore romantic terrain after years of existing in fear and pain. Leah is sitting on the floor with George pressed against her chest, her eyes glued to the TV screen. Outside the windows, dusk is swiftly approaching, draping a dark blanket over the world. Inside, the light is dim. A candle is burning on the glass table in front of her, casting dancing shadows across the floor. The smell of hot chocolate and herbal tea hangs in the air. 

The atmosphere is peaceful, calm. 

Until a dog barks gutturally in the cartoon she is watching and Leah starts sobbing violently, proving that potential triggers can be lurking everywhere. It is the first time the girl breaks out crying without warning in Friggaʼs presence and it startles her far more than Lokiʼs sudden outbursts do. 

“What is it, baby?” coos Frigga. 

Leah raises her arms and stretches them out towards her, a universal, cross-culturally understood gesture every mother acts on out of pure instinct. Pick me up. Carry me around. Rock me until I feel safe again. Now, there is just one problem, is there? 

Frigga kneels down beside her and Leah loops her arms around her, ready to climb into her arms.

“Honey, I canʼt pick you up anymore,” Frigga murmurs, the hurt in her childʼs eyes cutting sharper than a dagger. 

More crocodile tears spill out and roll down Leahʼs quickly puffing cheeks. “Why not,” she blubbers, her breath hitching.

“Youʼre too big, uh, the body is too tall and too heavy. Iʼm sorry.”

“Stupid body.” Her cries intensify and she chokes on a sob, gasping for air. 

“Oh, come here, darling,” Frigga shushes and  pulls her close while softly clapping her on the back. “My precious baby.”

She rearranges her sitting position to Indian style and Leah eventually accepts the compromise. She climbs onto her lap, loops her arms around Friggaʼs neck and her legs around her waist, clinging tight, her fingers tangling into Friggaʼs hair. "Can you breathe alright, baby?” 

No answer comes except for more howling, more sobbing. Within minutes, Friggaʼs thin wool sweater is soaked. 

“Youʼre safe here,” Frigga assures her. “The dog was only on TV. Iʼll switch it off right now, okay?” She reaches for the remote and the screen goes dark. “See? Itʼs only the two of us here, baby. No one will hurt you.”

An eternity passes. 

“Where is the shotgun now?” Leah asks eventually, her voice hoarse and small.

A sense of dread creeps up on Frigga. “Did you just say shotgun, honey?” 

“Uh-huh.”

"What shotgun?”  Her voice doesnʼt carry as well as sheʼd like. 

“The dog,” Leah whimpers. “Thanos had a watchdog, at the house. His name is Shotgun. Is anyone giving him food or is he gonna starve now?” 

Frigga canʼt tell whether her relief that she wasnʼt triggered worse outweighs her shock that the girl would get so upset over the dog of her abuser or the other way around. The minds of children surely work in mysterious ways. “I am sure he is fine. You know, when a pet owner dies, the paramedics or the police call animal control, who take care of lost pets. They feed them and make sure they find another home.”

A better home, where they do not have to stand guard while their owners are raping children. 

“But he probably misses his master,” snivels Leah. “That is sad.”

Friggaʼs stomach rolls over at all the possible implications. “Look, baby, Thanos wasnʼt a nice man. I am sure Shotgun has found a better master.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“I know so.”

But Leah is not yet satisfied. “Do you think Shotgun knows Thanos was bad?” 

May the lords bestow mercy upon my soul . 

“I think he didnʼt care either way. Dogs love all people just the same, even if they hurt them,” replies Loki. “Dogs are loyal and, yes, he was probably sad but Mama is right. Iʼm sure he has found a new home by now and Iʼm sure heʼs happy there.”

“Really?” asks Leah. 

“Really. I swear you can trust your wise mama, princess. You both can, ” Frigga coos and when Leah smiles, she launches a tickle attack that sends the girl and Loki both onto the floor in a shrieking, wheezing, giggling ball of gangly limbs.

Chapter Text

June 2021

It is a only short way from the dentistʼs office to the parking garage, ten minutes tops, but the streets are unusually crowded and Loki is switchy and tense, and insufferably moody. Neither of them is saying a word. Loki because he is focused on trying to ground himself by digging his fingers into Leahʼs elephant she insisted needed to go with them (in case the new dentist is nasty) and Thor because he knows better than to speak to Loki when his face wears That Scowl.

He loops an arm around his brother’s shoulders instead, silent companionship and all.

Loki jerks away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Thor asks (sighs).

“I am carrying a stupid stuffed animal,” snaps Loki. “What do you think?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lokes, but nobody cares,” tries Thor. “Look around you. People are far too busy with themselves to pay any attention. And even if they did, hell, for all they know you just picked up a toy for your baby sibling or cousin.”

Loki only bristles in response.

“Alright,” says Thor. “Iʼll take him.” He snatches the elephant out of his brotherʼs arms and balances him on his hip as one would a toddler. “Come here, George. Who is a good boy?”

Loki bristles harder but then he draws a sharp, stuttering breath. And another, eyes flitting around hectically. “Okay, give it back,” whispers he.

“What?” asks Thor because his little brother still has a long way to go when it comes to acknowledging his needs.

“Give it back,” says Loki, a little louder.

“I canʼt hear you.”

“Give it back,” Loki repeats in a normal volume, teeth clenched.

Thor hands it back.

“Asshole,” hisses Loki.

“Pighead,” replies Thor, in response to which Loki punches his biceps. And winces. Thor grins. “That hurt you more than it hurt me, didnʼt it?”

Loki punches him again. “Shut up.”

“As you wish,” says Thor, just as a group of a dozen teenagers clamors around the corner.

Loki draws another sharp breath. Gulps. Presses George closer to his chest. Thor stretches out his hand to attempt another side-hug but before he can lift his arm, Loki reaches for his hand and squeezes tight, black fingernails digging into Thorʼs palm. He squeezes back. “Weʼre almost there.”

Loki nods and holds on tight, just as he did as a little boy when he did not yet worry about showing affection in public. And no matter what their shrinks say, to Thor, Lokiʼs trust in his protection does feel and will always feel like coming home. 

Chapter Text

August 2021

Nova Scotia, Canada

“I can do this,” Loki whispers under his breath, staring at the rooster in front of him, his breath hitching. Thor shifts closer, to calm him. It either works or it makes it worse. He never knows which one it’s gonna be but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Not anymore.

There are hardly any people in the small animal park today but there are a lot of birds (big ones which Thor can’t name without looking at the plaques) where they’re standing right now and they’re fucking excited, crowing like crazy, wings flapping as they approach them.

“It’s just birds,” Loki mutters to himself, lids fluttering. He takes a step back.

“Yeah but they’re super noisy birds,” soothes Thor, reaching for his hand. “It’s okay, Lokes. I’m here.”

His brother switches out anyway.

Thor takes him by the arm and pulls him away from the animals, into the shade between two enclosures. Loki blinks several times. It’s a long switch. Probably because he’s fighting it but eventually, Leah wins and before Thor can explain where she is, she scrunches up her face in disgust and spits Loki’s gum onto the ground. “Eeew, what is that?”

“That’s chewing gum.”

“It tastes weird.”

“It doesn’t really need to taste like anything,” Thor explains. “It’s just for chewing on it. It helps Loki with his anxiety.”

He’s not sure she’s listening. She gazes past him, trying to make out her surroundings.

“We’re in an animal park,” he explains and leads her back.

Leah’s eyes widen. “Wooooow,” she exclaims and throws up her hands in excitement. Then she flicks a glance at her wrists, forehead twisting into a frown. “Loki put on a lot of bracelets today.”

Didn’t he just.

“I know. Do they bother you? Should I take them off?”

“No, it’s fine. They’re pretty and very jingly,” announces Leah and marches off to greet the rooster, who promptly begins to scamper. Birds are so fucking weird and a bit scary if Thor is entirely honest with himself.

Although some of them are truly beautiful.

“Wow, that’s a pretty big crow,” Thor gushes as they go on; glancing up at the majestic animal perched on a stake, black feathers gleaming in the sun, eying him curiously.

“That’s a raven, Thor,” giggles Leah.

“Is it?” He flicks a glance at the plaque. “Oh, you’re right. How could you tell?”

“From the beak.”

Well, he isn’t the most useful person to have around when it comes to educational trips to the zoo, that’s for sure.

*

“What are those?” asks Leah, pointing to the last fenced enclosure before the exit.

“Harts and elks and moose.” Thor sneaks another peak at the plague to help him out. “You can tell them apart by their antlers. The moose has broad, flat ones, those of the elk are kinda pointy. You see the difference?”

Leah’s face is all wide eyes. “I never saw animals like that before!” She bounces up and down, making the bracelets jingle again. “They look so funny! Why don’t we have them in the jungle?”

“You don’t usually see them where we grew up, so Loki probably didn’t know them when he, uh, built the internal world, I guess?”

“Why not?”

“There’s too little vegetation in Nevada,” explains Thor. “They mostly live in the north, I think, like in Northern Europe or in Canada, where we are right now.”

Her lids flutter and, a few moments later, Loki smiles a wicked smile at him. “You can’t tell a moose from an elk and a raven from a crow? Seriously, brother? And I’m leaving my littles in your care?”

“Come on. You can’t deny that crows and ravens look exactly the same,” Thor defends himself.

“The wingspan of a raven is a good fifteen inches wider than that of a crow and they’re more than twice as heavy,” Loki informs him, plastering on a mock snooty attitude. “Their tails and bills have different shapes. Their flight pattern differs. Nothing about them is similar, brother.”

“They’re both black?” jokes Thor.

Loki snorts and pats his shoulder. “You can be so, so grateful that you’re pretty.”

His proud, hot-headed younger self would have taken offense, probably. Thor’s present-day, matured, therapy-experienced self recognizes Loki’s taunts for what they are, an expression of affection.

*

“Do you think it’s embarrassing that I freaked out just because a fucking rooster yelled at me?” Loki asks him over dinner, eyes cast down in shame.

“Not at all,” says Thor. “And it was not just that rooster. They were all coming towards us. Like, seriously. I understand why people are afraid of birds. They’re creeps.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel less pathetic,” Loki mutters.

“I’m not. Hey, look at me,” pleads Thor and his little brother slowly raises his head. He reaches for Loki’s hand and squeezes softly. “I’m a hundred-percent serious, squirt. They freaked me out too.”

The soft smile that appears on Lokiʼs face is everything. 

Chapter Text

August 2021

Nova Scotia, Canada

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Thor asks Leah, who switched out frequently during their hike and is now flicking hectic glances in each direction. “Are you scared?”

Leah nods.

“Of what?”

“Evil lumberjacks,” the girl whispers, which is oddly specific and probably inspired by something she watched on TV or the internet.

“Well, there are no evil lumberjacks in these woods,” Thor assures her.

“You can’t promise that,” Leah tells him, looking very serious.

“Okay maybe not but I can promise you this: If an evil lumberjack attacks us with an axe, I’ll protect all of you with my last and every breath; even Nikias.”

That seems to make a bit of a difference even if the poor bean still looks far from satisfied.

“Okay, let’s get you off that mountain,” Thor says and rubs her back. The sun has disappeared behind the trees a while ago. “You’re getting cold, aren’t you?”

Leah nods and promptly shivers.

“Alright.” Thor checks his app. “We’re gonna take a shortcut. Come on, give me your hand.”

The shortcut turns out to be an overgrown path that makes the going very difficult but Leah soldiers on as she always does until they reach a particularly shady stretch.

“We’re going deeper and deeper into the woods,” Leah whispers and squeezes Thor’s hand. “It’s getting so dark.”

“I know but the way is shorter, okay? If you listen closely, you can already hear the cars on the main road. I promise we’re gonna be back soon. Hey, careful, princess.” Thor stops her and gestures towards the branches on the ground. “These have thorns.”

Leah’s lids flutter and a soft whimper escapes her lips.

Okay, maybe taking that shortcut wasn’t the brightest idea Thor had this week but nobody is perfect, right?

“Owwww,” Loki hisses when one of the thorns scratches his leg and he breaks away from Thor, huffing and cursing under his breath and almost tripping over a root. “Where the hell are we?”

Thor opts for humor. “The woods?”

“No shit. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Loki grumbles. He’s been tense and switchy all day after a restless night. “Waited until someone else took the front to choose this path? Hell, this isn’t even a path, brother. It’s just fucking undergrowth and you knew very well that I wouldn’t have agr—” His foot gets entangled in another vine and he stumbles again. “Dammit.”

“Leah was starting to get cold. I just wanted to get back to the car as quickly as possible,” Thor defends himself, knowing his words will fall on deaf ears. They really should have saved this eight-mile hike for a better mental health day.

Loki breathes in but says nothing.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Thor tries again when they reach a smoother trail.

“No,” Loki snaps breathlessly, then sighs and shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

“If it bothers you, it’s not stupid. You know that.”

Loki huffs in response to the therapeutic wisdom Thor just dumped on him and Thor doesn’t probe him any further.

“We talked a lot about Hela before our vacation,” Loki concedes after a while, his eyes fixed on the path in front of them. “Nikias told me she’d admitted to them that she’d been drinking and chain-smoking for the entire duration of the pregnancy and didn’t completely stop using either. Dr. van Dyne said that it’s a possibility that I was already addicted to opioids when I was born, which would explain both my shitty health when I was little and even now, and why I got hooked so easily in LA.”

It finally dawns on Thor then why his little brother has been wound up to such a high pitch for the whole day. “You’re having cravings,” he says softly.

“Yeah.” Loki grimaces and bites into the base of his thumb. “Which is stupid. The countryside is beautiful, I get a lot of fresh air, a lot of vitamin D, brother time. Not to mention it’s been a whole year since I last slipped. I know this shit rewires your brain but still. I don’t understand. I was doing fine and then it just struck me out of fucking nowhere this morning. Shit, even using that word is triggering right now.”

“Which word?” Thor asks because his brain apparently switched to standby mode.

“Oh-pee-eye-oh-eye-dee,” Loki sighs and buries his head in his hands. “I swear if you had Vicodin in that backpack, I’d fight you for it.”

Thor swallows.

“I’d probably lose,” Loki tries to joke when he looks up again. “But I’d sure as hell try.”

Thor loops an arm around him and pulls his brother into a side-hug. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, squirt. Everyone has shitty days and sunshine doesn’t magically make them any easier. If it did, mental illnesses wouldn’t exist in Florida and I’m pretty sure that’s not the case.”

Loki rewards his efforts with a small laugh. “Nice try. In reality, the deserts of Nevada, California and Arizona get more sunshine than the Sunshine State though, due to the lack of vegetation.”

“Smartass,” Thor teases him and ruffles through his hair.

“Once a smartass, always a smartass, I suppose,” Loki retorts and rests his head on Thor’s shoulder for a moment.

“Definitely. I think you’re approaching this particular issue from the wrong angle though,” he tells his baby brother. “You focus on the fact that Hela’s addiction made you ‘physically weak’ but I think that, uh, I mean, the fact that you survived it actually means you’re pretty fucking strong. You could have died in her womb. You could’ve been born disabled or retarded or—”

“Brother, please. Good gods,” winces Loki. “Nobody uses that word anymore. It’s a slur.”

“You know what I mean,” Thor mumbles. “You could’ve easily been born physically and/or intellectually, cognitively disabled but you’re healthy and one of the smartest people on this planet. Hela poisoned you against your will and you defended yourself tooth and nail. Other babies maybe wouldn’t have and I think your struggles with physical exercise or addiction aren’t a testimony to your weakness. To me, they’re a sign of how strong you are and always have been, even as a newborn. Whenever I look at you, I see a fighter and I’m ... Fuck, I’m blown away by everything you defeated to reach this point, Lokes. Honestly.”

Loki gulps back a sob and reaches for his hand.

“Can you give us a piggyback ride?” Leah asks him in a low whisper. “Our feet are really tired.”

“Of course,” Thor replies and blinks back a stray tear. “Hop on, princess.”

Chapter Text

August 2021

“What the hell is that?” Nikias bristles as they enter the hotel room and spot the large king bed by the wall. “I’m not gonna sleep in the same bed as you! Go tell the staff to change our rooms!”

“Why me?” Thor jibes. It’d be no big deal whatsoever to call reception and ask for a double twin room instead but he’s more than a little exhausted and itching for a biiit of a fight after spending a few hours in the car with his brother’s prickly alter zoning in and out of consciousness. Apparently, a road trip, even a small one, is stressful for the system and turns them all a bit switchy and tense but Nikias is by far the worst front-seat passenger in the world and Thor is done playing nice. “If you’re so upset by the idea of having to sleep beside me, you tell them.”

“Don’t antagonize me,” warns Nikias.

“Then stop acting like a fucking diva.” Thor flashes them a grin and jerks his head in the direction of the phone. “I’m not a servant you can order around. If you wanna switch rooms, you’ll have to take care of it yourself. You’re a big person. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

He flops down on the bed, clasps his hands behind his head and crosses his ankles. “Just go ahead,” he tells his still fuming former nemesis. “Call them or get your ass down to reception.”

“Ughghgh,” Nikias snarls and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

Without ID or credit card.

Thor grins to himself and leans back.

When Nikias clamors back into the room after about ten minutes, Thor is waiting for them with a mischievous smirk plastered across his face and his credit card held up between his middle and index finger. “Forgot something?”

“I fucking hate you,” howls Nikias and paces the length of the room, their fingers stabbing into the air. “You’re so full of shit and a worse prankster than Loki sometimes. I hate you and your puppy face and that ugly ass grin. Stop fucking grinning at me like that! I fucking hate you!”

They exhale a breath and slump into an armchair by the large television set.

Thor: 1, Nikias: 0.

Who says this road trip won’t be fun after all?

“You feel better now that you got this out of your system?” Thor asks, still smirking. “Or do you maybe need a hug or something?”

“One more word, Odinson,” hisses Nikias and closes their eyes in theatrical exasperation, kneading the bridge of their nose. “I swear, if I hear one more taunt out of you, I’ll combust and set this entire fucking hotel on fire.”

“Fair enough,” Thor relents because, on the table at which Nikias is currently slouching, stands a rather exquisite, expensive-looking lamp and he isn’t at all in the mood to risk having to replace furniture the prices of which he can only guestimate. “Have you guys figured out what y’all want for dinner?”

Chapter Text

August 2021

Thor watches Nikias fiddle with their new clunky emo boots and can almost feel the grin that is splitting his face in two. Maybe they’re not emo, he contemplates, but only briefly. Maybe they’re goth or punk; he still can’t tell the difference and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thor went shopping with his brother and, in a joint effort, they somehow managed to get new clothes for Loki, Nikias and Leah, which translates to a shitload of progress in his opinion. What is even more gratifying than said progress, though, is that Nikias is currently sitting cross-legged on the floor in Frigga’s apartment, fucking struggling to get the dark green shoelaces they bought through the holes after ripping out the black ones that came with the boots. Somehow, they can’t figure out which way to put them in.

“You need help over there?” Thor gloats because, no matter how much you grow as a person, old grudges are very stubborn in nature and a bit of malicious glee is nothing if not exhilarating.

“No,” snaps Nikias, ripping out the laces for what must be the fourth time.

“Ooookay,” mocks Thor.

There is a moment of silence and Nikias tries again, huffing and growling in the process. It’s fascinating, really, because how can they not know how to do something as basic as putting laces into a shoe? Did they never have to do it before? What kind of boots are they wearing in the inner world? It’s a bit frustrating but, even after all this time, DID still manages to confuse Thor when random questions like this pop up.

“Ugggh,” comes from Nikias.

Thor pushes himself off the couch then, walks over to and squats down beside them. “Just let me help you, okay?”

“Do I look like I need help from someone with no fucking sense of style whatsoever?” grouses Nikias.

“Sense of style or no, at least I know how to tie a shoe,” Thor jibes brightly and yanks the boot out of their hands. “Here, let me.”

Nikias glares fucking daggers at him.

“You start like this,” Thor says, threading the ends of the laces through the bottom holes. “You make sure they’re the same length.” He demonstrates by pulling both ends up and adjusting them in the process. “And then you just put them through the holes in a sort of crisscross-pattern”—he demonstrates that too—“until you’ve reached—”

“Alright, I got it. Now fuck off,” grumbles Nikias, making a grab for the boot. “And don’t tell anyone!”

“Always so charming,” kids Thor and flashes them a mischievous smirk. “Too bad you can’t control whom I do or don’t tell about this when you aren’t here though.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” hisses Nikias, murder in their eyes.

Thor shrugs. “I guess only time will tell.”

“Asshole.”

“Pighead.”

It’s weird, thinks Thor as he flops back down on the couch, but every time they’re bickering over stupid shit like he and Loki used to do, Nikias feels more and more like a sibling to him.

It’s weird, yes, but definitely the better kind of weird.

Chapter Text

September 2021

“Mom?” Loki calls and drops his keys into the antique-looking bowl sitting on top of the shoe cabinet by the door. “I’m home!”

No answer.

“Mom?” Loki calls again, panic engulfing him out of, well, not nowhere exactly because Abandonment Issues and Triggers and all the rest, but still kinda out of nowhere because he knows better than succumbing to these primal, subconscious fears by now. “Mom?”

Still no answer.

“Mom,” Loki all but shrieks and hates himself for it because, even if her car is parked out front and she said she’d be here, Frigga might have gone for a walk—the weather is nice, right?—or maybe she’s in her garden or with the neighbor she’s getting along well with even if her son Tyler is a bit of a douche. This doesn’t mean anything and the fucked-up, mentally disturbed, traumatized, needy brat living inside of him merely blows the meaning of her absence out of proportion as it always does.

It doesn’t mean—

Loki stops dead in his tracks when he enters the living room and sees his mother on the couch. She’s asleep, her mouth standing open, her breathing heavy.

“Mom!” Loki yells and sits down beside her, shaking her by the shoulders.

Her lids flutter. Up close, he can see that her cheeks are flushed. “Hey, baby,” Frigga murmurs, the two words followed by a string of violent coughs. She tries to heave herself up.

“What’s wrong?” Loki whispers, his voice taken hostage by the fear overwhelming him at the sight of his mother all but incapacitated.

“Nothing is wrong, sweetie. I just, uh, I have the flu,” Frigga croaks, followed by more coughs. “I went to the doctor this morning. He, uh, gave me some aspirin to reduce the fever and confined me to bed. I just need to ...” Her lids flutter. “I need to rest but you don’t have to worry, okay? I’ll be okay. This is nothing serious.”

“Is there anything I can do? Should I, uh, make you some food?” Loki asks because he can do this. This is fine. People get the flu all the time. It’s not a life-or-death catastrophe and nothing he can’t handle.

“I’m not hungry,” says Frigga and hearing her say that actually bowls him over because she always insists that he eats even when he’s sick and ... and ... and ...

For a moment, Loki’s mind is one giant blank.

What about tea? Leah asks and, somehow, it feels like she’s really there with him physically; to the point where he imagines her standing beside him as she would in the inner world.

Her presence is so soothing that, for once, he doesn’t feel guilty that an alter this young had to take up the mantle of a protector because of his own inadequacies.

Good idea, sweet pea.

“Leah and I will make you some tea, okay?” Loki tells their mother.

“Thank you, my darlings,” Frigga rasps. “I meant to earlier but I fell asleep before I could. There’s a box of ginger-lemon tea bags on the kitchen counter.”

“Alright,” Loki tells her. “I’ll be right back.”

The water boiler is already filled, so he just heats it up again and then grabs a mug, trying to think of what she did for him when he was sick and feverish as a child. He prepares a cold cloth while the tea is steeping because that’s what she’d do for him.

When Loki returns to the couch, Frigga has already dozed off again. “Hey, Mom. Here’s your tea.” He shakes her gently but all he gets in response is a drowsy grunt. “Okay, I leave it here but try to drink it while it’s still warm, okay?” Loki tells her and drapes the wet cloth across her forehead.

“Mhm,” Frigga hums.

It’s fine, Loki tells himself. It’s fucking fine. She’s gonna be fine. It’s Just The Flu. She’ll be back on her feet in no time, right?

Right?!

Maybe but what if she won’t? What if it isn’t fine? What if this isn’t just the flu and this virus will kill her? What if she’ll die and he’ll end up alone because ... because ...

I’ll get George, says Leah and takes their body into Loki’s bedroom. She grabs the stuffed animal and trots back into the living room, placing the elephant into their mother’s arms. “Here’s George to make you feel better, mama.”

“Thank you,” Frigga whispers and shifts her weight a little, using the plushie as a pillow.

And what now, asks Loki, feeling a bit ridiculous because he’s asking a fucking child for advice but, hey, desperate times and all that.

We should make soup, Leah decides. Do you know how to make soup?

I do, says Loki and off to the kitchen they go.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” Loki asks as he retrieves a bunch of vegetables from the fridge and puts them on the counter next to the broth. “Not even a little bit?”

No, says Leah. Because we got sick all the time and she always made us better.

“She did,” Loki agrees.

And now you’re grown up and you can cook, so we can make her better, Leah continues. We can make her better together.

Loki tries not to burst into tears.

He fails.

Mama will be okay, insists Leah. She wouldn’t leave us.

Nope, she wouldn’t. At least not because of something as mundane as a flu-induced fever.

“You’re right.” Loki brushes his tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I? I am sorry, Leah.” If they were together in the inner world, he would pet her head. “Now, about that soup. I’ll show you exactly how to make it, okay?”

Chapter Text

October 23^rd 2021

Four days to Loki’s 18^th birthday

Everything feels so real.

((Where is my stuff?))

Loki sucks in a breath, doesn’t know whether he’s dreaming or having a flashback.

((You mean your drugs? They’re gone. I flushed them down the toilet.))

The cats aren’t here.

Must be dreaming then.

((You fucking brat.))

His eyes snap open.

“Lilah? Fen?”

((An eye for an eye.))

The room is dark, airless.

He gulps for oxygen.

“Mom?”

His voice comes out hoarse and brittle and paper-thin.

His throat is tight, his chest burning hot.

“You fucking brat,” Hela spits.

Fuck, she’s still there.

Her voice is so close.

A dream within a dream then, Inception style. Because why not?

“Mom, please,” Loki stutters, blindly punching the air.

He’s no longer sure which Mom he’s talking to.

But Hela is dead.

She shouldn’t be here.

This can’t be real.

Loki massages his chest.

He’ll wake up.

But if he does, Frigga won’t be there either.

She’s attending an advanced training thingy in New York.

He reaches for his throat, panting.

Hela’s hands are squeezing tight and Loki struggles for air, reaching for his mother’s hands around his throat, panting.

((Mom?))

His airways are fucking choked and his vision is dim.

If she doesn’t stop, he’ll pass out and die, and reunite with Hela and Thanos in hell.

“This is all a conspiracy,” Hela drawls. “A giant conspiracy because Odin hates me and I know for sure that my son died. He died! There’s no way he survived!”

((You gave me your child because you hoped I would pick up a fucking corpse!!))

Loki snaps to attention.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

He’s shaking all over.

He’s awake now but so are his memories.

His mind is a canvas of storms raging in the darkness.

His chest is still tight, his heart thundering so erratically in his chest that he fears he’ll still pass out eventually if he doesn’t calm down.

He switches on the light.

No sign of the cats.

Focus on the fabric of the bedsheets, feel the cool silk caressing your sweaty palms.

Gulp.

No use.

Count your books then.

He can still feel Hela’s hands around his throat.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Tomes on the shelf, smells hanging in the air, the sounds of crickets chirping outside in the Phoenix valley, footprints on the carpet, creases in the pillow; it doesn’t matter.

Loki still can’t breathe.

“Thor?” he calls out but his voice doesn’t carry.

He takes another shaky breath, reaches for the glass on his nightstand. Spills half the water over his pajama shirt.

Having emerged from their mother’s room where he pitched up camp for the weekend, Thor appears in the doorway draped in cats. “You okay, squirt?”

“No, I ...” Loki shakes his head, so relieved he’d cry if he had the energy. “Flashback ... I can’t ... ground myself,” he croaks out. “I tried ... everything.”

Speaking costs a lot of effort.

“You need an anchor,” Thor says and puts the kitties down.

Loki hums.

“Come here,” Thor murmurs, slips under the covers next to him and presses him against his broad, naked chest, gently steering the side of Loki’s head towards his heart.

The beat is slow, rhythmic and strong.

His brother’s skin is warm.

Loki searches for Thor’s hand, interlaces their fingers.

Squeezes.

Thor squeezes back. “You’re here, with me. We’re in Mom’s apartment together and I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice a soft rumble. “You’re safe. I’m here, brother. Fen and Lilah have just retreated to the playpen and are currently in the process of finding a comfortable sleeping position.”

Loki’s chest muscles relax a little but drawing a lung-filling breath remains challenging.

((You fucking brat.))

Okay, shallow breaths then.

Start small.

“Can you ... just ... talk about something?”

((They sent you here to torment me.))

“What, like a story?”

((You’re my punishment.))

“Doesn’t matter,” Loki whispers. “Just ... distract me.”

“Okay.” Thor draws out the word. Buys himself some time as he rubs long circles across Loki’s back. “Remember that book you liked as a kid? It was about some bug who only had five legs instead of six and he had to find kids pure of heart to help him find the sixth, and then he showed up in the garden of two siblings, playing some kind of flute, I think it was? Do you remember?”

Loki hums. “Either you’re making that up or it wasn’t me who liked that story.”

Already, speaking is less of an ordeal.

“I’m not making it up, I swear. They traveled to the moon in a chariot, where they met the sandman, who told the bug the kids were pure of heart because their stars were shining so brightly.”

Slowly, Loki’s heart contemplates abandoning its kamikaze mission and he rewards his brother’s effort with a brittle laugh. “Obviously.”

“I’m not kidding, Lokes. I see the illustrations in front of my inner eye right now,” Thor persists. “The boy was blond and he was wearing blue pajamas and the girl was a red-head, wearing purple pajamas.”

Oh.

Right.

Slowly, the picture emerges in Loki’s mind too and he draws the first breath that isn’t followed by an immediate pang in the chest. “And the sandman then took them to the Night Fairy’s castle where they met all sorts of mythical, celestial beings like the thunder man, the storm giant, the morning star—”

“—and the lightning witch,” Thor talks over him with a chuckle.

“—and the Ice Max and the Rainy Fritz.”

“And the guardian of the Milky Way, who summoned the Great Bear, yeah,” Thor finishes.

“Gods, I’d love to read that story again.” His lids are fluttering shut as the tension finally seeps out of him, leaving his mind unguarded for sleep to move in and snatch it away again. “I’m sure Leah and Loptr would love it too,” Loki slurs.

Four days later, on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he unwraps a used copy of Little Peter’s journey to the Moon and Thor beams at him like the world’s most muscular golden retriever puppy.

Chapter Text

Fall 2021

It’s late fall and Thor has been helping his mother and brother with yard work all afternoon. They’ve been yanking out weeds, trimming trees (which might have turned into sawing them halfway down somewhere along the way because he has a lot of energy to spare and Frigga said they were gonna grow back faster than she can blink anyway), shredding the branches and raking up the remaining leaves into a pile.

Which, apparently, looks very inviting for one of Loki’s child alters. “Now we play?” he squeals, eyes lighting up. There aren’t a lot of trees who lose their leaves in either Arizona or Nevada but that doesn’t mean that Thor and Loki haven’t enjoyed a good leaf fight in their childhood every now and then because, hey, what’s better than throwing wet, dirty leaves at each other that look so bright and colorful while they’re literally dying?

Frigga shakes her head. “No, honey, now we clean up. It’s almost time for dinner.”

The look of disappointment on the little one’s face is pretty close to unbearable. “Come on, Mom, what’s the big deal?” asks Thor. “It’s fine. I’m gonna clean it back up.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Frigga says, a bit too urgently. “You can’t keep doing that, honey.”

Thor raises his eyebrows at her. “Do what?”

“Say ‘yes’ even after I said ‘no’. You’re just like your fath”—Frigga tries to pull the word back in and harrumphs veeeery loudly in the process. Her cheeks flush crimson. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But I still remind you of him,” Thor grits through clenched teeth. “Figures. Remind me again why I’m helping you out?”

The child’s lips are quivering even as his lids begin to flutter. “Are you fighting?”

“No,” they insist in unison.

“No,” says Loki, with a feisty, little chuckle. “Mom just put her foot in it real bad. Twice. May I remind you that some of my alters don’t need parenting because they won’t ever grow up? All they need”—at this, he bends down, scoops up an armful of leaves and throws them into the air—“is a little comfort and a bit of happiness.”

The child shrieks in delight as the leaves rain down on him.

Frigga bites her lip. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“Watch out,” Loki says, not paying her any mind as he scoops up more leaves only to throw them at Thor, who splutters when one grazes his lips.

“Oh, just you wait,” exclaims Thor and the game is on.

“Alright,” sighs Frigga and takes off her gardening gloves. “I’ll be inside. You guys have fun.”

In the end, the brothers have to rake up the leaves almost from scratch all over again but, if you ask Thor, the moment of pure, unfiltered joy they shared definitely makes up for the extra work.

Chapter Text

November 2021

The first thing that catches Thor’s eye when he lets himself into Frigga’s apartment are the sheets draped over Loki’s bedroom door to dry. He peeks into the room, gazes at the urine-stained mattress. Shit.

“Mom?” he calls, the hair on his neck starting to prickle thanks to his now very refined bad-day-radar. Loki is lying on the couch, curled up, sucking on his thumb. Double shit. “Mom?”

He finds her bent over the washing machine, stuffing another sheet into the barrel, but she is frozen in place; almost like he’s watching her in a movie and someone just pressed pause.

“Mom!” Thor yells, terror crawling over his heart.

She sighs and draws herself up with a heavy sigh, looking at him. She looks beaten and beyond exhausted. “Hey,” she whispers, voice a wisp. No moniker??? This is bad.

“Come on, sit down,” offers Thor. “I’ll clean up.”

Frigga nods, no protests. This is really bad.

His mother collapses into a chair and Thor stuffs the rest of the sheets and his baby brother’s soiled clothes into the machine, adds two spoonfuls of powder (yes, he can do that now, he is a real grown-up) and a dash of the fabric softener that somehow smells like a waterfall (don’t ask). He makes Frigga a cup of tea because that’s what adults do and places it in front her. Rubs her back.

She blows at the surface of her beverage absentmindedly at first. Then, she starts crying and furiously wipes at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” says Thor, stroking her back even though there’s nothing particular fine about seeing your parents crumble like that.

“I can’t ...” She can’t even speak.

Thor sits down next to her and pulls her into a hug. “I’m here, okay,” he tries, holding her close. It’s weird to think that she once rocked him in her arms and now he’s almost seven inches taller and a good sixty pounds heavier than her but it’s also incredibly rewarding to give back to the person who gave him so much. “I’m here, Mom.”

“I love you.”

Thor smiles. “I know.”

On the couch, Loki coos.

“I got it,” says Thor as Frigga tenses. “You relax.”

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve 2021

10:34 a.m. CEST

“Should I perhaps drive to the airport?” Tyr asks. He is leaning in the doorframe with his eyebrows raised and his muscular arms crossed, and examines her with a semi-amused, semi-preoccupied glance.

“Why?” Zisa asks back.

“Because you’re a bundle of nerves,” chuckles Tyr, walks towards her and softly brushes a kiss onto her forehead that, even after more than two decades of marriage, still makes her scalp tingle. “And I’m afraid you’re gonna drive yourself off the road.”

“Of course I’m a bundle of nerves,” she sighs. “We haven’t seen Loki in three years and I’m worried that Bjørn will make him uncomfortable despite the lecture I gave him. I don’t think he even listened to me.”

Tyr’s face darkens a bit. “I’ll talk to him again.”

“Thank you,” Zisa breathes out.

“But he won’t forgive Frigga for leaving his uncle, you know that.”

“I do. Just make sure that he understands Loki isn’t going to murder anyone,” Zisa tells him, which sounds a bit harsh, even to her own ears.

Tyr’s eyebrows hike up. “Is that what he thinks?”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t know what he thinks. It’s been two years and he’s still mad at me for ‘taking Frigga’s side’,” Zisa mutters and reaches for her car keys. “I’m beginning to fear he’ll never stop hating me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. You’re his mother. He’ll come around, I promise.” Tyr plants a kiss on her mouth. “Drive safely, babe.”

“I will. If you solemnly swear not to go overboard with the brandy,” Zisa retorts and gestures towards the pot for the eggnog on the stove. “We don’t want to get everyone drunk right off the bat.”

*

Zisa never told her husband this in such blunt terms but she was never a fan of his older brother to begin with. Odin had a temper and when he wasn’t angry, he always stroke her as cold and calculated. He made a show of doting over Thor each time they visited but hardly gave Loki any consideration. He didn’t treat Frigga with anything resembling respect when his father was in the vicinity and used to bring out the worst in Tyr when they all gathered for the holidays.

She instantly fell for Tyr when she met him at the supermarket checkout but he was a twenty-one-year-old mess back then and the first months of their relationship were rather tumultuous. He was drinking himself into a stupor whenever he could, he had constant nightmares and lashed out when she tried to wake him, and was prone to anger under the influence. She tried to talk to him several times but it wasn’t until she met his father that things began to click into place. Bor was already tipsy when they got there and spent the entirety of the dinner talking Tyr down by comparing him to his older brother, the successful American lawyer (even if, as her husband later told her, he never even approved of that career choice in the first place), and yelling at his wife in between.

Zisa talked to Tyr then, asked if his father had always been abusive, and she caught him in such a vulnerable moment that he broke down crying and sobbed into the crooks of his elbows for an hour. After that, he agreed to see a therapist, who helped him work through his anger issues and turned him into a man she felt comfortable to marry and raise a family with. She didn’t meet her brother-in-law until their wedding, during which, at one point, she feared that Odin and Bor would resort to physical force when they got into an argument so heated they captured the attention of everyone.

“Look, I know you still love them but I won’t be able to deal with them more than once a year,” Zisa told her freshly baked husband the next morning. “At least not together in the same house at the same time.”

Thankfully, Bor was rather unimpressed by Odin’s first wife because of her lower class background and ‘the bastard child she brought into the marriage’, and kept mandatory family reunions within reasonable (and tolerable) limits. At least until the first grandchild was born but when Bjørn was a year old, Odin divorced Angie Davis and introduced Frigga to the family, who passed Bor Buríson’s inspection with flying colors and two years later gave birth to Thor, who swiftly turned into the old goat’s favorite; even if Bor denied any favoritism until he drew his last breath during a stormy fall night in 2013. Having Odin’s family over was ... easier after that. Bor’s death devastated most of the kids but it took a weight off Zisa’s shoulders and both her husband and her brother-in-law breathed freely for the first time. There was significantly less fighting, shouting and overall tension over the holidays from then on. Her sons didn’t always get along with Loki but overall, the prospect of looming family get-togethers didn’t cause her a few sleepless nights prior to the event any longer.

But then came the year 2019 and Frigga dissolved into a sobbing mess when Zisa called their landline early in October to ask if they had anything special planned for Loki’s sixteenth birthday. He’d previously announced he didn’t want a party—something about consumerism and a socially manufactured obligation to celebrate even if you didn’t even like one another—but Zisa had figured he was just going through a phase like all teenagers do. Suddenly, their lives are ninety percent angst and intense, everything-means-the-end-of-the-world emotions when they hit a certain age. Suddenly, nobody understands them, all adults are horrid creatures, their parents are the worst and their lives are unbearable. It’s completely a normal and, to an extent, a healthy part of adolescent emancipation. She’d never given it any thought past this.

On that day, however, she caught Frigga in a moment so unguarded that her sister-in-law lifted the veil of pretense and confided everything in Zisa, beginning with, “We lied to you; Loki is Hela’s biological son, not mine,” and from there to the admission that Loki was mentally ill and very hurt when he’d found out the truth. That he’d stabbed his brother and ran away, and that Thor was currently in a coma and Loki on the run from the police even though he’d desperately need psychiatric care.

Zisa still remembers the phone slipping out of her hand. Remembers how much it cost her to pick it back up after it had landed on the carpet with a hollow thud. Because such horrible things do not happen to average people, right? They happen in movies and books. They can’t possibly leave the world of artificially scripted drama and seep into living, breathing human beings’ reality?

Well, they can and they did, and she and Tyr were flabbergasted. By the events themselves and by the lie because her mother-in-law did ask once if they were sure that Loki was Frigga’s child by blood with a knowing twinkle in her eyes and Odin flat-out lied to her, to all of them, fabricating a sophisticated narrative of a cryptic pregnancy and making fools out of his own family, the asshole. When he showed up like a rueful dog a month later to lament his losses (mainly the divorce) and Tyr offered him the guestroom, it took every ounce of patience Zisa had in her to keep herself from hitting Odin over his thick head with her frying pan.

Tyr was very patient with his brother though and, eventually, Zisa too calmed herself. She never quite reached the point where she understood Odin’s motivations but at least she was willing to acknowledge to herself that her brother-in-law did have some love left in his heart.

When they saw each other again on Thor’s twenty-first birthday last year, Odin and Frigga seemed to have reached a truce and both of their sons were recovering each in their own way. But then Thor moved out of the house and Loki cut ties with his adoptive father and his whole family gradually slipped away from Odin and he showed up alone over Christmas and then again shortly before Thor’s twenty-second birthday this year, requesting another free therapy session from his younger brother.

“I’m just gonna go ahead and say it,” Zisa told him then. “Growing up in that house must have been a nightmare. I could barely stand to spend a few days with your father, let alone imagine eighteen years under the same roof. He was a tyrant who damaged my husband and I can only imagine how it damaged you, being the oldest and all. But Tyr wasn’t able to resolve his conflicts without professional help and neither will you. Do you understand that?”

She doubts anything came of it because Odin is proud, stubborn, and very much advice-resistant but, for Thor’s sake, she hopes he’ll see reason one day.

Her sons were even more shocked by the events and they all used school or work as an excuse not to fly over for Thor’s twenty-first. But eventually, Leif and Vidar began to process what happened between their cousins because of Loki’s dissociative disorder when she began to speak to her nephew more regularly after they’d talked on New Year’s. When she asked her sons whether they’d be okay with inviting them over for Christmas this year, they exchanged a glance and then shrugged their ‘Yeah, why not?’ Her oldest son Bjørn didn’t seem half as thrilled but Zisa navigated Borson family dinners before and neither one of the primary dispute catalysts will be present this time.

She’ll manage this one just fine.

*

It’s quite surreal, to see her now-grown nephews walk out of Trømso airport again after three long years. Thor is wheeling the luggage cart when Zisa spots them, his golden locks sporting a massive bedhead. Loki is clinging to Frigga’s hand, his eyes hectically darting everywhere. Frigga herself is yawning into her free elbow. They’re the perfect bedraggled embodiment of post-transatlantic-flight-ism.

Loki startles when she stops in front of them and Frigga lets out a little squeal. “Gosh, I’ve forgotten how beautiful Norway is at this time of the year,” the other woman says, sticking to English for the moment. “And look at you, growing your hair out. Gray really suits you.”

“Yeah, I’ve surrendered,” chuckles Zisa and they fall into each other’s arms for a long overdue embrace.

“Hey, Aunt Zisa,” Thor rumbles and wraps her up in a hug that almost crushes her spine.

“It’s good to see you too,” Zisa winces and struggles free.

“And this is Loptr,” Frigga says softly, holding up her youngest son’s hand in hers.

The alternate identity smiles at her and says nothing, which is understandable considering they haven’t seen each other in so long or, perhaps, in this case, are seeing each other for the first time. It’s still a bit confusing, finds Zisa, to wrap her head around the idea of multiple identities within one brain.

On the way to the car, the personality blinks and sways a little, groping for something in the air. Thor steadies him and Loki puts his face into his hands for a moment before glancing up again, his lids fluttering. He squeezes his eyes shut a few more times and then he squeezes Thor’s hand, his eyes going wide as he drinks in the scenery with childlike awe. “Is this Norway?”

“Yes, sweetie,” says Frigga. The poor dear looks as though she could really use a nap or a shower or both.

Loki—Loptr, damn, this is going to require a lot of concentration—hops up and down, buzzing with excitement. “It looks like the Christmas village in The Secret World of Santa Clause! And look, we’re breathing crystal clouds! It’s like magic, mama!”

“It is,” Frigga says dreamily. She’s always missed the rugged landscapes and the winter after moving to the Mojave Desert of all places. “You’ll have a lot fun in the snow, baby.”

*

“So, is the drive to Tromvik still an hour,” Thor kids as he hauls their suitcases into the trunk, “or do you guys have built better roads since the last time?”

“Haha,” Zisa retorts and has to stand on her toes to ruffle through her nephew’s golden hair.

Thor winks at her, the handsome devil.

*

Loki remains silent the entire the drive, gazing outside with his hands pressed against the windowpanes.

*

“My, my,” Tyr exclaims in Norwegian when they all walk through the door, with snow crunching under their boots and their breath still curling in front of their faces in wafts of mist. “Look at you, boys, growing your hair. You look like proper Vikings! Come here.”

Loki takes a step back; Thor takes a step forward. Tyr pulls his oldest nephew into a hug and slaps him on the back. “It’s so good to see you, boy.”

“It’s good to see you too, Uncle Tyr,” Thor replies in English and smirks. “You still got quite a strong grip for an old man. You been working out or something?”

Tyr snorts. “Not unless you count shoveling all that snow.”

“Since we’ve gotta do it four times a day up here, I’d say it definitely counts,” Leif mutters and squeezes past his father to greet his cousins, the dogs on his heels, bouncing and slobbering. “You guys’ll see. The snow doesn’t ever let up this year.”

“Come here, man,” Thor booms and sweeps his cousin into another bone-crunching hug with that otherworldly biceps of his.

“Beethoven and Mozart,” flutes Loptr and plops down in front of the German shepherds, switching to Norwegian. The dogs lick his face instantly and the child identity giggles. “I missed you, good doggies!”

“That’s Dustin and Steve,” Leif informs him as he lets go of Thor. “Beethoven and Mozart died like fi—” He harrumphs loudly when Zisa shoots him a look.

Loki—Loptr—doesn’t seem affected at all.

“Hi, Uncle Tyr,” he squeals then and throws himself at her husband. From the corner of her eye, Zisa watches Thor and Frigga exchange a quizzical glance. “Why is your beard so gray? You look like a dwarf.”

Leif snorts a laugh and slaps his father on the back. “Ha, did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that,” grumbles Tyr but the sound evolves into a chuckle. “Now, let’s all get into the living room before we a catch a cold in the hallway.”

Loptr reaches for his uncle’s hand and whispers, “Where are the other children?”

At this, Tyr exchanges a glance with Frigga and Thor, who explains that they are the other children but all grown up. “That’s Leif over there,” he gestures. “And I’m Thor.”

The child shakes his head and his lids begin to flutter again. He lets go of Tyr and scurries back to his mother.

“Where are Bjørn and Vidar?” Thor asks his cousin while caressing the dogs behind the ears.

“Out chopping wood,” Leif says with a toothy grin that speaks volumes about his glee that he weaseled himself out of all weekend chores by orchestrating a game of drawing straws (or, rather, pipe cleaners), the losers of which had to distribute the chores of the winner amongst themselves and work for three. It’s fine with Zisa really or at least it would be if she weren’t so sure that he cheated. “Hey, you alright there, buddy?”

Loki swallows, his eyes flicking around the hallway.

“This is all a bit overwhelming for him,” Thor tells his cousin and squeezes his brother’s hand. “Let’s check out our guestroom, okay? It’ll be a bit quieter up there.”

The personality nods.

As if in protest, the dogs bark.

“And since you won’t be making yourself useful in any other way this holiday season,” Zisa chides her son, “why don’t you help them with the bags?”

Leif dutifully suppresses a sigh and off the boys trot, hauling the luggage up the stairs.

*

“Okay, this’ll take some getting used to,” Tyr whispers as they fill up the Christmas mugs with eggnog in the kitchen. She offered to keep the celebration alcohol-free but Frigga assured her that Loki had only requested one thing for this visit and that was that neither of them would draw any unwanted attention to the fact that he was a recovering addict in the presence of his cousins. “I thought I’d prepared myself for the idea but seeing it right before me now? That’s ... something else entirely. Like, is Loki really a completely different person sometimes, who doesn’t even remember his own family?”

“I don’t know,” Zisa hisses through clenched teeth. “But since it’d be pretty rude to ask, we just have to play along.”

“Would it?” her husband wants to know. “Be rude to ask, I mean? Because who can blame us if we’re a little out of our depth and just want to understand? Hell, it seemed like not even Frigga and Thor knew who they were dealing with just now.”

“They’ll be here a week,” Zisa chuckles. “Besides, Loki never liked airplanes to begin with. Of course he’s a little anxious. Just relax and reign in your curiosity while he settles in, okay?” She presses a kiss onto his lips. “Don’t corner him and try not to stare, honey.”

Tyr huffs. “I’m trying but you’ll have to admit that it is a little weird.”

“It’s an illness, darling,” Zisa tells her husband. Of course, it takes some getting used to; even if you pride yourself on an open mind but she’ll lead by example for as long as it takes. “There’s nothing weird about it. You just have to try a little harder.”

*

Bjørn’s and Vidar’s facial expressions couldn’t be more different when they clamor back into the house and realize their guests have arrived while they were busy ensuring there will be enough firewood over the Christmas weekend. Her oldest scrunches up his nose if only slightly as something flickers through his eyes as he greets them with simple hellos. By contrast, her youngest breaks into a smile and tackles Thor into a hug. They’re the same age, give or take four months, and have always been the closest of the five.

“Hey, Loki,” Vidar says when he and Thor are done with their manly greeting ritual, and approaches the couch where the personality is leafing through an old children’s book Zisa retrieved from the attic along with a few other toys earlier in the week just in case her nephew’s little parts needed occupation. “How are you doing?”

When he doesn’t react, because the child personality has been very focused on the drawings of falling snow in the book, Bjørn snaps, “Hey, Loki. My brother asked you a question.”

“And you’d better watch how you talk to my brother,” growls Thor but her husband holds up a hand to nip a conflict between the cousins in the bud.

“We talked about this,” Tyr reminds their oldest and puts a firm hand on Bjørn’s shoulder. “I want you to calm yourself, son. They’re our guests and we’ll treat them with respect.”

“Respect, huh?” scoffs Bjørn. “He won’t even say hello.”

Thor mumbles something Zisa can’t hear and the child identity glances up and smiles shyly, hesitantly waving as a greeting, the poor thing.

“Fine. I’ll go get changed,” Bjørn huffs and exits the room in a whirl of anger and cold air.

“Sorry about that. My brother can really be a douche sometimes,” sighs Vidar before greeting his aunt, hugging her far less stormily than he did his cousin earlier.

“And it’s official,” Frigga sighs and takes a sip of her eggnog when her nephew lets go. “All of our children are now taller than me.”

“And soooo grown-up,” Zisa flutes and pinches Vidar’s cheeks, who squirms away from her in embarrassed terror. It’s insane, really, that the last time she saw Loki, the boy had just turned fifteen. And now he’s fully grown at eighteen, Vidar and Thor are already twenty-two, Leif twenty-four and Bjørn twenty-five. They’re adults with jobs, all of them out of school, and they live in their own apartments (with the exception of Loki and Leif) and Vidar has even had a stable relationship for the past three years. “I can’t believe how fast the last years flew by.”

“Stop,” shushes Frigga, her cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol and the heat of the sizzling fire. “You make us sound old.”

“We are old, my dear sister-in-law,” laughs Tyr.

Frigga shakes her head. “I refuse to accept that.”

*

“Don’t look at me, Aunt Frigga,” Leif snickers. The family has spent the last hour catching up sipping their eggnog while the child personality enjoyed a hot chocolate with little marshmallow crumbs. They’ve talked about Frigga’s career in law that is starting to bloom after she started representing victims instead of defending them, the boat maintenance shop Bjørn co-founded in Oslo, Vidar’s recent graduation from engineering school and the subsequent (and still on-going) job hunt, Thor’s social work, Loki’s job at DiveIn Comics and Tyr’s recent perfection of the ice fishing rod. “I’m just helping Dad out in the store to pay my rent until someone publishes my stuff.”

“He thinks he’ll be a writer one day,” scoffs Bjørn.

“I am a writer,” Leif shoots back.

Bjørn rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“Just shut up,” sighs Vidar because they’ve had this conversation a million times and even if Zisa wishes that her middle child would start a career of his own, she doesn’t want to pressure him into something that would make him unhappy either. That’s what Odin did with his kids and look what came of it.

“I’m writing, ergo I’m a writer,” Leif insists. “What’s not clicking, oh dense brother mine?”

“It’s true. Not the dense part of course but Loki has always been an artist,” Frigga says. “Even when he didn’t get paid for his drawings.”

“Okay, I suppose what I’ve been meaning to say then is that he isn’t an author,” Bjørn corrects himself.

“And do you really think it’s cool to discourage him if that’s what he wants to do with his life?” Thor asks bluntly. “You’re his brother. Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, encourage him instead of mocking him?”

Frigga told Zisa that her sons had matured but hearing such words come out of Thor’s once so arrogant and boisterous mouth with such ease is still a surreal experience.

“Who asked you for your opinion?” snaps Bjørn, equally overwhelmed by his cousin’s evident change of heart.

Thor’s face falls but before he can reply, the doorbell rings.

“That’s Isolde,” Vidar exclaims. “I can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s a psychiatric nurse, by the way, so she won’t be acting all awkward around Loki or anything, I promise.”

*

After the introduction of his girlfriend, the afternoon passes swiftly enough.

Isolde and Loptr hit it off instantly and sit down on the floor with a game of Count Your Chickens. Leif, Thor and Vidar head outside to test-drive her youngest’s new quad bike in the snow (and the dark), the German shepherds chasing after them with their tails wagging. Tyr challenges Bjørn to a chess match to keep his focus off Loki’s condition and his temper in check that, unfortunately, doesn’t stop him from refilling his mug every twenty minutes. Zisa and Frigga are chatting on the couch until it’s time to tend to the final dinner preparations.

“Do you need some help?” Thor asks her as he and his cousins come clamoring back into the living room red-cheeked and snow-caked, taking her by surprise again.

“No, that’s fine. I have a very unique way of preparing my meals and your mother is the only person who ever managed to understand it,” Zisa tells him, leading her sister-in-law towards the kitchen by the shoulder. “You guys can arrange the gifts under the tree in the meantime.”

“Did Thor just seriously ask me if he could help me in the kitchen?” she tacks on as soon as they’re out of earshot.

Frigga smiles at her. “He did.”

“Did you bewitch him or something?” Zisa chuckles.

“No, I ... Honestly,” Frigga breathes out, “I didn’t even do anything. Except get a divorce. Everything good that happened to them came after. It’s like I gave them permission to heal.” She chuckles. “Okay, that sounds—”

Zisa puts a hand on the other woman’s arm. “Not at all. But I think, first of all, you gave them permission to feel. Thor especially. He always had a heart of gold but he’s so gentle now, so considerate. I wish there was something I could do for Bjørn to guide him into a similar direction but, I’m afraid, he still hasn’t come to terms with Bor’s death. It’s been eight years but a part of him is still grieving.”

“These things take time sometimes,” Frigga assures her. “The midst of adolescence is a very volatile age to lose a loved one.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Zisa rubs the bridge of her nose. “Alright, let’s cook for our menfolk, shall we?”

*

Two hours later, they are all sit down around the steaming roast on the table after exchanging their gifts.

“So, why did you file for divorce, Aunt Frigga?” Bjørn asks a few bites in and Zisa’s heart sinks when her son glares at her sister-in-law, who is currently in the process of cutting Loptr’s meat into easily fork-up-able portions.

“Why don’t you back the hell off?” Thor asks back, an all too familiar flicker in his eyes. She saw it often in his father’s eyes when Bor criticized or ridiculed Odin in the past and the resemblance truly is quite striking.

“Seriously dude,” Vidar splutters around a sip of wine and swallows loudly. “One does not simply ask people why they got a divorce.”

Bjørn scrunches up his nose. His cheeks are flushed a deep red by now. “Why not? It’s not like it’s a taboo topic or something?”

Vidar shakes his head. “Maybe not but it’s none of your business either?”

“Besides, there aren’t that many reasons why people get divorces,” Leif announces with his mouth embarrassingly full. Her sons used to have manners, promise. “Either they don’t love each other anymore or they still love each other but can’t make it work or one of them cheated or—”

“Please Mom, tell me I’m adopted,” grouses Vidar, apparently oblivious of his statement’s significance, at the same time as Thor says, “Or your husband has been a shitty father to your children all their lives,” with emphasis.

Bjørn throws him a belligerent glower. “Did you just insult your Dad?”

“I didn’t insult anyone. I just stated a fact,” Thor counters and shoves a forkful of grilled beans into his mouth.

“He did,” Frigga confirms. “Odin might have been terrific as an uncle but he was neither a good father nor a decent husband. It took me a long time to realize this but as soon as I did, I filed for divorce.”

“But at least he is family,” Bjørn mutters and knocks back the rest of his drink. “You guys aren’t anymore. Thor’s the only one who’s actually related to us.”

Zisa really, really should have seen this coming. Her eldest always adored Odin (as he’d adored his grandfather and, unfortunately, hung on Bor’s every word) and now she and his aunt Frigga are suddenly the bad guys because his beloved uncle will only be here every second Christmas (if at all because Odin has always been a busy man), Loki is a freak and Thor is a wuss because he quit law school. Which weren’t precisely the best prerequisites for a peaceful holiday dinner but she thought—

“Seriously?” Thor grunts a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re the oldest but the least emotionally mature of all of us.”

“I’m the least mature?” Bjørn counters. “Your brother needs his fucking mama to feed him!”

Tyr slaps his hand on the table and shouts, “You stop this now, son,” making Loki flinch. “We told you we don’t want you on such aggressive behavior!”

“I don’t care what you want. Why are they really here, Dad? Why them instead of your own brother?” Bjørn cuts.

“Alright, that’s enough! We came all this way to see you guys and we really don’t have to listen to your crappy accusations,” Thor huffs and takes his withdrawn brother by the hand, softening his voice. “Come on, we’re gonna eat your food somewhere else where it’s quieter.”

A tear spills out of the child’s eyes and he nods, looking visibly relieved as they leave the room with the personality’s barely touched plate.

“Look what you did,” Vidar accuses his older brother. “Why d’you always have to be such a bully?”

“That tipped him over the edge just now?” Bjørn’s words are followed by a mean, booze-drenched chuckle. “I merely stated a fact too, didn’t I? He can’t even hold a fucking fork!”

“He has an illness,” Frigga hisses.

“Come on, brother,” Leif snaps. “You’re embarrassing all of us and for what? Uncle Odin won’t be joining us this year. Just get the fuck over it and stop with the booze! You’re way too sozzled already.”

Bjørn gives him the finger.

“I want you to listen to me for one second,” Frigga begins in a firm voice, her gaze focused on her oldest nephew. Zisa can see the fire blazing in the other woman’s eyes but her sister-in-law remains calm nonetheless. “Loki can’t control his disorder, Bjørn. He can’t always stop the switches and it isn’t his fault that his child alters exist or front in situations that make him anxious. It’s the fault of the adults in his life who traumatized or neglected him. As for why we’re here, your mother invited both of us. Odin and I subsequently talked about the invitation and came to the decision that it is too early in our breakup to visit the family together, and then we successfully negotiated like two mature adults and agreed that we’d take turns at coming here for Christmas.”

Bjørn draws a deep breath.

“You heard your aunt. Either you start eating your food without trying to pick a fight,” Tyr instructs, “or I’ll have to ask you to leave this table.”

“Why did you say that so accusingly just now, hm?” Bjørn probes, ignoring his father. “‘The adults who traumatized him?’ It wasn’t anyone of us; if that’s what you were suggesting.”

“Technically, that’s not true,” Vidar objects even though he should know better. He really should now better and Zisa tries to catch her son’s gaze to remind him that this isn’t something to bring up during a long anticipated family dinner but he isn’t looking in her direction. “I mean it wasn’t anyone of us currently sitting here but Thor told me what Grandpa and Uncle Odin did. How violent they were.”

“What? Now you’re gonna trash Grandpa too? On Christmas?! Fuck you, Vi.”

“I’m not trashing him. He beat them, Bjørn,” Vidar says softly, despite Isolde’s laudable attempt to hold him back. “Didn’t he, Dad?”

Tyr sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath. “He did. We’ve never talked about any of this because we didn’t want to defile your memo—”

“Bullshit,” Bjørn roars and stands so abruptly that his chair clatters to the floor. “You’re all so fucking full of shit!”

“You pick that up,” Tyr tells him.

“The hell I will,” Bjørn snarls and storms away but then he pauses in front of the kitchen door, whirls back around and draws himself to his full height in front of his aunt. “This is all your fault! You’re not welcome here anymore!”

“Bjørn Fredrik Tyrson!” Zisa yells and rises to her feet as well. “This is our house and the only one who isn’t currently welcome here is the person who won’t stop insulting his own family.”

“Really?” scoffs Bjørn and takes a step towards her, a glint in his eye that downright terrifies her. “Their feelings are more important to you than what we want? The feelings of a freak who stabbed his own brother and now acts like a freaking toddler? Just ... fuck you, Mom! I’m going back to Oslo!”

“That’s not fair, boy! I asked you a million times what was troubling you but you just,” Zisa shouts after her own flesh and blood as he stomps away, “shut the door in my face,” she finishes in accord with the noise of the front door slamming against its frame.

“He’s in no condition to drive anywhere tonight,” Tyr mutters and chases after their son.

“I’m so sorry,” Zisa stammers, aghast.

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” says Vidar. “He sometimes gets like this when he drinks.”

“It’s not the first time he blew a fuse like that,” Leif confirms, which nurtures her suspicion that her eldest might be developing a drinking problem.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Frigga harrumphs, rises to her feet and heads for the living room. Zisa follows her, the last scrap of conversation she catches from the kitchen being Isolde telling Vidar that it no longer surprises her she hasn’t yet met the extended family if dinners tend to spin out of control like this.

Thor and Loki aren’t in the living room and Zisa pulls Frigga into a hug, her eyes lingering on the artificial Christmas lights glinting on the tree. “I really am sorry that he lashed out like this. I was afraid he’d be a bit upset but I didn’t except anything like this.”

“We shouldn’t have come,” Frigga simply says. “I should’ve known it’d be too soon.”

“I suggest both of you stop beating yourselves up,” Leif cuts in casually as he passes them on his way to the bathroom. “Because neither one of you acted like an ass in there. This is all on Bjørn. He seriously needs to grow the fuck up. Don’t let him ruin your whole Christmas, alright?”

“You’re right,” sighs Zisa. He might be an aggravatingly lazy mischief-maker sometimes, her middle child, but he makes up for it with empathy and insight on any given day, bless his soul.

“It appears,” says Frigga, “that my oldest isn’t the only child who matured a lot in recent years.”

“Leif is full of surprises, actually,” Zisa concedes as they walk up the stairs, her embarrassment slowly subsiding. “You know he was the one I always worried about the most when they were younger because he’s such a free spirit who never had any career ambitions but he does find expression in his art and writing fulfills him. He found his balance. Vidar did too. Bjørn just ... I’m afraid he isn’t really connected to anyone or anything. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, doesn’t have a lot of friends. I think he’s very lonely.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Frigga tells her then and puts a hand on her arm.

“I know, I know.” Zisa swallows. “I still feel I need to though.”

“That runs in the family, apparently, but I think we should really listen to your son,” Frigga says softly and gently pushes down the door handle of the guest bedroom.

Thor and the child personality are inside, hunched over a booklet of Lego building instructions, the first wing of the spacecraft Zisa and Tyr gifted their nephew for Christmas assembled between them. “We need one of these now,” says Thor, pointing to something in the booklet, seemingly oblivious to their presence. “Can you find that part for me?”

The child nods and sifts through the heap of parts until he finds the correct one.

“Excellent,” beams Thor. “Now, there’s a sticker we need to put on it. It’s the number five. Do you know what the number five looks like?”

The child bites his lip and points at the sheet.

“No, that’s a three,” Thor says. “But I’m sure you know the number five, don’t you? Because of the five little ducks?”

“Oooooh,” squeaks the child and points to another one. “There’s the five!”

“It is,” Thor praises. “Well done. Now, we just gotta click them together like this aaand here we go.” He stabs the air with the piece for emphasis. “And look, there are mommy and Aunt Zisa spying on us from the doorway because they don’t trust me to look after you by myself.”

The child glances up and says, “Thor is a protector. He takes care of us.”

“I know, sweetie,” Frigga assures him. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

His eyes are gleaming with joy. “We’re building a spaceship, mommy!”

“And we’ll leave you to it,” Frigga murmurs and closes the door again.

*

“He’s doing it all over again, isn’t he?” Zisa asks her sister-in-law as they prepare dessert, her eyes lingering on Thor and Loki playing with the assembled spacecraft on the kitchen floor. “Looking after his younger brother, teaching him things, playing with him?”

“Sometimes but this is really an exceptional situation,” Frigga replies. “I haven’t seen so many children front in such short succession in a long time and I suppose, once he caught a full night’s sleep, Loki will be more stable. Airplanes overwhelm him because of the noise and the proximity to so many other people. And then there are the time zones which are likely to mess with his medication schedule.” She sighs. “It all depends though and he’s been looking forward to seeing you again. It’s difficult to believe right now but he’s doing really well.”

“I’m sure he is. And Thor’s great at what he’s doing. He’s so soft and patient now, almost fatherly.”

Frigga nods and Tyr strides back into the kitchen, shaking out his hair with his hands.

“And?” asks Zisa.

“I convinced him to let me drive the rental back tomorrow morning and waited with him until the cab arrived but he wouldn’t talk to me. You were right when you said he considers us the bad guys,” her husband sighs and snatches a truffle from the bowl.

Zisa slaps his hand away and he grimaces. “I’m sorry he ruined our dinner, Frigga,” Tyr says then, around a mouth full of chocolate. “We told him all about Loki’s illness but, apparently, it’s not easy for him to wrap his head around it. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, it takes some getting used to. I initially had the same prob—”

“Stop making excuses, Dad. Bjørn’s a bigot,” Leif cuts in. “I watched ‘Split’ and legit thought the person who stabbed Thor was like an evil beast but I got over it eventually. All you have to do is look up a few YouTube videos to get the gist of DID, for fuck’s sake.”

“Stop cursing so freely, will you, darling?” Zisa pleads.

Her son mimics a military salute and mock-barks, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Wow, that looks really amazing,” Vidar exclaims when he and Isolde come back into the kitchen from their little after-dinner walk. He drops down and picks up the spacecraft. “With all the gold and stuff.”

“Hey, that’s mine,” Loptr whimpers.

“Of course it’s yours, buddy. I just picked it up to admire it, not to steal it from you. And maybe to fix my cousin’s mistake because Thor here mounted the tailgate inside out.”

“No, I didn’t,” Thor protests.

“Yes, you did. Look,” says Vidar and dissembles the loading doors in question. “You put the smooth surface on the inside, dumbass.”

“Fine,” Thor bristles. “I’ll admit it. You’re right. You happy now?”

“Very.”

Zisa claps her hands together. “Alright, dessert is ready. Please sit back down!”

*

“Tell me, boy, Loki has more than one child personality, doesn’t he? How many different people did we interact with this afternoon?” Tyr asks when Thor rejoins them in the living room again after tucking his baby brother in, and does not react when Zisa shoots her husband a warning glare, pleading with him not to pry.

“Four,” Thor says, the glow of the flames painting orange shadows onto his cheeks as he flops down on the couch next to his mother.

Vidar’s eyebrows shoot up. “Four?”

“And one doesn’t like to speak, I’ve noticed,” Leif adds.

“Theo, yeah,” Thor replies. “He’s mute. And Loptr came out of the airport but Leah was the one who admired the landscape shortly after and, during the ride up here, I think it was either Loptr or Theo. Theo was definitely fronting when we came down again after checking out the guestrooms though and when Bjørn complained he didn’t say hello because, well, he can’t. And there’s the child who greeted you in Norwegian, Uncle Tyr, and remembered Mozart and Beethoven, but we haven’t met them before. All of Loki’s other child alters exclusively speak English.”

“Them?” asks Vidar.

Thor shrugs. “Yeah, like, their gender is unidentifiable, so I automatically use they/them pronouns.”

“Woooke,” jibes Leif and, for whatever reason lost to Zisa, the young adults all share a good laugh.

*

It’s hard for a mother to admit as much but, after Bjørn’s head-over-heels departure, she feels more confident that the holidays will pass in peace. At least if the mood during the board games they play together as the night advances are a harbinger of what is to come.

*

At first, he doesn’t recognize the voices. They’re part of his dream, wafting through the darkness swirling around him, leaving behind nothing but an eerie echo that liquefies his bones. Soon he drifts towards consciousness though, away from the threatening shapes lurking behind a shifting forest and the menacing sounds, and light spills in, like the first rays of sunshine piercing through the blinds. Then, he startles awake, gasping.

He’s in a room he doesn’t recognize and, for a moment, his mind remains blank as he takes stock of his surroundings.

Wood-paneled walls, crossbeams under the ceiling, an old wooden bed, wooden nightstands, all with dark oak finish. White drapes covering the windows, a gray fleece comforter on top of him, the smell of a heater working at full capacity, the only light source a pale yellow sliver under the door.

Thanos?

He swings his legs out of bed, his heart skipping a beat or two in terror and anticipation. The floorboards creak and feel cold under his sock-clad feet. He parts the drapes with the back of his hand and peeks outside, gazing into a thick flurry of snow under a dark gray night sky forsaken by the stars and the moon.

No, this isn’t LA.

This is Norway.

Loki snaps to full attention then.

It’s night and he’s already in Norway, meaning ... meaning ... His heart does a somersault in his chest as he throws himself back onto the bed and reaches for his phone.

10:34 p.m. CEST.

He fucking missed Christmas Eve. Missed their arrival, the introductions, the exchange of gifts, his aunt’s famed Julaften roast with the rosemary-garlic-mustard crust, served with grilled green beans, homemade baked potato wedges and an annually changing selection of other vegetables and salads.

His stomach rumbles at the mere thought.

Did he even eat?

It doesn’t feel like it.

He breathes out in defeat.

This was always a risk, Loki knew (and talked about with Dr. van Dyne at length), but it still stings and his instinctual reaction is to beat himself up because he’s such a pathetic loser who can’t even keep it together now that he’s better. He shouldn’t be afraid of relatives and airplanes anymore and what the hell did they think of him or, rather, his system? Who was there to greet them? One of the children who hasn’t yet mastered the use of forks and knives perhaps? Shit, they probably wrote him off as a freak already and even if they don’t seem to have done so, they’re probably just hiding it well, Bjørn especially. Tyr’s oldest never liked Loki and, shit, why did he come here? Why did he even assume for one sorry ass second that he could travel across the pond to meet the extended family like every other person on this planet?

Okay, maybe not every other person.

Loki sighs and buries his head in his hands.

He’s being too hard on himself, isn’t he? He can’t control the fucking switches. He isn’t too weak to hold on to consciousness. Triggers are random. He didn’t abuse himself.

As if on cue, someone downstairs barks a laugh, followed by chesty-voiced shouts of encouragement.

They are still loud, yes, because this lot was blessed with titanium muscles as well as vocal chords that put a foghorn to shame, but the overall tone is different from the atmosphere Loki remembers. All he could ever remember from these gatherings was tension buzzing beneath every conversation, every smile, every chuckle, as though someone wired the air with invisible explosives prior to their arrival and was now lurking in the shadows, waiting to press a button to blow the last shred of happiness to kingdom come and leave only rage and dread behind. Those people downstairs don’t sound like that. They don’t sound belligerent. They sound cheerful, playful and overall in good spirits; a bit tipsy, yes, but not in a nasty way.

Loki strains his ears to identify the voices. It’s a bit difficult because he hasn’t seen his cousins in forever but, even so, he is fairly certain that Bjørn isn’t among them. Which means that, if his adopter kept his word, the three people he used to be most afraid of in the past aren’t here.

Alright then, Loki decides, baptism by fire it is. Because if he doesn’t go down there now, he knows he’ll panic his way through the night and not catch a minute of rest.

He takes a deep breath and walks down the stairs. Pauses in the hallway for a moment and listens to the buzz in the living room, the babble of excited voices and roaring laughter. Takes another deep breath and gently pushes the door open. They’re sitting gathered around the couch table, Frigga, Thor and Leif on one side, Uncle Tyr, Aunt Zisa, Vidar and a girl he’s never met on the other, hunched over a variation of scrabble, the dogs dozing on a bearskin in a corner.

It looks peaceful enough but Loki feels like crying anyway.

((You aren’t one of them.))

((They’re not your family.))

((They don’t even like you, freak.))

They haven’t noticed him yet. He could just flee and face them in the morning. For all they know, he’s already asleep. There is no need to announce himself.

((They don’t want you there. See how happy they are without you?))

Shut up.

((You never belonged with them.))

Shut up.

Loki clears his throat and croaks, “Hey, guys,” over the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Thor’s head snaps up instantly, his smile warmer than the flames sizzling in the fireplace. “Hey, Lokes. You alright?”

Loki nods. To his credit, his brother didn’t spring to his feet and thus refrained from drawing everyone’s attention to his need for emotional reassurance. He swallows again and feels a bit lost now that they’re all looking at him and greeting him, Aunt Zisa with such a fond smile that he feels a lump growing in his throat.

“Thank the gods,” Leif exclaims as if Loki hadn’t missed the entire afternoon. As if he just took a nap or something. It’s quite surreal, to say the least. “You’ve gotta be joining our team because Isolde here has been kicking my sorry writer’s ass for the past thirty minutes.” He pads the couch cushion next to him. “But with you on our team, I’m sure we can turn the tide in our favor. Come on, sit down, Cuz. Let’s finish them.”

“Isolde is my girlfriend, in case you, uh, didn’t know,” Vidar says, gesturing towards the girl sitting by his side.

“I didn’t but it’s nice to meet you,” Loki manages.

“The pleasure is mine,” says Isolde, entirely unruffled by his sudden appearance in their midst. She looks friendly enough and the spark in her eyes is of mischievous nature but not in a cruel way. “Unless you’re as good with words as they previously claimed, of course. In that case, I’ll never forgive you and will challenge you to a rematch every time we meet for the rest of our lives.”

“I’ll accept,” Loki hears himself say as he approaches the couch. “But, uh, if you don’t mind”—he gulps because he feels all sorts of immature and ridiculous but if he doesn’t ask, he won’t be as comfortable as he could be and to hell with everything because they do seem pretty chill—“I’d rather sit next to my Mom?”

“Sure, yeah,” Leif says and moves over so that Loki can squeeze in between Frigga and Thor. His mother puts her hand on the small of his back, grounding him instantly.

Yes, he can do this.

“It’s your turn,” Vidar tells Leif and Loki flicks a glance at the letters they have available.

Yes, he can definitely do this.

Chapter Text

January 2022

A few weeks after the Norway vacation

On her way to the bathroom, Frigga can’t help but linger in the doorway and stare at Loki’s now—hopefully—peacefully sleeping frame, curled up on the side, George clutched in his arms, his lips slightly open.

He’d suffered a severe flashback at the grocery store earlier that afternoon when a tall, muscular guy pushed past them in the deli aisle. Nothing about the man had struck Frigga as particularly threatening except perhaps that he was bald but maybe the way he’d cut into Loki’s personal space because he was in a hurry had unnerved her son. Whatever the trigger, Loki’d plummeted straight into panic and stormed out of the store. She’d found him on the sidewalk, hyperventilating and begging to be left alone as he choked on his rapid breaths.

It took her almost forty minutes to anchor him back in the present moment, primarily because the security guard kept trying to get them off the premises because they were alienating potential customers. What a prick. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to ground Loki, she’d would’ve given it to him straight.

And now that the storm has passed and Loki is fast asleep, Frigga can already feel the memory slipping away from her, running through her fingers like grains of sand, because his outburst seems almost unreal now, in the face of the calm serenity of deep slumber.

She doesn’t recall if she’d thought along the same lines when he was little but it seems likely and she probably used the image to fuel her denial.

He’s okay, look at him, she might have told herself.

But he is okay now, isn’t he?

On most days, anyway.

They turned the corner, as a family.

Everything is fine.

Well …

Tears well into her eyes as the old, familiar guilt creeps up on her and Frigga has to almost physically force herself to close the door so she won’t disturb his rest.

She takes a deep, trembling breath, reaches for her phone, dials and waits for her interlocutor to pick up. “Yes, hi, Dr. Fulla, it’s Frigga. I know it’s almost eight but if you have a few minutes, I could really use someone to talk me out of a downwards spiral.”

Chapter Text

January 2022

“Excuse me,” mutters a gruff, male voice and a guy pushes past them, brushing against Lokiʼs arm. Startled by the unexpected touch, he glances up and his heart skips three fucking beats at once. 

The man has already passed them, so all Loki sees is broad shoulders in a black tank top, a muscular back and a bald head and his mind immediately rushes back to— 

No, no, no. 

No. 

Thatʼs not—

His brain trips over itself trying to keep him in the present with a frantic chant of no Loki no itʼs not possible it canʼt be itʼs not Him heʼs dead he canʼt be here Hela shot him he isnʼt HERE but it loses the fight against the random trigger’s power and the deli aisle of his momʼs favorite grocery store dissolves in front of his very eyes. 

He blinks and Frigga is gone and heʼs back in the streets of LA and how is that possible, no no no, where are the cold cuts and the shelves and the shopping carts and—

Loki breaks into a run but he doesnʼt know where to because he stabbed his brother and he canʼt go back home, you see what you did, no no no no, somebody please help … please … 

People crowd in on him and he drops down on the sidewalk and buries his head in his hands. 

Somebody needs to help. Why doesnʼt anybody do anything? Why doesnʼt—

“You stabbed your own brother,” says Thanos and bends down with a sneer. “If you go back to your family now, you’ll end up in jail. You know that, right?”

“No,” Loki breathes, his heart in his throat, blocking all the air. 

“There is no escape, Robin.” A hand on his shoulder. How the fuck can a dead man put a hand on his—

“N-no,” Loki begs, voice barely above a pathetic whimper. “L-leave me alone.”

Time slows to a halt, time races on. 

Thanos laughs; that booming roar that sends chills down Lokiʼs spine.

Loki covers his ears with his hands, his pulse thudding in his ears.

Go away. 

Please, go away. 

Why doesnʼt he leave? Heʼs fucking dead. Dead men donʼt get to have a voice. Dead men donʼt get to exist. Dead me donʼt get to—

“Baby, listen to me.”

Okay, Frigga is still there somewhere, thank fuck, even if she is stuck behind some veil that has sprung into existence between his reality and hers.

Loki tries to breathe and chokes on the pitiful attempt to force some air into his laboring lungs. 

“Iʼm here,” says his mom, slightly squeezing his hand. 

And then hisses, “Leave us in peace,” at someone Loki can’t see.

But that means—

They are in public. They are—

Heʼs freaking out and—

“Shshshhh, breathe with me. You are in Phoenix. Nobody is doing anything to you, baby. You are safe. Just breathe with me.”

Slowly, the air finds its way back down his throat and into his lungs. 

“Thatʼs good, youʼre doing great, my love. Just breathe with me.”

With every gasp, reality swims a little more into focus until he is back in the parking lot of the grocery store, Frigga kneeling beside him, holding his hand, a small cluster of people gawking at him from a few yards away. 

“Shit,” wheezes Loki and giggles nervously, embarrassment screwing his chest tight all over again. “Iʼm sorry, Mom. I—” 

He shouldnʼt apologize but—

“Hey, itʼs not your fault. You had a—” 

“I know,” Loki cuts in. He does. On a rational level, he does, but itʼs still so fucking humiliating. “Sorry. Just … get me out of here please?” 

“Of course.” Frigga helps him up and he sags against her despite his greatest efforts to stand upright by himself.

Chapter Text

February 14^th, 2022

Leah is veeeery excited because it’s Varintimes Day again and the nurses always make everything pretty when there’s a holiday. They get Halloween pumpkins and leaves in the fall and glittery Christmas lights and powder snow in the winter and blooming flowers and bunnies in the spring and flags and little statues in the summer but Leah finds those boring because they have nothing on it except red and white stripes and a few stars. Leah likes stars but she doesn’t understand why they hang the flags everywhere when they aren’t even pretty.

Today, the decoration is very pretty. They got heart balloons and flowers and teddy bears and Darcy said she went ‘all kitsch’—or maybe it was ‘klitsch’ or ‘kritsch’, Leah doesn’t know because she doesn’t know the word—and made cake pops AND cupcakes for the little party with her friend!! Which, she said, is code for she stood by, ate batter and watched her friend bake. Darcy’s friend is a good baker. There are chocolaty ones and ones with lemon and orange cream and they all have little sugar hearts sprinkled on top!!

Darcy told her not to bounce with a cupcake in her hand but it’s hard not to bounce when there are so many pretty things and all the teddy bears are so cuuuute!! She wants to hug them all because they’re fluffy and always smiling. Teddy bears are the best stuffies. Actually, George is the best stuffie but he doesn’t really count because he’s more special than all other plushies, even Benji. He can talk sometimes when no one else listens to them. It’s their shared little secret. Darcy says she can have one of the teddy bears when the party is over and mama picks her up. She thinks she’ll take the polar bear because he’s the softest and she’ll name him Lars, like in the cartoon.

One of the women, Marianne, is very grumpy and she complains loudly to Mark that Varintimes Day is a stupid holiday. Leah doesn’t understand how she can think that the party is stupid when the nurses and doctors just want them all to have nice things sometimes because they’re all sick. Sometimes, Leah thinks that grownups are sick in different ways because she is sick too and had nasty things done to her but she still wants to be happy. Sometimes, she thinks that grownups want to stay sad.

“Why don’t you like the party?” Leah wants to know from Marianne because Loki says that if you don’t understand things, you have to try to learn about them by asking questions.

“You’re too little to understand that but all this”—Marianne points to heart balloons and sighs—“isn’t fun without a partner.”

“Why?” Leah giggles. “Are the balloons and flowers gonna look prettier when you have a partner?”

Marianne laughs then. Grownups are awfully confusing sometimes. “Perhaps not but today’s still mainly about celebrating romantic love and it’s stupid to do so when you don’t have someone here to celebrate with you. Or don’t have anyone at all, for that matter.”

“But there are so many people here,” Leah tells her. “And my mama says people love each other in very different ways. And Loki said to Nikias that a partner doesn’t make us whole, so not having one can’t make us broken.”

Marianne stares at her then, her lips slightly open.

“And if you want, I can be your partner today,” Leah offers. “Darcy says I can have one more cupcake after I danced a little. Do you wanna dance with me?”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” says Marianne, and extends her hand. She’s smiling now too, which makes Leah almost as happy as the cake pops and the heart balloons and the plushies.

Chapter Text

February 2022

“And then that guy had the fucking audacity to tell her straight to her face that, if she didn’t want men to approach her, she shouldn’t be wearing something so revealing on Valentine’s Day because it was basically an invitation,” Loki fumes as he concludes the tale of how Wanda got hit on by a creep in the park of all places the previous weekend. “He honestly said it with his whole damn chest. Ugh. Can you believe it?”

“I can,” says Thor but his brother’s gaze is focused on something behind Loki in the small diner they stumbled upon by accident.

“Did you even listen to me?” grouses Loki and whirls around, his eyes landing on a brunette woman in her mid-twenties who is smiling in their direction from the counter.

Right.

Despite his recent evolution, his Casanova of a brother can of course relate to the basic instincts of a male predator.

Loki heaves a sigh.

“Of course I listened,” insists Thor. “There was this guy who hit on Wanda and when she told him she wasn’t interested, he couldn’t deal with her rejection and acted like a total asshole.”

Before Loki can reply, the focus of his brother’s attention walks over to their table. “Hey,” she purrs, leaning over and providing them both with a sight of her cleavage that leaves very little to the imagination. “You come here often?”

“It’s my first time, actually, but if the regulars are this gorgeous, it sure as hell won’t be my last,” rolls off Thor’s tongue with such well-perfected, honey-voiced ease that the woman’s cheeks blush instantly.

Loki doesn’t even bother to hide an epic eye roll.

“I’m Liz. Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?” She hands his brother a napkin with what Loki supposes is her number scribbled on it.

Old-fashioned, are we?

That Liz hasn’t flicked as much as a cursory glance in Loki’s direction as though he was fucking air would have humiliated him in the past but now that he has fully embraced his asexuality, it’s rather amusing, to watch mammals court the object of their desire in their natural habitat and make utter love-struck fools of themselves.

Thor, however, clears his throat then and says, “I, uh, don’t think that’s a good idea actually. I’m not really in the mood for dating at the moment.” He shrugs and plasters on his most convincing kicked golden retriever puppy expression. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to give you a false impression or anything.”

Liz sucks in a breath. It takes her a second or two to mask her disappointment and her embarrassment but then she nods, thanks Thor for being honest (?!) and struts away with wiggling hips.

“Oookay.” Loki spears his brother with his gaze. “What was that about? She’s your type, isn’t she?”

“Yeah but ... I don’t see the point,” Thor breathes out, looking utterly miserable. “Because I’m just gonna end up treating her like an ass and I don’t wanna be that person anymore.”

Huh?

Loki perks up then. “What do you mean?”

“It means that I’ve proven more than once in the past that I’m incapable of treating women right. The only thing I can pull off without hurting anyone are casual hook-ups and one-night-stands. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now actually,” sighs Thor. “Because we’ve got this new intern and she’s really, really hot. She knows it too. She’s confident and it makes her really attractive, and I could easily see myself starting something with her because she ticks all the right boxes. That girl Liz just now? Very attractive. But that’s where it ends, for me, with the sex.”

He chuckles ruefully. “I’ve tried to fool myself in the past, tried to convince myself that I was in love. Like with Jane. She was always so smart and independent and I admired her for it but, like, I didn’t love her? Or take Val, for example. I was so sure I was in love with her too because she was strong and badass and really fucking hot but, the more I think about it, the more I think about what made her so attractive and it all comes back to the physical stuff she did with me and how fucking sexy she was. I never thought about her being an actual part of my life and as soon as she showed up in my private space on my birthday two years ago, I didn’t want her there. And with Jane, when we kinda sorta got together again the summer after her graduation, I knew she was gonna leave for MIT anyway, so no real strings attached. No pressure to actually get together, build a life, share each other’s space, right?”

“Right,” Loki offers.

This is an interesting development, isn’t it?

“I never wanted any of them as my actual partner,” Thor continues. “Because I probably have commitment issues or really am this superficial macho idiot who just takes what he wants and leaves. Which is sex. A lot of steaming hot sex. I’m really not interested in having the kind of relationship that Vidar and Isolde have, for example. I don’t want to take anyone home to meet the family. I mean, I talked about taking my future wife’s name and stuff like that before but if I really consider it, I can’t imagine myself with a wife by my side. If I picture myself having kids, I see me raising them with yours and Mom’s help. And I was never interested in all those traditions that come with relationships to begin with. Like, being a couple, spending the night together, going on dates, endless cuddling, having to do everything with each other, like going on vacation or celebrating public holidays. It’s just not my thing. And right now I’ve just ... been kinda asking myself if really wanna be this asshole who’s just in it for the sex for the rest of my life, you know. And I don’t, so no more relationships for now.”

His brother looks like the most sincere person on the planet and Loki’s heart goes out to him as his mind sifts through all the online research he did when he realized he wasn’t feeling sexual attraction. “First of all, I don’t think you’re superficial; far from it actually. You’re very emotionally insightful, empathetic and considerate.”

“With you maybe,” Thor scoffs. “But that’s the thing. You’re the person I love the most. The person I trust the most and wanna spend the most time with, go on vacation with, celebrate the holidays with and stuff like that. Which is really weird because, you know, my old shrink, she once asked me if we, uh, had non-brotherly feelings for each other.”

Loki swallows when he remembers that Nikias was once very convinced that Loki always had a queerplatonic crush on his big bro and feels his cheeks heat.

“I felt kinda caught and lashed out accordingly because it’s true. Not that I love you like that,” Thor hurries to clarify and Loki laughs. “I’m decidedly not into male genitals and you’re my baby brother. I never thought of touching you or kissing you or ... You know. But still I feel all those things for you that I’d imagine other people feel for the person they’re in a relationship with, just, uh, minus the attraction? I literally don’t know how to describe it.”

Loki smiles to himself because all those years he questioned his brother’s love for him because Nikias tried to make him believe that he was feeling more for Thor than Thor did for him, he was an utter fool because they’ve always been this. Two sides of a coin, ying and yang, soulmates, a balanced scale, a completed jigsaw puzzle, a perfectly mixed cocktail. Hela brought them together because they belong together.

“How about this?” Loki suggests. “You aren’t seeking any romantic attachments because you’re receiving all the interpersonal closeness you need—including but not limited to deep conversations and physical contact—from your family and friends?”

“That sounds about right,” Thor confirms.

“I think you might be allosexual aromantic,” Loki says.

Thor’s face slips a little. “Allo-what?”

“You experience sexual attraction, which means you’re allosexual, but you don’t experience romantic attraction apparently, which might mean you’re aromantic. You get your human needs met through other, non-romantic relationships.”

“Wait, so I’m not a jerk?”

Loki chuckles. “Oh, make no mistake, brother, you were still a jerk around girls before you disgorged all that toxic masculinity Dad force-fed you since you were a child but aromanticism is a valid orientation or identity, and if you communicate it accordingly, chances are women won’t get the impression that you’re a sexist douche anymore. But I’d advise you to research it first. Don’t just take my word for it. You can talk to Rhodey if you feel up for that. And there a dating sites for each spectrum, so you can get in touch with people who feel the same.”

“Thanks squirt.” Thor flashes him one of his toothpaste ad smiles. “So, how about you?”

Loki swallows. “What about me?”

“Remember, ages ago, when I asked you if you were gay on our drive back from Malibu?”

“Hm.”

“You never gave me an answer. And you’re still not really into the whole flirting thing, right? You don’t get it.” It’s not a question, Loki realizes as Thor gestures into the direction Liz came from earlier. “I’ve never see you show interest in anyone and if someone checks you out, you usually don’t even notice. Like, you’re so perceptive but advances like that completely pass you by. Do you identify as aromantic too?”

Loki hesitates for a moment but then takes a leap of faith because his brother is no longer the jock he once was. He just proved as much. He was always cool with his best friends’ bisexuality and he basically just revealed that he might be on the aro spectrum himself. He’ll understand. “Yeah. I identify with all three A-spectrums actually, meaning I’m aromantic-asexual-agender. Triple A or AAA, for short. I don’t experience any sort of attraction beyond the platonic and don’t identify with any gender.”

“The gender part kinda figures,” Thor says, then chews on the rest for a while. “So, what you’re saying is you don’t experience sexual attraction either?”

Loki shakes his head.

Thor harrumphs. “As in you never looked at anyone and imagined what it’d be like to fuck them or kiss them or just run your fingers through their hair or run over their skin with your tongue?”

“Nope.”

“But you have a dick,” Thor says and Loki snorts. “Doesn’t it, you know, react when you see someone hot or beautiful?”

Loki tenses a bit. “No.”

“But that’s a universal biological reaction, isn’t it?” Thor scratches the back of his head. “I mean.” He huffs. “Did you, uh, talk to Dr. van Dyne about this? To make sure that it’s not the result of sexual trauma or like a, um, physical thing?”

Aaaand here we go.

You should’ve really seen that coming, Nikias tsks.

Shut up and get out of the cave, you fucking peeper.

“Brother,” sighs Loki, kicking his alter out. “I know you mean well and you’re not trying to be an ass but let me tell you something that might be helpful in future social interactions. If someone ever comes out to you again, it means that they trust you. It means that they spent a whole lot of time trying to figure themselves out and finally feel comfortable with a certain label and comfortable enough with you to share who they are with you. The least you can do to honor that trust is not to question their identity, okay?”

“Right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ... It’s just ... Having a dick is so inconvenient sometimes and yours just doesn’t—” Thor abruptly cuts himself off.

“Give me a hard time?” Loki snickers.

“Worst pun ever,” laughs Thor. “Jeez. Alright, I’m sorry, brother. I’ll just have to educate myself, I guess.”

“That’s alright. We all live to learn.”

“Wait, if you aren’t male though,” Thor exclaims then, shock washing over his features, “do you want me to stop calling you ‘brother’?”

The very idea squishes something deep in Loki’s core. “No, of course not. Because ‘brother’ is so much more than just ... It’s like saying ‘I love you’, right? The way we say it? It’s not just a moniker. I wouldn’t ever want you to stop calling me that.”

Thor wipes droplets off imaginary sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “Phew.”

“You can also continue to use he/him pronouns until I’ve found something more suitable. It’s not easy though because they/them feels too much as though people were referring to me and all of my alters as a system—like, if you said ‘they’ in reference to me, I’d imagine you mean me and Leah or me and Nikias, you know—and neopronouns take some getting used to. Mainly, it’s attributes like ‘man’ and ‘boy’ and ‘son’ that make me really uncomfortable sometimes.”

“Ah.”

Loki sits up straighter. “What?”

“That’s why Friggason didn’t sit right with you.” Thor practically beams at him. “I knew there was more to it than just aesthetics.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Loki quips.

“You better watch your mouth, brother.” Thor grins and holds up his index finger, digging out an old joke. “Or you’re gonna walk home.”

Chapter Text

Spring 2022

It’s late afternoon and Frigga is sitting in front of her laptop at the desk in her bedroom, typing up an opening statement for an upcoming trial, when she hears Loki gurgle and coo from the couch in the living room.

“Honey?” she calls out but only hears baby noises in return.

She sighs—she literally just managed to lay bare the gist of her argument in her own head—and pushes herself off the desk, rolling back on her swivel chair.

Loki is lying on his back, green eyes wide open, hands flipping towards her when he sees her approach.

Even after all this time, it’s still surreal to have the youngest fragments in her son’s system front in a grown body. There’s just something about the sight of a babbling, six-feet-two adult that doesn’t really compute, especially since it happens so rarely these days and she has no chance to get used to it (not that she wants to but the point still stands). Loki managed to fuse some of the fragments together in therapy, allowing the babies with similar traumas to integrate and those that are left are healing, each at their own pace. Meaning that, now, they come out at night maybe once every two or three months, if that, and never during daytime.

Well, except for today.

Frigga flicks a glance at the TV, where a SWAT team is currently in the process of charging a strip bar, by the looks of it, and switches off the potential trigger.

Loki gurgles something that, at a generous estimate, might pass for mama and she sits down beside him, softly carding through his hair and cupping his cheek. “Sshshsh,” she murmurs, lips brushing against his forehead. “You’re safe with me.”

Usually, that’s all it takes during the night when the body is half asleep. A bit of verbal reassurance in a soft voice, the warmth of her skin on his skin for a moment, and the infant fragments sink back into their deep slumber, safely tucked away in their corner in the inner world.

But this one babbles and gurgles and coos, urgently and excitedly; obviously aiming for a conversation.

“Hey,” whispers Frigga and slides down beside him, left hand still on his head, right hand cupping his chin. “You’re safe here, my love.” And this time, I’m not lying to you because I’m in denial, she thinks but doesn’t add. “You can go to sleep.”

Frigga cradles him, still cooing, to her chest and begins to hum a lullaby, hoping he will doze off soon and trying not to dwell on what might happen (like urine on the couch, for instance) if he doesn’t.

After only a few verses, Loki’s eyes snap wide open and he jerks away from her, wheezing. “Jesus, Mom. What the f—why are you hovering so close?”

Frigga jolts into a sitting position. “I’m sorry.”

“You scared the fuck out of me,” Loki gasps. “Sorry, I just ... Damn, I just dozed off for maybe two minutes.” He glances at the clock to verify the time, then at the black TV screen.

“What were you watching?” Frigga can’t help but ask.

Loki’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“One of the babies switched out,” Frigga explains. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just trying to comfort the tiny one.”

“Oh.” Loki glances down. “I, uh, I was watching a crime show. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Before Frigga can tell her son for the billionth time since his release that he doesn’t need to apologize for something he has no control over, her stomach rumbles.

She chuckles. “Time for dinner, I suppose.”

Loki gets up and stretches himself. “Why don’t you keep working on your statement and I’ll fix us some mushroom-y pasta?”

In the past, Frigga might have gotten worried because he just switched back from the alternate state of an infant, puzzling her head over what’d happen if he switched out again with sharp kitchen utensils in his hands. Her concern hasn’t evaporated entirely, of course, but it’s lying dormant now that she has learned to trust him and accepted the fact that Loki is a young adult who co-exists with alternate states of consciousness in every stage of development from infancy to middle age.

“That’d be nice,” she says.

Loki winks at her.

Frigga marvels at how grown-up he looks when he walks into the kitchen and, even more so, when he calls out to her that dinner’s ready about forty minutes later and she watches him putting two plates of steaming pasta in a white sauce smelling deliciously of mushrooms, garlic and herbs on the table, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

Chapter Text

Spring 2022

“Yo, dipshit,” Nikias says and Thor hates how his head automatically snaps up, and even more so how his brother’s alter’s lips curl into a gleeful smirk because they conditioned their former nemesis to respond to insults.

“What?” Thor growls. They’re no longer at daggers drawn with each other, sure, but that doesn’t mean they’ve become friends in the meantime or that they would openly admit that they’ve become somewhat emotionally attached.

“Why don’t you slow down?” Nikias spears him with their dark gaze. “You eat like you’ve been starving and, frankly, it’s a bit disgusting to watch.”

“Because I have,” Thor defends himself and swallows another mouthful of cheese fries. “I haven’t had lunch.”

“No, I meant literally. You eat like you haven’t eaten anything for weeks. Just slow down a bit, okay? And fucking start chewing or I’ll throw up.”

Thor huffs and digs back in. Finishes his double pretzel bacon cheeseburger and a side of cheese fries, then polishes off the rest of the Caesar wrap Loki ordered and didn’t finish before something triggered Nikias out. Orders dessert and a milkshake.

“Dude,” Nikias says eventually as Thor scoops up another spoonful of vanilla ice cream with melted brownie crumbs. “You’re obviously full. Why do you keep eating?”

“I’m not,” Thor insists. This isn’t one of those days. He’s just hungry, that’s all. He’s a big guy who hasn’t had anything since breakfast and the day has been super stressful and he ran around a lot because the kids were a bit out of control. He just needs to refuel.

“Yes, you are. You’re already wheezing,” Nikias points out, pulls his plate towards them and squishes the rest of Thor’s dessert with a napkin. “And sweaty.”

Thor feels the urge to smack them and, yeah, that can’t be a good sign because it’s just a fucking dessert and he could order a new one anytime and, damn, maybe there is more to his appetite than physical hunger and, fuck, his belly is so tight now, it physically starts to hurt. He fights the urge to unbutton his jeans because how embarrassing would that be.

“So,” says Nikias. “Either you have a stuffing kink or you’re trying to punish yourself. Which one is it?”

Stuffing ... what?

Okay, never mind.

“Punish myself?” Thor echoes.

“Yeah.”

“Why would I ...” Thor trails off. Since he isn’t prone to self-hatred, the idea that he could punish himself by overeating somehow never came up when he spoke to Dr. Rhodey. He isn’t the self-harming type either after all. He just needed a bit of help identifying and managing his emotions. He hasn’t seen the guy in months but now that the seed has been planted, it instantly strikes roots into him because it’d make sense, wouldn’t it? If the inability to control his surroundings is emotionally overwhelming, it could also be something he, subconsciously, hates himself for because discipline and self-control were highly valued in the house of Odin and maybe, just maybe, a part of him thinks that he fucked up today when he failed to calm the children down. That he should have been able to control them, that he’s a fucking basket case because he didn’t try harder or didn’t see it coming or—

Oh.

OH.

Thor makes a mental note to give Rhodey a call.

Nikias’ eyes have narrowed to slits. “How the fuck should I know? All I see is”—they make a gesture indicating Thor—“this.”

“And let me guess, you think I’m pathetic,” Thor huffs.

“No, I ...” Nikias harrumphs. “Actually, I think you had a pretty shitty day.”

See? The alter is taking an actual interest in his well-being. But that doesn’t mean anything, of course. They still don’t like each other much.

Thor snorts a laugh. “Yeah.”

“And I think I recognize self-punishment when I see it, so.” Nikias shrugs, then asks, “What?” when Thor’s doesn’t reply but doesn’t break eye contact either.

Thor hesitates, knowing it’s a gamble at best but, honestly, what does he have to lose? “Is that why you don’t eat? To punish yourself?”

“Dude, what makes you think we’re close enough for me to answer you such an intimate question?” Nikias asks back with a slick grin.

“I usually don’t think,” Thor jokes. “I thought you knew that.”

“How could I forget,” snickers Nikias.

“Seriously though, I mean, if we both have, like, issues”—damn, this is hard, it’s damn near fucking impossible—“with food, maybe we could, uh, talk about them and”—harrumph—“try to help each other out?” Thor swallows, feeling like an utter imbecile.

Nikias laughs. “We’re literally on opposite ends of the spectrum and, basically, my ‘issues’ have nothing to do with actual food per se. I just hate the idea of needing something or someone because I was created to be independent. It basically goes against my nature, to be needy; even if it’s physically, biologically necessary stuff. My inner world body works differently—I need very little to no food in there—and I was never conscious long enough to get hungry before LA. It made me feel weak. And it still makes me feel weak to need normal amounts when I’m out because I hate feeling weak.”

“Who doesn’t?” Thor sighs.

“Yeah,” says Nikias and rubs the bridge of their nose. “I bet having eaten all that in front of me makes you feel weak too.”

“Not really, no,” Thor replies, surprising himself. “Vulnerable, maybe, but not weak.”

Nikias scoffs. “Where’s the difference?”

If only he knew.

The only thing he knows is that there is one. “I suppose, while we think of both negatively at first, it’s actually perfectly okay to be vulnerable from time to time if you’re surrounded by people you trust because they won’t use your ‘weakness’ against you?”

“Careful, Odinson. You just implied that you trust me,” Nikias snickers.

“It’s been three-and-a-half years and you never stabbed me again.” Thor winks at them. “Although, I suppose, it was a close call that one time after you found ou—”

“Yeah, let’s not go there,” cuts Nikias.

“You earned my trust, is all I’m saying,” Thor admits hesitantly.

Nikias snorts a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I really am not,” Thor chuckles. “I’m still an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Sometimes.” Nikias shrugs. “When it comes to certain things at least but you’re also incredibly emotionally intelligent, which kinda makes up for your general dumbassery.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Nikias grins at him. “You’re welcome. Now, can we please get the fuck outta here? This place smells.”

Chapter Text

Spring 2022

The fear of abandonment seems to creep up on him out of nowhere sometimes.

After two-and-a-half years of therapy, Loki can usually talk himself out of a full-blown anxiety attack when he reminds himself that, nope, that fear is not coming out of fucking nowhere. There is always a trigger somewhere and trying to identify it helps him to calm down. It gives his brain something to do. It gives him the feeling that even though he’s freaking out, he’s still being kinda rational about it. The fear is no longer this amorphous, looming, shadowy presence of his childhood that he just didn’t understand but that was so gruesome and so scary that he could hardly breathe. It has taken shape now; the shape of specific sensations, specific images, specific memories.

Loki understands it now, that bone-chilling fear unleashed by the thought of Frigga’s (hypothetical) imminent death. He understands (on most days, on others he just pretends he does to fool his own brain) that the fear’s existence is not a mystery and not a testimony to his neediness. His adoptive mother was the only adult he could ever rely on. For the most part of his life, he had no one else (except for Thor, of course, but his brother would’ve been too young to care for him) and he simply couldn’t bear to lose her.

He still can’t and, sometimes, like today, that fear descends upon him and crushes the air out of his lungs when he walks into the kitchen and sees his mother on a ladder, straining to clean the higher windows.

She does that every month, always on the first Saturday, like clockwork.

Loki saw her standing there before and didn’t freak out. Today, the sight sends his mind spiraling because triggers are random as fuck.

She’s gonna pass out.

“Mom,” Loki gasps, his mind going blank with terror. “Why is your breathing so heavy?”

“Because this is a very strenuous activity, honey,” chuckles Frigga. “And I’m not getting any younger.”

She’s old. She’s gonna die soon.

That is the trigger, isn’t it, that she’s exhausted, a little out of breath?

Maybe.

He can’t think.

“Y-you n-need to come down,” Loki pleads. “I’ll clean for you but please, you have to come down, okay?”

Frigga’s brow furrows a little. “Honey, what are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

She doesn’t understand. She just doesn’t understand. She’ll collapse if she isn’t careful or she’s gonna slip and break her neck and what then. What then?! You can’t be alone. Not yet. Who is gonna take care of you?!

“You need to rest,” whines Loki.

“I don’t need to rest,” protests his mother. “I said I wasn’t getting any younger. I didn’t say I was getting too old to clean my own ki—”

“No, you don’t understand,” insists Loki, his voice going shrill. His breaths come like gunfire. He is getting dizzy. His chest gets so unbearably tight and hot. “You need to take care of yourself. I-I will do it. I’ll do e-everything. Y-you can sit down a-and ...”

She can’t ever clean again.

Frigga climbs down then and gently places her hands onto his shoulders. Judged by her expression, she figured out what’s going on. “I’m fine, Loki,” she tells him. “I was just kidding around a little, okay? I’m fifty-four and in perfect health for that age. I’ll be okay cleaning those windows, I promise.”

“B-but ...” Loki tries to breathe, tries to get his shit together. He knows he’s just being silly. Pathetic. Well, he’s being irrational and there’s nothing wrong with that because the presence of irrational fears is fucking part of the anxiety diagnosis. It’s okay. It’s alright. It’s the anxiety, not him.

Loki’s brain smart, anxiety brain dumb.

Why can’t he just remember that?

She isn’t gonna die. She’s okay, look at her. She isn 't red or sweaty or anything.

“I’m okay,” says Frigga.

She is.

You were just worried because she was groaning with exhaustion. Your brain interpreted that as a sign of physical decline and not as the perfectly normal reaction that it is.

“You’re okay,” says Loki and the terror begins to lift its hold.

“I’m okay.”

Slowly, Loki’s own heart rate steadies.

Frigga smirks and waves the shammy in front his face. “But if you still want to clean for me, I wouldn’t oppose.”

“Nah, I think I’m good thanks,” Loki kids.

And he is.

He really is.

Chapter Text

April 2022

“What are you making?” asks Leah as she tiptoes into the kitchen, her forehead twisting into a distrustful frown as she eyes the ingredients on the counter.

“Pasta salad,” says Frigga. “For the BBQ later.”

The girl’s frown deepens as she points. “What are those? They aren’t for eating, are they?”

“Yes, they are.” Frigga can’t help the chuckle that rises in her throat. “These are sundried tomatoes. You want to try one?”

“Eeew, no.” Leah crosses her arms, indignant. “They look all shriveled and not very tasty.”

“Their flavor is a bit intense, yes,” Frigga admits, “but if you—” She groans and sucks in a sharp breath when another thrust of pain stabs into her side. She instinctually bends over, hands gripping the edges of the counter, to force her aching back muscles back into submission.

Leah is on high alert instantly. “Are you hurt, mama?”

“No, I’m ... I mean, yes. Kind of. I hurt my back this morning,” Frigga tells her. She has no idea how because all she did was trying to struggle into laundry-tight jeans, probably straining the wrong muscle in the process. No matter what magazines tend to claim in bold letters on photoshopped covers, aging isn’t particularly fun. “It’s alright, baby. It’s gonna pass. I just moved a bit too abruptly.”

“Have you taken your medicine?” Leah asks.

“I don’t need any medicine,” Frigga assures her. “It doesn’t hurt too badly. I’m fine.”

Leah takes a step closer and suddenly looks very sincere as she takes up the mantle of the protector. “You should take your medicine,” she whispers, almost conspiratorially. “Loki worries when you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. It’s just a pulled muscle,” Frigga whispers back. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It is,” insists Leah. “I’m gonna get your medicine.”

Frigga blows out a defeated breath because she learned by now that she can’t stop this girl any more than she could stop her headstrong sons when they were children. “Leah, honey, wait,” she says, taking one of the girl’s hands into both of hers, spinning her back around. “You see, I don’t have any pain medication here. I can’t because Loki might take it.”

“Why?”

“To, uh, numb himself. I know he’s doing better but, you see, baby, there’s always a risk of—”

“What does that mean?” cuts Leah.

“It means that Loki might use medicine to harm himself,” Frigga explains as best and carefully as she can. “If you’re healthy and use it like you should, medicine is good for you but some people might use it to hurt themselves.”

“Like Loki did with the ... wounds?” Leah gulps.

“Y-yes,” says Frigga, curling a strand of the girl’s hair between her fingers, her heart breaking a little because somehow she didn’t expect her to make the connection. Her bad, really, because Leah is smart and astonishingly perspective. “And although you and I both know Loki has been doing a lot better, that’s a risk I just don’t want to take. So, no pain medication.”

“You’re being brave for him,” Leah observes then, a melancholic smile on her lips that makes her look ten years older.

“I try to be,” sighs Frigga before she can stop herself.

“I understand,” says Leah, the girl’s words creeping into the tiny cracks in Frigga’s heart and shattering it from the inside. “No pain medicine. But can we at least make another salad now, mama? One without sad, shriveling, yucky-looking tomatoes?”

Frigga laughs, wiping away the tears she didn’t even realize pooling into her eyes and ignoring the pain in her side. “Of course, my love. What would you like?”

Chapter Text

April 2022

Frigga wakes to Lilah’s urgent mewl and the cat’s weight on her chest. Fenrir is lurking in the doorway, silently eying her with his hungry, yellow gaze. The body is lying beside her with both of their legs sprawled to the side in a V-angle, one hand behind their back, one finger in their mouth.

Sigh.

Frigga scoops the feline up, struggles into a sitting position and rubs her aching back. Lilah meows at her. “I know you’re starving, sweetie, but I need a minute.”

It’s been a few days since she pulled that muscle and the pain has yet to ease up. She gets up, prepares the breakfast for the furry ones and attends to the dishes.

“Sorry you had to get up to feed them again,” says Loki as he joins her about thirty minutes later. He crosses the distance between them and brushes a kiss against her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s alright,” Frigga assures him even if caring for the littles really is a bit much at her age on some days and then winces.

“You’re still in pain, aren’t you?”

“It’s fine,” she tells him.

“I’ll be right back,” Loki tells her and returns with a red plastic bottle that he places on the counter. “Leah told me you wouldn’t take any medicine, so I bought you some Tylenol. You’re welcome.”

“Loki, I—”

“Mom, these are over-the-counter pills,” Loki cuts her off. “They’re non-addictive because they aren’t narcotics. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be OTC in the first place. Hell, you can buy this stuff off Amazon without a prescription, okay? They’re safe. You can take them and you should take them because you can hardly move.”

“Alright, alright. I just ... didn’t want to tempt you,” Frigga defends her misguided stubbornness regarding this particular subject.

“You didn’t want to tempt me with something that won’t even get me high?” Loki chuckles. “I hate to rain on your parade, mother, but that logic is flawed. I can’t believe you go to court and win.”

Frigga laughs, which hurts, and reaches for the meds. Loki watches her very closely as she opens the bottle, shakes a pill out and fills a glass of water. “What?”

“Why don’t you believe me, Mom?”

Frigga sighs. “I do believe you. It’s just ... I mean, they might not be addictive but you can still overdose on them, right? I know I should trust you,” she hastily tacks on when his lips part in protest. “And I do.” Tears pool into her eyes as her mind flashes back to the day she received the call that Loki tried to commit suicide. “But that fear that you could hurt yourself with something that I could have easily avoided to have in the apartment is still deep-seated and, sometimes, it just cranes its neck to let me know that it isn’t gone before it leaves me alone again. I’m sorry.”

She hastily wipes at her eyes.

Loki takes her hand and interlaces their fingers. “If I want to hurt myself, I’ll find a way. If I wanted to kill myself, I’d find a way too, no matter how self-harm-proof you make this place. And I’m not ... I’m okay, Mom. I promise.”

“I know,” Frigga says and cups his cheek with her free hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do,” Loki says with a smirk. “You are in dire need of a vacation, preferably without the system.”

Chapter Text

May 2022

There is no music playing, no smell of food wafting from the kitchen, and the lights in the hallway are switched off when Loki lets himself into Thor’s apartment for their weekly Friday movie night. “Brother?” he calls out, his heart thumping against his ribs.

Something is wrong.

Very wrong.

A sob comes from the living room and Loki crosses the distance, discarding his duffel bag by the door.

Thor is lying on the couch on his back, wheezing, his feet planted on the ground, one hand in the waistband of his pants. The table looks like the garbage can threw up and Loki’s brain needs a moment to decode the sight in front of him: An empty pizza box, a Burger King bag, several candy wrappers and a bag of chips, a Slurpee cup.

“I’m sorry I forgot,” Thor mumbles in a teary voice, his gaze fleeing Loki’s. “I mean, I didn’t technically forget but ...”

“What is that?” Loki asks, his spine prickling with a cold sense of urgency. It got better over the years but seeing his once-thought-invulnerable brother cry still has the tendency to send his mind reeling for a few seconds before he can anchor his thoughts. “Did you ... eat all this?”

“’m afraid so,” Thor says and inhales a shuddering breath before letting out a groan. “This is my coping mechanism. I thought I was over it but ...”

He looks miserable and Loki’s brain refuses to cooperate until his brother speaks his next words, softly and intimately, almost like a confession. “Rhodey diagnosed me with EDNOS a while back.”

What is that, exactly? Loki asks inwardly because he doesn’t want to embarrass his brother by forcing him to spell it out for him. Anyone?

Eating disorder not otherwise specified, replies Nikias. It’s a label they throw on you when you don’t match all the criteria of, in this case, binge eating disorder.

Thanks.

Loki sits down beside Thor and puts a hand on his arm. He doesn’t ask why he hasn’t told him anything about this because he knows the shame and the stigma attached to any kind of mental illness all too well. “Hey, look at me,” he says instead.

Thor inhales another breath and then his gaze finds Loki’s. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Well, he is because this is Thor (!!) and yet he isn’t.

“I always said that people would assume you had a problem with food if you weren’t this ripped, remember?” He pokes Thor’s biceps. “If you’d been overweight, there would’ve been no way people would’ve looked at the amount you were eating growing up and come to the conclusion that everything was fine.”

Thor snorts a laugh. “Always so perceptive,” he mumbles. “Shit, I can’t breathe.”

“You should probably get out of your pants,” Loki suggests.

“I can’t move either.”

“Let me help.”

“No, don’t come too close,” wheezes Thor. “I might throw up on you.”

“Alright,” Loki says and crosses his legs. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Thor shakes his head. Closes his eyes. Sobs again.

“Do you wanna talk about the trigger?” Loki asks, praying silently that it’s not Odin and chiding himself for his selfishness.

“There is this kid I work with,” Thor says after a while, his eyes still closed. “His Dad reminds me a lot of Dad and I’ve always had this gut feeling he was abusing the boy. I’ve been trying to talk to the kid for weeks, trying to make him understand that there are adults who can help and all that. On Tuesday, he finally confided in me. He told me that his Dad was touching his little sister and he was so afraid but still so angry that he couldn’t protect her and ... I ... I ...” Thor wipes his eyes. “I suppose that hit way too close to home. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” says Loki and reaches for his brother’s hand. “But you have to forgive yourself at some point, Thor. You have to let Amora go.”

Thor opens his eyes then, staring at him.

“What?”

“You said her name. You n-never said her name before.”

Loki draws a breath. “Yeah. I, uh, some memories bled through when Leah and I were co-con in therapy last time but what happened to me was not your fault. You were a kid yourself. You didn’t even yet know what sex was, so how could you have known what sexual abuse was or that something was even happening at all when she always waited until you were out of the house? This is all on her, okay? Not on you, not on Mom. It’s Amora’s fault and hers alone. She was the abuser.”

“I know, I know,” sighs Thor. “Because I look at this kid and I don’t blame him for not stopping his father, so why do I blame myself? It makes no sense.”

“See?” Loki squeezes his hand.

“It’s just ... It sickens me so much that ... How can ...” Thor sniffs again and wipes his nose with the back of his free hand. “You know, I always wondered why you and not me, so one day I looked up Amora’s other victims and they all looked like you. Dark hair, blue or green eyes. And it’s just ... You were preschoolers and she already had a goddamn type. That’s disgusting and I just don’t understand how anyone can ... Shit.”

Despite the images of Leah’s memories that flare up in his mind, a laugh rises in Loki’s throat. “You do understand that this is a good thing though, right?”

Thor’s eyebrows hike up. “What?”

“It’s a good thing that you don’t understand, brother. I’d be far more alarmed if you were able to empathize with a pedophile.”

“You’re right.” Thor laughs and winces again. “Fuck, I’m a mess.”

“We all are sometimes,” Loki assures him and gets up to fetch a garbage bag to remove the mess so that Thor won’t have to look at it anymore. He sweeps all the empty packages into it and helps himself to a few fries that have been spared by the binge-eating episode. He then takes the trash outside and joins Thor in the living room again. “Do you still wanna watch something until you can move again?”

Thor grimaces at him and shifts his weight a little. “Yeah. But nothing dark or heavy, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for not ... you know,” Thor says softly as Loki browses through their watchlist.

“I do,” says Loki and the smile that appears on his brother’s lips even reaches Thor’s deep blue eyes.

Chapter Text

May 2022

“You know you’ll obtain better results if you wiggle the brush back and forth while applying the mascara from root to tip, right?” Loki asks and flicks Frigga a mischievous glance in the bathroom mirror in front of which they are standing to get ready to together. “It’ll make the lashes look a lot thicker.”

Frigga chuckles. “I’ve been doing my make-up for thirty years and now you’re telling me I’ve been doing it wrong all this time?”

“Not wrong but certainly less efficiently,” replies Loki. “And it’s not your fault. You’re old. You didn’t have tutorials on the internet to help you out like we do now.”

Ah.

“Thank you for the reminder, Nikias,” sighs Frigga.

The alter’s gaze pierces right through her soul. “You’re welcome. So, why the glam-up? You trying to get back out there?”

“Hm.” Frigga smirks at them. “That is an interesting observation coming from a member of a system that so fiercely opposes misogyny.”

Nikias grunts. “Fair enough. It’s just … Loki had a nightmare the other day, of you getting remarried. It shook him up pretty badly and I just wanna make sure that you’re not, like, thinking of dating again?”

Okay, wow.

Really?

“Well, if it’s marriage Loki is worried about, y’all can rest assured I won’t tie the knot again,” Frigga evades because, yes, there might be someone she met through work who she is mildly attracted to even though she hasn’t made a move yet.

“But dating?” Nikias probes, fixing her with their trademark intense stare.

“Can you even still call it that, at my age?” Frigga kids even if she’ll ‘only’ turn fifty-five this summer; which isn’t old enough by far to throw in the towel.

“Cut the bullshit,” demands Nikias and, even after all this time, their sharp, urgent tone still manages to send a chilly tickle down Frigga’s spine. “I’m trying to look out for your children here, in case that ain’t clear.”

Frigga clears her throat. “It’s clear but I can’t promise anyone that I will stay single forever. However, I also think that Loki has progressed enough that the, at this point purely hypothetical, presence of another man in my life won’t throw him into a crisis.”

Nikias raises their eyebrows at her. “Better think again, Friggs.”

She ignores the nickname and tries to gather her wits. “You’ve evolved into a loyal protector and I’m glad Loki and the littles can count on you, I am, but if you truly expect me to put my own life on hold forever … It’s just a little too much to ask of me, don’t you think? I’m only human and I think, deep down, despite his fear of abandonment, Loki wants me to be happy.”

“He sure does.” Nikias shrugs. “But I want you to keep him happy. And safe.”

“And I’ve done everything in my power to ensure his mental wellbeing,” Frigga tells them, slightly enraged at this point.

“You have. So, don’t stop,” Nikias retaliates with a challenging smirk. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Before she can reply, their lids flutter shut.

“See?” Loki asks and takes the mascara brush she’s still holding in her hands from her, demonstrating the procedure. “The result is much—what?”

Frigga sucks in a breath and reaches for a strand of his hair, twisting it between her fingers. “Did you ever consider the possibility that I, uh, might date again?”

“I did,” gulps Loki, choking up instantly. “And, to be honest, the thought terrifies me but I also know that’s very unfair to you, so.” He swallows and his throat bobs. “W-why? I-is there someone?”

“I’m not sure,” Frigga replies truthfully and then, because lying never got them anyplace pleasant in the past, adds, “There might be.”

“That’s why you’ve been smiling so much this week,” Loki tries in a feeble voice that fuels her guilt.

Frigga visualizes the pesky sentiment as a snowball and imagines herself crushing it between her palms. “Have I?”

“Yeah,” says Loki and reaches for her hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. I have an excellent therapist to guide me through this, alright? I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Chapter Text

A few days later

Loki can’t breathe the entire fucking time Frigga is out on her date with the cousin of a client who came in one day to submit her medical records on her behalf and found a few very creative reasons to return since then. Thor actually saw him once and told Loki that he seemed decent enough but, in this case, his brother’s opinion hardly counts because that gullible dumbass befriends everyone without closer inspection.

Loki paces the living room. Sits down to play with the cats. Stands up again because the furry little beasts aren’t interested. Paces the room again. Tries to eat. Can’t. Retreats to his room and paces some more.

Thor doesn’t consider the creepy or the wicked in people and he doesn’t freak out because their Mom met Odin through work too and, look how that turned out, and what if Robert only seemed decent but is a serial killer, Ted Bundy was charming as fuck, or a rapist or a scammer who only wants her money, which isn’t fair, is it, because Frigga is attractive and kind with a mischievous sense of humor and she’s lovely and she respects flowers and she is an excellent cook and she deserves all the happiness in the world after she sacrificed her own life for Loki’s recovery and she doesn’t even advertise their wealth like she and Odin did when they still lived in Summerlin and Loki knows all this, he does, but what if Robert is gonna hurt her or worse what if he doesn’t and his Mom falls head over heels in love with him and they’ll elope together, hey, stupid anxiety brain, shut up, that’s NOT gonna happen, okay, okay, but what if she’ll move out eventually or he in and what if he’ll hate the littles when he does or the fact that Frigga has to care for Loki’s baby alter sometimes, what if he’ll ruin her every relationship because of his stupid fucking DID and what if she’ll start to hate him because of it and what if she kicks him out and—

“Honey?” calls Frigga. “I’m back.”

Gulp.

Loki is wound up to such a high pitch that his ears are fucking ringing. He’s sure he’s gonna fly apart and the pieces of his existence are gonna slingshot straight into the atmosphere any moment now. Maybe he should pretend that he’s asleep so he doesn’t have to hear the answer until morning but if he does that, he’ll probably lie awake all night and why the fuck can he not just chill? He’s eighteen years old, a legal adult. He shouldn’t freak the hell out just because his Mom went on a date.

Frigga softly knocks against the open door before poking her head into Loki’s room. “Hey, are you alright?”

Loki nods and wets his lips with his tongue. “How was it?”

“Awkward,” Frigga grimaces. “I’m dreadfully out of practice.”

“Thank God.” The relief from all that tension is so monumental that tears spring to Loki’s eyes. He hastily wipes at the traitorous bastards and harrumphs when he sees the quizzical expression on his mother’s face. “I mean, I’m sorry.”

Frigga grins. “Of course you are.”

At least she’s laughing it away?

“No, I am,” Loki insists. “It’s just that my mental illnesses have conditioned my brain to be disproportionately self-absorbed.”

“Gods, you’re tied up in knots, aren’t you?” Frigga murmurs and places a hand on his shoulder, gently lowering him onto his bed. Loki wants to crumble into a pile of shame. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I swear I want you to have a life,” he whines because he can’t adult today and fuck everything. He wants a hot choc and a fluffy blanket and lots of cuddles.

Me too, Loptr pipes up and reaches for George.

“I know,” Frigga whispers and pulls them into a side hug. “But can we talk about what you are most afraid of or concerned by?”

“Your taste in men?” Loki half-cries, half-laughs, which elicits a grunt from their mother.

“Fair enough,” she concedes.

“It’s just,” Loki breathes out, leaning against her shoulder. “You know I still don’t handle change well and the thought of sitting down at the dinner table with a complete stranger just freaks me out. What if I switch and your new partner or lover or whatever is creeped out by my littles or irritated by Nikias’ charming personality or just doesn’t approve of the fact that your grown ass child isn’t moving out or that you sometimes have to get up to care for my baby alter during the night? This is some weird shit that might drive people away. You know that, right?”

“Well, I know this: Anyone who doesn’t ‘approve of the fact’ that my child, who has a dissociative disorder, feels safer living with me can go to hell,” replies Frigga.

“You not go?” asks Loptr. “Loki says you go away.”

“No, I’m not going away, sweetie,” Frigga tells them and presses them close. “Robert and I might go out again—maybe, once I fully recovered from tonight—but I’m not going to move out of this apartment. That is a promise.”

“Alright, enough with the sentiment,” Loki sniffles and pulls free. “We know.” Deep breaths. “So, tell me, mother. What was so awkward about it?”

“Oh boy.” Frigga chuckles and ruffles his hair. “Where do I even begin?”

Chapter Text

Mid-June 2022

It happens out of nowhere.

One second, they’re marinating steaks and the next Loki crumbles to the floor in a trembling heap and starts hyperventilating.

Okay maybe not entirely out of nowhere, Thor corrects himself, because their mother’s recent re-exploration of the wondrous world of dating left Loki so shaken up that he’s been staying at Thor’s place since he showed up three nights ago, beside himself with fury. Thor didn’t push him then because his brother obviously didn’t want to talk and Frigga merely said they’d had a fight about Robert when he asked her about it and that perhaps it was for the best if Loki processed what happened in a different space from the one they shared; if that was alright with him, of course. That threw Thor a little (nothing comes between Loki and their Mom, nothing) but they all made so much progress that he didn’t think much of it and doesn’t, for a second, know what to do until his brain finally reboots in the face of such a violent and unexpected breakdown.

“What is it, squirt?” Thor murmurs as he crouches down next to him, remembering just in time not to touch Loki’s shivering back without permission. “Can you tell me what’s bothering you? Is there anything I can do?”

“Flashback,” Loki wheezes. “Fuck …”

“Okay, focus on my voice,” soothes Thor. “We’re in my apartment and we were just prepping steaks for a BBQ. You’re in Phoenix, with your brother.”

Loki chokes on a shuddering breath.

“You’re safe. Can I touch you?”

“It’s the smell,” Loki pants. “It smells exactly like …”

And then he bursts into tears.

“Okay, what should I … Okay, okay.” Thor stands, puts the steaks back in the fridge, closes the door, opens a window and pulls out a bottle of cleaning spray from the cabinet to cover up the smell. “Is that better?”

Loki makes an unidentifiable sound and, his arms looped around his pulled-up knees, rocks himself back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until his shoulders finally stop trembling so badly. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” says Thor and reaches for his phone that’s been lying on top of the counter. “Remember that frog meme that said, ‘It’s okay to cry about something you thought you healed from’?”

“Hm.”

Thor opens his cheer-up-in-case-of-a-mental-illness-emergency folder. “Wanna look at it again?”

Loki lifts his head, flicks a glance at the screen and fresh tears well into his red-rimmed eyes.

“Can I touch you now?” asks Thor and sweeps his little brother into a tight hug when he signals his consent with a nod. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Not from my memories,” Loki counters, his voice a wisp.

Shit, okay.

Thor tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you wanna talk about the memory?”

“I don’t know.” Loki takes a breath but the crying fit isn’t ready to let him go just yet. “I don’t know if you … It’s Thanos.”

Shit, shit, shit, thinks Thor because it’s been over two years since Hela brought his brother back and he still hasn’t talked about his abuser. Somewhere along the way, Thor simply resigned himself to the prospect that he never would and now … He clears his throat. “I know that’s probably small comfort right now but he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. He—”

Loki howls, sounding pained.

“W-what?” Thor stammers. “Did I say something wrong?”

Another sob wrings itself free from his brother’s lungs. “No. I mean, yes but ... You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” says Thor because after years of therapy and social work he is pretty convinced nothing can surprise him anymore. “You know you can trust me, right?”

Loki nods vaguely. “But you’re gonna freak out,” he whispers, his voice brittle and shaky.

“I won’t,” Thor assures him even if the preface does unsettle him a little. It’s been a while since Loki said something along those lines too.

“Everyone always tells me that he’s gone when I’m upset and I know that’s a good thing but,” Loki blubbers, “but ... I just can’t help it.”

Thor gulps, trying to get rid of the lump forming in his throat. “Help what?”

“I miss him sometimes,” Loki snivels.

Thor’s blood freezes and his stomach suddenly decides to prepare for the somersault Olympics or something.

“And I know what you’re gonna think and I know how fucked it is because he was ... He was so much worse than Dad. He was so much more violent and calculating and ruthless but he”—Loki hiccups and Thor tenses against his will—“he hugged me and he ruffled my hair and I know it was pedophilic and predatory, knew even then that he didn’t truly care about me, but I still put my head on his lap and he didn’t push me away. He preyed on my weakness but he didn’t ... I put my head on his lap and he comforted me.”

That bit about nothing being able to surprise him anymore?

Yeah, scratch that.

“He did so much worse things to me than Dad but he also did things for me, good things, that Dad hasn’t done for me in such a long time. At one point, Robin was legit convinced he was our father. They thought along the lines of, ‘My mom shot my Dad’ and after the integration … I don’t … It just hits me out of nowhere sometimes.”

“Fuck, I ... I don’t know what to say, squirt,” Thor mumbles because what does one say to that? His baby brother was tied down, whipped, burned, branded and choked either by this guy or by someone under the orders of this guy and still he ... Just because Odin never ... He put his fucking head on that monster’s lap, starving for affection; reassurance; any kind of comfort ... He ...

Fuck.

Thor’s thoughts turn to mush.

“Can you please try anyway?” Loki pleads in a trembling whisper.

He can’t ...

What could he possibly ...

“Please, tell me you don’t think I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Thor assures, well, both of them really because no matter his instinctual gut reaction of a primal disgust mixed with sprinkles of horror, none of this is his brother’s fault. Loki didn’t choose to ... And this is a huge step, isn’t it? Loki telling him about this, trusting him with what must be his deepest, darkest, most embarrassing secret? Thor can’t ruin this, can’t make his brother question that he can come to him with anything; no matter how guilty he might feel about it. “You were all alone out there, Lokes. You had no one else to turn to.”

“Do you really believe that?” Loki asks into Thor’s shirt.

“I do,” Thor says because he will believe it once he overcomes the initial state of shock the confession left him in. “Because it’s not your fault that you felt or even still feel like this sometimes. It’s Dad’s. The only reason we’re a bit fucked up is because he fucked us up, okay?”

Loki exhales a stuttering breath. “Yeah,” he manages and, for a long moment, they just sit on the kitchen floor in silence.

“I don’t know if she told you about it but Mom and I had a pretty bad fight the other day,” Loki says eventually. “And she made me realize that …” He takes a deep breath. “Shit, okay. I bought drugs after we came home from Norway.”

Aaaand Thor’s stomach does another cartwheel.

“I didn’t take them,” Loki tacks on hastily. “Just … Becoming aware of Luna and the reason for her existence threw me back a little. Initially, it was alright but then I learned that she took over for me before when we went to see the family because I was too terrified.”

A non-verbal grunt is all Thor’s mouth can manage because even though he now knows that his father’s and grandfather’s behavior was toxic and abusive, his own memories still tell him a different story and his brain still has difficulties wrapping itself around the fact that their own family terrified his little brother to the point that he had to dissociate in their company to make it through.

“I just needed a security blanket, I guess. Something to fall back on if things turned to shit? I hid them in her room and she found them. I really thought it was a smart move at the time.” Loki chuckles grimly. “Because why would she look for contraband in her own space, right? Anyway. She asked me why I was so upset because she suspected that there was something more to all of this than ‘just’ my abandonment issues. And she’s right. When I told her that perhaps I just don’t trust men anymore, she came across as really dismissive and point-blank told me that not all men were gonna hurt me or her; which is true, I suppose, but I’m still fucking afraid to have any kind of father figure in my life ever again because I can’t go through any of what I’ve gone through again. I told her I was in charge of my own recovery. Like, if I wanted to keep drugs close as a last resort should things turn to utter shit and also as a reminder how far I’ve come because even though I knew they were there, I didn’t take them, it was none of her business.”

“Well,” Thor harrumphs.

“Yeah. She said that I was still living in her apartment and that she had every right to not want illegal substances in her place. She tried to get rid of ‘em and I panicked and snatched the bag from her and left. I was this close to taking them but then I came to my senses and threw them into a trash can and then I came here. And I don’t know what to do. I want her to have a life and be happy and all that, I do, and I know we’re grown up, so even if things ever get serious with anyone, it’s not like that someone’s gonna try to adopt us or …” Loki blows out a breath, looking utterly miserable and defeated. “I don’t know. It’s just a lot. I kinda miss having a father even though the one I had treated me like crap and I feel so fucking selfish and bratty about all of it but everything’s been fine and now I just have this lingering feeling that everything’s gonna fall apart. I can’t help it and I keep asking myself why Mom can’t be like us and just not want a relationship. Why what we have as a family can’t be enough for her too. Damn. I’m such a mess.”

“You’re not a mess,” Thor says and kisses the top of his little brother’s head. “I mean, I never thought about it, to be honest, but now that I do, I have to admit that it is a justifiable fear that she’ll hook herself another asshole because we all have a type.”

“Uh, brother?” asks Loki. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.” Thor clears his throat. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. Except that your thoughts are completely valid and that I’m proud of you for kicking your addiction’s ass and that I really think you guys should talk. You know, talk as in scheduling a family therapy session with Dr. van Dyne to talk about this.”

Loki swallows. “Yeah, I, uh, haven’t told the doc about Robert yet.”

Thor’s mouth gapes. “Mom’s been going out with this guy for over a month!”

“I know,” whines Loki. “I just … I’m a huge fucking baby, okay?”

Thor presses him close. “You know Dr. van Dyne’ll be able to give you much better advice than me though, right? Because I’m not a trauma specialist and all?”

Loki grimaces. “I just really, really hoped this thing was gonna sort itself out before I have to address it.”

“Even if it did, chances are high she’ll meet someone else eventually,” Thor says softly. “She’s out there, squirt, divorced and attractive.”

“Yeah, I know,” sighs Loki. “I do. I guess I have no other choice than to start dealing with it.”

“Adulthood really fucking sucks sometimes,” Thor offers and they both laugh. “So, should we, uh, order food instead?”

“I’m not really hungry anym—” Loki groans and a shiver runs through him. When he glances up again after a few heartbeats, it’s Leah’s eyes that find Thor’s. “Can we order chocolate fudge ice cream?”

Chapter Text

July 3^rd, 2022

“I told her I don’t want her to drag that guy along because the littles have been looking forward to this stupid BBQ thingy for weeks. She said it was just a neighborhood get-together and hardly a date, with so many people coming. We fought because she belittled Loki’s traumas and went not-all-men on him when he told her that he didn’t trust anyone around her. When he called her out on her BS, she said she apparently wasn’t ‘enough of a feminist to get her point across convincingly’ and then simply tried to take the drugs away. Loki got really angry and then I got really angry but didn’t end up stabbing her. So yay, progress,” Nikias deadpans, giving her a thumbs-up.

Janet puts her pen down. She only heard of Frigga’s potential new partner a few days ago when Loki finally confided in her why he’s been so tense for weeks. “So, is Robert coming?”

“Of course he is!” Nikias crosses their arms and glowers at her. “Because Frigga doesn’t give a damn about Loki freaking out. Falling in love makes everyone stupid and selfish, I guess. She even puts on make-up and stuff, making a complete fool out of herself. I mean, how old is she anyway? Seventy?”

“Fifty-four,” replies someone else, using the body’s voice.

“Whatever,” huffs Nikias.

This conversation is oh so very necessary and has been for a while. Sadly, that doesn’t make it any easier. “I sometimes forget,” begins Janet, “that the system was far from functional when you emerged and you never quite experienced what it’s like to experience bodily or any other kind of autonomy.”

Nikias blinks, proving her point. “What?”

“Bodily autonomy. It means that every person possesses the right to determine what happens to their own body without any external influence or coercion. For women, this is often discussed in the context of laws regulating birth control and abortion. Being part of a system, you don’t get to decide what happens to the body all too often, which isn’t fair, I’m aware, but people without DID should be able to freely make decisions about their physical self. In an ideal world, every person should be able to govern their bodies and their lives.”

Nikias is still glowering. “So?”

“Frigga is a grown woman, who has the right to do whatever she wants as long as she is not harming anyone.”

“But she is. Didn’t you listen? Loki is a mess. He lost his shit over Luna earlier in the year and went to an NA meeting to buy drugs because he read somewhere online that old people go to doctors to get painkillers and then sell them to addicts to make some extra cash.”

Sigh. Their health care system is truly flawed. “How is this Frigga’s faul—”

“He was this close to taking the fucking Vicodin a few times,” cuts Nikias, fuming by now. “But then he calmed down again and he was fine for three months until Frigga started to date that moron! How is that not harming him?”

“I think you sometimes forget that Loki is a grown man, too.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Grown person,” Janet corrects herself because it’s hard, sometimes, to remember that the patient everyone referred to as ‘boy’, ‘brother’ or ‘son’ for so long doesn’t identify as male. “Sorry.”

“That too is debatable.” Nikias grouses, uncrossing their arms and crossing them again.

“Look, I know you’re trying to protect them and I also know how hard it still is for you to accept that you can’t control other people’s actions but you have no right to decide what Frigga is doing with her life. She can date or sleep with whoever she wants, she can wear whatever she wants, she can put make-up on if she wants, she can—”

“No, she can’t,” cuts Nikias.

Janet bites back a sigh. “Why do you think she can’t?”

“Because she is Loki’s mom?” Nikias slaps their thighs for emphasis. “Because she stayed married to that asshole who abused Loki and employed that nanny who abused Leah? Because she was fucking blind and has stuff to make up for, and instead she’s out there trying to get some and dragging another loser into Loki’s life? Her priorities are all over the fucking place!”

Janet kneads the bridge of her nose. “And for how long do you think she’ll have to put her life on the back burner to make up for her mistakes?”

“Until Loki resolves his abandonment issues?” Nikias counters. “Not to mention the littles. Leah is five, Loptr is two, Button is a few weeks old. She still has literal babies to look after, okay?”

Loki told her a few weeks ago that, while he prefers to let the baby alter grow and ask them their name once they’re old enough, Leah christened him ‘Button’ because his head is so small. “That is true but neither Leah nor Loptr seem overly bothered about Robert’s arrival in their lives and even Loki himself agrees that his mother deserves to have a life.”

“Loki is an idiot,” snaps Nikias.

“Nikias, please. Loki has come very far.”

They shrug. “But he still needs his mommy and she’s leaving him high and dry.”

“That is not true. Frigga is there for him in any way she can but, as I said, Loki is, well, maybe not all grown up, but he is eighteen years old. He’ll be nineteen in four months. He has a job, he takes care of his cats, he is cultivating friendships, he—”

“What?” cackles Nikias. “Are you saying that he doesn’t need me anymore? That I’m useless?”

Janet shakes her head, scribbling that down because she has an inkling that maybe that is what bothers Nikias the most, that they themselves feel helpless now that they’re without a, for want of a better word, mission. But that’ll have to wait until she can come up with a way to phrase it that doesn’t chase Nikias out of the room instantly. “No, not at all. Loki still needs you, even if he doesn’t need you as much as he once did now that he is more stable. That doesn’t mean you’re useless. Killian told me you’ve been the one closest to Leah ever since you emerged and you did a great job raising her. You’re great with the littles, even if you probably hate to hear that.”

Nikias grunts.

“But just because Loki isn’t well on some days or even for a few days or weeks in a row, it doesn’t mean he needs the kind of protection he did when you emerged. He has a great support system outside now too and he has learned to take care of himself. In times of crisis, old coping mechanisms are undoubtedly going to seem more attractive to him but you said it yourself, he never took the drugs. He hid them for five months but didn’t take them and ultimately he threw them out. And Frigga is a very different person from the one she was when you emerged too.”

Nikias looks away.

“Do you like her?” Janet asks then, trying to catch them off-guard. “Not right now, obviously, but in general. Do you think Frigga is a good mother now?”

“I guess so?”

“And do you think it’d be fair to her if she had to prioritize Loki over her own needs for the rest of her life?”

“She’s a mother.” Nikias shrugs. “You bring a child into this world, you care for them. And okay, she didn’t bring him into this world per se but she took him in, so the same thing applies. If your kid is sick, and especially if you bear part of the blame, you care for them. She made a choice. Loki didn’t get to make one whether or not he wanted to have mommy issues, so who the fuck cares if it’s fair to her? Life isn’t ever fair to anyone. How can I make her listen to me?”

Janet feels the urge to tear at her hair even though she does understand where Nikias is coming from and feels their pain. “You can’t.”

“But I want Robert out of the picture, so Loki can relax,” Nikias insists. “How do I do that without hurting anyone?”

Okay, this definitely is progress. Janet tries to gather her thoughts. “Let us go back to the fact that Loki wants his mother happy for a second, okay? Loki is prepared to work on this. Loki always knew this day might come and he wants to—”

“Loki doesn’t always know what’s good for him though.”

“Neither do you, I’m afraid,” Janet replies softly, praying she didn’t go too far with this.

“Way to rub my face into my fuck-ups,” huffs Nikias and, sometimes, Janet catches herself marveling at how alike they and Loki are. “But I ... I’m just trying to do better this time, okay? This is ...” They throw their hands up in the air. “This is me trying to do right by him and to stop Frigga from prioritizing some guy over the system’s needs again before it’s too fucking late for me to do anything about it!”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Nikias cocks a brow. “Do you really?”

“Yes. Odin and Thanos traumatized all of you and you and Loki are understandably wary of a new man arriving in Frigga’s life because of how you were treated by adult males in the past. That is valid and I am not trying to downplay your emotions or fears. You have every right to be scared and I—”

“I am not scared!”

“—I will be here if you wish to talk about what happened to you or the others,” Janet soldiers on. “Once you’re ready. I’m not saying you’re overreacting or that your motivations are unjustified. Far from it. But my point still stands that Loki himself decided that he wants his mother to be happy and you have to respect that and you have to respect Frigga’s choices too. I know this is not what you want to hear. I know that it really, really sucks. But, unfortunately, what we have in mind when it comes to what’s best for other people doesn’t always align with what these people believe is best for them and that is something all adults have to accept at some point because, as I said, even the people closest to us have the right to live their own lives and make their own decisions.”

For a moment, silence creeps into the room and Janet fears her patient will shut down. They don’t. Eventually, they laugh grimly and say, “Trying to be the good guy really sucks, you know that?”

“I just said that I do,” Janet assures them.

Another moment of silence follows.

Just as Janet is about to close the session, though, Nikias speaks up again. “But is there anything I can ask Frigga not to do to protect the system without, uh, ‘crossing any boundaries’? Is that how you say it? I remember Magnus mentioned something like this before.”

“It is,” Janet confirms, marveling at the system’s functionality after such a comparably short period of therapy for probably the thousandth time. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I do. In your esteemed opinion,” snarks Nikias, holding her gaze, “would it be ‘appropriate’ to ask Frigga to not invite the guy over if they’re gonna have sex? Like, okay, if you absolutely have to, do it at his place? And would it be okay to ask her not to move in with him if worst came to worst?”

Janet thinks this over, regarding the scenarios from every angle possible. “Well, should it come to this—which, from what I have gathered, I think will not happen any time soon—these are points of concern you could raise.”

“Good,” says Nikias and then, just when Janet thought they got it, tacks on, “I really don’t get what is so inappropriate about telling someone not to wear make-up when they look ridiculous with it though.”

Janet lets out a small chuckle. “I am honestly surprised you don’t.”

Nikias raises one eyebrow. “You are?”

Janet gives a nod. “Considering that the same thing was done to you and Loki. Odin forbade you to wear make-up or dress up as fairies for Halloween and frowned upon your nail polish and jewelry because the body was born male and the emo get-up ‘looked ridiculous’ on you, didn’t he? He didn’t respect your gender identity, correct?”

“You know the answer to that,” grouses Nikias. “And you know that I know the answer to that, so just go ahead and tell me how these two things are even remotely similar!”

“If it’s wrong to judge people for using make-up to express themselves because of their gender or, in this case, sex, why should it be appropriate to do so because of their age?” Janet asks pointedly. “Not to mention that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.”

Nikias opens their mouth and closes it again, their mind working feverishly. “I guess I’ll have to think about that,” they say then and rise to their feet. “The session’s over anyway, right?”

Janet nods. “Just one more thing. For next time, I want you to write about whether you and Hela ever talked about her pregnancy and reflect on how it made you feel that she didn’t have an abortion.”

Nikias grimaces. “Seriously? What does that have to do with anything we talked about today?”

“You will see,” Janet says with a smile.

“Right. See you in three months then or maybe never,” Nikias kids and leaves her office.

Chapter Text

July 2022

“You’re acting weird today,” Wanda says, followed by a nervous chuckle, her eyes darting between Nikias and the road. “You yourself don’t even like surprises.” Another small laugh, a slight tinge of pink appearing on her cheeks. “Am I even talking to Loki?”

“Yes, you are,” lies Nikias. The girl is actually pretty cute when she’s flustered or she would be if they were into girls in the first place. “And trust me, you’re gonna like this one.”

What are you doing, Loki snaps at him from inside the cave. Don’t hurt her.

Why would I hurt her? You wound me, Lokester. Do you still not trust me?

It’s taken them a while to earn it back from the others for obvious reasons but they figured everything was fine now. It kind of stings to contemplate that the system might never have complete faith in them again.

I do, sighs Loki.

Good.

“Over there,” Nikias says and Wanda switches on her blinker. “The parking lot is ‘round the back.”

Wanda still isn’t convinced that she’s interacting with Loki—smart girl—but doesn’t say anything more. She just follows Nikias into the restaurant, worrying at the hem of her burgundy dress.

“Hello, Wanda,” says Loki’s neighbor when they reach the table and the girl blushes a deeper shade of red. He even rises to his feet and kisses her hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Loki said the guy’s accent was British and his voice obviously has quite a melting effect on Wanda. She makes a small, love-struck sound that should be embarrassing but isn’t, then giggles. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Surprise,” says Nikias with a wink. “I’ll leave you two alone now. Have fun.”

“Oh, I think we will,” says Vis.

“Yes,” agrees Wanda and mouthes a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder before Nikias takes their leave.

Did you just play matchmaker for my friend? Loki clamors into their head.

“I absolutely did.”

Why?

“Because your ace ass introduced them on your stupid annual Fourth of July neighborhood BBQ and didn’t even realize that they were fucking flirting from the first second,” Nikias giggles. “They were both completely smitten. Infatuated. And you didn’t even notice. Tsk. Some friend you are.”

I was preoccupied with other things that day.

“Preoccupied, hm?” Nikias asks, which is a nice euphemism for trying to get one’s shit together in the presence of booze and mommy’s new admirer and keep the cravings at a manageable minimum.

Hey, where are you taking us?

Speaking of ...

“How about a bar for a victory drink? I’ll probably be able to pass for twenty-one, right?”

Absolutely not, Loki says and kicks them out again. “We will not break the streak over a happy thing.”

Congratulations, Nikias tells him. You passed that little test with flying colors. No hesitation whatsoever.

“Asshole,” Loki giggles.

“Who are you talking to, freak?” shouts a guy who passes Loki in the street, cellphone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

“I could ask you the same thing but I’m not because it’s none of my business,” Loki shouts back and they both giggle.

If someone had told them that therapy would eventually get them to a place like this, Nikias would have left the hot springs a lot sooner. Not that they would ever admit as much to anyone, of course.

Chapter Text

September 2022

“Name?”

Such a simple question really, one he should technically be able to answer in his sleep, and the front desk clerk has a pleasant enough smile on his round baby face, but Loki freezes anyway. Everything was fine one second ago and now he’s freaking out because the hotel lobby suddenly seems twice as big and so much noisier and there are so many people and his chest tightens, and Loki gulps, yearning for more air, cleaner air, breathable air.

I’m here, Killian tells him. But I know you can do this, Loki.

Yes, he can.

He can, can, can.

Because he’ll sign autographs at Arizona ComicCon only a year after a publishing house took notice of his work and signed him on to distribute Antenna Girl and to collaborate on a project focused on a group of disabled superheroes who fight the bad guys relying entirely on their wits; not a single bulging biceps on display. And a whole lot of people actually paid real money (?!?!!!?) to have Loki scribble his name across comic books issues or any personal items.

The clerk clears his throat. “I need your name, sir.”

“Loki Friggbörn-Davis,” he replies, his heart rampaging in his chest like a tornado. “I, uh, I’m one of the—”

“—artists,” gushes another clerk who popped up out of nowhere. “Gosh, I can’t believe it’s really you. I absolutely loved the latest issue. The way Antenna Girl tells Chloe that she won’t find peace if she keeps trying to figure out why she became a victim because the reason isn’t her? That was so powerful! I love your work so much. Please, come with me.”

Loki follows, dumbfounded.

It’s not that he has a hard time to accept that people actually relate to his art. That’s part of why he wrote it, to produce a balm to soothe misunderstood, closeted, bullied, aching and/or mentally ill teenage souls and give social outcasts like him who never fit in anywhere a safe space and a voice. It’s just ... how the fuck did all of this happen, that he landed a job before the age of eighteen even though he never even went to college? That someone hired an abuse survivor who lives with his Mom and still needs outpatient treatment from eight a.m. to one p.m. every day and needs an alter to get a goddamn driver’s license? That someone outside his immediate therapeutic and familial circle decided to give him a chance, not out of pity but because they genuinely believed Loki had something meaningful to contribute?

It’s fucking wild.

Meeting fans and actually signing his own creations and beautiful Antenna Girl fanart (!!!) and talking to them about his work (!!!) and hearing that he made a difference (!!!) is fucking electrifying.

And then there’s this one girl, maybe fifteen years old, who shyly tells him that she was bullied, hardly able to meet Loki’s gaze. “And I always thought it’s because I’m fat and ugly.”

“You’re neither,” Loki tells her and feels utterly out of his depth.

You’re doing great, Killian assures him.

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “I mean, I don’t know. But I guess you helped me realize that, like, even if I were, it wouldn’t be a good enough reason to get bullied, right?”

“Right. There is literally no excuse for bullying and intentionally hurting others,” Loki says. “Nobody deserves such treatment, nobody.”

“Thank you,” says the girl as she slides one of the special variant covers for the first issue over the desk.

“What’s your name?” Loki asks.

“Sigyn.”

Stay strong, Sigyn, he writes, and keep fighting. You’re worth it. Love, Loki.

The girl clutches the signed copy to her chest as if he just handed her a treasure. “Thank you so much,” she gushes. “You’re an inspiration!”

An inspiration, did you hear that?! She said I was an inspiration.

Loki wants to cry.

I did, yes. I told you that you have fans, Killian smirks.

He does.

He fucking does.

And it’s fucking amazing.

Chapter Text

November 2022

A few days ago, Loki came up with the brilliant idea to watch Trainspotting for therapeutic purposes and Thor agreed because his little brother isn’t so little anymore and usually knows what he’s doing and because he had no fucking clue that they were gonna see a drug addict’s dead baby onscreen, famished and neglected. If he had, he would’ve cautioned Loki against it. The result has been an extreme level of switchy-ness that is nothing compared to the days leading up to his brother’s last two birthdays and a very enraged Nikias, who still treats Loki like a little kid on some days and gave Thor hell for “exposing the system” to something so triggering as if it had been Thor’s fucking idea in the first place.

And now the baby alter has taken the front again, mewling miserably.

Thor lies down beside the youngest system member and shushes, “Hey, I’m here, Lokeriño,” because that’s how Stark usually refers to the baby alter and at some point it just kinda stuck because Loki keeps insisting that the baby should pick his own name when the time comes. “You’re safe.”

The baby whimpers.

“I’m here, you’re safe and warm,” Thor soothes and softly pushes the elephant into the tiny alter’s arms. “And here’s George.” Who is beginning to fall apart at the seams because he’s still the number one plushy when the system is in need of comfort. “We’re both here for you. You can go to sleep.”

Slowly, the crying ebbs away and then the alter yawns. It shouldn’t look as adorable as it does because this is still Loki’s grown, pale, all-cheekbones face, you know, the face of his as-good-as-nineteen-year-old brother but, hey, the littles are the littles.

On some days, Thor still wonders how he never saw it before Loki received the diagnosis.

The baby reaches for his face and clumsily pets his cheek. Well, actually he kinda smacked him but it’s the thought that counts. Thor smiles at him and rocks him gently.

The baby alter glances up at him and coos, “Dada.”

Holy fucking … Did he just?!

The feelings that roll over Thor are horror, awkwardness, pride, incredulity, affection; not necessarily in that order and not all of them having the same force because, honestly, why should he be appalled? It’s a bit weird, okay, and he’ll probably end up scheduling a facetime with Rhodey just in case but what Thor is doing for Loptr and this tiny soul is inherently fatherly, isn’t it? It’s what Odin and Hela should’ve done twenty years ago because if they had, he wouldn’t have to make up for their shortcomings now.

Right?

His inner voice isn’t convinced yet and calls him a creep for good measure.

“I’m not your dada. I’m your brother,” chuckles Thor.

“Dada.”

“Bruh-thuhr. Or Thor. Can you say Thor? Thoooor.” He boops Lokeriño’s nose.

The baby giggles. “Dada.”

“Jeez, where did you even pick up that word? Who called me ‘dada’ before, hm?” Thor asks and hugs him close, thanking his lucky stars that Loki helped him embrace his aro identity because it saves him from having to explain his relationships with his brother’s system members to a potential romantic partner.

Do you have any children?

Nah, just my little brother’s baby personalities who I’m kinda sorta raising together with my Mom, no biggie.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” decides Thor. “Because the older system kids will explain to you who I am when, if, you grow older.”

The baby alter yawns again and his lids flutter shut.

“They’ll tell you we’re brothers,” says Thor although they’re technically not because that state of consciousness was sealed behind the walls of trauma while they were growing up and it actually does feel kinda nice to think that he makes the young alter feel safe and looked after enough that he considers him his Dad. It fills him with the soothing warmth of love and a sense of accomplishment that’s similar to the feeling of watching one of the kids in the program glow-up.

See? It’s weird, says his inner voice.

How can it be weird if it’s how I feel? If I feel it, it exists and if it exists inside of me, it’s legit, so shut the fuck up.

The voice remains silent after that, the little fucker, and the baby alter starts snoring. Thor brushes a kiss against his forehead and leaves the room.

Chapter Text

November 2022

It’s been a while since Loki got triggered watching a random TV show. Despite the fact that Dr. van Dyne, Thor, Frigga, Mac and Darcy are still unifiedly convinced otherwise, he’s usually fine reading and watching the really dark horror stuff because it’s intriguing and psychologically interesting and entertaining and thought-provoking; not to mention that his brain can tell fact from fiction just fine on most days. Unless something cuts reaaally close to home—like the other day, when he and his brother watched Trainspotting and one of the heroin addicts realized that her baby had died in her crib because she’d been too high to care for the helpless creature (which doesn’t really count because he’s been watching it for therapeutic purposes to begin with and not for entertainment, okay?)—he’s fine.

He is.

Today, not so much.

Initially, Loki doesn’t understand what exactly makes his nerves tingle though. It’s gruesome material, sure. There’s this creepy villain dressed like a murder clown who kidnaps teenagers to torture them in order to feel like he has any sort of power left after the world had treated him like shit and kicked him to the curb over and over and over again. It doesn’t excuse his actions in any way but it makes sense as a narrative. But then he kidnaps a child too and they’re together, in a cage of sorts, in the woods, and the teenage girl tries to calm the boy, tries to make sure he stops crying so he won’t exhaust himself or attract attention or … whatever, really, Loki’s brain is flying apart very quickly, and she hugs him and shushes him and, before he can pinpoint why this unsettles him so, Loki’s brain slingshots him right back into the dimly lit hallways of The House™.

And then … Loki sees that girl, walked past him by Proxima Midnight, sees her terrified hazel eyes blown wide open with fear and her little blonde pigtails bobbing as she’s been dragged along because her little feet can’t keep up.

No more than seven years old.

A literal kid.

And Loki did … he did nothing.

He sees himself, doing fucking nothing except standing there gawking.

He didn’t comfort her, didn’t make sure she was fine or check where she even went and if she was okay after … whatever they did to her. She was there and then she was gone from Loki’s sight like a whirl of smoke dissipated into the air, ushered into one of the rooms most likely.

He doesn’t know.

Can’t know because he didn’t even bother to ask anyone about it later.

Because he was so caught up in his own fucking drama, his own fucking pain, his own private circle of hell.

Sure, he was Robin back then and some memories got lost or skewed during the integration.

Perhaps she was never there to begin with, his brain tries to soothe him. Perhaps it was a dream, a cruel fucking trick played on you by your drugged brain to make you feel more guilty.

It doesn’t help.

He dissolves into a screaming, bawling mess and buries his head in his hands, sinking his teeth into his palms to ground himself and stifle the noise for the sake of their neighbors.

Frigga won’t be home for a while, so he has time to weep himself out.

Except nothing helps and he veers in and out of consciousness, travels from the apartment’s living room into the porn house and back into the apartment, flashback and reality melting together in between.

He doesn’t know what’s real anymore.

Except for the guilt and the shame.

Those sensations are very real, like a knife in the ribs and just as painful.

The self-defeating voice has been silent for a while but it’s back now with a vengeance, calling him every name in the book.

Pathetic freak.

Disgusting pervert.

Filthy liar.

Useless addict.

Worthless piece of shit.

Waste of space.

Why didn’t you kill yourself?

And Loki howls and screams all the way through the accusations because why couldn’t he just do the right thing that One Time it really, truly mattered? He’s oblivious to the sun setting over Phoenix as he bawls; bawls until his throat is shredded raw and his breath comes out ragged and sharp and he’s so thirsty that he’s gagging and choking and his eyes are so swollen he can hardly see but what’s there to see anyway?

“Loki?”

Wait, no.

Mom won’t be home for a while.

He has time!

She isn’t fucking real.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

She sits down next to him.

Loki can feel the cushion sag beneath her weight.

Fuck.

Has he really been crying for, what, three or four hours?

“Noth—” He cuts himself off because his voice is hoarse and brittle and the snot squeaks in his stuffed nose and it sounds absolutely fucking ridiculous. “I … don’t …” He can’t finish. His throat is too sore.

“I’ll be right back,” Frigga assures him and returns with a glass of water.

Loki gulps it down with both hands, spilling a good deal of it onto his shirt. He still can’t stop fucking crying.

“Can I touch you?”

Loki flinches from her even though she didn’t even move. “No.”

You don’t deserve her comfort.

Frigga swallows audibly. He hasn’t seen her so taken aback in a long time.

See what you did?

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Loki shakes his head and hugs himself, fingernails digging into his upper arms through his shirt. Why can’t he just stop with the fucking crying?

“Do you need me to call Dr. van D—”

“Noooo,” he howls. “No! Just go away! Leave me alone!”

You don’t deserve her.

The befuddled expression on his mother’s face morphs into an utterly devastating kind of pained—and that expression he hasn’t seen since he was an unruly, hateful teenager lashing out at her because he didn’t know what else to do with all that fury inside of him. His mother nods and rises to her feet.

It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“No, sorry. I … I didn’t mean that,” Loki concedes in a broken, tear-choked whisper.

Frigga hesitates for the fraction of a second but then she sits back down very slowly.

The nasty voice starts to protest but Loki won’t listen to it for a second longer, can’t listen to it or else he’ll shatter into pieces. He flings himself into his mother’s lap and whimpers into her belly. It takes a century before her hand lands on his back and starts to gently rub the knuckles of his spine. “What happened, baby? Can you tell me why you’re so upset?”

He can’t.

How could he tell her?

What would she think?

What if she kicks you out?

No, she wouldn’t.

She would never.

Even Thor didn’t … Okay, he did have a hard time chewing on Loki’s transgressions initially but eventually he got over them and he didn’t leave him.

Shut the fuck up, Loki tells the nasty voice.

Why did it even come back?

It has no fucking right, not after all the work he’s put into recovery.

You’re not welcome here. Get out.

It protests some, the ugly cretin always has, but eventually it does fall silent.

“There were children,” Loki whimpers, his words muffled by the fabric of her woolen sweater. The damn thing is soaked already and probably stained with his mascara smudges.

“I don’t understand.”

“In the house where Thanos did his … business.” Loki doesn’t dare to glance up at her and face the world, not right now. Maybe not ever again. “They were little … Not teenagers or anything. Actual kids.”

“Okay,” Frigga says. It’s a half-question, encouraging him to go on. Her voice is shaking a little but it’s still steady enough. She no longer loses her shit in front of him.

“I saw them,” is all Loki manages.

Technically, he only ever saw one but still.

That isn’t the point.

His mother is silent for a bit and then decides on, “That must have been horrible. I’m so sorry.”

What the fuck?

“I …” His voice catches in his throat. “I saw them, Mom, and I did nothing,” he repeats because that wasn’t clear somehow. “I let them suffer. I didn’t call the cops or … In every fucking horror movie in existence, the teenagers take care of the children and I did nothing. I just … ” All the fight streams out of him then, taking all the words with it. He’s so, so tired all of a sudden, so exhausted that his lids are drooping.

“Life isn’t a horror movie, baby,” Frigga shushes. She sounds a little … exasperated maybe (or perhaps she’s a little upset because he keeps watching stuff she doesn’t want him to watch) but she still cradles him closer. It feels nice even if that one tiny part of him is still convinced he doesn’t deserve it. “You were trapped. You called home and you hung up on Odin because you were afraid he was going to have you locked away in jail or an asylum. You thought you couldn’t come back here. Those predators, they drugged and manipulated and coerced you. You can’t blame yourself for not calling the police, my love, and you didn’t let anyone suffer. The people who did this to the children made them suffer, not you. You were already trying to cope with so much. Those children weren’t your responsibility just because you were older by a few years. You were still a minor yourself.”

He hears those words but, somehow, they don’t pierce the veil that is still enshrouding his mind. Instead, they get trapped in the ether that hovers between sleep and the kind of murky consciousness skewed by flashbacks.

“Loki? Do you … understand that?”

He doesn’t.

“Are you saying you aren’t disappointed?” Loki slurs. He sounds really, really drunk. “Or … disgusted?”

Her reply just … doesn’t fucking compute.

“Gods no,” Frigga exclaims and hugs him tight. She keeps talking but her next words don’t reach his brain at all anymore.

Maybe it’s fine, he thinks, because he is safe after all.

Frigga is holding him, even after what he just confessed to her.

Actions speak louder than words, right?

He didn’t lose his mother, won’t be kicked out.

Everything else can wait.

A second later, sleep pulls him under.

Chapter Text

December 7^th, 2022

“Aunt Zisa just called,” Frigga exclaims as she opens the door to Loki’s room in which her children are sitting on the bed playing Uno on this rainy Sunday afternoon, Lilah draped over Loki’s lap and Fenrir perching on Thor’s right shoulder. “Isolde gave birth to a healthy baby girl a few hours ago. Her name is Freyja Silje Vidarsdottir.”

“Yessssss,” cheers Thor, making both Frigga and Loki flinch. The cats do not seem to mind though, which still fills Frigga’s chest with warmth considering how scared Fen was of everyone and everything when he first arrived.

“I didn’t know you were this emotionally invested in the sex of your cousin’s offspring,” she chuckles. Fair enough, Thor was the one who reacted most impatiently when Vidar announced they wanted it to be a surprise but she didn’t anticipate such a level of joyous excitement.

“Of course I am,” Thor gushes. “I mean, that’s huge, right?”

“It is?” Loki asks.

“Yes, brother.” If her son were a dog, he’d probably wag his tail. “For, like, two hundred years, the men of this family have exclusively fathered sons. Dad fathered a boy, Uncle Tyr fathered three boys, Grandpa fathered two boys, Great-Grandpa fathered a boy, my great-great-grandfather whose name slipped my mind fathered a boy; there is no surprise, really, that we all clung to the notion of male superiority for so long. I mean, we’ve broken through some old destructive patterns but it just feels so much more symbolic that the firstborn child of the new generation of grandchildren is a girl and Vidar is a decent guy. I’m sure he’ll be a great father. It just feels like a new beginning, I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that.”

Frigga couldn’t be prouder.

Loki grins. “Like what?”

“Like that,” gestures Thor.

“It’s just ... I’m so proud of you, brother. Speeches like this used to go over your head and now you’re the one giving them.”

Thor’s lips curl into a smug half-smirk. “Yeah, well. What do I always say? I’m not dumb; I just had the wrong role models.”

“Hey,” Frigga teases.

“You know what I mean,” Thor says and they all laugh.

Chapter Text

April 2023

Tony Stark is already a bit tipsy when he spots Loki sitting out on the porch all by himself. He’s been cutting back on the drink with Pepper’s tireless encouragement and support (because they’re still a thing after almost three years; a real thing, solid and mature and committed and exclusive and everything else that filled him with all icky sorts of dread and disgust before he met her) and managed alright for the past months (honest!) but this is a fucking party. His best friend’s birthday party no less, so sue him. Sometimes, you just gotta let go.

He saunters over to Thor’s brother, a bit unsteady on his feet (the word you’re looking for is drunk, not tipsy), and flops down next to Loki. “Hey.”

Loki gives him the once-over. “What?”

“You having fun?” asks Tony.

Loki’s eyes narrow. “Not particularly.”

“Still not a people person, huh?” asks Tony, reaching for a pack of cigarettes because somehow he got into that habit while trying to get sober(ish). “Mind if I smoke?”

A sinister grin appears on Loki’s lips. “I wouldn’t even mind if you burned,” he purrs venomously.

Ouch.

Just fucking ouch.

“You wound me,” sighs Tony, clutching theatrically at his chest. “And here I always thought we had a bit of a connection.” He lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. “I’m being serious,” he tacks on in a voice he hopes doesn’t sound as if he were joking when Loki says nothing. “I always liked you and I kinda thought you liked me too.”

“Loki might,” says he then, reminding Tony abruptly that his best friend’s brother has multiple personali—consciousnesses? Was it that? Or was it alternate identities? Anyway. He completely forgot there might be a chance he isn’t talking to Loki, is the point. “But then again, Loki has a more than questionable taste in people.”

Tony exhales. “Care to elaborate?”

“Care to spare one?” Loki-who-isn’t-Loki asks; his eyes greedily fixed on Tony’s cigarette.

“I’m pretty sure Thor will kill me if I let you smoke,” says Tony, hoping that’ll do.

Apparently it doesn’t because the personality’s lips curl into a nasty smirk. “And that’s my problem how exactly?”

Fucking ouch again.

“Fine,” Tony concedes because, yes, he always liked Loki—the kid’s genius rivals his own and he’s overall just a very fascinating person—and even if it isn’t technically Loki he’s talking to (which is still a bit confusing, especially if you take rising levels of intoxication into account), he’s still intrigued. Or maybe he’s intrigued because it’s not Loki he’s talking to. Who can tell, really?

“What’s your name?” Tony asks as he offers the pack to the other man.

The personality-consciousness-identity waits with his reply until his cigarette is lit and he took the first drag. “Nikias.”

Whoa.

Wait a fucking—

“You’re the guy who stabbed Thor?!” Tony blurts out and his stomach does a bit of a flip.

“I’m not a guy,” says Nikias and exhales, smoke curling in front of his—their?—face. “But yes.”

“Shit,” gasps Tony.

“We’re past that though.” Nikias chuckles grimly. “We kinda get along these days.”

Tony swallows, his mind flashing back to Thor in his hospital room shortly after the attack, helpless and agitated, damn near bursting at the seams with unspent energy and hatred for the person sitting beside him now. “Do you?”

Another grim smile. “We have to. For Loki’s sake. Not that it’s any of your business though.”

Right.

Not my place. Not my fucking place.

“I see,” Tony grinds out. “So, uh, why are you here tonight instead of Loki? Where is he?”

“Safe,” says Nikias.

“What?” chuckles Tony. “You’re saying he wouldn’t be safe here?”

Nikias pins him down with a death glare. “That’s exactly what I’m saying because if he were here, he’d probably be even more shitfaced than you by now.”

Tony gulps, his stomach filling with ice.

“Thanks for the cigarette but I think it’s time for you to fuck off,” says Nikias. “Since you’re starting to piss me off and all.”

“Right,” murmurs Tony and hastily stubs out his cigarette before he stands. “It was nice meeting you.”

Nikias snorts. “Yeah right.”

“N-no, I meant that,” Tony assures them. “As I said—”

“Just go,” snaps Nikias and Tony obeys, stumbling back into the house.

Chapter Text

About thirty minutes later, Thor spots his friend slumped against a wall in the hallway and staring into his drink. He approaches and gives him a hearty pat on the shoulder that, for some reason, makes Tony wince. “Yo, what’s up, Stark? You look a little green in the face. Is there anything, uh, you need anything? Should I call Pep?”

Which is a ridiculous question, really, because she’s a state away but, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Do I look like I need a babysitter?” growls Tony.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” kids Thor; if only to mask his growing uneasiness. He knew it was kind of a risky move to host a normal birthday celebration—i.e. a party with access to booze—but Loki assured him it’d be okay and that he’d be fine because Thor couldn’t possibly be walking on eggshells around his baby brother for the rest of his life, could he?

It sounded reasonable at the time and Loki’s been doing well so far. Tony though? Not so much, apparently, if his complexion is any indication.

“Seriously, Stark. If you have to barf, just get your loaded ass over to the fucking ba—”

“I just met Mr. Stabby Pants,” Tony blurts out.

Thor’s mouth gapes. “Oh.” So, that’s why Loki’s been doing alright. Shit. “I’m sorry?”

“He’s quite a character,” mutters Tony. “They, sorry.”

“Nikias is fine with he/him too,” Thor assures him because, in his state, his friend really shouldn’t beat himself up over the correct use of pronouns on top of the relapse he’s surely gonna feel in every bone of his body come the next morning. “And yeah, he is. Was he, uh, rude to you?”

“Rude?!” Tony chuckles. “Rude you say? He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. Seriously, Champ. I thought you said you’d worked things out? He said the same but he’s”—he shudders—“I’m not gonna lie, he creeped the fuck out of me. There was this ... this spark in his eyes and I ... Shit, he fucking stabbed you!”

Thor takes Stark’s drink, downs the rest of it (to get rid of the temptation; which, of course, he couldn’t have any other way, obviously) and places the empty tumbler onto the top of the shoe cabinet. “In here,” he says and leads Tony into his bedroom.

His friend collapses onto his bed and sprawls out instantly.

“Nikias still has this effect on people, I’m afraid,” begins Thor, leaning against the door. “But, as I told you, he didn’t mean to kill me and isn’t out to kill anyone else. He isn’t evil or a creep. He’s actually a pretty decent person. I know, I know,” he chuckles when his friend grimaces at him, “that isn’t exactly the vibe you’re getting from him but he’s, uh, he’s a protector of sorts. To him, all outside people are still a potential threat, which is why he doesn’t like people very much. But he’s just trying to look out for my brother, you know. It’s nothing personal and it’s got nothing to do with you. He’s like that with everyone he doesn’t know. Hell, he’s even like that with most people he does know by now; even my Mom, who, and I think we can agree on this, is really hard to hate.”

There’s a bit of a pause.

“So, it’s all just pretense?” Tony slurs, his lids drooping. “That whole super-edgy, I’m-gonna-end-your-bloodline-if-you-look-at-me-funny act?”

“Pretty much,” says Thor.

“I gave him a cigarette,” Tony confesses then, eyes closed by now. “Just in case he’s gonna snitch on me or something.”

Thor had no clue Nikias was a smoker but there’s no use discussing that particular point now. “Alright. You can sleep here tonight,” he tells Tony.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

By the time he comes back with a barf bucket (just in case) and a glass of water, Tony is already asleep.

“You scared the hell out of my best friend,” Thor tells Nikias later when all the guests have left and the former persecutor is on his way to the system’s bedroom. “Tony Stark is a good guy, you know. He’s one of the few people in my life who actually adore Loki.”

“Whatever.” Nikias shrugs.

“No,” huffs Thor. “Just no. ‘Whatever’ isn’t gonna cut it this time. Tony isn’t the enemy, okay? And I won’t let you treat him like—”

Nikias throws him a glower. “He’s his own enemy though, from what I can see. Why don’t you go save him and leave me the fuck alone?” That said, he slams the door to shut behind him with a barely audible good night wish grumbled under his breath.

Thor sighs because he has learned his lesson.

No more fucking parties.

Chapter Text

July 2023

Tony Stark knows it’s fucking late but he doesn’t know where else to go because his mom still hasn’t divorced his dad, which means that home is off the table (because you see, Frigga had it a lot worse and “Odin was a much nastier husband than you own father, Anthony”) and he doesn’t really have any friends except for the old gang because, while’s he’s witty and charming and not that awful-looking, he’s also fucking rich and doesn’t trust anyone to not wanna get into his inner social circle solely to benefit from his bank account and that’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Anyway, Steve isn’t in the country right now (and Tony knows he really shouldn’t enter a country the United States are currently at war with in his own private jet in his current state), Nat is, well, he’s scared of her brutal honesty and Bruce doesn’t know much about abusive family dynamics from personal experience.

Which leaves only one person on this entire fucking planet full of people—seven point nine billion people, to be exact—who he trusts to visit on the verge of a breakdown in the middle of the night. And that might be a bit more than just kinda sad if only he allowed himself to think about it.

“I fell off the wagon,” Tony confesses before Thor can even get a word out.

“Shit,” mumbles Thor. “What happened?”

If only he knew. One minute he was fine, which is code for in the vicinity of determined that he’d pull through even if sobriety sucked, and the next he wasn’t and simply gave in to the irresistible lure of a liquor store’s neon sign. He shrugs. “Did I wake you? Can I come in?”

Thor hesitates one second and scratches the back of his head. 

Right.

Of course.

The feeling unfurling in the pit of his stomach is nasty, a prickly double helix of forlornness and anger. “What?” Tony giggles. “Are you still not allowed to have any friends over, Champ? Is your baby bro still jealous?”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Thor grumbles and his face darkens. “Seriously?”

Yes, very seriously.

Tony Stark is a self-entitled prick as per usual and why does his inner voice still sound an awful lot like Howard, goddammit?!

“I’m sorry,” Tony stammers. “This was a bad idea and it’s really late. Like, I don’t even know how late because I fell asleep in the car and I’m, uh, gonna check into a hotel or something”—his voice breaks because the mere thought makes him want to curl up into a ball and die—“and come back in the morning.”

“No,” sighs Thor. He doesn’t look all too happy but then something flickers over his expression and his face softens. “You helped me so many times, I’d be the worst kind of friend if I kicked you to the curb now after you crossed state lines to see me. Even if you are being a douche. Come in.”

Tony does and Thor squeezes his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says and then he just pulls him into a hug with that impossible Teflon biceps and threatens to unleash a flood of tears of biblical proportions.

Before Tony can get a word out of his mouth—because he will fucking start crying if he as much as tries, so he doesn’t—there comes a wail from Loki’s room.

((If only you weren’t such a disappointment.))

“Gimme a sec,” Thor sighs. “And please, try to be quiet.”

Tony nods and Thor enters his brother’s room. It’s weird and awkward because the way Loki is crying sounds very childlike, babylike even, and he probably shouldn’t pry because this is an intimate moment and Loki’s identity disorder is none of his bloody fucking business but he just can’t help his curiosity. It’s like witnessing a traffic accident and, while your decency reminds you that it’s not cool to gawk at other people’s suffering, you simply can’t make yourself turn away.

He steps closer and lurks in the doorway as Thor shushes his brother and lies down beside him. “I’m here, you’re safe.”

The crying turns into some kind of gurgle-ish whimpering.

“I’m here. Your big brother is here, alright? You’re safe,” Thor coos and Tony’s stomach does a funny little lurch. “You can go back to sleep.”

Loki gurgles again.

“I promise, nothing can harm you here,” Thor goes on and it’s hard to believe that this soft, gentle creature who is capable of lowering his voice is the same guy who roared across the football field like a fucking thunderstorm and beat other boys up to blow off some steam. “You’re safe.”

The gurgling turns into babbling and Tony swallows.

“Yes, you’re safe. You can go back to sleep,” Thor murmurs softly and they just ... They’re actually fucking talking like that for a few more minutes, a whole ass conversation with Loki cooing like a fucking baby (his murky brain doesn’t really know what to do with that yet) and Thor assuring him that no harm will come to him until Loki calms down, and it’s pretty fucking scary to imagine the harm that kid suffered through in the first place to cause this and how does Thor even do it? How does he suddenly have the patience to care for someone like that? And the way they’re lying there? Watching them hold each other like that kinda hurts because Tony is relatively sure he’ll never get this close to another person and never find anyone who trusts him or loves him the way those two trust and love each other and now he really wants to cry because fuck.

“Stark,” Thor whispers. He’s suddenly standing right in front of him and pushes him out of the way, so he can close the door behind him.

“Remember when your therapist accused you guys of having a more than brotherly relationship?” Tony blurts out.

“What the fuck,” grumbles Thor and drags him away from the bedroom. “Why on earth would you bring that up right now?”

That’s a good question and, apparently, his brain is already ten steps ahead of him, murky or no. “I mean it’s obviously nothing un-brotherly.” He chuckles. “Except that it’s like ... I mean, it’s better than any other kind of relationship, right?” Tony blathers on. “Like, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s so ... so solid and so much more substantial and—”

“You’re drunk, Stark,” sighs Thor.

((If only you weren’t such a disappointment.))

“Nooo,” protests Tony. “I mean, yes, I was drunk but it’s wearing off and—”

“You’re slurring your words.”

“But I’m being serious. What you two have is just ...” Tony is full-on rambling by now but he’d be damned if he could stop his thoughts tumbling off his tongue. “I have never seen anything like it because it’s so real and it freaks me out. Like, I’m looking at you and I think that’s how it must look when you found your second half, only it’s usually that you kiss them and fuck them and stuff but—”

“Alriiight,” Thor cuts and he looks really, really tired; the poor guy. “How does a coffee sound?”

“What I’m trying to say is that it’s real, right? It runs deep and it’s such a strong connection and it’s for life.”

“Uh-huh,” mumbles Thor as he fills up the coffee maker’s water reservoir.

“I mean, friendships end every day because you become estranged or some shit,” Tony continues as Thor stuffs a pad into the machine and presses the button.

The rattle of the machine is very loud and Thor grimaces at the sound. They both hold their breath for a moment but no sound comes from Loki’s room, so Tony continues in a whisper. “As soon as you’re an adult, every relationship just sucks and people break up constantly but you two will always have each other because nothing can break that fucking bond and I’m just”—he chokes on a sob as some deeply buried feelings suddenly break free—“I’m just ... I know we all teased you about your relationship with Loki but I ... I mean, I can’t speak for anyone else but I’m ... I guess I’m just jealous.”

Yeah, okay.

Said out loud, it sounds really dumb and three-hundred shades of fucking needy and desperate.

Thor sighs and looks at him with what almost feels like fatherly concern. “Is this about Pep? Did you guys break up?”

“Not yet,” Tony chokes out and furiously wipes at his tears with the back of his hand.

“Here,” Thor says and holds the mug out to him. “Let’s talk about it. Let me be your emotional garbage disposal for once.”

“You don’t have anything stronger?” Tony kids and curses himself in the same moment.

“No,” Thor breathes out and thrusts the cup into his hand. “I learned my lesson. No more addictive substances around addicts. I’m done enabling people I care about. Take it or leave it.”

“Did you just call me an addict?” Tony asks because, even if he’s known for quite a while now that he has a serious drinking problem, that feels like a fucking blow to the gut.

“Yeah, why? What would you call yourself?” Thor asks back, managing not to sound judgmental at all.

Tony chuckles and accepts the mug. “An alcoholic?”

Thor shrugs. “Loki told me that label is harmful because it’s tied to AA and their underlying Christian ideology, which implies that you’re broken and must be fixed. You’re not, Stark. There’s nothing wrong with you. Addiction is a just disease from which you can heal. Not to mention the ridiculous idea that recovery can be neatly organized into ten steps.”

For a moment or two, Tony can only stare because who the fuck is this mature, level-headed person sitting down across from him? “Twelve,” he says eventually because he can’t think of anything else.

Thor frowns at him. “What?”

“It’s twelve steps, actually,” mumbles Tony and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s strong and tastes really great, actually. He heaves a deep sigh. “Anyway.”

“Pepper.”

“Yeah.” Another sigh. “We, uh, I tried to get sober for her, I really did, but I couldn’t, so I tried to cut back instead. She accepted that for a while. But after I got drunk at your party, I slipped back into it. It gradually got worse again and then she sat me down and told me that she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t watch me destroy myself any longer because, obviously, her support and her love weren’t enough to make me stop. That I’d have to get sober or she’d leave and then I did. Get sober, I mean. I did. Because I didn’t wanna lose her but then I relapsed and now I’m ... here. Because if she knew, she’d leave me. For good. I just know it and”—he takes a shuddering breath—“I’m too much of a coward to face her because I don’t want it to be over. I love her.”

This last bit came out as a bit of a wail.

“How did you stop?” Thor asks, which is a bit unexpected.

“I just stopped,” Tony says, followed by a nervous chuckle. “For her.”

“By yourself? No treatment?” Thor asks. “No detox or rehab or—”

Tony snorts a laugh. “Hell, no.”

Thor nods. “You want my honest opinion?”

Does he?

He has no fucking clue because his friend looks so uncharacteristically serious (and how the fuck did Thor Thunderbolt Odinson grow into this; this much character development can’t have happened solely thanks to anger management and family therapy) and if he’s about to pull a Nat, Tony will combust.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Well, I think that, if you told her you relapsed but promised her you’d go into proper treatment, she’d give you another chance,” Thor says. “Because she loves you too, dumbass. She put up with you for, what, three years? Four years? That’s the longest relationship you ever had and if you really committed to recovery, I’m sure she’d stay by your side and help you through it.”

“What the fuck happened to you?” Tony cuts because that is waaayyy too much to process for his befuddled brain. “Seriously! Who are you?”

“I grew up, Stark,” Thor says almost solemnly and he looks it too. He looks at peace and in control and all that crap. “I just ... I went to therapy, got my anger under control as far as I can, got a job, worked hard on the relationships with the people I care about, cut ties with my Dad after I accepted the fact that he’s incapable of caring about me the way a father should. And it took me years to finally understand that he isn’t that way because there’s something wrong with me. Hopefully, you’ll get there too, eventually, because you deserve it.”

“Fuck,” Tony mumbles because ... because fuck. Just the idea of sitting down in a therapist’s office and talking about Howard ... talking about ... No, just fucking no.

((If only you weren’t such a disappointment.))

“And I’m not gonna lie,” sighs Thor. “It’s a shit ton of work and if you decide to do it, it’ll hurt like a sonofabitch and you’ll be confronted with memories you never even knew where buried inside your brain but it’ll be worth it because if you keep doing this, you’ll never find peace and you’ll never grow up and you’ll probably lose everything.”

“Wow,” gasps Tony. “Just fucking wow. I’ll have to think about that but, damn, where is all that fucking coming from, Thunderbolt?”

Thor laughs. “I have no idea, honestly. I kinda switched to parent mode, I guess.”

“Yeah, about that,” says Tony because the coffee is slowly sobering him up and allows him to start processing what he witnessed earlier. He never officially met another personality besides the charming enbie who stabbed Thor but his friend told him that some of them are literal children. “Is Loki ... I mean, I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything but—”

“You totally did.”

“Okay, I totally did but is one of his, and I hate how weird that still sounds to me in the plural, consciousnesses a baby?”

“Yeah. I know it’s a lot to wrap your head around,” Thor offers.

“A baby?” Tony repeats just to be sure.

Thor nods.

“In an adult body?”

Another nod.

“How does that work?” Tony asks because as mind-blowing as Loki’s condition might have seemed to him at first, it’s still easier to think about the formation of alternate states of consciousness within a single person’s body than to examine the implications of Thor’s speech.

“I don’t know. I mean, theoretically, I do,” Thor elaborates because he’s probably convinced Tony won’t even remember this in the morning or maybe he’s just trying to calm him down or distract him or whatever. “Loki was traumatized as a baby and there used to be several, uh, fragmented states that were babies but they all integrated and now this baby seems to have become an independent alter of its own. He reacts to stuff. Before, he just cried but now it’s like ... I don’t know, he seems to be aware of things.”

“Like you talking to him,” Tony says, his brain coming awake again.

Thor nods again. “Before the integration, he’d just scream and then fall back asleep. But now he’s actually awake. My Mom was the first to notice that he was trying to make actual conversation like regular, well, like babies do when they’re this little. Which is an odd to thing to say since we don’t know how old exactly he is but based on the pre-linguistic speech development, my Mom guesses somewhere between five to eight months.”

It’s fascinating, the way this Thor talks, sure, very fascinating, but his brain latches onto something far more basic. “But babies can’t go to the bathroom and Loki is, like, six feet tall.”

Thor chuckles. “The system protects itself. They try to make sure that another alter takes over when there’s a full-bladder-situation or anything else. It’s not fail-safe but it works most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” Tony repeats.

“Yes,” says Thor, then sighs. “Listen, it’s really late, Stark, and I’m sure you didn’t actually mean to ask me about my brother’s bathroom routines just now.”

Yeah, ok, he really could have done without the images that are forming in his brain right now. “No. I, uh, you’re right. That’d be weird.”

“Very.”

Tony blows out a breath. “Got it. I, uh, I’ll make myself comfortable on the couch.”

“You can have my room,” Thor offers. “I’ll stay with my brother. Do you have everything you need?”

Tony nods and, all of a sudden, he feels disgustingly sappy out of nowhere. “I have a friend who cares about me,” he chokes out and maybe, just maybe, he can approach the whole treatment-detox-recovery thing with someone as unshakable as this by his side.

“So did I when I woke up in the hospital after getting stabbed.” Thor smiles and pulls him into another hug. “Good night, Tony. And please, think about what I said.”

Tony is sure he’ll think of little else for the foreseeable future.

Loki is sitting on a chair across from him when Tony wakes up in Thor’s bed the following morning, thoughts in a daze, head pounding, heart rate skyrocketing, mouth dry, lids crusted, eyes dry and stinging. Hangovers (withdrawal) are so fucking nasty, it’s a miracle anyone would put up with them for a high that never lasts quite as long as one would want it to. Well, not everyone, obviously. Reasonable non-addicted people are usually scared off by the unpleasantness and learn their fucking lesson.

“You look like shit,” Loki gloats and it still doesn’t fully compute that he was a literal baby earlier that night. “And smell like it too.”

Tony struggles into an upright position. “Are you even Loki right now?”

“I am and you should be grateful for that because I fixed you some chicken broth.” He gestures to a steaming mug on the bedside table and, when Tony freezes because the smell transports him back to his childhood instantly, Loki adds, “You are welcome.”

“What for?” Tony echoes because he isn’t five anymore and he doesn’t have a freaking cold.

“You’re severely dehydrated and the salt in the broth helps your body retain the water you need. The chicken provides additional protein and boosts liver detoxification. It’s a really useful drink when your electrolyte balance is out of whack.”

For a moment, Tony can only stare (yes, he’s been doing a lot since he got here but, in his defense, there is a shit ton to process) because that is Thor’s fucking kid brother right there who used to tag along when they wanted to race their bikes but was too small to keep up with them and now he’s taking care of him? Little Loki Odinson? “Y-you made that for me?”

“Not from scratch obviously,” Loki laughs. “It’s basically just granules dissolved in hot water but I told Thor to get it for you because his approach would have been to simply make an ultra-greasy breakfast.”

Tony takes a sip. It’s hot and salty and tastes surprisingly good. “Thanks.”

Apparently, Loki grew up too. Apparently, everyone did; except for Tony. “Is that how you do it?” he grits out.

“How I do what?” asks Loki.

“How you stay sober?” Tony clarifies and something tells him that this might very well be the most grown-up question he ever asked. “Because of your family? Because of your brother?”

Loki shrugs. “Among other things. I mean, I’m still in therapy and there’s always the threat of unannounced drug screenings when my therapist notices something being slightly off and the lack of excessive surveillance and constant therapy during the height of my emotional withdrawal make it harder to stay on track but—”

Aaand that’s the moment his brain finally snaps to attention. “Thor put you up to this, didn’t he?” Tony grunts. “To talk me into treatment?”

“What if he did?” Loki asks back, his face not giving anything away. “Look, my brother cares about you. He wants you to be okay, Stark. That’s all.”

“I know,” Tony grits but his defenses go up anyway. He takes three large gulps of the broth. “But I don’t need treatment, okay? Treatment would never work out for me. I’m too stubborn, hate authority, suck at doing what I’m supposed to do. I just ... I need to pull myself together, that’s all. And dammit, this shit really helps.” He gestures with the mug. “Why am I only finding that out now?”

“Because you obviously never googled hangover remedies before,” Loki kids. “To think that people are really calling you smart? Tsk.”

Tony grunts.

“Listen, I won’t pressure you. It’s none of my business what you do with your life but my brother cares about you and he is worried about you. And if there’s one thing I can say with the benefit of hindsight it is this: If not wanting to hurt the people you care most about is no longer a good enough reason to stop, you do need help.”

The words hit him like a physical blow to the gut.

“Nice speech,” Tony grits out, feverishly searching for a way out, his flight instinct alive and kicking. “But I think I’ve got my fill of adult Loki for the day. Doesn’t one of your toddlers wanna come out now? We could watch cartoons or something or play Lego. Do you guys have Lego?”

Loki’s lids flutter. “We have a plane we need to finish,” he squeals and gestures with his hands. “It’s sooo big and it has two sets of wings!”

“That’s awesome,” Tony replies. Thank God.

Loki takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “We’re not gonna play Lego now,” he says and levels Tony with a death glare.

Apparently, he cheered too soon.

What a pity.

“I’m pretty sure Thor told you not to do that,” Loki hisses. “Ever.”

“He did,” Tony gulps because Loki doesn’t just look angry. He looks hurt, betrayed, which is to say Tony messed up again. “But I just couldn’t resist.”

((If only you weren’t such a disappointment.))

“You better promise to resist next time or I won’t have another conversation with you ever again,” Loki snaps, gets up and heads for the door.

((If only you tried harder , I wouldn’t get so mad.))

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Tony stammers when Loki has reached it.

He pauses but does not turn back around.

“I am. I’m sorry. It’s just ... It’s not that easy,” Tony shrieks and that’s a grotesque understatement, isn’t it? The idea of relinquishing control to a bunch of doctors in fancy white suits who monitor his every move, tell him when to eat and poke around in his memories is nothing short of terrifying.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Loki laughs grimly. He turns around then but stays by the door and leans against the wall. “I was sixteen when I was committed and I was lucky I didn’t have a fucking choice because if I’d had one, I wouldn’t have kept destroying myself. I hated the idea as much as you do right now. I hated the idea of giving up what I was doing. It scared the shit out of me and, sometimes, it still does. I still miss the drugs sometimes too. I really do. I think about it more often than I want to admit and I relapsed several times along the way. I still miss the high and I think I always will because it’s so easy, you know. Because that shit takes all the pain away instantly without me having to do all the hard work of processing it first. But it keeps me detached too.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Tony because that’s exactly the word Pepper used.

I can’t watch you destroy yourself and get so detached from what we have when you drink. It feels as if you don’t even care about me when you do. I know it’s the addiction’s fault but I can’t endure this any longer. I want a relationship with the real Tony. I don’t care about the person you become when you drink. I want you, the real you.

“That was the most important thing for me to realize, I think,” Loki continues, oblivious to his thoughts but still somehow pushing the right buttons. “If I stick to drugs, I won’t have any relationships. Ever. I’ll yell at people I care about and push them away even if I want them close. Hela, my, uh, birthmother, she never ... She got addicted when she was fourteen and she died when she was thirty-two. She never had a real relationship in between. She was always alone, never connected to anyone; basically, she never really lived at all because she was on drugs all her life.”

Just like Tony never lived at all until he met Pepper after years of partying and drinking himself senseless and flirting and having sex and just constantly numbing himself and acting like he didn’t have a care in the world while his core just kept shriveling.

Shit.

Tears begin to pool into Tony’s eyes again and he sees himself as a boy, hiding in the closet because he did, well, something to upset his father and knew that Howard would get mad and punish him.

((If only you weren’t such a disappointment.))

“What?” Loki asks when Tony hiccups.

“N-nothing,” Tony grinds out and swallows it all down because he’d be damned if he broke down in front of Thor’s goddamn baby brother.

“Anyway. Bottom line is: I would never have gone into treatment out of my own free will and I’m not gonna lie to you. It’s brutal at first.”

It’s a shit ton of work and if you decide to do it, it’ll hurt like a sonofabitch and you’ll be confronted with memories you never even knew where buried inside your brain.

“You won’t feel like you’re getting anything out of it for months but then, one day, you’ll wake up and feel okay-ish,” Loki continues. “Not great or anything. Just okay. But, from where I’m standing, that’s still better than feeling like utter crap every day. Plus, you won’t have to worry about the outside world for a while. If you get into a good treatment program—and I’m sure you will because you’re richer than we are by now—they’ll handle everything. You won’t need to worry about your job or other people. You can just be there and they’ll take care of you. It’s actually kind of nice to be granted permission to put your life on hold.”

Again, sue him, Tony just stares because that does sound a lot better than just ‘actually kinda nice’ and it’s astonishing what the Odinson brothers achieved with the help of treatment considering what a goddamn mess they were a few years back. Hell, he was there. Thor and Loki were unstable and aggressive, buying into their parents’ manipulative bullshit and taking it out on each other, bickering constantly. They were yelling at each other, shoving each other; insults flying back and forth between them like the locusts that covered the land when Moses unleashed the plagues upon Egypt. And now they are here, dealing with their shit and taking care of each other and collectively taking care of him. Or trying to anyway. It’s pretty fucking surreal but if treatment helped them to achieve that ... Maybe there is a chance for him too.

“I know a lot of kids had it in for you and called you weird and I was probably one of them at one point or another,” Tony tells Loki straight out of fucking nowhere, “but you’re actually a pretty decent person and I, uh, I never told you that directly but I admire you. You’re really—”

“Oh, I know,” Loki purrs with a devious smirk and Tony’s heart sinks. “Nikias told me they’re convinced you always had a bit of a crush on me.” His eyes are alight with mischief. “I guess my work here is done. Enjoy the rest of your broth, Stark.”

He winks at Tony and struts out of the room, leaving him to stir in the juices of his embarrassment.

He totally deserved this though.

He did.

Well played, Odinson, you little shit.

“Yeah, um, hi,” Tony stammers into the phone four days later. “My name is Anthony Stark and I, uh, have a severe drinking problem. I looked up your page online and I was wondering if you have any free spots opening up in your extensive rehab program any time soon?”

Chapter Text

Summer 2023

Loki is lying on the couch in their living room where he fell asleep the previous evening, two blankets draped over him because he’s coming down with a cold. He apparently tossed and turned a lot during the night because his bun has come almost entirely undone, his hair tie lost somewhere in the nest of his black curls.

“Hey,” Thor murmurs softly, puts the pancakes down and gently shakes his brother. “You gotta eat breakfast and take your meds.”

Loki grumbles in protest and disappears under the blanket.

“Come on, squirt, just a few bites,” Thor begs. “Be cooperative.”

“No,” whines Loki.

Thor yanks away the blanket and tickles his baby brother on impulse before he remembers the potential trigger. Actually, he remembers it the millisecond he hears Leah’s squeal.

“Stop it,” the girl giggles. “I’ll eat, I’ll eat!”

As always, it’s delightful to have the little princess there and, as always, Thor’s delight is tinged by a profound, underlying sadness that never seems to vanish entirely anymore and just sits in his chest like a tired, old man in an armchair by the fire.

“They’re so fluffy and tasty,” Leah gushes with her mouth full. “You make them just like mama!”

“Who do you think gave me the recipe?” Thor asks with a wink and brushes his fingers against her cheek.

As he watches her eat, he loses himself in thoughts that were fleeting at first, breezing through his head like a gust of wind whirling up a few leaves before disappearing again, but are now a low, constant hum. When Leah has ingested both her breakfast and dutifully taken the body’s medication, Thor takes a deep breath. “Can I, uh, ask you a question?”

“I don’t know,” chuckles Leah.

Thor cocks a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If I don’t know what the question is, I don’t know if I can answer it,” Leah tells him.

That makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Thor tells her so and scratches the back of his head. “Alright, here it comes. Do you think I would be a good father?”

Leah’s eyes widen and it’s up to her now to ask him what he means.

“Do you think I’d do a good job raising children if I had a baby of my own?” Thor asks her through the lump in his throat. It’s a stupid question because he still hasn’t had a relationship that would have qualified as serious or committed or even mature but there are other ways to start a family.

Her eyes are still huge. “A real one?”

That makes Thor laugh. “Not that you aren’t real, princess, but yeah. A tiny baby in a tiny baby body.”

Leah smiles at him but then she looks away. “I think that’d make Loki very sad,” she whispers, almost as if she were embarrassed.

“Hey,” Thor murmurs and cups her chin, gently turning her head so that he can lock eyes with her. “I know it’d be a lot to process at first but Loki is good with children too, isn’t he? He likes them. Don’t you think?”

Leah shrugs. “He does.”

Right.

“You know what? That was just ...” Dumb, you moron. Why ask her, you goddamn idiot?! “I’m not actually gonna have children of my own any time soon, okay? It was just a hypothetical question.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like when you think about what could happen in the future,” explains Thor, clearing his throat for good measure. “And you just imagine, ‘okay, if that happened, what would it mean for everyone else involved?’ That kind of thing.”

Leah ponders this for a moment. “I think the tiny babies would be very lucky to have you as their papa but Loki would still be sad.”

And that?

That sums up the bittersweet-ness of Thor’s entire life in one sentence.

He tries not to weep.

It isn’t easy.

Chapter Text

Summer 2023

The days on which Leah fronts are dear to Thor’s heart—he loves Leah as much as he loves Loki and he sometimes catches himself foolishly wishing that he could have them both around together in two separate bodies—but, even after all this time, they still aren’t easy, especially when switches happen unexpectedly in public. Mainly because it’s a sad reality that people of all age groups are far less accepting of and open-minded about any sort of deviation from the social norm than they claim to be and he’s reminded of that sad reality every time Leah gains access to the front when other human beings are around. Such as the one time he and Loki are out grocery shopping for a movie night when Leah suddenly grabs his hand in the ice cream aisle, clinging tight, overwhelmed by the buzz of a packed store on a late Friday afternoon.

“It’s alright,” Thor assures her in a voice as low and soothing as he can manage, which remains a challenge in its own right. “We’re inside a grocery store getting some junk food and candy. There’s nothing to be afraid of, alright? I’m right here with you.”

The mention of candy does the trick. From one moment to the next, the little bean radiates nothing but pure childish excitement.

“What flavor do you prefer?” asks Thor, gesturing towards the refrigerator. “Brownie batter core, chunky monkey, salted caramel brownie, cookie dough, peanut butter cup and, please, just stop me if there’s something you want because otherwise, I’ll be reading flavors to you all day.”

Leah doesn’t react because her attention is focused on a heavily tattooed guy clad in leather who is walking in their direction, his ugly mug pinched in a repulsed frown.

“What are you looking at?” Thor snaps at him out of pure instinct because apparently you can never shake those little bastards off entirely. He needs a second or two to realize that the guy’s eyes have dipped to Leah’s hand that is still enclosed in his and, of course, bigoted assholes like the specimen in front of him may draw a number of wrong conclusions from the sight. Leah tenses. The guy locks eyes with him for a moment, glowering, fists clenching, disgust wafting off of him like the thickest mist. Thor stares him down easily. “Go and mind your own damn business,” he orders.

The guy, who is buff as hell and probably twice his age, hesitates for a moment but then takes a long look at his muscles and eventually turns away.

Asshole.

Leah relaxes instantly, even lets go of his hand. “Chunky monkey,” she says, just as Thor is about to repeat the question.

“Yeah? You like bananas?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“Alright,” Thor says, reaching for the pint. He and Loki don’t, though, so he takes a pint of peanut butter cup for them because even if their taste is as different as their personalities, Reese bars have always been a shared favorite.

*

When Thor is loading the groceries into the trunk ten minutes later, Leah crouches down on the parking lot, still a little shaken, and starts tracing the tiny cracks between the stones with her finger, rocking back and forth on her heels. A little girl of maybe eight stalks up on them. “You’re funny,” she says to Leah, “because you act like you’re a kid like me but you’re a grown-up like my mom.”

Leah cocks her head and studies the other girl in silence. She almost never talks to strangers, for a very good reason probably, but Thor would have figured, had he thought about it before, that other children constitute an exception. Apparently not.

The other girl giggles innocently. “Are you disabled?”

Thor harrumphs and crouches down to meet the other girl at eye-level. “Listen, kiddo, you don’t just ask strangers personal questions like this, okay? That’s not nice and it can hurt people’s feelings.”

The girl casts a bashful glance downwards but her curiosity is not yet satisfied. “Is your friend sick?” she whispers, seeming genuinely concerned in the innocently brash way only children can.

“Casey,” barks the kid’s mother, whose attention has so far been thoroughly absorbed by the heated conversation she is having on her phone while simultaneously loading, or trying to load rather, her own groceries into the trunk one-handed. “Stop pestering those people!”

The girl doesn’t flinch one bit. She just flicks another glance at Leah and then flashes her a big, toothy grin. “You’re very pretty though,” Casey announces and pets Leah’s cheek, who shrinks back at first. “Your skin is very soft.”

At that, Leah giggles.

“Come on now,” snaps Casey’s mother, flashing a brief glance at Thor. “I’m sorry about her. Casey, get in the car!”

The girl’s shoulders slump. “Bye,” she murmurs and turns away.

*

“Why did Casey’s mama yell at her?” Leah asks on the car ride home. “Did she do something wrong?”

“No,” says Thor. “It’s just, uh, some parents are very stressed and busy, you know. And they yell at their kids without meaning to. She’ll feel sorry about it later.” At least he sincerely hopes she will.

Leah ponders this for a moment, her face in a serious frown. “Like your papa?”

Thor can’t help the snort that rises in his throat. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“I don’t like to be yelled at,” says Leah, with a shudder.

“No one does,” says Thor. “And I truly am sorry if I ever yelled at you or scared you or made you feel unsafe, I really am. You don’t deserve that.”

Leah smiles at him, her eyes glowing bright and warm. “I never feel unsafe with you. You chased the bad man away. You’re the best protector we can have.”

*

It’s days like this that make the darker days a lot easier to bear.

Chapter Text

Summer 2023

“What are those people doing over there?” asks Leah, her hands planted on the pane of the passenger window of his car, her nose an inch from the glass, a longing flicker in her eyes. “It looks fun.”

Thor lifts his gaze off the street to inspect the scene that caught her attention. “Oh that’s a car wash fundraising event.”

“What is a front raisin?” asks Leah.

“No, not front raisin. Fundraising,” says Thor, biting back a chuckle because children are fucking hilarious. “They’re raising funds. Money,” he clarifies when Leah’s confused gaze meets his. “They’re washing cars and people pay for it and they’ll use the money to buy school supplies for children from poor families who can’t afford anything.” At least that’s what he thinks is taking place on the grocery store’s parking lot from the glimpse he got while driving.

“They’re helping children?” Leah wants to know and she looks so hopeful that Thorʼs heart melts for the kazillionth time. 

“Those people are, yes. But you can wash people’s cars to help all sorts of causes.”

“Can you wash cars to help children like me?”

“Y-yes, of course,” stammers Thor, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden because a) Loki was still in command of the body a few minutes ago, debating with him whether they should order Chinese or Greek for dinner and b) Thor still doesn’t know what Leah actually went through besides the fact that she was hurt and abused by Amora fucking Martínez. But that isn’t enough by far to help him understand what ‘children like me’ actually entails from the girl’s point of view.

“But if you want to help children like you, we can just pick a charity—an organization that helps children or pets or refugees or whoever else is in need—and donate a bit of money. We don’t need to bother with the washing cars part. If you want to help—”

“But that part looks fun,” cuts Leah. “I want to wash cars. Can we do it? Can we do a frund-raisin car wash for people who had nasty nannies?”

And yes, that floors Thor for a few heartbeats.

“I want to,” Leah insists.

“Sure,” Thor agrees because, privileged as he is, he never had to raise money for anything. The money was always just there but realizing how much it means to her, he can hardly refuse because, news flash, no one can deny Leah a request.

Which is why, later that afternoon, after having arranged the buckets, sponges, washcloths and dry towels, Thor peels himself out of his shirt in front of his car in the driveway and sprinkles himself with the water hose, well aware that the sight of his ripped torso will draw people towards them in droves.

He snaps of picture of himself and posts it on his Twitter account, captioning it with the words, If your car needs a washing, we’ll do it for a dollar. Spread the word.

Loki rolls his eyes at him but Leah’s excitement forces him out again before he can voice a scathing remark.

The first car arrives not fifteen minutes later and the joy in Leah’s eyes when the water and the soap bubbles come out is enough to lure his baby brother back into reality.

Thor cleans about fifteen cars while Leah and Loki are fooling around with the hose and the sponges and the water, making it all worthwhile because they are so fucking happy playing together these days and what more can one ask for?

There are a few stares, yes, but, luckily, most of their clients are middle-aged women who did not seek him out because of their smudged cars and don’t pay much attention to Leah and Loki.

It’s a bit degrading, thinks Thor, for probably the first time in his life, but he is still happy to oblige because every genuine laugh from either Loki or Leah makes up for ... well, anything.

Chapter Text

Summer 2023

Leah makes a tiny sound of delight and presses her thighs into his sides when she spots the ice cream van parked by the entrance of the beach. “Can we go there?”

“Sure,” Thor says. He is currently giving his kid-in-a-grown-body sister a piggyback ride along the shore and breaks into a gallop across the sand to make her squeal. Her joyous laughter is such a beautiful sound amidst the lazy sloshing of the waves and the clamor of Malibu’s beach wildlife on a hot summer afternoon, and it’s worth every stare thrown their way. Somewhere along the way, Thor has gotten used to them when he’s out in public with Leah and can no longer be bothered. Early after Loki’s release, the gawkers angered and annoyed him to no end and he frequently asked himself when people would finally start minding their own fucking business. A few years ago, his fists would have itched to give each of them a forceful shove, anger management courses or not. A few years ago, he might have tried to talk Leah out of wearing a dark green dress with gold snake-ish lace over her bathers in order to shield her from unnecessary judgment.

Today, he pities those people and is ashamed of his teenage self that was once so easily irked by Loki’s ‘weirdness’. What does it matter, really? Why do people care so much? Why does it bother people when someone is different, why did it bother him when he was younger?

He has no clue, except for the fact that he was a pretty ignorant douche growing up sometimes.

“Hi,” Thor wheezes, slightly out of breath when they reach the local vendor because the system’s body is finally at a constant healthy weight and just two inches shorter than his own. “I’d like a four scoop cone with, uh, chocolate, peanut butter and, uh, strawberry? No wait, I’m not in the mood for strawberry. Umm ...”

On his back, Leah giggles. “You should’ve thought about your choice before,” she tells him and the very fact that she’s speaking in front of strangers now makes Thor’s chest flutter.

Her giggle makes even the vendor smile. “What is your choice, darling?” the middle-aged woman asks Leah, not the least bit creeped out.

It’s quite a surreal experience.

Leah wraps her arms tighter around Thor’s neck for comfort. “Blueberry and chocolate,” she whispers shyly.

The woman’s smile does not falter. If Thor didn’t know any better he’d say it even brightened a bit. “Cone or cup?”

“Cup,” Leah says and it’s probably the first time he witnesses her engaging in an actual conversation with someone she never saw before.

“A two scoop cup chocolate and blueberry coming right up,” flutes the vendor. “And for you, sir?”

“Errmm ... cake,” says Thor. “Birthday cake, I think. And chocolate chip cake.”

*

“That lady was nice,” Leah says as they sit down on a bench, a safe distance from the van.

“She was,” Thor confirms. She was so unexpectedly nice that he lavishly left her a ten-dollar tip for not ruining the perfect day they had by making Leah feel uncomfortable or tense or insecure. Not that the money hurts him but, damn, the bar for humanity must be set dangerously low these days if he felt the urge to reward someone so generously simply for not being a dick.

“Why can’t all outside people be so nice to us?”

“Because most people can be very, uh, judgmental,” Thor tells her, attacking the first scoop on his cone.

“What does that mean?

Oookay, granted, explaining stuff to child alters is still hard sometimes. Before Thor can trawl though his brain for an acceptable answer, though, Leah whines and screws up her face.

“What?” Thor asks, alarmed for the fraction of a second before the proverbial light bulb goes on in his brain.

“It huuurts,” wails Leah.

“Right, yeah. That’s a brain freeze. It’s fine. It’ll pass.”

Leah doesn’t look reassured at all. “How do I make it go away?”

“You can’t,” says Thor. “It’ll go away on its own. You can’t ... do anything about it.”

The way she stares at him, so utterly shocked that he can’t take her pain away this time, would be devastating if it wasn’t so beautifully, heartwarmingly reassuring. “Better?” asks Thor and cups her cheek.

Leah nods and flicks a wary glance at the ice cream in her cup.

“It’s okay. It won’t happen again if you eat slowly,” Thor encourages her.

She doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” he tells her and the little bean trusts him enough to dig back in.

Chapter Text

Sunday, July 21^st, 2024

Odin is sitting at his desk in his Vegas home that he once shared with his family, staring at the little dot on his phone screen that is alerting him to the fact that one of his contacts updated their status. He recently discovered the feature purely by accident and a part of him sorely wishes he hadn’t because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have to look at pictures of Thor going on all sorts of hiking and climbing adventures with Robert Linton at maddeningly regular intervals.

Robert fucking Linton.

Frigga couldn’t have possibly found anyone with a more unremarkable name if she’d put an ad out in the paper expressly searching for the man with the most forgettable name in existence.

Robert fucking Linton.

Odin shakes his head, trying to inhale a deep breath.

It’s been almost two years since Thor dropped the bomb on him that Frigga was dating again and that this guy made her happier than she’s ever been in her marriage with Odin, but it still brings his blood to a boil whenever he comes – quite literally – face to face with a reminder that someone else swooped in and took his place by her side; someone who Frigga is sharing her life and her bed with these days, someone who gets to see her radiant smile every day and gets to run his fingers through her golden curls and kiss her soft lips and call her his.

It feels like a blow to the gut, like the basest of insults, even though it was to be expected that an attractive woman like her would sooner or later catch the attention of another suitor.

It would’ve been a far greater mystery if she hadn’t.

What Odin did not anticipate whilst conceiving of Frigga’s potential future, however, was that Thor would forge a relationship with the guy as well and that he’d frequently announce to his social circle how well they’re getting along and how much fun they’re having together. Perhaps it’s because Odin did not think that far and had no time to prepare himself for this development that Robert Linton’s relationship with Thor is currently a particularly festering thorn in his flesh. After a short moment of internal debate, Odin clicks on the status ring symbol against better judgment and, sure as hell, there they are yet again, squatting on top of some cliff, grinning with toothy smiles and putting up peace signs, all sweaty and tanned, their eyes hidden by dark shades.

It feels like a personal taunt every single time, a desperate plea for attention; almost as if Thor was trying to provoke him into responding to the advertisement that he found a better father three states away after cutting off all contact with Odin himself.

It makes him want to throw his phone across the room because how dare this guy waltz into Frigga’s life and steal away his son? How dare he entice him with the promise of shared physical activity when it was Odin who fostered Thor’s athletic side from a very early age? How dare this asshole reap the fruits without ever having had to sow a single seed himself and look so insufferably smug while doing so, flashing his perfect white teeth into the camera?

How dare they look so at ease with each other, so effortlessly close? How dare they pose as if they’ve known each other their entire lives?

His physician’s words echo through Odin’s head then, reminding him to watch his blood pressure because he’ll put himself at risk for another heart attack or a stroke if he doesn’t learn to keep his temper in check. The man even went as far as to tell him in quite unmistakable, subtly judgmental terms that unresolved anger and persistent stress are among the leading psychological contributors to cardiovascular disease.

Odin puts the phone on the table and closes his eyes.

Massages his temples and the bridge of his nose.

Tries to breathe away the anger that’s still poisoning him from the inside, even after all those years.

Another thought strikes him out of nowhere, sending a shiver creeping down his spine.

If he died tomorrow, would Thor even attend his funeral?

Would Frigga?

Would ... Loki?

And if they did, would it simply be out of courtesy, just as Odin and Frigga attended Hela’s burial out of courtesy, or would they truly miss him if he was gone? Would they harbor any regrets that they cut him out of their lives and that they missed their final chance to speak to him one last time? Would they think of him every once in a while?

Are they thinking of him every once in a while now or are they trying to forget that he ever existed?

These are depressing thoughts and Odin exhales a long breath to disperse them but the quiet voice in the back of his mind pipes up again, whispering to him that he has no one else to blame for his losses except for himself.

It was he who chased them away.

It was he who didn’t make an effort to prevent them from leaving.

It was he who didn’t fulfill the single condition Thor had set for the future of their relationship: that Odin finally agree to go to therapy.

He did try once, mind you, he did, but the psychologist he consulted to fix his relationship with Thor told him point-blank that Odin couldn’t possibly hope to repair any relationship with anyone unless he was prepared, or at least willing, to look inward and get to know himself first.

As if Odin weren’t perfectly aware of what lurks inside him.

As if he weren’t perfectly aware that there can’t possibly be a cure for all that damned anger after living with it and breathing it for more than sixty years.

That someone would even arrogate to himself the ability to restore what Bor destroyed long ago is preposterous.

Picking up his phone again and catching sight of the date on his lock screen, it occurs to him that it’s Frigga’s birthday in three days.

Perhaps if he called her and apologized for his behavior—if he admitted that it was his anger that corroded their marriage and truly owned up to his past mistakes—that might just be enough to soften her, and get him back into Thor’s good graces as well.

He decides it’s worth a try.

It certainly stands a better chance than going to fucking therapy and pouring his heart out to someone half his age.