Chapter Text
It was the perfect time to be alive or supposed to be anyway.
Loki Odinson was at the prime of his life, just about to turn 20, the start of any man's life. He was finished with his first year at University, sleeping around, getting good(ish) grades. He had a remarkable streak for mischief and sometimes got into trouble with his professors, but usually managed to charm his way out of any serious punishment.
In short, they loved him. He was the tall, dark, and handsome bad boy that everyone dreamed about. He drove a motorcycle, excelled at archery, and had a great interest in ancient history and literature. He also had impeccable taste in clothes and design. He was definitely an eye-catcher.
It was good though because he was constantly trying to live up to the Odinson name.
His father was rich beyond anything, a true businessman who built himself from the ground up with his company, Ásgarðr (or Asgard if you don't speak old Norse). He was an immigrant, having moved into this country from Norway. He settled down and married Loki's mother, a loving young woman who opened her heart to everyone. His father had always been especially tough on him, telling him to be strong and constantly pushing him into what he wanted as a son. Odin wanted Loki to be like Thor, the second eldest.
There were four children in the dysfunctional Odinson household:
- Hela, who was about 12 years older than the rest of them and had moved out as soon as possible, leaving them all behind and ending up in jail in Italy
- Thor, who was two years older than Loki and the golden boy of the family, he ran the business under Odin
- Sylvie who was Loki's twin sister, older by a mere 9 minutes, and yet she held it over his head always-- she was quick and clever and always burying herself in the job when she wasn't painting
And then there was Loki.
Whatever he did, it never seemed enough to please Odin. It must've been something wrong with him since the beginning, because he'd never, not once been able to impress Odin even the slightest bit. Odin's attention was always turned to Thor and so Loki had come to resent this. He couldn't stand his brother, and tensions were high.
He was staying at home while he went to school in the city, trying to save every penny to get his own apartment and get away from his family.
Loki worked(and often took double shifts) working at the Froyo store in the city.
He and Sylvie were on good terms. They understood each other, often without words, almost like they were the same person.
But he just needed to be on his own, put space between himself and the wretched Odinson name.
Loki did love his mother so much, loved her with all his heart.
She had always loved him unconditionally, no matter what. She held him when he came back from primary with a bloody lip and black eye, made him hot cocoa and soothed his tears with her gentle touch, rocked him during a thunderstorm and told him stories of enchantment and magic.
They were close.
Sure, she loved all of her children equally, but they had something special. There was a bond between them unlike any other, a secret language they shared, reading books together on the back porch, enjoying ripe tomatoes on the stairs, getting breakfast at a diner in the middle of the night, playing cards, going for an early swim at the beach before school, all of these tiny perfect little moments.
That was why it hurt a thousand times more when he found out he was adopted.
Not adopted, stolen.
Stolen from the back of a car wreck.
He didn't belong, he never belonged.
And they hadn't exactly told him either, in fact, Thor had let it slip out.
It was summer, the semester had ended and Thor had come home for a few weeks from Los Angeles to spend some time with the family.
During dinner with the whole family(excluding Hela) was there.
They all looked at him.
"You knew?" He whispered. Loki looked at his mother's teary-eyed expression, looked at his sister, his own twin and her wide eyes. "You all knew?"
He stood up and left the table, slamming his bedroom door.
It was hard to breathe, his ears were ringing and the rain couldn't drown out the sounds of agony that filled his head.
It was pouring actually.
He didn't care. He packed a small bag of essentials and his wallet before climbing out the bedroom window.
But there was something else he could take. In one moment, anger consumed him and he stole one very item that was Odin's price jewel.
It sat in his private study that Loki was never allowed in as a kid.
It sat in a glass case, a beautiful blue gem.
It was an ancient Norse artifact, a square 50 karat blue diamond worth over $200 million because it was so old. It was attached to a beautiful silver necklace adorned with smaller diamonds.
Loki, consumed with anger, snatched it and slid it into his backpack.
The rain was relentless.
How could he stay in this house of imposters?
He didn't belong, he never belonged...
Loki uncovered his motorcycle and rode down the road, not even daring to look back as he left his family home in the distance.
With every mile put between him and them, he felt better. But it wasn't enough.
He stopped at a gas station and bought scissors. He cut his long dark hair in the gas station bathroom until it was short and curled at the ends. He looked unrecognizable.
Loki's reflection trembled in the mirror and he tore his gaze away before leaving and driving on.
He drove for six days, spent nights sleeping in bummy motels and kept driving.
In his wallet was 600 dollars cash, and he didn't dare use his credit card.
He had no idea where he was going, the signs blurred together and the roads seemed endless.
It was raining the same night Loki met his truest friend and savior.
Pouring, actually.
Loki was driving in the middle of nowhere, the winding dirt road going on endlessly and disappearing into the forest that surrounded him for miles. It was so green, which was so different from California, it was quite nice.
Unfortunately, his motorcycle slid in the mud and swerved into a ditch.
A flat tire. "Shit," He muttered under his breath.
He was out of money and now he had nowhere to go.
Lights in the distance caught his attention.
A house.
He could've knocked of course.
Could've asked for help, but what was the fun in that?
Why do that, when you can just steal?
He didn't realize that his fatal error was stealing from a cop.