Chapter Text
Chapter 1 of 2
A Very Bad, Awful Day
The All-Father saw himself as a fair God. His punishments were… necessary, Heimdall told himself. Cruel might be the word lesser sons would say, but he understood the importance of perfection when even the smallest slip could lead to Ragnarok. Their gifts needed to be refined. Their jobs needed to be done in completion. And when those two things weren’t in perfect synergy, there were consequences.
But never before had his father’s discipline been this brutal. This was, dare he say, savage. His chest tightened at the thought. He wasn’t doubting the need for said punishment, but had he not done enough good in his lifetime to be spared some evils? Freeing Garm hadn’t been his fault, after all. He went as a chaperon, but the All-Father himself gave Heimdall an additional objective. How dare those children fail so miserably in the whole five minutes he was gone. The damage was irreconcilable. So much so, his father’s fury poured into his son.
Now Heimdall was faced with his failures as a babysitter by no other than actual babysitting. ‘Bonding’, his father had called it. Something to keep all three of them out of the way while damage control went about the realms. The three were being forced to spend a day locked in Heimdall’s own home, forbidden to use any of their Godly abilities. Heimdall, for the first time in his life, was told specifically to tune out his foresight. He tried fighting back, saying how this would put Asgard at risk, but his father would have none of that.
“Who’s going to come after us with all the Hel Walkers pouring into their home, huh?” the All-Father asked. “Heimdall, you serve a very important role for us. I know you know that. But do you think the rest of us Aesir are useless? Use this time to think. No more acting on instincts. Sit with the kids and understand where their actions come from. There will be no more mishaps, understand?”
But he did understand where those actions came from, better than anyone in the Nine Realms. And yet, Heimdall had still failed to see how much mischief they could get themselves into. As soon as he had the go ahead to smash their faces in, he would.
Heimdall had been stripped of his pride. He wished his father had set him on fire right there and then. Lock him away for weeks listening to nothing but the darkest thoughts of those around him. Anything other than-
“So, where are we sleeping?”
Thrud, Loki, and Skjoldr stood in Himinbjörg’s doorway. The Midgardian boy had been tacked on, courtesy of Loki’s suggestion, for the sole purpose of giving Heimdall a headache. This was supposed to be equal punishment, but Thrud and Loki were turning it into a slumber party. His humble abdo, which no one but himself and the All-Father had ever stepped foot in, was now tainted. Heimdall’s heart was shattering to pieces.
“You’ll sleep on the floor like the mutts you are,” Heimdall said, blocking the entrance.
“Wow, Lord Heimdall Sir, your home is really nice. And big. Like a cabin in Midgard, but for rich, fancy people.”
Heimdall leaned towards Skjoldr, forcing the boy to take a step back. “I was told not to murder those two runts. I made no promise about the likes of you.”
“Be nice,” Thrud said, moving between the two. “Grandfather said-”
“I know exactly what the All-Father has said,” Heimdall snapped.
“Then let us in,” Loki said. “None of us want to be here.”
“I-I kind of do,” Skoldr said with a weak smile. All three of them looked back at him.
Heimdall let out a loud, exaggerated sigh before moving aside. “Take off your shoes. Bring in a speck of dirt and I’ll clean the floors with your face.” What a horrible world this was.
His home was big enough for everyone to fit comfortably. Size alone, it rivaled the Great Lodge’s dining area. A massive fireplace took up the majority of his back wall, opposite of the loft he called his bedroom. Loki started for the floor-to-ceiling library before Heimdall snatched the back of his collar and pulled him to a stop. “Touch nothing. In fact, I suggest the three of you just stand there, perfectly still, and don’t talk.”
Thrud rolled her eyes. “Not happening. Besides,” she rolled the bag on her shoulder to the floor. Inside were a cluster of boxes. “I brought games.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Grandfather told me if we didn’t all get on better terms after today, we’d be doing this again.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Heimdall, you know I’m not-” she paused, breaking into a smile. “Wait, you don’t know! You aren’t allowed to see if I’m lying or not.”
Loki’s face lit up, too. For the children, it was easy not to use their gifts. Heimdall’s had become a key part of who he was. His eyes twitched, glaring at his niece.
Skjoldr peeked into the bag. “Oh, I think I know some of those!” Reaching in, he grabbed a bundle of cards. He frowned. “Nope, nevermind. False alarm.”
Heimdall snatched the cards from his hands. He recognized the game. When he was younger, he, Baldur, Magni, and Modi would play. Heimdall rarely participated in any sort of game, mostly because no one wanted him to. Even if he won without his foresight, they’d all accuse him of cheating. If he was losing, though, he definitely was cheating, so they had good reason to suspect it.
“The game’s easy. Not much strategy, so even you can pick it up,” Thrud playfully jabbed Skjoldr in the side. He nervously laughed before realizing her comment was an insult.
“These are all children’s games,” Heimdall scoffed, going through the bag.
“Then don’t play,” Thrud said. “Go sit by the fire and read shitty poetry or whatever you do here all day. But we aren’t going to stand around and listen to you pout about being a shitty supervisor.”
Heimdall leaned closer to Thrud, his eyes narrowing. “Watch your tongue, runt.”
“Careful,” Loki said. “Heimdall’s going to call you names.”
“I’m going to do much more than that you little-” Heimdall caught himself. The brats were trying to get him to snap. Absolutely not. They would not win. He gritted his teeth. His grip on the deck of cards tightened. He inhaled before relaxing his shoulders. Eyes filled with hatred, he forced a smile. “Fine. Keep your crying to a minimum while I destroy you in your stupid games.”
“These can’t all be competitive, right?” Skjoldr asked. “I bet we can find one that makes us all work together-”
“No,” the other three responded in unison.
They made their way by the fireplace. Heimdall moved his seating arrangements around to give them room to sit on the floor. He lacked any sort of table and didn’t want to drag the one he used for eating over. Thrud shuffled the cards while the two boys laid on their sides and listened to the rules of Une. They were straight forward; everyone got seven cards to start. Each round, the player would need to match the top card of the discard pile with one from their hand. This could be by color, rune, or action. Actions would consist of reversing the play order, having the next player draw multiple cards, skipping someone, etc etc. If the player cannot play anything from their hand, they draw until they get something. Whoever got rid of all of their cards first was the winner.
The game was mostly luck of the draw. And again, it was for children. Heimdall preemptively yawned as he sorted his cards.
“I’ll start,” Thrud said, flipping over the top card and placing hers on top. Loki followed, then Skjoldr, then Heimdall. The first two rounds went without any mishaps. On round three, Loki huffed and grumbled, reaching into the draw pile. Heimdall smirked. So it begins.
Skjoldr had worse luck. He drew several cards before getting anything to play. When he did, he flipped over a green ‘skip’. Heimdall glared at him. He winced .”Sorry, rules say you need to play one when you draw. Sorry, again.”
“Down boy,” Thrud laughed. “It’s just a stupid kid’s game, right?”
“Shut it and play.” Heimdall twitched his fingers against the cards, fidgeting with them until it was his turn again.
The game went on for several more turns before things started to get heated. Thrud was down to two cards before Heimdall hit her with a ‘draw four’ and then proceeded to have no luck finding a yellow. Loki switched up the play rotation twice before he got his hand back down to single digits. Skjoldr had screwed up his plays four times already, misreading the runes. Hopeless mortal. Heimdall didn’t understand why the other two kept him around, especially Thrud. Was she so desperate for a friend that she was willing to scrape the bottom of the barrel? She’d be much happier if she found solace in isolation like her uncle did. Heimdall had no friends and he preferred it that way. If this was the pinnacle of hanging out with others, then it confirmed he wasn’t missing out.
Heimdall yawned again, getting down to his last card. “I’d be lying if I said this has been a fun way to kill time.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Thrud said. With the reverse order, it was her turn. A ‘draw four’ slapped into the pile. “Payback, asshole.”
Heimdall clutched his remaining card hard enough to bend it. Upon drawing the cards, he realized none of them matched the damn one she played. Slowly, painfully slowly, he bent and pulled another card. Nothing.
Another.
No luck.
Two more.
Gods dammit.
A blood vessel popped in Heimdall’s temple. Loki and Thrud were snickering. Skjoldr was trying not to laugh, being too close in proximity to Heimdall.
“You rigged them,” he snarled, glaring at Thrud.
“Do you know how hard it would be to predict this exact situation?” she giggled.
Heimdall drew three more. No greens. No ‘draw fours’. The deck in his fist was larger than the one remaining on the floor. His body was shaking. “Give. Me. A. Green. Card.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Loki snickered.
Heimdall’s rage, much like his grip of cards, kept growing. He tore into the deck. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. He was easily holding twenty cards. Make that twenty one. Twenty two.
“There’s no way you don’t have anything,” Thrud said, holding her sides.
“I don’t have a goddamn green!” He screamed, glaring at them. Thrud and Loki were howling. Skjoldr looked mortified.
Finally, he drew a green. A stupid four. He threw it on the pile and rolled back onto his heels. If smoke could leave his ears, it would have. “I will throw you both in the fire.” They kept laughing. Heimdall glared at Skjolr. “Form a truce with me. We destroy them.”
Skjoldr looked as though he was going to cry. Heimdall’s eyebrows pinched together. He stopped himself from reading the brat’s mind a split second before doing so. The habit was hard to break.
With sweaty hands, Skjoldr slid a card on top of the pile. Before moving his hand away, he looked at the floor. In a shaking voice, he said “It’s all I have to play.” A green reverse card shimmered in the fire light.
Heimdall’s eyes widened. He felt all of his blood go to his throat before he let out a primal scream and pounced on the Midgardian.
Thrud pulled her uncle from Skjoldr as Loki drugged his friend to safety. They were still trying to calm their laughter, even as their friend cried for his life.
“It’s a children’s game!” Thrud shouted, holding Heimdall underneath the armpits. He flailed against her, pulling them both forward. Skjoldr got to his feet, using Loki as a meat shield. Heimdall had managed to sock him pretty hard in the cheek, but besides the growing bruise, he’d be fine.
“I will gut you all and hang your lifeless corpses over my mantle,” Heimdall yelled, ripping himself from Thrud’s grasp. He towered over the boys, shoulders heaving.
“I knew you’d be a sore loser but this is embarrassing,” Loki said, stance shifting to fight.
“I’m so sorry, Mister Heimdall, sir. I never meant to disrespect your honor.”
“Move, Jotun. I’m throwing him off the wall.”
Thrud bent and collected the cards. “Well, I see this game was a bit too intense. Just think of what Grandfather would say, knowing how upset everyone got over a casual game of Une?” Heimdall glanced at the ground. Where Skjoldr had been sitting lay an array of all green cards and several ‘draw fours.’ Heimdall’s blood pressure was dangerously high. At this rate, he’d have a self-induced stroke.
An hour passed, max, in the twenty-four hours they were stuck together. Already, Heimdall attempted to kill a fourteen year old. If the other two fourteen year olds hadn’t stopped him, he very well might have succeeded. Shameful. The All-Father was right. He needed to work on his self-discipline. Nearly two hundred years of training hadn’t prepared him for this.
“No more card games, I guess,” Thrud sighed, tossing the small box back into her bag. “What’s something you can handle, uncle?”
Heimdall was chugging water in an attempt to center himself. He’d given the Midgardian a makeshift ice pack for his weird, stupid face. The All-Father might not have specified keeping the kid alive, but Heimdall could see this just being another test. He would not fail his father again, even if it meant his sanity would crumble.
Loki went back to snooping around. He lingered at the bookshelves before being more invasive, shuffling through Heimdall’s belongings. He held up a flute. “Do you play this thing?”
Heimdall was next to Loki before he finished his sentence, grabbing the flute. “I told you not to touch anything.”
“And we said we aren’t going to sit around and not do anything.”
“Well then, brat, how about you stand around and leave all of my things alone?”
“We could try crafts?” Thrud said. “You have wood or paper or anything we can make stuff out of?”
“I don’t keep a pile of trash around, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Crafting materials aren’t trash. Do you just not have hobbies?”
“No, actually. I’m useful to the Nine Realms, unlike a little guppy like yourself.”
“Common,” Loki butted in. “Thrud’s right. If we’re just hostile this whole time, we’ll never get out.”
“You’re just desperate because the All-Father said you can’t return home until we’re all the best of friends,” Heimdall said.
Loki shrugged. “I mean, that’s the big reason. But don’t you want me to leave?”
Heimdall wasn’t used to their wants aligning. He hadn’t actually thought about that until now. “Alright, mutt. For once, you have a reasonable point.”
“You’re the one making things difficult,” Thrud said. “The three of us are actually trying.”
Heimdall pointed at Skjoldr. “He’s collateral. Anything that happens to him is on you two.”
“Uh, I’d like to not be that, if that’s okay.”
Heimdall snaked his way to the boy. He pressed his finger into his chest, pushing Skjoldr onto his ass. “What would you like to be, farmboy?”
“Leave him alone,” Thrud said. “He’s one of the few people who doesn’t absolutely hate you.”
Heimdall’s head snapped between the two, glaring down at the boy. “And why’s that?”
“Because you terrify me, Lord sir.” Skjoldr answered, looking as though he was about to pee himself. The honesty of his response caught Heimdall off guard. He took a step back, giving an annoyed chuckle.
“Smart boy.”
“What if we did each other’s hair?” Loki suggested, moving closer to Skjoldr. The boy crawled behind the giant like a hurt dog. “I used to play with my mother’s hair all the time, but between Father, Mimir, and myself, I haven’t really kept up with it.”
“Sure,” Thrud said. “Mother used to do mine, too, but now if we spend too much time with each other, we argue.”
“Can boys do things to their hair? I thought we had to default to just,” Skjoldr fluffed his head. “This?”
Heimdall rubbed his forehead and groaned. “Do you have a checklist you’re going down on stereotypical things to do on house arrest?”
“I don’t see you suggesting anything,” Thrud said, grabbing a hair brush and ties from her bag. “Where do you keep your hair supplies?”
Heimdall blinked before realizing she was talking to him. “Absolutely not.”
“Common, I don’t have enough for everyone.”
“I don’t own a brush,” Skjoldr said, confidently.
“You’re a barn animal,” Heimdall muttered. Even Loki gave him a concerning look.
“I guess we can all just share mine. Skjoldr, sit in front of me. I’m fixing you.” The boy’s pale completion turned pink. Pathetic thing.
The three took to the floor, sitting back to back. Loki sat behind Thrud, running his fingers through her hair, twisting little braids here and there. Skjoldr whimpered as Thrud brushed through the mats. Even without purposely using her Godly strength, she was strong. Heimdall was waiting for the boy’s scalp to tear off. The thoughts made him smile.
Loki turned to Heimdall. “Are you joining?”
“No.”
“You think Heimdall would let us touch his hair?” Thrud said. “He’s too much of a prick to let anyone do it but himself.”
“True, and also, how dare you.”
“But boooonding,” Loki sarcastically whined. “Besides, if you keep your hair braided like that, it’ll end up stinking.”
“I wash my hair every day, you mongrel. Unlike you three.”
“Is that why your skin’s so dry?”
Heimdall held his breath. Was disappointing his father an appropriate punishment for tossing both boys over the wall? “I moisturize, you ape. My skincare routine is impeccable. When all of you look like shriveled up raisins, I’ll still have my youthful glow.”
“Mimir says wrinkles add wisdom.”
“That’s really why Heimdall doesn’t have any,” Thrud said.
Heimdall appeared behind Loki, planting himself in the chair nearby. In his head, he was strangling all three with just one hand. “What, exactly, does anyone do something to this tuff of hair of yours?”
“I guess nothing yet,” Loki sighed. “I’m thinking of growing it out. Father’s afraid it’ll get in the way of battle, but you all have longer hair and you’re great fighters. He’s just been bald for so long that he’s forgotten what having hair is like.”
“I could shave the rest and the two of you can match upon your reunion,” Heimdall mused. Loki wrinkled his nose.
“Sit in front of Skjoldr and he can play with yours,” Thrud said.
“Ah, no, he doesn’t need to do that,” Skjoldr stuttered, petrified at making Heimdall any angrier.
“Have the boy who doesn’t bathe be the first person to do my hair in the last hundred and fifty years? I don’t think so.”
“Heimdall, how old are you?” Loki asked. “When will I look like an adult but actually be, like, a hundred years old?”
“Continue having no consistent hygiene and you’ll look like your father in no time,” Heimdall said. “I’m far younger than Thor and Tyr but a bit older than Baldur. Do the math.”
“There’s still a bunch of time between that.”
“Not my problem.”
Loki sighed, focusing back on Thrud’s mane. He already wove a waterfall of braids down the side of her head. He worked fast for having not done this since his childhood.
Skjoldr’s hair was finally detangled. He sat still, his feet tapping back and forth as Thrud collected sections on the sides of his head. Heimdall snagged a book from his side table, his focus shifting from the text to the teens. It was a rarity for the Gods to partake in mortal activities like a simple sleepover. Even if that wasn’t the pretext to why everyone was here, the three of them were genuinely enjoying their time. They were snickering, telling stories, and teasing each other. The sound of the fire crackling was peaceful white noise to the temporary calmness.
Heimdall was about to reach the next chapter when they finished. Skjoldr’s hair was mostly down with two, high pigtail braids on either side of his head. Thrud’s hair was snug to the left side of her head, draping into a cluster of braids all tying into one, thicker braid running down her right shoulder. Strands popped out from all sides, but the design itself was functional. Getting all that hair out of her face made her look less like her father. Not a terrible thing to strive to do.
“Loki, this is incredible. You have to teach me.”
Loki shrugged. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m out of practice.”
“Thanks for touching my head and fixing my hair, Thrud,” Skjoldr smiled, shaking his head back and forth so the braids would hit him in the face.
“Before you go home, I’m giving you a brush.”
Skjoldr blushed. “A gift? Oh, you don’t have to.”
“No, it isn’t a gift. It’s a plea. Please comb your hair daily.”
There was a small pause in conversation. Loki turned to Heimdall. He pretended not to notice the boy’s gaze.
“So, now what?”
Heimdall continued to ignore him, flipping to the next page. How time would fly by if they just left him alone.
“I’m hungry,” Thrud said.
“Yeah, I could eat,” Loki said.
“Oh, I bet Asgardian food is amazing.” Skjoldr looked at Heimdall and added, “Especially whatever Mister Heimdall Lord cooks for us.”
Heimdall snapped his book shut, glaring at the boy. His earlier blush flushed from his face. “Cook for you? You’re taking this whole babysitting thing a step too far, brat.”
“What are we having for dinner?” Thrud asked.
“Did you not eat before coming here?”
“Yeah, that was like, two hours ago. And I didn’t eat a lot.”
“I didn’t eat anything yet,” Loki said.
“I’m always hungry,” Skjoldr said.
Heimdall sighed, tossing his book back down. “You brought board games but not food?”
“Were we supposed to assume you wouldn’t be feeding us?” Thrud asked. “Grandfather would have told us to bring food if that wasn’t it, right?”
“Maybe the All-Father wants you all to starve.”
“I-I don’t think-” Skjoldr started before Heimdall cut him off.
“I’m not cooking on top of hosting you all.” He stood, walking to his kitchen. “Between the three of you, you can cook us all a meal.” He turned when he got no response. “I need a ‘say sir’ from the peanut gallery.”
“I mean, I can cook meat?” Loki said.
“I can peel vegetables,” Skjoldr added.
“I’ve never cooked before,” Thrud admitted. “We haven’t needed to.”
Heimdall rolled his eyes. Useless. “How do you expect to eat if you’re a Valkyrie? Think food will just land on your lap while you’re away from home for days on end?”
Thrud’s eyes lit up. “So you do think I can be a Valkyrie!”
“No, you dump girl, I’m stating another reason why you never will be.” Heimdall sighed, running his hands through his hair. “You’re learning. Tonight. All three of you. If you scoop out the pittance of brains in each of your skulls, you’ve get one functioning mind to make something edible. Please do not further disappoint me.” Thrud flicked him off as he shifted through his cabinets for ingredients. He littered the counter in an assortment of food and species before turning to the kids, gesturing with a bow to begin.
Heimdall returned to his chair to finish his book. He’d buy himself an hour of calmness if he was lucky. Right as he settled in and focused, he heard something shatter to the ground. He forced himself not to turn and look. If he saw something he didn’t like, which he knew he would, he’d get no time to himself.
“Just pick it up,” Thrud mumbled.
The next thirty minutes or so went as smoothly as one could expect. A lot of bickering with very little cooking. Once a plan was put in place, he could hear them actually chopping up ingredients. Thrud took the lead, which was the obvious choice seeing as she was the least knowledgeable. The smell of spices came on too strong to be enjoyable. Heimdall glanced around, watching Skjoldr shake peppers into a pot so forcefully, he expected the bottle to come apart. His crush on Thrud was driving him to do the absolute most.
“That’s enough,” Heimdall called before turning to his book. He could feel Skjoldr’s embarrassment.
“You could help us,” Thrud said.
“I could,” Heimdall said. The other waited before realizing that was the end of his response.
Heimdall reached for a fur pelt, covering his legs. When was the last time he had sat and read at home? He spent little time here to begin with, keeping busy with patrols and tasks. Curling up next to a fire and enjoying a book felt human. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed it. The itching feeling of wasting time kept nagging the back of his thoughts. If he was enjoying himself, then he wasn’t doing work. And if he wasn’t doing work, then he wasn’t being useful. Being existing as he was now had been an order. Heimdall tried to take peace in this inaction.
Until he smelt smoke. A lot of smoke. All at once.
“Hey, uh, Heimdall,” Loki began. He heard Skjoldr’s panic whining begin. Thrud swore, followed by cloth being violently tossed about. He closed his book, pages away from finishing, and stood. Turning around, he saw the carnage. He had taken his eyes off the children once again, and now, his entire kitchen was ablaze.