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Chapter Text

Lucas inhales and the air is sweet and cold inside a golden room that looks out onto a giant, fabulous golden city.

“My King?” a man asks, his voice probably at least three times deeper than Kevin Conroy's voice. Lucas is suitably impressed.

“I have brought the Prince home,” Odin says to the man, and Lucas looks over at him. He's super tall and black and has bright orange eyes, like Sauron. Lucas squints, tries to figure out why he would for even a moment think of the All-Seeing Eye of Sauron when confronted with a serious-looking man in armor.

It's probably the armor. That is some wicked cool armor.

“I'm sorry,” Lucas hears himself say, faint and thready. “I'm sorry, I don't remember- I don't- you-”

“He is weak,” Odin says, and wraps an arm around Lucas's shoulders. He's wearing armor too. That's probably why he doesn't notice Lucas's shudder at his touch, and why he doesn't notice Lucas trying to flinch away from him. “We will need to be discreet as we travel to the palace. I do not want any citizens to see him until he has at least been returned to some measure of his former self.”

“I am not sure what we're talking about,” Lucas mutters, looking down at his feet.

“Loki, my son,” Odin says firmly, and the man in the armor says nothing as Odin leads Lucas out of the golden room and onto a shimmering iridescent bridge. It's beautiful and prismatic and the part of it closest to Lucas is mostly blue and silver, as if the other colors are having a lot of trouble seeping in. He doesn't know how he knows, but he thinks it's a little newer on this end. “I've brought you home to stay. You are the heir to the throne now, and you must be prepared for kingship.”

Lucas looks down at the bridge, and down, past it, to an infinite abyss that stretches out forever, and every single nightmare he's ever had comes back to him in an overwhelming rush. Lucas takes one gulp of air, then another, but it's not enough to keep himself from throwing up all over the rainbow bridge.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas does not want to talk about it. He does not want to talk about throwing up on the bridge, or trying to walk across it and failing. He gets the impression Odin thinks he's doing this on purpose, just to be difficult. He wishes he'd had the foresight to drag someone along with, even if just so he could have a friendly face and someone to lean on.

He sits on a bed (his bed, they told him) and stares blankly at the floor. It's marble, or something like marble, and it's inlaid with complicated, beautiful designs that make his head spin. He startles a little when the door opens, and a woman walks right in like it's okay for her to do that. For a second he thinks Clea, and then he realizes that no, it's not possible. It's not her at all. It's some older blonde woman who... who, actually, kind of looks a lot like Thor.

“Are you my mother?” he asks softly, and she blinks at him, momentarily aghast. She's been crying recently, but her face is dry. He wonders if she's as bitterly disappointed as Odin is.

“I... yes,” she says softly, crossing the room in a few strides after closing the door behind her. “My name is Frigga, and you are my son.”

Lucas watches her, unsure of what to make of her, of the air of hesitation. He thinks it must not be a usual thing for her.

“You can sit if you want to. What do I call you normally? Are you...” He looks down, licking his lower lip. “Do I call you Mom?”

“You... may, if it pleases you,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed, opposite him. “You called me Mother when you lived here.”

“I don't like being called Loki,” he says abruptly, looking over. “I'm just Lucas. That's my name.”

“I know, Lucas,” Frigga says gently. She looks down at her hands, and Lucas wonders how on earth anyone ever gets anything done here. “I chose your name, when you were small.”

“I'm sorry I don't use it anymore,” Lucas says, because he is. “What does it mean?”

“It has many meanings,” she says, glancing his way. “I chose it after an old friend of mine and your father's.”

“Is he still alive?” Lucas asks, a little morbidly. He pauses, thinking over what he just said. “Sorry. Sorry, that was gross of me.”

“It's alright,” she says, smiling. “And no. He died during the war.”

“Oh.” Lucas feels like there's a story there, one he does want to hear but doesn't want to ask for. “So. Um. Mother?”

“Yes?” she asks, and for a moment she's not a queen. For a moment Lucas thinks of Bobbi, and his heart aches.

“My- uh- Odin said something earlier,” he fumbles, not sure how to bring it up. “He said he brought me here to prepare me for kingship. He says I'm the heir to the throne now.”

“Yes,” Frigga says, watching his face. “Thor is a worthy warrior and prince in his own right, but he has abdicated his place on the throne of Asgard.”

“I respect Thor's decision,” Lucas says firmly, because good for Thor. “I would like to turn in my abdication now, please.”

“Lucas,” Frigga sighs, standing up and walking over to a giant wardrobe that looks like it's got at least one Narnia inside it, maybe two. She opens it and its full of clothing that makes Lucas want to die a little for how complicated everything looks. “That is not... not an option at this moment. There must be an heir. The line of succession must be maintained.”

“I understand that, Mother, but I think the political structure of Asgard stopped being my problem when Odin turned me into a mortal and kicked me into the middle of nowhere,” Lucas says, and it comes out harsher than he meant it to. He sighs, and when he looks up at her she's standing rigidly with her back to him, a simple-looking tunic in her hands.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. This is all just very sudden and against my will,” he mutters, burying his face in his hands.

“You have every right to be frustrated, Lucas,” she says carefully, laying an outfit on the bed next to him. She very thoughtfully includes socks and what he guesses is underwear. He's mortified, and he just can't ask her for the help he needs getting dressed in this getup, he can't. “But... please, for the time being, just... look at this as an opportunity to regain lost family and friends? And just... be open to the idea of ruling, my son.”

“I'm keeping an open mind,” he mutters, looking down at the shirt and running his hand over the front. “I just don't know what you people are thinking, trying to stick me on the throne of anywhere. I don't want to be a king and I'm pretty sure I'd be bad at it, even if I was an Asgardian like you guys.”

“You are a good boy,” Frigga tells him, and puts a tentative hand on his head for a moment. “We will be eating supper with your father and his closest counselor in one hour. The counselor's wife and daughter will be there as well.”

“You'd better not be trying to set me up with a girlfriend, Mother,” Lucas warns weakly, smiling up at her. “Because that's sneaky and underhanded and very nice of you.”

“I thought so, yes,” Frigga replies, smiling back at him. She leaves and he huffs out a breath, peeling off his bloodstained t-shirt. He has no idea where supper is supposed to be held tonight. In one hour.

He has no idea how he's supposed to get dressed in this stuff, or if there's a bathroom he can use, or if he can even get dressed and down there within an hour. He wants, quite badly, to bury his head under the heavy pillows and just hide until morning.

Lucas takes a deep breath, running a hand over the ugly scars that crisscross over his chest and stomach, because at least they're familiar.

“Okay. Time to channel my favorite superhero,” he mutters, because it helps to pretend he's talking to Pete. “W.W.G.W.D?”

He shimmies out of his shorts and his briefs and tugs his socks off, and starts with what he hopes to God are Asgardian boxers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas doesn't know how late he is, but he's... pretty sure it's been more than an hour. Eventually he finds a guard and asks her where supper is being held. She stares at him as if he's a ghost, and he thinks for a moment and then gives her his best smile, even though his legs hurt and his back hurts and he just really wishes he could borrow someone's spear or something because he really, really misses his cane right now.

“So, uhm, Frigga's expecting me? Queen Frigga. Wife of King Odin, I guess. Those guys. They're waiting for me. Also some other people I haven't met yet, so I was-” he tries to explain, and she silences him with a gesture.

“I will take you to them,” the guard promises, and he breathes a sigh of relief. She notices his limp, which only gets more pronounced the farther they go. “You are injured?”

“No. Not really,” Lucas says, through his teeth. “I was, before. I got better, but the, uh... it never goes away, I guess.”

“No, it doesn't,” she agrees quietly, and offers him an arm. “You don't remember me?”

“No, sorry,” Lucas apologizes, letting her help him down the hallway. “I guess you probably remember me, though, right? From my... uh, what I guess was a childhood that spanned centuries, jeez, I don't even know. Did you hear that I threw up? I threw up on the bridge thing. It was terrible. I wish I hadn't. Wow, you're really pretty, does anybody ever tell you that? Of course they do, what am I even saying?”

“It's amazing,” she says, after a moment of stunned silence. “Speech flows from your mouth like an untamed river. You had such a silver tongue before.”

“I know, right?” Lucas sighs heavily. “Just one of the millions of ways I'm not as good as the old Loki, I know. I don't know what anybody's thinking. Between you and me, I think I'd probably make a terrible king, I hope I get overthrown and replaced with a democracy. You want to be a senator? You'd get my vote, I'd totally campaign for you.”

“Unbridled honesty suits you,” the guard says, a smile playing about her lips. Lucas feels a really, really stupid urge to kiss her, which, no. He helps the situation by bringing up the one thing he shouldn't to a pretty girl he'd like to see later.

“So apparently my Mom's trying to get me to date some girl,” he says, and the guard looks like she sort of wants to laugh or throw up. “I'm meeting her at dinner tonight. Personally I think arranged marriages are extremely sketchy. Like what if you meet the person and you just don't like them? Then what? Plus it's some stranger who probably doesn't know me and didn't like me when she did, am I right?”

“You may be pleasantly surprised, Loki,” the guard says, giving him that cute little smile again. “You may meet her and decide she's “really pretty” and feel the need to tell her that, repeatedly.”

“Aw, no way,” Lucas grins, and he can feel himself blushing. “Nobody's prettier than you, I'm serious. And you gotta call me Lucas, I don't even respond half the time when people say Loki at me.”

She opens the door for him and they both step in, and Frigga and Odin and another pair of older-looking people look up at them.

“You're late,” Frigga says, but she's smiling coyly.

“I'm sorry, milady. I picked up a stray on my way,” the guard says, and leans over to give the other woman at the table a kiss. “Good evening, Allfather. Hello, Mother. Father.”

“I'm glad to see you getting reacquainted with Loki, Sif,” Odin says warmly, and Lucas blinks and feels like he's actually the biggest idiot in the entire universe. He slinks into a chair next to Frigga and tries not to be noticed. He fails.

“I'm glad to see you've finally found your son, Allfather,” the other guy- Sif's father, oh lord- says, and gives Lucas a glance that makes him think he's anything but glad. “The kingdom thought you lost, Loki. What could you possibly have been doing on Midgard for so long?”

“PT and classes, mostly,” Lucas says, glancing up when a waiter (he thinks?) puts a plate of food and a goblet of something down in front of him. “Thank you.”

The table is silent, but Sif's watching him and Odin's watching him and Sif's dad is watching him, and the moms seem to be exchanging glances over everyone else's heads. Lucas feels his face heat up, because this is just a single extra witness away from being a total fucking public-speaking nightmare.

“What about your son, Arnvidr?” Odin asks. Lucas glances around and wonders why nobody is eating anything. “How does he fare?”

“Much the same as always, Odin Borson. He languishes in the training pens and prays for war,” Sif's dad says, in the same tone as before. Sif and her mom wear almost identical expressions of being one-thousand-percent done with this shit. Lucas blinks and wonders if they're going to freak out if he eats any of this... whatever it is. It looks like meat. He fumbles with his utensils and flat-out prays he can make this work, just for this one dinner, just for as long as Sif's here watching him.

“Loki,” Sif's mom says, and Lucas puts the forks down where they can't hurt anyone. “It's been many a year since I saw Midgard with my own eyes. How does the land fare?”

“It's alright, I guess,” he says, happy to have something to talk about. “I mean, there's global warming going on, and there's always stuff happening, but nothing bad is happening. I mean, okay, a lot of people die in wars and stuff, so that's bad. And a lot of people die for no good reason. So that's not good. I guess it's actually not going very well there, actually. Especially if you count in all the environmental stuff going on. I guess it's pretty bad.”

“Surely there's some allure, if it captures the attention of both you and your brother,” Odin remarks, and Lucas shrugs and looks down at his plate.

“Well, yeah, I mean. Even with the bad parts, it's still worth a lot. The people are worth everything. And I don't know a lot about Asgard, but the part I'm from is my favorite part of, uh, Midgard. Or anywhere, I guess.” He clears his throat. “Thor told me that you were there before, uh, Sif?”

“Yes,” Sif says, looking at Lucas like he's a strange, rare little bird that couldn't possibly have survived natural selection. “During your short reign, as a matter of fact. I traveled with the Warriors Three to the place where Thor was, and you sent the Destroyer there to kill him and everyone near him. The land was barren and there were few inhabitants.”

“Yeah, well, yeah, that's New Mexico,” Lucas says, grinning. “I'm from New York, it's a great big awesome city and everyone wants to live there. The food's really good and the people are better, and there's a giant library and that's where I work.”

“A library,” Sif's father scoffs. “I see you haven't changed much, Loki.”

“I'm surprised and gratified to hear that, thank you,” Lucas says, smiling at him and sipping his goblet. He blinks, then very slowly puts the goblet down. “This is alcoholic.”

“I should think so,” Odin says, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Do you abstain from drinking, Loki?”

“Uh, no, just, I'm kind of...” Lucas squints at Sif, his mouth already all warm and fuzzy. “Kind of a lightweight? I can't drink a lot without getting embarrassing. Maybe I should stick to water.”

“A grown man who cannot control himself?” Arnvidr asks gently, and Lucas feels his face go all hot and horrible again.

“A man who knows his own limits and chooses not to overstep them,” Sif corrects, and she's smiling at Lucas, thank god. “It's a noble quality.”

“I agree,” Sif's mom adds, and Lucas is pretty sure she just stabbed Sif's dad under the table. “Too often our young men fail to notice their own shortcomings.”

“Thanks,” Lucas says, a little dubiously because he suspects he was just insulted a little bit, there. “Um. So. Sif? You have a brother? That's awesome, I have a brother too. I guess you've met... already.”

“Yes, Thor and I have been close friends and comrades-in-arms all our lives,” Sif says quietly, and nobody wants to look at anybody now, apparently. “And yes, I do have an older brother.”

“I had heard that Tyr was courting a young lady. A general's daughter, I believe?” Frigga asks, bless her. “Does it go well?”

“It's over and done with,” Sif's mom sighs, and the ladies share another look.

“Well,” Frigga says, and Lucas resigns himself to poking at his food. “Perhaps his luck will change, and soon.”

It ends up being, literally, the most awkward, stilted dinner Lucas has ever suffered through. He doesn't eat anything and nobody brings him any water, so he just takes one more tiny sip from his goblet. Maybe two. Maybe three.

The number doesn't matter, because even though he feels tipsy as hell, he doesn't think he's drunk, although he is holding on to Sif for dear life as she walks him back to his room.

“That was the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Lucas tells her, and his words are slurring a little. That's funny, it's kind of like how Tony sounds half the time. “Maybe not the worst thing but it's pretty bad anyway.”

“Painful, actually,” Sif agrees, and Lucas giggles until she dumps him unceremoniously on his bed. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your shirt is on backwards.”

“How can you even tell?” Lucas asks, squinting at her.

“I have seen you wear it before,” Sif explains, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. “You didn't eat much.”

“It's hard to use forks and knives sometimes,” Lucas explains, burying his face in those insane pillows. “Sif? What did your dad mean?”

“He meant that he thinks you're not good enough for me,” she says quietly. He snorts.

“I got that bit. I mean- I mean the other part. Earlier. He said I was lost?”

“Your father has been looking for you for years, Lo- ah, Lucas.” He wags a finger at her, but lets her continue. “He only just succeeded in discerning your location today, and brought you home immediately.”

“No,” Lucas says, looking up at her. “That's a lie and I think you know that. He first came to visit me a year ago, but he turned me into this, this, I guess, almost four years ago. Sif, look.” Lucas fumbles with his shirt until she helps him pull it off, and he's not too tipsy to notice her sharp intake of breath at the sight of him. “This is what he did. He made me a human and he did this and I can't even walk right. You know that, right?”

“Lucas,” Sif says, looking troubled. “We should tell the Queen. She doesn't know- she couldn't know, she'd never stand for it. We must tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Lucas barks a laugh, and he feels light-headed and ridiculous. “What doesn't she know, Sif? She knows I'm here against my will. She knows I was dragged here covered in the blood of my friends, and she knows Odin wouldn't let Thor come with me.”

“Lucas, what do you imply?” Sif asks, and Lucas groans and flops back onto the pillows.

“I don't know, Sif. I guess I just don't even know how to deal with any of this right now. I think I need some sleep. Do Asgardians do breakfast?”

“Yes,” she says, and looks quickly away from him. “I could bring you a bite to eat in the morning, Lucas.”

“Would you please?” he asks, cracking an eye open. “Sif? I'm sorry I apparently tried to kill you in New Mexico.”

“It's the past,” she says, running a hand down his spine. He shivers and leans into her touch, before he remembers holy shit, Mom wants me to date her.

“Do you want to date me?” he asks sleepily, and she makes a confused sound. “I mean... court. Do you want me to court you?”

She hesitates, and it's enough to make him look up at her.

“We did. Before. It was long and long ago.” He actually sits up, blinking.

“Was I stupid? Like, did I just hate life and myself and everything?” he asks finally. “Because why in the name of all that is holy would I ever stop trying to be your boyfriend? Seriously, look at you, you're the most perfect perfection I've ever met. You're sassy and smart and witty and also just look at your face. I thought you were a guard and I was hoping I could totally convince you to be my sassy Queen.”

“You and I parted ways in a manner that was not amicable, Lucas,” Sif says quietly. “My older brother never cared much for you, and you played a cruel trick on him that cost him a limb. He had been a prized warrior and a leader of soldiers before then, and he was stripped of everything but his title when he was seen as useless on the battlefield.”

“Good god. I was a little shit,” Lucas says, blinking. “I owe your brother an apology. A huge apology. I'll do that. Now. No. Later. I'm tired now.”

“If...” Sif looks away for a moment. “If you think that is wise, Lucas, then I can arrange for a meeting between the two of you. I cannot promise it will be as peaceful a reunion as ours has been.”

“That's okay,” Lucas tells her, because it is. “I get the feeling this place is extremely hazardous for my health. It'll be nice to have at least some of that danger out in the open where I can see it.”

“I would not let him harm you, Lucas,” Sif says, sounding serious and deadly and it makes Lucas want to kiss her all over again. “You have my protection here, in Asgard.”

“That's a lot of loyalty for a bratty, murdering ex-boyfriend,” Lucas says carefully, looking her over.

“Thor is the best friend I have,” Sif says simply. “Even if you hadn't changed, I would have protected you for his sake. And you, Lucas... you are not the person you were before.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “They tell me that.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and then she gets up to go. He snags a sleeve, though, sitting up and blinking owlishly at her.

“Sif?” he asks, hesitating a little. “I really... I really need a cane to walk. Do you think you could find one in the morning?”

“Yes, Lucas, I believe I can,” she says kindly. “Do you need anything else?”

“Just directions to the bathroom,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “I want to take a bath. And also use the toilet. And brush my teeth. And make sure my hair isn't a rat's nest of grime and grossness.”

“It's the door there,” Sif gestures, pointing unhelpfully at a wall with two doors set in it, one made of darkly stained wood and one made of wood that's been stained slightly green.

“Which door?” he asks, and she makes a weird face at him.

“This door,” she says, opening the dark one. Lucas can see more marble beyond, and shudders to think of trying to navigate with a cane and wet floors. “There's only one door in your room, Lucas. That and the exit, of course.”

“Of course,” Lucas says slowly, glancing over at the green one again, before giving Sif a smile. “I must be a lot more tired than I thought I was. Sorry, Sif. It was really nice meeting you. Also I like your mom.”

“It was nice meeting you again, Lucas,” she says, smiling a little. “Goodnight.”

She leaves Lucas alone in his room, and he stares at the door she didn't (couldn't?) notice, before deciding that what he needs, right now, more than anything else, is a bath, followed shortly by sleep.

He's just locating a robe, and feeling the prolonged and merciless ache in his hip and knees, when the door opens.

“Oh, hey, Sif, can you grab this for me?” he asks, absentmindedly, before turning and seeing that no, Odin is not Sif. He tries not to visibly show how freaked out he is. He thinks he might be failing. “Oh. Hey, Odin, I thought you were Sif.”

“I am aware,” Odin says, looking a bit at sea. “How are- how are you settling in, Loki?”

“Well enough, I guess,” Lucas says, looking up at the robe. “I can't reach this. Can you grab it for me, please?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Odin says, leaning in to get the robe and handing it to Lucas. Lucas really hates this now, because he's close enough that he can smell Odin, and he smells like old person and metal and some kind of woody aftershave-like smell, and it's not entirely unpleasant but it's not Doc's smell and that's what he wants, that's all he wants right now.

“Thanks,” Lucas mumbles, fisting his hands in the material to hide the fact that Odin's proximity and the pain in what feels like every joint from the waist down are working together to make him want to shriek uncontrollably. “Did you, uh. Did you want something?”

“I take it your mother told you more about why you're here, Loki,” Odin prompts, and he looks expectantly at Lucas.

“Yeah, she did, kinda. Odin, I understand a little bit now why I'm here and all, but I have to tell you, I'm not a king.”

“No, not yet,” Odin agrees. “But you will be a... a fine king, as long as the realms stay at peace.”

“Haha, no, Odin, you're not listening,” Lucas says firmly. “I'm not a king. I don't believe in monarchies, I think they're not a good basis for rule. I believe in democracy. Really. As soon as I'm on the throne I'll just turn the rule of Asgard over to the masses and let them choose whomever best serves their interests.”

Odin stares at him, color flooding into his face and contrasting worryingly with the stark whiteness of his beard, so Lucas thinks it's probably just as good a time as any to keep talking.

“And then as soon as I've effectively dissolved all of my power and spread it to people who actually know what the hell they're doing around here, I'll go back home to Midgard and I'll settle down and maybe one day you'll have grandkids or something, but I'm not going to stay here.”

“You would turn aside the promise of power, Loki? You would turn your back on the family that raised you and live the life of a destitute simpleton down on Midgard?” Odin asks.

“Why not? Thor did,” Lucas spits out, and Odin hits him, slapping him once across the face hard enough to send him sprawling.

“Enough of your insolence and ingratitude,” Odin snarls, and Lucas is pretty sure he's going to die. There's blood running down his face, and his nose and eye are swelling, and he thinks Thor wouldn't have let this joker touch him, and then he remembers that this joker's the one who made Thor take a needle to his face when they were kids.

“Everything I have done for you has been to my own detriment- bringing you into my home, a stranger and a child of the enemy,” Lucas has no idea what this means, but holy shit he can't stop staring at Odin's face, “raising you to adulthood, despite your peculiarities, your quirks and the whispers they brought to the court,” what, “allowing you to continue your treasonous acts and chaotic schemes down on Midgard,” he can only guess that's in reference to being a super-villain, “all the while watching as your crimes weakened the very base of our power, just so I can sacrifice again and again for an insolent whelp who spouts such nonsense that will rock Asgard to her core and destroy everything and everyone within!”

“I don't-” Lucas starts, and flinches back when Odin surges forward.

“I might have suspected this, after all,” Odin hisses, “was this truly your plot all along, Loki? To play the part of the useless cripple and undermine Asgard from within?”

“What? Jesus,” Lucas sobs, shaking his head. “I don't know what you're even talking about, for Christ's sake, you're the one who dragged me here! I just want to go home where my friends are, I just want to stay on Earth and and, god, I don't know, I just want to work at the library and make Thor proud, I don't want to do anything to Asgard, please just don't hit me again, I just want to go home-”

Odin raises a hand and Lucas thinks it would be better if he would just beat the crap out of him and leave, but Odin cups his hand against Lucas's cheek and moves his face a little, examining the bruise blossoming on the other side.

“My apologies,” Odin says quietly, and Lucas was scared before and now he's actually fucking terrified. “I had forgotten that you are... diminished.”

Lucas is going to scream, he's going to scream, if Odin doesn't move his hand Lucas is going to scream and he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.

He takes his hand away and it is the tiniest of blessings.

“I will arrange for your retraining with the weapons master tomorrow,” Odin says, with finality. “And I accept your apology, which I am sure you were about to present to me.”

“Yeah, yes, okay,” Lucas breathes out, shuddering. “I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry.”

“Loki,” Odin says, and Lucas tenses, waiting for whatever's next. “I am warning you now. Any act of treason or sedition, any crime against the throne or against me, will be punished with the utmost severity of the law.”

But you're the law, Lucas wants to say. He nods instead.

“You must disavow that part of you which is a monster and a criminal,” Odin says, still very quiet. “The penalties for indulging in those thoughts and urges are severe. If you break my laws, if you disrupt the workings of this court or this realm...” Odin lets it hang for a moment, even though Lucas knows what's coming.

“If you prove faithless, Loki, I will not hesitate to take Thor from his paltry home on Midgard and bend him to my will. I will have an heir to this throne,” he says simply, and Lucas wants to throw up. “Do we understand one another?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we do,” Lucas breathes out, and with a nod, Odin leaves.

Lucas sits very still for a long time, tears running unchecked down his face and onto his chest.

“Oh my god,” he whispers to himself, half hoping it'll be heard, that somehow he's been bugged- maybe Tony's got tech that can, that can trace him, that can hear him, that can hear what just happened. Maybe SHIELD does, maybe they're listening. Maybe Doc's got some kind of... some kind of magical thing, shit, anything.

“Oh my god,” he whispers again. “He's crazy. He's actually a crazy person. Oh my god, I'm going to die here.”

There's no answer. The half of Lucas that knows better was right- he's alone. He's on his own here.

Chapter Text

Lucas's first morning in Asgard is cold and confusing- he knows where he is, but he can't remember why his face hurts so bad, why his everything hurts so bad.

Then he sits up and looks around and remembers why, and it makes him want to puke. He took a bath last night, but he takes another one, because he's cold and it seems like a good idea, maybe the steam will make the swelling go down. He actually has zero clue if it will help, but he needs to feel clean when he's been feeling sad, and today is no different.

It's nice, almost, to think that he's not been warped by one horrible day. Maybe he can continue to not be warped by each day that comes to him here.

Lucas tries to just take it slow. He gets himself halfway dressed, because pants and boots are not hard to figure out, and he's still sitting on his bed trying to force his fingers to work straps and buckles and whatever the hell these shiny metal bits are when Sif walks in with an apple and some bread and a cane, and a huge strapping man comes in behind her.

“Oh,” Lucas says, and they both stop short to stare at him- Sif in horror, the man with scowl on his face.

“What happened?” Sif asks sharply, and Lucas feels a terrifying moment of vertigo, because Sif said she'd protect him. But she didn't, and she can't, not against Odin. And Odin's the one who did this. Odin will probably do it again. And Sif can't fight him because Lucas can't even imagine what would happen to her. And he- and she- and-

“So uh,” Lucas says, trying to fill the silence before it gets accusatory, before they start drawing conclusions, “so my- so Odin says I'm supposed to be, uh, to be training with, with the weapons master, and, uh, yeah, you missed it, we totally had an early morning training thing so I'm just a little banged up from that but it's cool, you know, I'm a, a dude I guess and dudes here totally get banged up, it's no big deal.”

“You're saying the weapons master did that to you,” the man says- Sif's brother, Tyr, Lucas can remember things sometimes- and he sounds like he does not believe Lucas at all.

“An impressive feat, since he has been with me all morning,” Sif says flatly, fixing Lucas with a Look. “Lucas, this is my brother, Tyr. He is the weapons master.”

“Ahahahaha,” Lucas laughs, because otherwise the hysteria bubbling in his throat might become a real thing and choke him. “Yeah. Okay, wow, yeah, you caught me. That was a, it was a big fat lie earlier but now I'm telling the truth to you because I am, um, not so good at lying. So yeah. I, uh. I fell? I tripped. I mean I slipped? I slipped and fell and, uh, a door was involved.”

Sif's face relaxes as she buys the weakest lie in the history of lies. “Oh, Lucas. For a moment I thought-” She sighs. “Never mind what I thought. Lucas, you don't need to lie to me. It's alright that you're not- that you lost your footing. I'm just... I'm just glad you're not injured any worse than you are now.”

“Oh, Sif,” Lucas says, his face burning. “Good ol' Sif. Yeah. You're right. I'll... I won't... yeah.”

“Sit up,” Tyr says to him, his face looking exactly as annoyed and broody as Lucas would expect from someone who's been maimed by Lucas in the past. He kneels down on one knee and reaches up with one hand, snagging a strap. “Hold your shirt still, or we'll be at this all morning.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, because what. He holds the shirt still, watching as Tyr fastens the straps one-handed, one at a time, his fingers thick and callused but nimble all the same, in a way Lucas has never seen in himself. He glances over to make eye-contact with Sif- she looks worried, still, but she gives Lucas a smile. “Um, Tyr?”

Tyr pauses, glancing briefly at Lucas's face. “What.”

“I'm sorry,” Lucas says quietly, not gesturing at the wrist that ends suddenly in a smooth metal cuff. Sif tenses, looking like she's ready to pounce either one of them. “I mean I don't- I don't remember, but I'm still... I'm sorry I did that to you.”

“You do not remember the doing of it.” It's not a question, but Lucas feels like he's being interrogated.

“No. I mean- I don't remember most things, I guess.” Lucas pauses, searching Tyr's face. “That doesn't mean I can't be sorry for something I've done, or want to try to make it better, if I can.”

Tyr stands up, taking a step back. “I see. Are you ready to go out into the day now?”

“Uh, well, I- I don't know, maybe? Sif? Am- am I-” he flounders, feeling his face heat up under Tyr's scrutiny. Sif chuckles, low and dark, but stops at a dirty look from her big brother- she still smirks at him, though. Lucas has no idea what just happened, but he figures it's like when he and Peter have completely nonverbal discussions over what they want to do, or basically any of the interactions between JD and Turk.

“Here,” she says, putting the apple into Lucas's hand. “This is for you. The bread is for the horse.”

“Horse?” Lucas echoes, as she hands the cane over. “What horse? I didn't know horses eat bread.”

“This one is picky and particular,” Sif smiles. “Much like his mother.”

“Is it a fat horse?” Lucas asks, and Tyr actually snorts.

“Eat your apple and we will go and see if he's grown fat,” Sif promises, which sounds okay by Lucas. He bites into his apple and makes a tiny, embarrassing noise of appreciation.

“It's a really good apple,” he whimpers, once his mouth isn't too full to talk. Sif rolls her eyes and Tyr looks pointedly away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's not such a long walk to the stables, and once Lucas gets there he actually stops and stares.

“Shut the front door,” he says finally.

“No, we should leave it open for air,” Sif says, and he looks over at her.

“You brought me to the lair of a spider horse,” he says flatly, and she laughs.

“Sleipnir is the fastest horse in any realm,” she explains, and he looks at her like she's insane.

“Is it because he's a Lovecraftian horror?” he asks pointedly, and Tyr smacks his shoulder lightly.

“Have a care how you speak of him. He has the intelligence of any Asgardian, and is a powerful creature in his own right,” Tyr says sternly. Lucas actually takes a step back.

“He's a horse who's a person,” he says finally, and holds out a hand until Sif gives him some bread. He walks carefully over to Sleipnir, which is just as scary as the horses in Central Park are, but with extra spidery evilness in the legs department. Lucas offers him the bread, squinting hard.

“You're a person? But you can't talk?” he asks, and the horse noms on the bread and snuffles against his hand. “That's not a clear answer. Can you do the hoof tapping thing?”

There's a heavy clopping sound, as a hoof the size of a dinner plate stamps against the hay-strewn floor. Lucas glances over at Sif and Tyr for encouragement. Sif nods, still smiling, and Tyr looks as grumpy as he has all morning. Lucas figures it's as good as he's going to get from them, so he turns back to Sleipnir. The horse's eyes are huge and black and make him think of the darkness under the bridge.

“One tap is yes and two is no, then,” Lucas murmurs. “Can I touch you? Is that okay?”

Clop. Sleipnir leans down a little, and Lucas tentatively reaches up to brush his fingers against the front of Sleipnir's face. He grins shyly, and Sleipnir whinnies at him.

“I'm kinda scared of horses normally, but I'm glad you're nice,” he whispers.

Clopclop. Lucas blinks.

“You're not nice?” he asks slowly, and Sleipnir nudges his face against the ugly hurt side of Lucas's face.

Clop.

“That wasn't a yes or no question, I think,” Lucas says apologetically, touching Sleipnir's mane. “But you're a person, right?”

Clop. Yes.

“We've met before, right?”

A very long pause, before, finally, clop.

“Are you free to leave here if you want to?” Lucas asks, and the horse looks at him for a moment.

Clopclop.

“That's messed up,” Lucas says, a sudden vehemence in his chest and throat. “That's- that's slavery. That's not right. You're a person.”

Clopclop.

“I don't understand,” Lucas says, frowning. “A person's a person. You shouldn't be stuck anywhere you can't get out of, ever.”

Clopclopclop.

“I don't know what you mean by that,” Lucas sighs, and Sleipnir licks him. It's very gross and smelly, and Lucas tries not to be visibly disgusted. Sleipnir noses against his face again, right in the bruises, and Lucas winces and takes a step back. “That hurts, dude. Anyway... yeah. So I'm Lucas and you're Sleipnir. Can I come visit you again sometime?”

Clop. Sleipnir whinnies at him, and then turns around and stands at the far end of his stall, looking down at the wall.

“I will leave this here for you to enjoy later, Sleipnir,” Sif says, coming up and leaving the bread where Sleipnir can get it. The horse makes a horsey snorting sound, and Tyr leans in.

“Prepare yourself for a run later. You are growing slow and fat with disuse,” he tells Sleipnir, and the horse makes a noise that almost sounds like laughter.

Tyr walks with them a little bit, into a sheltered garden, but he stops abruptly, glancing at the sun. “I must leave. I have duties to attend to before I take on the infinitely humiliating task of teaching basic combat skills to a wayward amnesiac prince.”

“Have fun today,” Lucas calls out, watching him go for a moment before turning to Sif. “So does he hate me? Because I like him.”

“I am reasonably certain he likes you,” Sif says cautiously. “Buried deep inside his heart, there is probably a part of him that does like you.”

“That's good,” Lucas sighs. “Alright, Sif? Can you tell me what that was about?”

“I am not sure what you mean,” she hedges, and Lucas sits down on a carved stone bench and gives her the Eye.

“I'm not stupid,” he says, after a moment. “They wrote about us, on Earth. They passed down hundreds of years of oral tradition about Thor and Odin and me. And I don't remember all of it, but I remember some, and I tried to read everything I could about Loki when I found out.”

“Lucas,” she says quietly, and puts a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him. “There may be some things you do not need or want to know.”

“Don't make that decision for me,” Lucas tells her, looking away. “In the stories- on Earth, the story is that once I gave birth, because I'm a freaky shapeshifter. In stories I gave birth to an eight-legged horse. And I didn't really pay attention to those, because half the stories sound totally made up anyway, or are inaccurate in concrete ways I can see with my own eyes, like Thor being a shaggy ginger lumberjack.”

“I don't know what that word means,” Sif says quickly, but she won't meet Lucas's eyes. “And no, Lucas. You did not give birth to a horse.”

“Did I father a horse?” he asks flatly, and she winces.

“No. Lucas, I'm... I'm perhaps not the best person to ask. I have never paid much attention to the workings of magic, and I'm not sure if I can appropriately explain where Sleipnir comes from without giving you the wrong impression of what truly happened.”

“Is Sleipnir my actual child, though?” Lucas asks, gently enclosing her hand in his. “I guess that's what I want to know. Did I... is that... I mean, is he mine?”

“I don't think that's a yes or no question,” she says hesitantly, and he feels awful. “Lucas, he is treated well. If that... if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn't,” Lucas mumbles. “Can I have a hug?” She wraps slim, muscular arms around him, and he sighs.

“What do the stories say about Tyr and myself?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“You're blonde and married to Thor,” he says, after a moment's thought. “And Tyr got his hand bit off by a wolf.”

“Well at least one of the stories is accurate,” she sighs, and Lucas just doesn't think he can take any more stories right now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lunch is late- that apple was actually kinda filling- and Sif bullies three men into sitting with her and Lucas. One is quiet and Asian. One is blond and looks like he wants to make a “that's what she said” joke. The other guy is definitely Santa Claus, so Lucas sits by him and tries not to be too obvious about staring.

“Lucas,” Sif says, and he realizes she must have been saying his name for a while there while he was distracted. “Is that alright?”

“What?” he asks, and then looks down at the steaming bowl of stew in front of him. It smells good. He tries picking up his spoon. “Sure. Okay. What's in it?”

“I made it from the meats of many creatures!” Santa Claus booms next to him, and Lucas looks up at him because holy crap, this guy's inside voice beats Thor's.

“That's really cool that you can cook,” he says, and Santa blinks at him, and Blond Creepy is giving him a surprised look.

“No barbs on the womanliness of such an action as cooking?” Blondie prompts, and Lucas wrinkles his nose a little.

“What? No. That's rude. Cooking is a skill. I wish I could do it, because then I would probably eat better.” Sif punches the blond guy really hard, in a way that doesn't look like it's playful. Lucas frowns, concentrating on bending his fingers around the spoon's handle. “Is that the kind of rude thing I used to say? I'm sorry. That's awful.”

“Fandral was just making an ass of himself,” Sif reassures him, watching him fumble with his spoon. “Do you require assistance, Lucas?”

“No, I'm- not usually, no, but I just- I'm really not normally this useless,” Lucas mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with his non-spoon hand. “I'm sorry. I'm not normally- it's just on really bad days, but I guess- I guess it's been a couple of really bad days, for me.”

“Here,” Santa Claus says, wrapping a massive hand around Lucas's to hold the spoon in place. Lucas can feel himself tearing up a little. “Does that help?”

“Y-yeah,” he admits, sniffling. “Thanks. It does. I- I usually have someone with me who knows how- how I get. I've never been away from home before.”

“Really?” Blond guy- Fandral- asks. “That's marvelous! Would you like to hear me tell the tale of the first time Thor ventured forth from home?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Lucas says, perking up. “Oh no, wait, was he sad? I don't know if I want to hear a sad story, I love Thor.”

“It's a funny story,” Fandral promises, and the Asian guy snorts. Fandral puts his hands up, pretend-defensive. “And it's a true story! It's also the story of how he and I first met and became friends.”

“Wow! I want to hear it, then,” Lucas says, leaning forward.

It actually is a really funny story, and Sif passes him water in a mug and Volstagg (that's Santa's real name, apparently) gives him a couple of thick slices of bread and he gets to soak the bread in the broth, so Lucas does get to eat something. Then Volstagg and Sif and Fandral all take turns telling a story about a time they all conspired with Old Lucas to get Thor the perfect birthday present, which apparently involved going on a hunting trip and needlessly elaborate pranks. Lucas figures out that the Asian guy's name is Hogun only because he shows up in this trip and performs a variety of increasingly hilariously punned feats of awesomeness.

“And then you, Loki-”

“Lucas,” Sif corrects Fandral, smacking him lightly. Lucas kind of thinks they have a thing going on between them, because she's way more physical with him than with anyone else, and they're all touchy-feelies up in here. “You just tossed your cape off and stood there in full armor in the crushing heat of a Muspelheim summer and said-”

“Alright, the first one of you to make me shiver gets to keep it!” Volstagg roars, like the punchline to a well-played and often-retold joke.

“Oh my gosh did I really say that!” Lucas wheezes, laughing so hard that he's almost crying. “Oh my gosh, that's so crazy! These are like the best stories I have ever heard!”

“Lucas, you have made Fandral the happiest little ranger in all of Asgard,” Sif grins, batting her eyelashes at him. “Now he can retell all of his tired old stories to a brand-new and overly appreciative audience.”

“I know, right?” Lucas grins, beaming at Fandral. “Another please! Are there others?”

“There are plenty!” Volstagg tells him, patting his back enthusiastically. “And we would be happy to tell you, my friend, but alas, the day is wasting and we have much to do yet in it!”

“Aye, but we meet every noontide for luncheon, do join us any time you are able!” Fandral adds, clasping a hand on Lucas's upper arm. “It is good to know you are safe and happy again, Lucas.”

“Awww, okay,” Lucas smiles up at him, fiddling with his mug. “You guys are awesome.”

“Hogun-” Sif begins, raising her eyebrows. “Tyr will be coming by to take Lucas to the training pens. Can you wait here awhile until my brother arrives?”

Hogun nods and makes a vague noise of assent, taking a seat nearer to Lucas as the other three scatter in different directions. Lucas sighs and it's just nice to sit quietly for a while and not have to talk, but then Hogun turns and gives him a onceover.

“What happened to your face?” he asks simply, and Lucas almost starts coughing in sheer terror.

“Uh! Yeah, didn't Sif mention it earlier? I thought she did,” he stammers, wringing his hands a bit. “I slipped and fell and banged my face on a door. That happened. Yes.”

Hogun just looks at him like it's not all that convincing, but whatever, because Tyr finally shows up and Lucas practically jumps to his feet.

“Okay! Well thanks for hanging out with me, Hogun, see you later or tomorrow or whatever!” Lucas calls out, limping furiously after Tyr as if afraid that Hogun will silently stare reproachfully at him for being such a liar.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Weapons training is so hard, it's stupid. It's stupidly hard. Lucas is breathless and wheezing and aching all over less than twenty minutes after they start, and that counts the five minutes Tyr took to make sure they were both properly stretched and warmed up before tackling the basics. But Natasha's lessons have proven pretty darn useful, because Tyr's already made one comment about how Lucas isn't the most horribly hopeless student he's ever had, and it was after he eyeballed the form Natasha taught Lucas. So that's good.

Not so good is that by the time they've been at it a little bit over half an hour, it's too much, and Lucas is curled up on the side of the ring, breathing hard and trying not to barf. Tyr makes a low grumbling noise and puts his hand on the back of Lucas's neck, putting his head down between his knees.

“Thanks,” Lucas whimpers.

“I will not appreciate having to watch you scrub your vomit out of the floors,” Tyr says grimly.

“No, that would not be fun,” Lucas murmurs, inhaling carefully.

“Tell me who hit you,” Tyr says, and Lucas tries to jerk back upright and he can't, because Tyr's remaining hand is heavy. He does seem to notice, though, and moves his hand so that it rests a little lighter against the crook of Lucas's neck where it joins his shoulder. Lucas looks up at Tyr, not sure how he can respond without destroying something, without destroying everything.

“I-I don't know what you mean,” Lucas says finally, because Tyr might tell Sif. “I fell.”

“You have changed very little, Lucas,” Tyr says, a little more quietly. “In your youth, you lied and hid and never revealed the injuries you bore- usually literally, using your magic to disguise any marks you could not heal yourself. And, as it was then, I have worked- perhaps too hard, perhaps too well- to protect my little sister from the knowledge that sometimes truly evil things happen to good people for no reason whatsoever.”

“It's different,” Lucas mumbles, looking down because he's caught and he knows it. “She said she would protect me from anybody, but she can't, and if she tried it...” Panic tries to worm its way through Lucas. “It would... it would be bad. For her. I can't. Please don't- please don't make me say.”

“He cannot see or hear you, here,” Tyr says gently, and Lucas almost looks up at him then. “You can speak freely, Lucas. You are safe within these walls from his All-seeing eye.”

“Sauron,” Lucas mutters, grinding the heels of his palms against his eyes. “No point. He's.... scary. And he'll do it again. And, and, I can't stop him, and she can't try, because I think he might actually kill her and that would- that would be-”

“Shh,” Tyr tells him, and his hand moves through Lucas's hair in a rough gesture of comfort. “Breathe slowly. Speak carefully and deliberately, or else you'll start panicking and crying, and I will not have hysterical displays in this place of teaching. You can be calm, Lucas. You are safe here.”

“And why are you being so nice to me?” Lucas asks, pushing Tyr's hand away. “I was horrible to you. I was horrible, period. Half the time I think- I think maybe I do deserve it, or I did, and he just doesn't know I'm changed, but-”

did you think we would forgive your debt

Lucas shudders, and Tyr's hand is warm on his back, just between his shoulder blades, and it's real and there in a way the voice from his nightmares is not.

“-but, Tyr, you know,” Lucas continues, too miserable to silence himself, even though saying it out loud might make it true. “If I did deserve it, does it matter that I don't even remember? I remember parts. I remember some parts of being horrible, and I- and maybe I wasn't ever, I don't know, maybe I wasn't punished enough for the things I did, and this is just-”

“Stop,” Tyr commands, and he sounds like he could tell a dying soldier to live, with that tone of voice. He probably has. “No. Lucas, you have done dark and underhanded things to many people in your life, this is true.”

Lucas lets out a shuddering sigh, because okay, so he finally heard it from someone else, so maybe Odin is right.

“Look at me,” Tyr says softly, and Lucas does. “You have been punished enough. Sometimes you have been punished to the point of abject cruelty. But most importantly, Lucas, you have been forgiven. The people of Midgard who you wronged so thoroughly forgive and love you, do they not?”

“I... guess,” Lucas says slowly, and Tyr regards him for a moment.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” he says carefully, as if trying very hard to make sure Lucas catches all of it. “You never saw me as useless. You never spoke to me as if the loss of a hand made me feeble, and you never treated me as anything less than the warrior I have worked all my life to become. Your malicious mischief caused the loss of my hand, but I have always known that it was an accident. I forgave you for the injury you caused long before you forgave yourself.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, blinking. “But... I don't... how?”

“Once,” Tyr says quietly, looking down at Lucas's mouth. “There was a council of warleaders. You were there because as a prince, it was your right. You were barely more than a child. This was back in an era before you lost all ability to smile, when you still believed that your voice was worth listening to, and not just a tool to distract others from your inner self.”

Tyr looks at Lucas, but his eyes are distant, like he's still seeing Loki. Lucas almost doesn't want to break the moment, horrifying as this all is.

“I was on trial. I was being charged with incompetence, because the other generals and warleaders hated the idea of being on par with a cripple.” Tyr blinks, his voice remaining even, controlled. “You spoke against them. Against your father. You argued- naively, but eloquently for one so young- to allow me to keep my rank and position. You argued that it was your fault my hand was lost. And your father took you aside and out of the trial room, and took Thor with him.”

“Thor returned, much later, pale and shaking in a way that I very rarely saw from him, and never in the face of danger. You managed to stay out of sight for weeks- I was run out of the army but was allowed to keep my title, and I was given a steady, nearly prestigious role training other warriors. But you were gone for weeks, and when you returned it was without fanfare, thinner and paler and more wary than before, and fresh scars lined your mouth.”

“Yeah,” Lucas sighs, looking up at him. “He used to make Thor do that. From what I understand it was a pretty regular thing he did to us.”

“I have watched you for a long time,” Tyr says, running the pad of his thumb against Lucas's lower lip. “I'm glad to see this, at least, has healed.”

“Yeah,” Lucas echoes, and he kind of wants to bite, but he just holds still and lets Tyr remove himself.

“Return at this time tomorrow,” Tyr says, after picking up a few stray practice staffs. “The thought of your inability to defend yourself makes me sick.”

“Okay,” Lucas calls after his retreating back, and puts a hand to his face because it seems unreasonably warm right now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas has dinner with Frigga, who does a double-take at the sight of his face that would almost be funny if it hadn't been the cause of a hell of a lot of grief today. But she doesn't say anything, and it's enough to make Lucas wonder if maybe Tyr could be wrong about him having been punished enough.

She tries to talk to him about his day, though, and it's kind of nice. It would be nicer if Lucas could just stop thinking about all the ways in which she's not Peter or Doc or Darcy or Clint or Thor or any of them.

She doesn't comment at all when he drops his fork, just leans over and gives him one of hers, and kind of out of nowhere she starts talking about Odin, who is the last person in like probably the universe that Lucas wants to discuss right now. She talks about his power, and his glorious history, and his parents and cousins and a long-dead brother who burned like wildfire.

She's piling Lucas's plate high with little cakes that remind him of cornbread, but with a lighter texture and a honeyed aftertaste, when she glances over at Lucas and says, carefully, “And of course, the Allfather sees and knows everything, which is a trait shared only by our Heimdall.”

“Okay,” Lucas says slowly, like that is information that can be used ever, and also because his mouth is half-full of weird Asgardian muffin.

“Indeed,” she continues, raising her eyebrows at him. “If there were something your father could not see? That would, truly, be a marvel worth exploring.”

Lucas blinks at her, and thinks about a green door next to the bathroom door in his suite.

“What if there was a whole place he couldn't see?” he asks faintly, licking his fingers because these muffins have erased all shame. “If a person he could see went into that place, would he stop being able to see them?”

“You know,” Frigga says pointedly. “I half suspect he might lose track of them entirely.”

“Do you guys know about Lord of the Rings up here?” Lucas blurts, because that reminded him of the guy on the bridge, not-Sauron.

“We do not busy ourselves overmuch with Midgardian culture,” Frigga explains, but she tilts her head at him and smiles. “But when I observed that you had read those stories several times in your library, I summoned a copy and read through it and the Silmarillion. I enjoyed both, in many ways.”

“You- you saw what I was reading?” Lucas asks, simultaneously taken aback and delighted. “You could see that? And that made you pick up a book and read it?”

“You have good taste in literature, my love,” Frigga smiles, and Lucas blinks at her because yes. “I asked Heimdall, once I knew where you were. I asked him if he remembered seeing you, before we were sure of your true identity. He told me of your love of reading, and he gave me a list of those things you read many times over.”

“That's cool and also not something I want to think too hard about,” Lucas says cheerfully. “Did he tell you about my love for Teen Wolf?”

“I beg your pardon?” Frigga asks, and the way she goes very still and stiff and watchful gives Lucas pause.

“Teen Wolf?” he asks finally. “It's a television show about teenagers coming of age, but also they turn into wolf monsters once a month and when they're upset.” Frigga relaxes, and gives him a small, enigmatic smile.

“He did not mention it, no.” She does something to her plate, and Lucas is tired of speaking in circles.

“Why did you get all weird when I brought it up about the Teen Wolf?” he asks, and she peers over at him.

“Your father is preparing several hunting parties,” she says, after a moment. “A monstrous wolf that had been imprisoned for many years recently struggled its way to freedom, and the last time it was free it caused ruin and destruction across all the nine realms.”

“Holy goodness,” Lucas says sharply, because he doesn't want to curse in front of his mother, jeez. “Is it dangerous? Are my friends in danger back home?”

“They may be,” Frigga says, and Lucas just stares at her for a moment before coughing.

“Right. Okay. So we've warned them about it, haven't we? I mean, we have the Bifrost bridge, they tell me it can go anywhere, so we can go around warning all the nine realms that there's a giant demon wolf thing running around.”

“If you are concerned, Lucas, I can send a message to your friends on Midgard,” Frigga says slowly, as if she's got to think that one over. “Surely Odin cannot argue against the rationality of this request- it's not as if you're writing to them begging for rescue or anything that will lead to destruction.”

“Huh,” Lucas says, not even asking, because the light little cakes in his guts just turned to slabs of molten lead. “What? What are- what.”

Frigga has the grace to look sorry for what she's saying.

“Your father... does not want Thor or his Midgardian friends to meddle in the affairs of Asgard,” she says, and Lucas's hands tighten around the handle of his cane. “He has officially banished them from this realm for the time being- for every one of them that takes step in Asgard, he has promised to destroy a Midgardian city.”

“That's disproportionate,” Lucas says, staring at her in horror. “And you're okay with that? Okay. Did anybody tell my friends that they can't come here or millions of innocent people might die? No? Really?”

“Lucas,” Frigga pleads, reaching over for his hand, and he shakes her off, feeling dizzy and gross. “It's not a permanent edict, it's just that he doesn't want to make it any more difficult for you to settle in to your life here. Please-”

“Do not. Don't. No,” Lucas whispers, covering his eyes with his hands. “This place is a nightmare.”

“I am limited in the actions I may take,” Frigga says quietly, and he looks at her. “What would you have me do, Lucas?”

“Tell them they need to prepare for giant wolf monsters, for one,” he says flatly. He opens his mouth to say more, then pauses, miserable. “Tell them I'm happy. Tell them I love them, and that I'm friends with Sif and Tyr and Fandral and Volstagg and Hogun, and that they're looking out for me. Thor will feel better about that, at least, and he can probably reassure my other friends that I'm not in the horrifying danger they probably suspect I'm in.”

“Lucas,” Frigga says, pleading. “Dearest, it's for the best if-”

“I do not like lying,” Lucas snaps at her. “I hate it. That's one of the first things they told me, you know, when I found out, that I was a compulsive liar, and I never wanted to lie even before I learned. But I'm lying left and right here, because anyone who knew the truth would try to do something and they'd be the ones getting hurt.”

Something hot and horrible feels like it's digging through Lucas's heart, and he curls his arms around his chest.

“I think... okay. Mother. I'm going to my room. I'm tired. I'm hoping that when I wake up this will all turn out to have been a horrible nightmare. If it's not a nightmare, I'll see you in the morning. Please write to my friends right away, because they're probably freaking out in fear for my safety, which, you know, is totally and completely justified.”

“Alright, my son,” Frigga says quietly, and she looks hurt and ashamed, and not like a queen at all, and a dark little piece of Lucas is glad she's hurt. “Sleep easily and freely.”

“Thanks,” he says, pressing his mouth into a line. “I hope you don't. I hope you stay up thinking about it, because I probably will, too.”

Chapter Text

Lucas plays a perfect game of avoiding his parents for a whole week- he spends mornings walking around with Sif or Fandral or Hogun, sometimes asking questions about Asgard or listening to ridiculous but awesome stories or just walking and taking everything in. He eats lunch with all of them and Volstagg, and they actually like hearing about Pete and Doc and his family on Earth. He trains with Tyr in the afternoons, and so far he doesn't think there's any improvement but it feels good to be doing stuff, and when it's over he hurts but in a good way. He eats dinner with Tyr and Sif and they go together to visit Sleipnir most days, and Lucas doesn't ask any more questions but has taken to telling Sleipnir how good and strong and pretty he is, even though he's scared to go near any of the other horses.

Volstagg even gets Lucas to come over for dinner instead of the usual with the Warrior Siblings, and Lucas finally figures out that the reason Volstagg's always too busy in the mornings to hang out is because he's got like seven children. They're all adorable and ginger and they swarm Volstagg the moment he walks in the door with Lucas in tow, the oldest- a girl, probably-Hildy- the only one to notice Lucas, at first.

“Daddy! Daddy present!” the second-youngest squeals- Lucas thinks he's the second-youngest, because someone just pushed an actual infant into Volstagg's arms.

“You naughty thing,” Volstagg laughs, and it's weird how he can still boom while stage-whispering. “I am spoiling you if you expect presents every time I walk through the door!” He totally is, because Lucas knows he's got candy in his pockets. But the toddler just points excitedly at Lucas.

“PRESENT!” the baby howls, and launches himself at Lucas and almost topples him over.

“I'm a present?” Lucas asks, bewildered, but the boy is grinning at him and Lucas feels a compulsive need to pet him, so he does. “Yes. I am a present. Hello?”

“Mine,” the kid explains, and he grabs Lucas's hand and starts leading him around to explain that Lucas was Property of Rolfe now. It's actually the first time Lucas has spent any amount of time near kids this young, but he... he likes it. It's really nice. He helps the kids do their schoolwork, despite having almost no clue what the answers are and only being able to read about every other word that's written down in that weird Allspeak language. Apparently Volstagg tutors them in the mornings, which blows Lucas away, but it also makes him wonder if there's such a thing as public schooling in Asgard.

Rolfe literally does not let Lucas out of his sight, which includes an awkward moment when Lucas goes to use the toilet and gets followed. And then Mrs. Volstagg turns out to be a warm lady named Hildegund, and Lucas can see how they fit together perfectly, both of them affectionate and giving, Hildegund more sensible next to Volstagg's silliness.

Lucas is quiet during dinner, and he can see how Volstagg has gotten so good at helping Lucas during their lunches, because literally he is all over feeding his unruly mob. Lucas and Rolfe are contemplating their vegetables, and Rolfe insists on sitting on Lucas, and his spoon is larger and easier to use and he very generously lets Lucas use it. It's... nice.

It's something Lucas never really thought about wanting before, a partner who knows him utterly, an other half, and a family, tiny little people he can help and raise and inspire and nurture.

The kids make Lucas tell them a story later, as Volstagg cleans up after dinner, because they know all of their father's stories. Lucas thinks for a moment, then smiles.

“This is a true story, just so you know,” he says, a half-asleep Rolfe in his lap. “Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away-”

“On Midgard?” Gudrun asks, her strawberry-blonde curls bouncing.

“Yes,” Lucas nods. “There was a beautiful young woman with long red hair-”

“Is it Mama?” Kevin asks. Lucas is pretty sure there's a story behind Kevin's name, but he assumes it would be rude to ask.

“No, although your Mama is very beautiful,” Lucas reassures him. “This is another beautiful woman with long red hair. And her name is Mary-Jane.”

“Oh,” all the kids sigh, except for Rolfe, who makes a baby noise and snuggles into Lucas's chest.

“She was a maiden,” Lucas decides, thinking a bit. “And she lived out in the country, and she had some horses that she loved to ride around. And there was a farm-boy who worked in her father's house, and his name was Peter. And there was nothing Mary-Jane loved more than ordering Peter around.”

By the time the story is finished and Lucas utters his last As You Wish, Mick and Hildy are the only kids awake, and Hildegund and Volstagg are beaming at him from the doorway. He thinks he should pass Rolfe over to his father and hobble home, but then his eyes start feeling pretty tired and he thinks that it's actually pretty warm and comfortable near the fire. He wakes up once, with the distinct impression that he's being moved.

“Spare room for guests,” Volstagg says cheerfully, laying him down on a bed, and Lucas reaches out reflexively and mumbles something about where baby.

“With his brothers, sound asleep,” Volstagg explains, patting Lucas on the head. “I liked when Clint Montoya slew the evil Count Doom, but I wish he would perhaps use cleaner language around children?”

“He wants his brother back,” Lucas yawns, and all he can remember from his dreams is the soft sound of Volstagg's chuckle as he leaves.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You're in poor form,” Tyr comments, leaning in to correct Lucas's stance. “Did you injure your back while you were plagued by children last night?”

“I think a little bit,” Lucas wheezes, and Tyr backs up a bit to let him breathe. “I fell asleep with Rolfe on me and I woke up feeling really sore.”

“Hmm. Sif has coerced me into helping her watch those villains many times while their parents were out,” Tyr grunts, and Lucas feels his face contort into a silly grin at the mental image. Tyr catches his expression and rolls his eyes a bit. “Whatever you may be imagining, Lucas, I can assure you it's far from the truth.”

“You surrounded by babies,” Lucas giggles, and Tyr sighs heavily and takes a few steps back.

“Alright, princeling. Let's go through this one more time.” The thing is, even when he's doing badly in Tyr's lessons, it's still really, really good.

It's too good to last. Odin comes by during training with Tyr, and spends the whole time watching, and it makes Lucas want to give up forever. Tyr acts like he doesn't notice Odin until they're done, and he's gruff and cold and doesn't reach out and tousle Lucas's hair like he normally does.

“Allfather,” he says, looking at Odin's face and not at Lucas, which feels... bad and wrong and weird.

“Hey, uh, Odin,” Lucas mumbles, twisting the handle of the beautiful carved cane Sif gave him. “What brings you here?”

“Your mother did not tell you?” Odin asks, as if he doesn't know that Lucas hasn't seen her. “You and I are having supper together, my son.” Lucas's stomach turns into a stone, and he's never been less hungry in his life.

Dinner is horrible. Lucas doesn't know how to respond, as Odin talks about peace talks and chancellors and things that make zero sense to Lucas, but at least Odin's not asking why he's not eating. Finally Odin stops talking long enough for Lucas to get a word in edgewise.

“Hey, um, Dad, I guess,” Lucas blurts out. “So you can see everything, right?”

“That- that is correct, Loki, yes,” Odin says, visibly pleased and surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I mean... so you can see Thor, right? Is he doing okay?” Lucas asks, breathless. “I mean, just... is he alright?”

“Of course he is,” Odin says, surprised. “Why would he not be?”

“Well- I mean,” Lucas begins, flustered. “Well-”

“Your brother is surrounded by his friends and the woman he wants,” Odin says, shrugging. “He is laughing and enjoying himself at this very moment, and has been in a fine humor for days.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, frowning. It... makes sense, he supposes, because he hasn't exactly been weeping all day long, just at night when he's alone and misses his home and is scared of dying. “Just... you know, he did seem really upset the last time I saw him, and he did start crying a lot every time he talked about you and me and us together in any kind of context.”

“Is that right?” Odin asks, sounding really concerned as he looks over his food at Lucas. “Why would he weep so?”

“Because-” Lucas stares, dropping all pretense of using his fork. “Because he- because he was sad. Because you would make him sew my mouth shut when we were kids and he felt sad about it.”

“That never happened,” Odin says, bemused. Lucas blinks, the air in the room suddenly way too thin.

“Yes it did,” he tries, despite the tightening in his chest and throat. “Thor told me. Thor wouldn't lie to me.”

“No, Thor is no liar,” Odin agrees, giving Lucas a sad smile. “But you lied to him every day of your life, my son. Thor never had a memory of doing such a heinous thing to you, but he was always easily persuaded because your memory was always sharper and clearer than his, and he could be led to believe that he had forgotten events that you had not. His eagerness to feel guilt and to try to rectify imagined wrongdoings led the both of you into more scrapes than you would imagine, over the years.”

“But,” Lucas begins, and doesn't know how to articulate anything else, but if he doesn't try he will go actually crazy. “But I remember. I mean, it's only flashes, but I remember being held down and and and a needle going into my face and that's not made up-”

“No, it isn't,” Odin sighs, sounding sad. “Once, when you were a young adult, you played a cruel trick on some blacksmiths of Svartalfheim. It led to the destruction of their forge and the loss of several months and years of work, and without a way to provide for themselves they faced the starvation and death of their families and children.”

“Oh,” Lucas says in a small voice, wringing his hands under the table.

“You tricked them into agreeing not to kill you, as no one had actually died yet, but they demanded some form of recompense for your crimes. Since you had caused the catastrophe with your lies, they decided to sew your mouth shut, doing as painful and ugly a job as they could in order to wound your pride as well as your body.”

“Oh,” Lucas says again, eyes huge. “What did- what did Thor do?”

“What he always did when your tricks finally caught up to you, Loki,” Odin sighs again, rolling his eye a little. “He laughed.”

Lucas just stares down at his plate, unable to even think of putting anything in his stomach right now. Odin starts in on another conversation thread, something about the Frigga's work as an engineer building better somethings for the betterment of something else, all of it just completely flying over Lucas's head.

“Well, okay,” Lucas interrupts, once his brain has had time to process this new information. “What about my other friends, though? I mean, do they- do they miss me?” he asks, uncomfortably aware of his voice breaking slightly as he asks.

“Well, I am sure some of them miss you,” Odin says after a moment, sounding slightly embarrassed. “The Avengers had a minor battle yesterday, and most of them are celebrating their victory together. Your little friend Peter is, ahem, celebrating privately with his young woman, and Stark is doing the same with... some young men and women,” he says carefully, clearing his throat. “So I expect they all have other things on their minds at the moment.”

Lucas swallows painfully, not sure what he expected to hear.

“Well... is, is Doc okay?” he asks hoarsely.

“Doc?” Odin asks, before recognition dawns over his face. “Ah. Strange. He is much the same as he always is, Loki.”

“Oh,” and it's all Lucas can do not to start crying, his fists bunching the material of his tunic under the table. “Just... I thought he'd be, you know, worried and upset. I've never been out of contact with him for so long.”

“Oh, my son,” Odin sighs, putting his fork down and looking really sad. “I did not believe it at first, but I see now- you love Strange.”

“Well, yeah,” Lucas says quietly, looking down.

“And you truly do believe that he loves you,” Odin continues, and Lucas snaps his head up to stare, because that sounds... that sounds bad.

“He does,” Lucas says, his voice shaking. “Of course he does.”

“Oh, Loki, I know you must have thought so, before you were aware of the truth about yourself, but did it not become obvious once you learned of your true identity?” Odin asks kindly. “Strange was assigned to monitor you. He did not watch over you for any reason but that he was being paid to do so by the SHIELD agency. You had been the most dangerous and volatile criminal in human history, Loki. They needed to know that you wouldn't wake up to become so again.”

“But,” Lucas whimpers, he just can't help it and he hates himself for it. “But he said.”

“Loki,” Odin sighs, reaching over and putting a heavy hand on Lucas's shoulder. “He lied to you from the first moment you opened your eyes. He told you that your name was Lucas and that you had no past and that he cut pieces out of your brain out of necessity, that your skull had been broken and that shards had been buried in the meat of your brain.”

“But that did happen,” Lucas tries, breathing hard. “I was in a coma. I've got all these scars on my head, and I had brain damage. Because of you.”

“No,” Odin says, sounding shocked. “Loki, I did many things I regret on that day. I took your immortality and left your body that of a human, thinking you would be powerless, and when you were still able to cast your magicks to attack me I smote you with Gungnir, and you were left unconscious. I hit you here,” he says, and puts a hand on Lucas's stomach, “and here,” he doesn't touch, just gestures towards Lucas's left hip, where the worst of the scarring is. “I did nothing to your head, Loki. That came after.”

“I don't understand,” Lucas mumbles, leaning as far away from Odin's touch as he can possibly go. “After what?”

“Fury and his lieutenant, Coulson, were actively monitoring you. They were on the scene within moments after I left, and they took you.” Odin sighs, putting a hand on Lucas's shoulder again. “Loki, this may be very hard to accept. You were still you when I left you. Those parts of your mind that have been taken from you? They were taken after SHIELD took you into custody that day.”

“Don't,” Lucas gasps, shuddering and covering his face with his hands. “Don't, don't say that, don't. They're my friends, they wouldn't do that.”

“Oh, Loki, I am so sorry,” Odin says, sounding like he might start crying himself, and awkwardly pats Lucas's head. “I thought you knew.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It takes longer than usual for Lucas to cry himself to sleep that night. It's the kind of crying that wrings him out, that leaves him hollow and light-headed and unable to think or process much, and when he stops it's simply because he's too tired to continue on. For some time- at least an hour, possibly two- Lucas just lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and doesn't think or do anything. He tries closing his eyes a few times, but every time he does he sees Peter and Doc and Thor, and they're happy that he's gone.

Lucas tries to get a hold of himself. He tries to remind himself that it's okay for Thor to be happy, it's actually good, because he loves Thor. He tries to remind himself that he and Tony don't even like or trust one another, and it doesn't matter what Tony does in his own spare time. He tries to remind himself that Doc- that Doc is- that he-

Lucas pulls himself up and hugs himself tightly, because if he continues that line of thought he'll start crying again, and if he starts crying he doesn't think he'll ever stop, ever. He thinks maybe he should take another bath, even though it's hard to climb in and out of the tub, but crying makes him feel dingy and dirty and gross. He looks over at the bathroom door, then pauses and takes a look at the green door instead.

He hasn't opened it yet- hasn't even tried. Partly because he doesn't know what will happen when he does, and partly because he has a very active imagination and has read a lot of books and seen a lot of movies. He half suspects that opening the door will make him turn into Old Lucas, that he'll suddenly remember everything and he'll be Loki again, and it scares him, to think of losing himself utterly like that.

Except it has already happened, it happened before, and he's not entirely sure who did it to him now.

Lucas takes a deep breath, then another, and it stabilizes him a little. He shuffles out of bed and picks up his cane, because he doesn't know how long a walk this will be, and he walks over and opens the door.

Whatever Lucas was expecting, a small room full of stuff is not it. He steps inside, and after a moment's thought he closes the door behind him. Then, because he's a little paranoid about whatever his past self might have done, he opens the door again, just to make sure he can.

He looks around again. It's a room full of junk.

Well- not junk. Okay. There are things lining the walls, trophies- bones and weapons that look completely exotic. There are a bunch of piles of books and scrolls, and one big book on a stand in the middle of the room. There's what looks to be an assortment of supplies for... magic or something, scattered around in complicated patterns.

There's a really big pile of stuff in the corner. It takes Lucas a few seconds to realize that he's looking at baby clothes, and toys, and a cradle piled high with even more toys. He picks one up at random, a little golden boat on wheels, with fluttery golden sails. Lucas puts it down, very carefully, and picks up something puzzling- it's flat and broad, and has something on the back to hang it on a wall. There's a word on the front, but one he can't read yet- he does recognize a B and an L and what looks like an R.

Lucas inhales sharply, and puts the nameplate back down with the rest of his dead baby brother's things.

He wonders what that says about him, that he would have kept all of his important things in a secret room nobody could find or look at or know about.

He thinks if he let it, this private little hoard would move him to tears again. Instead he picks an object at random- a bizarre little contraption made of bronze. It looks like a gyroscope, almost, and starts making a faint humming sound when he touches it. Lucas is now totally skeeved out, and puts it back where he found it.

Lucas doesn't actually know what a sex toy might look like, but he has an imagination, and the last thing he needs is to discover his old self's porn stash. So he goes to a different corner of the room and opens up a large wooden chest that actually says Loki on it. It's full of toys, and Lucas is fascinated with the idea that these were his once. He picks up a soft green and black cat with golden eyes, and when he squeezes it to his chest it plays a soft little lullaby.

He catches himself humming along with it, and he thinks this must have been something he'd known well, maybe something he'd loved for a long time.

It's... surprisingly very nice. He imagines being small, and curling up with this battered and well-worn kitten, and letting it sing him to sleep. He puts it down on top of the toy chest, and pets it once before leaving the room and shutting the door with a sigh.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It becomes a ritual, something that comforts him better than weeping uncontrollably. Every night, after laying awake and thinking about his day, Lucas gets back up and goes into his secret room and picks up one of his old childhood toys. It takes him a couple of weeks to get through them all, really, and by that point he starts to feel a little more comfortable trying to read Allspeak by himself, so then he starts poking through the books that lie around in stacks. Many of them are about magic, and go over Lucas's head the way Peter's advanced quantum physics books do, but some of them are histories and at least two or three turn out to be battered, much-beloved fiction stories. Lucas only figures out they're fiction stories when he flips towards the back and reads the acknowledgement pages.

Lucas reads the books and realizes that he used to love stories about sailing- about climbing into boats and leaving homes and families and obligations and hardships behind.

Things start to make a little more sense now. He starts figuring out that a lot of the little knicknacks and weird gewgaws he couldn't recognize before are actually little tools for boats, things that help find directions and maps and things that look like anchors and other things that look like they are probably nautical in nature. Lucas wonders if his past self was self-aware enough to realize that he was obsessed with escaping. He sort of wonders if his past self ever tried, although he knows that even if he had, he had apparently ended up right back where he started.

It's a depressing thought, and one day Lucas sighs and realizes it's probably high time he takes a look at the book that he sort of assumes is a diary. He stares at it for a long time before leaving the room and climbing back into bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hogun?” Lucas asks, because Hogun's the one he's with today. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Ask,” Hogun says quietly. Lucas thinks for a moment, squeezing the stone in his hand. Hogun has been patiently trying to teach him how to skip stones for weeks. It's not been working out very well for either of them, but it's nice and quiet out on the pond where they practice.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Lucas begins. “If I were to somehow locate a diary from when I was still, you know, Loki. Would I find anything in there that would make me really sad or upset or, I dunno, turn into an evil villain?”

“Lucas, sit,” Hogun sighs, and they sit down on the grass together. Hogun looks over at him, one eyebrow raised a little. “Did you find a diary?”

“I think maybe,” Lucas sighs, flopping back onto the grass, because it's soft and nice. “I don't know. I haven't read it yet. I'm still learning to read Allspeak, though. I mean, I can recognize... a lot?”

“Here is my advice,” Hogun begins, and Lucas pays attention because this is probably more words in a row than Hogun's ever said to him before. “Read it. Words can hurt you. They cannot change you without permission.”

“Oh,” Lucas says slowly, not sure if he believes it. He pulls some grass up and shreds it into tiny little slivers, gazing up at the cloudless, blue-purple sky. They stay like that in silence, and after a little while Hogun gets up and helps Lucas to his feet so they can head back to go get lunch.

Lucas is quiet and distracted all through lunchtime, which is pretty normal for him after spending a morning with Hogun. As far as Lucas can tell, Hogun doesn't actually work, and is independently wealthy. Volstagg is a stay-at-home dad, and Fandral is some kind of border patrol type person who mostly keeps an eye out for animals and monsters. He and Sif are always in and out of the stables, so Lucas guesses she probably has a similar position. And Lucas knows Frigga actually does have a job beside sitting around queening all day long- she is actually some sort of engineer who invents things and improves existing things, but every time she takes him in to see what she does he doesn't understand any of it at all.

And of course, there's Tyr.

Lucas is distracted, and when Tyr makes a move he doesn't anticipate, he almost falls- but Tyr is right there, as always, to catch him. Lucas blinks up at him, licking his lips nervously, his eyes drawn to the concerned line of Tyr's mouth.

“I have a really weird confession to make,” he blurts out, and Tyr looks at him through his hair. They're really almost the same height, but Tyr always seems so much bigger than Lucas is. “It's pretty weird, actually, and it's, well, you know, for a while now I guess I-”

“Would you like me to kiss you,” Tyr says quietly, not exactly a question.

“Yeah, that's the- that's it, basically, sorry, I know it's weird, I just, I dunno-” Lucas babbles, right up until Tyr's mouth covers his.

Lucas doesn't know for sure, but he thinks it's the most feelings he's ever felt at one time in his entire life ever. It seems to go on forever, anyway, just two sets of lips pressed up against each other and it doesn't seem like it'd be the kind of kiss that makes you feel all hot and floppy-armed and sexy, but they're both breathing hard by the time Lucas pulls back a little.

“You,” Tyr sighs, looking down and away. “Never make me feel useless.”

Lucas blinks, leaning in close to give Tyr another one, but a little bit shorter this time because otherwise they'll never get anything done.

“You never make me feel helpless,” he murmurs, and Tyr meets his eyes again with a warm smile that does funny things to Lucas's chest.

They go through the rest of the day's lessons, because honestly Tyr is serious about a lot of things and his job is at the very top of that list, but Tyr offers more smiles than before, even though he's just as strict as ever. They eat dinner with Sif, as usual, and Lucas has no idea why Sif keeps flashing goofy grins at them, even after Tyr tells her to stop making weird faces or else he'll throw her armor up on the roof. Sif's mom comes by and smacks them both with a ladle until they can learn to stop fighting like children in front of guests, before giving Lucas an exaggerated wink and slipping him some extra cookies.

They're not chocolate- they actually don't have chocolate in Asgard, which kills Lucas- but they're fragrant and vaguely floral and a little spicy and he kind of loves her a lot, for a lot of reasons, but the cookies are a pretty good reason. She reminds him of Bobbi and of Jo, but it hurts a lot to think of them, now, and he tries not to dwell on whether it's because he misses them or because he doesn't know if it was real.

As Tyr and Sif and Lucas hang out and talk to Sleipnir later on, Lucas has an idea that he probably is strong enough to read whatever the old him wrote and not be damaged by it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Okay,” Lucas says that night, and opens the book. A bright green light comes out of it, solidifies into a figure, and it looks familiar somehow, for all that it looks like it's a hologram made of pale minty light. That, Lucas realizes after a moment, is exactly what it is, and it looks familiar because it actually kind of looks like him.

“Okay,” Lucas says again, and the him made of light stares at him.

“Who are you?” it asks, sounding confused and angry. “I can only be summoned by Loki. You... you are not Loki.”

“Finally,” Lucas agrees, smiling. “Someone sees sense.”

“What?” the hologram snaps. “No. Explain. You are... less-than. You are weak. Why do you look like- you're not one of our doubles, are you?”

“I will tell you who I am if you tell me what you are,” Lucas says, folding his arms, and the hologram manages a very put-upon sigh. Lucas really hopes he doesn't sound like that, it's embarrassing.

“I am the keeper of Loki's secrets,” it says, scowling. “I was created by Loki, modeled from his very spirit, so that he might have something approaching an equal that he might confide in.”

“Oh, you poor, sad thing,” Lucas sighs, rubbing his hand over his mouth. This is almost worse than realizing he was a hoarder. “You're telling me I didn't trust anyone enough to talk to anyone else? That's... honestly, I don't know how I feel about that. How did I not know that I had friends? I mean, there are people who are good people who are trustworthy. How did I not see that?”

The hologram stares at him in growing horror, and Lucas realizes that he just told past-him that he... that he turns into Lucas.

“Oh, right. Okay. So, Loki-”

“Ikol is my name, I am not Loki, but his faint reflection,” the hologram interrupts, and Lucas grimaces.

“Who picked that name out? That's awful, I'm sorry. That seems like a stupid joke and you deserve better,” he sighs, pulling up a battered chair he found two weeks ago under some scrolls. “Okay, Ikol. So Loki was turned into a mortal and lost all of his powers and lived on Midgard.”

“Like Thor?” Ikol asks, sounding scared.

“Sort of,” Lucas hedges. “Only, not like Thor, Loki lost his memories and was in a coma and was hospitalized for about a year and only a few months ago learned who he used to be and still doesn't really remember about ninety-nine percent of anything.”

“This cannot be,” Ikol almost moans, and Lucas wishes he could pat the guy on the shoulder.

“And then Loki's scary father kidnapped him in front of all his friends, and Thor was crying and it's been pretty horrible ever since.” Lucas sighs. “Also I don't go by Loki anymore, I literally do not answer to it, my name is Lucas.”

The hologram is quiet and motionless for so long that Lucas is afraid that he broke it somehow. Clearing his throat, he waves a hand at it.

“So... Ikol. Loki... I would just sit down and write in you, or what? Did I dictate stuff and have you read it back? How did that whole thing work?” he asks, morbidly curious.

“Whenever you needed to, you would upload your memories into me,” Ikol says dully, not looking at Lucas. “For all intents and purposes, I am you, but without the ability to leave this place.”

“I wonder if that makes me a terrible person,” Lucas muses, blinking. “Ikol? Would you do that? Make a whole sentience, and then force them to be you?”

“No,” Ikol says shortly, glancing aside. “Of course, I do think that is probably one way that you take after our father.”

“That's mean,” Lucas sighs. “But probably true. Then what? We would just sit back here in the dark by ourselves and snark at one another about what happened?”

“Sometimes,” Ikol admits, because of course. “Other times you merely had me play back certain memories. Occasionally you did not upload memories at all, and just spoke at length about things that had happened. I usually recorded such outbursts, as you would sometimes review them later.”

“Oh, wow, okay. So... so what's the last thing I put into you, then?” Lucas asks, quickly adding, “That's what she said.”

“I will choose to ignore that, as it is senseless and without meaning,” Ikol says drily. “Very well. The last thing I have is a recording of you.”

Ikol flickers, and suddenly Lucas can see him pacing throughout the room, catching himself up short because he doesn't have enough room to stalk angrily, pointedly not looking at the place where Baldur's upsetting little shrine is.

“-thought I was cursed, at first, but no. It is immeasurably worse, I am jotun, I am a monster, I-” The vision of himself from the past shudders and puts his head in his hands. “It is little wonder they don't love me, they know, Mother and Father have always known-”

“Turn it off,” Lucas says quietly, and the image resolves back into Ikol. “That's quite enough of that. Is that when I first found out I wasn't just adopted, but also a totally different species from the family I grew up with?”

“Yes,” Ikol says, pursing his lips. Lucas catches himself trying to mimic the expression, and sternly schools his face against it. “You said you lost your memory.”

“I've learned a lot along the way,” Lucas explains, putting his chin in his hands. “Ikol, look, I'm not an expert, but wasn't that... wasn't that like six years ago?”

Ikol pauses, then tilts his head to the side. “Approximately.”

“And you've been alone this entire time?” Lucas asks, aghast, thinking about Jarvis, about what if Tony just left him and didn't come home for six years. Ikol just watches him, though, and says nothing. Finally, Lucas sits up, folding his arms. “Okay, Ikol. One last request for tonight, okay?”

“I am, as ever, your servant,” Ikol says, sounding a little bit like a jerk.

“Sleipnir,” Lucas says simply, and Ikol freezes. “Sif said she couldn't tell me because she didn't know enough about magic to trust herself telling me the right way. There are other wizards and crap, sure, but none that I want to talk about my personal business with, right? Not just now, I mean... before, also. I needed a friend but I needed a friend who knew what I knew, so I could talk theory. Right?”

“That is a correct assumption,” Ikol says stiffly.

“Tell me about Sleipnir, Ikol,” Lucas says, very quietly. “And use small words, as if you're explaining the situation to a small child.”

“This is not a story suited for children's ears,” Ikol tells him in an utterly flat tone.

“Tell me the way you would tell Thor if you weren't too caught up in your own private hell to realize that he needed you just as much as you needed him, then,” Lucas snaps. “Tell me the way you would tell someone who has a right to know and doesn't have a background in magic.”

“You,” Ikol says dangerously, “are in no position to judge, Loki-that-was.”

“Just fucking tell me,” Lucas hisses, eyes narrowed. “Is he mine? Is he my child?”

“Yes and no,” Ikol says, after a long pause. Lucas stares at him for a beat.

“...that was probably the most useless answer in the history of answers,” Lucas chokes out. “What. Does. That. Mean.”

“It means that you were young, and desperate to please our father,” Ikol says angrily. “It means that you foolishly jumped at the chance to do anything he asked of you. It means that when he asked you to create a horse, you were too young, and stupid, to create one with its own mind- every time you tried to conjure one, it lay lifeless until it was dispelled. Father was in too great a hurry to just idly sit by and let you learn- he needed a horse in order to distract-”

“A builder, right?” Lucas interrupts. “And something about a magic stallion? They tell pieces of this story back home, on Earth.”

“I-” Ikol looks extremely uncomfortable. “That is close enough for the telling, then. Yes. Father told you that he needed a mare to distract the stallion, and he made it clear that failure to do so would have... dire consequences. You didn't care about failure, because he also made it clear that the rewards would be far greater.”

“Like what, he'd play catch in the backyard with me or something?” Lucas asks, frowning. Ikol draws his eyebrows together, and Lucas zips his mouth shut. “Sorry. Go on.”

“You were not the horse,” Ikol says carefully, “but your mind was inside the horse, making it move and act. Do you understand?”

“I think so. Like when Granny Weatherwax goes Borrowing, only more invasive and actually controlling the thing,” Lucas mutters.

“I do not understand this reference,” Ikol sighs.

“Spend some time in my presence and you will soon enough,” Lucas promises. “So... the horse gets... in a family way. By a big scary male horse.” He watches Ikol carefully for a moment, and thinks about his fear of horses, back home and in the stables here. “I'm sorry that happened to you, Ikol.”

“It did not happen to me,” Ikol snaps. “Technically speaking it did not even happen to you.”

“But you remember it like it did,” Lucas says patiently. “And I'm sorry that you have that memory. So what happened to the me-horse?”

“You had to dwell in its consciousness until Sleipnir was born,” Ikol says, folding his arms. “You were bedridden for nearly a year while the horse was pregnant and during childbirth, and immediately afterwards.”

“That sounds like an awful, harrowing experience,” Lucas says quietly.

“It was,” Ikol tells him, turning to look. “Is that all you have to ask of me, Loki-that-was?”

“One last thing,” Lucas tells him. “The- the technology, the magic, whatever it is. The thing that I would use to make new animals, or a whole new body.”

“What of it?” Ikol asks, clearly on his last nerve.

“Can you do it? I mean, would you be able to make yourself a body so you could, you know, get out of the book and live life out here with the rest of us?” Lucas leans forward, watching Ikol's face work.

“It... would be possible in only the most limited of ways,” he says finally. “I am powered through a reserve of Loki's own energy, but it is the tiniest of fractions. I may only be able to construct a body for limited amounts of time, and would not be able to transfer my consciousness fully.”

“What if the body was actually really small?” Lucas asks hopefully. Ikol looks at him like that doesn't make sense yet, so he continues. “What if you were like... a dog or a cat or a bird or something?”

“A bird,” Ikol repeats dubiously. “That may work.” He pauses, then adds, softly, “I have dreamed of flying in the privacy of my own mind.”

“That's a beautiful thing to share, thank you,” Lucas smiles. “Well... do you want to? Do you need permission? Do I really need to put a caveat that if our father finds out, he'll kill you and maim me?”

“No, you don't need to warn me of Odin's treachery,” Ikol mutters bitterly. “Very well. I will become a bird, and I will live as your familiar until the end of your days.”

“That's cool I guess,” Lucas agrees, and shields his eyes as, for a moment, the light becomes unbearable. When it fades to a comfortable viewing level, there is a not-small and not-large black bird with white markings perched on the stand where the book was.

“It seems I have become a magpie,” Ikol says, spreading his wings.

“Oh, cool, you can still talk!” Lucas exclaims.

“Obviously,” Ikol deadpans, rustling his feathers.

“I should probably not call you Ikol out there in the world,” Lucas says, after a moment. “And you probably shouldn't talk, unless it's like, you know, parrot talk.”

“You may call me Fleetwing,” Ikol says, preening his feathers.

“I will call you Quoth,” Lucas giggles. Ikol looks over at him, managing to be very judgemental for a bird.

“Very well, Lucas,” Ikol says, fluttering onto Lucas's shoulder. “Let us go out into the world together, then.”

Chapter Text

“Caw caw,” Ikol says, and nips at Lucas's ear. Ikol's been hanging around pretending to be Lucas's pet for two whole weeks, and Lucas thinks Loki must have been a total douchebag, if Ikol is any indication.

“Ow, stop,” Lucas mutters, burying his head in his pillows. “It's too early to be pecking me, dude. No.”

“Caw,” Ikol insists, flapping his wings at Lucas until Lucas hisses and rolls over.

“What,” he grouses, glaring at the dark shape in front of him. “What do you want.”

“I was hoping to have a word with you,” Frigga says, and Lucas sits up and she gives him a gentle, teasing smile from the doorway.

“A gentleman knocks before entering a lady's room,” Lucas mutters up at her.

“True, but I see no lady here,” Frigga replies, her smile fading slightly. “I've been... meaning to ask you, Lucas. How are you?”

That is a loaded question, Lucas thinks, and one she must not expect an honest answer to. He's pretty sure Odin knows he's started dating-or-something with Tyr, although Odin finds other things to be angry at him for, so who even knows. Lucas is just relieved Tyr's letting Lucas take the lead on everything, because every time they start kissing Lucas thinks of Odin sitting in a throne somewhere creepily watching and getting angrier, or Annabeth taking off his shirt and leaving him half-naked on the floor, or Amora and her insistence that he was damaged and wouldn't want to live the way he does.

Lucas is starting to wonder if Tyr's like a saint or something, because he never actually gets mad or hurt that Lucas just stops and doesn't know what to do or say.

And Frigga's kind of looking at him like she knows already, and doesn't know what to say either.

“Well,” Lucas says finally, “I started reading up on the magic stuff again.”

“Oh? How go your studies, Lucas? Will you be joining me in the practice arenas again soon?” she asks, suddenly interested now that she thinks he has a talent again. Lucas knows he loves her, and thinks he wants to like her, but most of him just kind of resents her and everything about her.

“Mother, you know I can't do magic,” he says simply, and watches her face change, become the diplomatic mask she wears when Odin's around. “It's not a human thing, because I've known humans who do magic. I'm just not... I can't. It's gone.”

Ikol rustles his feathers and hops onto Lucas's bed, and he absentmindedly reaches over to pet the feathers on his back. He knows Ikol has weird scary feelings about him and the place he's at right now.

“Perhaps it will return to you, in time,” Frigga says hopefully, like that's even something Lucas wants.

“I don't mind not being able to sneeze fireballs and turn into a hundred Lukes,” he sighs, crowding Ikol into his lap for easier preening. “I just like the idea of knowing the theory. It's very mathy.”

“And I just do not like to think that you are utterly defenseless at this age, my son,” Frigga sighs, managing to look disappointed and worried at the same time, and making Lucas feel twice as bad. “You have not ventured into any places yet where you are not surrounded by friends and protectors. One day you will find yourself backed into a corner with a large and angry Aesir, dearest.”

“Yeah, it happens about once a week,” Lucas mutters under his breath.

“What did you say?” she asks sharply, and he sighs and rubs his face.

“What do you want, Mom? You want me to stay locked up in the house the way Thor did? Because at least he was doing it to protect me, and not because I embarrassed him,” he says flatly, and she stares at him, more than a little shocked.

“I'm not- I'm not embarrassed, Lucas-” she begins, and she sounds hurt.

“Yes you are,” he says bluntly. “Come on. I expected Dad to be the one who wanted me to buff up and be strong and impressive again, okay, but... oh, nevermind. Magic isn't happening, Mom. I still walk with a cane, Mom. I'm too off-balanced and don't have enough upper body strength to pull off swords and spears and all that stuff, and maybe I could do projectile weaponry but apparently I don't have very good aim.”

“You did,” she murmurs, looking down. “Have you tried, Lucas? I mean, truly set your mind to trying to succeed at these things? You were always so naturally gifted before-”

“And now I'm not,” Lucas tells her, his voice raising and startling Ikol. He feels bad, watching Ikol flutter up to the top of the wardrobe, because he knows Ikol loves Frigga to death. But not bad enough to stop yelling, and he thinks that three months in Asgard has been too long. He thinks he wouldn't have yelled at his mother three months ago. “You honestly think I haven't tried? You honestly think I like hurting all the time, that I like being so stupid and useless and weak? I'm not good at being any of the things you want me to be, and I'm never going to be good at anything that matters to you. Is that it? Is it just that you're just trying really hard to find some reason for me to matter to you?”

He knows he's not being fair, and Frigga reaches over to take his hand, and he pulls it away anyway, because he's angry at everyone and she's the person who stepped too close today.

“You matter to me,” she whispers. “Of course you matter to me. You have always mattered to me.” Lucas blinks at her, and thinks of Odin, throwing out a casual remark the other day, I'm sure you'll make a breakthrough soon, my son, and you and your mother will finally have something in common again.

“I don't know that,” he says slowly.

“Oh, Lucas,” she cries, and he pulls his knees to his chest and rolls onto his side so he doesn't have to look at her.

“Go away,” he says softly. “Go away before I start bringing Thor into this.”

“Lucas, please,” she begs, and it doesn't feel good, it makes Lucas feel worse, and he wishes he could take back what he said and how he said it without feeling like he's giving up the right to be angry about the situation he's been dragged into. “Lucas, please let me in. You used to, sweetheart, and you can again. You used to trust me.”

“I shouldn't have,” Lucas mutters. “I was stupid to trust you then, and you know it.”

Frigga lets out a soft sound, and after tentatively stroking a hand over his hair she gets up and leaves. Lucas knows she's gone even though he barely hears the door close, because all of a sudden Ikol swoops down and starts pecking the crap out of him.

“Knock it off,” Lucas hisses at him. “Leave me alone.”

“I cannot believe you spoke to Mother in that way,” Ikol snaps, pecking him hard through the material of his nightshirt. “She loves you. She was just trying to help, she wants you to be happy!”

“She wants me to be happy here,” Lucas counters, pulling his blanket over his head. “She doesn't care what I want, and she thinks she knows what I need. She wants to turn me back into you.”

“Would that be such a terrible thing?” Ikol asks stiffly, and Lucas glares over the edge of his blanket at him.

“Are you even asking me that? The person everyone wants to force me to be is the person who created you for the sole purpose of being an emotional whipping boy.”

“I have misrepresented you to yourself,” Ikol sighs, hopping closer onto the pillow. “Lucas, you don't even know what it was like to be Thor's brother- to go on adventures with him, just the two of you, for weeks or months or even years. To experience entire worlds together, exploring new horizons, meeting new peoples and cultures...” Ikol dips his head a little. “Lucas, right now you couldn't even keep up.”

“Different isn't less,” Lucas tells Ikol, furious tears welling in his eyes for no good reason. “You of all people should know that.”

“Different is worse than less,” Ikol argues. “It's been the story of my life, Lucas. Even being lesser means you're still on the same playing field. Different means you never even get that far.”

“You're wrong,” Lucas mutters, sitting up and pushing the blankets aside so he can get dressed for the day. “Life isn't a game where some people win and some people lose. It's just life. Everybody's is worth the same.”

“You know that's not true,” Ikol says quietly, fluttering over to perch on top of the wardrobe again. “Lucas, you're only safe right now because you've been named heir. What if Odin decides you are not suited for the task? You'll be out in the world and Asgard is... different from the Midgard you've described to me.”

“What, you're saying people would jump up in line to beat me up or something?” Lucas asks sourly, pulling on a clean shirt and fumbling with it a bit.

“I'm saying that old grudges die hard in Asgard, and there are many who would not care that you don't remember doing whatever crime they would exact vengeance for,” Ikol says quietly, and Lucas blinks and

did you think we would forgive your debt

and

the chains are biting into his wrists and he knows the only warmth on them is his blood

and

sentiment

and he feels like he must have lost some time there, because he's sitting on the bed again and Ikol is on his lap, watching him with glittering black eyes.

“I... what is it?” Lucas asks slowly, feeling like his tongue's swollen in his mouth.

“There's something you're not telling me,” Ikol says quietly.

“Get used to it,” Lucas tells him, swallowing a few times to get rid of the cottony feeling. “I meant what I said, buddy. I'm not using you anymore, I'm not pushing my emotional burdens on you the way I did before.”

“You are free to if need be, Lucas,” Ikol says, and Lucas sighs and says thank you, because it is a nice gesture.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Tyr collects Lucas for training, Odin is in the training room, waiting for them.

“Take the rest of the day off, Teacher,” Odin says quietly, giving Tyr a nod. “I have come to test Loki's progress.”

“He is not at a point I would use to judge his abilities on, Allfather,” Tyr says, and Lucas wishes he was on Tyr's left so they could hold hands for a moment. “It's been barely three months since we started, he is at the most basic of children's levels.”

“Then I will treat him as the most basic of children,” Odin says sharply, and Tyr puts an arm on Lucas's shoulder and gives him a nod.

“I will see you tomorrow at the usual time,” he says gruffly.

“Wait- wait, take Quoth with you, he needs his worms soon,” Lucas says, and Ikol shifts uneasily and flutters over onto Tyr's shoulder. He thinks Ikol knows why he would send him out of harm's way, but Tyr looks like he isn't sure why Lucas is forcing him to babysit his bird.

“Alright,” Tyr says slowly. “Good day, Lucas. Good day, Allfather.”

Odin barely gives Lucas a glance once the door to the training room shuts completely.

“Rudeness is no crime,” Odin says quietly, looking at his hands. “Disrespecting one's parents is no crime, although doing so to one's Queen is. I understand that you are not yet familiar with the laws and customs of this place, and that the line between Queen and Mother must seem muddled and vague to you.”

“I'm sorry,” Lucas says quietly, swallowing. “I had a bad night. I shouldn't have taken it out on her, and I'll apologize when I see her.”

“What use has she of an apology from you?” Odin asks softly, finally looking over at Lucas. “What worth has an apology from the lips of a liar?”

Lucas feels about five inches tall right now, and he wonders if he can just... go to his room and hide for a while. He just hunches his shoulders and looks at the ground, because he doesn't know what to say to that, and he thinks he should say something.

“I'm still sorry, so I'm still going to say it,” he says, and Odin glares at him, eye burning. “Just so we're clear, are you telling me that if I'm rude to her, it's never to Frigga the Mom, it's always to Frigga the Queen? Right?”

“Do not speak to her in that manner ever again,” Odin says sternly. “She is my wife and your mother and she is your Queen, and she deserves better than the tone and unloving language you used this morning.”

“Were you watching us?” Lucas asks, frowning. “You watch us interact? Don't you have like, an entire planet you're the king of, couldn't you just-” He sees Odin step closer and he's tensing up in anticipation and it still hurts- Odin, at least, doesn't hit him hard enough to knock him down, and he doesn't even stagger back until the second one lands, on the other side of his face. That's something, Lucas thinks dizzily, he's learning to control how hard he hits me.

“No, you foulmouthed little mortal monster,” Odin snarls, “I was not watching you. Your mother,” he grabs Lucas by the shirt, because Lucas is trying to stumble backwards. “Was weeping inconsolably, and relayed every horrible little thing you said to her.”

He raises his other hand and Lucas instinctively ducks, bringing his arm up to shield his face, and instead Odin grabs that wrist and squeezes.

“If you were anyone but my child, anyone but a Prince, anyone but the named heir to the throne, I would rip the tongue from your mouth,” Odin growls, digging in with the tip of his thumb until there is a faint popping sound and pain is shooting like lightning up Lucas's arm. “And if you ever raise a hand to me again, Loki, you will lose it. Do you understand?”

“Ye-hes,” Lucas wheezes, and when Odin gives him a violent shake he bursts out crying. “Yes, yes, I understand, I won't, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”

“Stop apologizing to me, you wretch,” Odin snaps, and Lucas bites his lip because otherwise the words will just pour out of him. “And hold still as I mend the break in your feeble bones.”

“Hhnnn,” Lucas tries to convey acquiescence without actually speaking, and he feels the magic rather than sees it flow out of Odin and into his wrist, and the pain is still there but lesser, and he can feel things shifting and changing under the skin.

“You have committed two acts today that would result in the loss of a limb in another person,” Odin hisses, letting go of his shirt but holding onto his arm. “And you are being disciplined only with words and the briefest of pains. Am I not a merciful king?”

“Okay,” Lucas whimpers. “Yes. I'm sorry, I won't do that again.”

“You will apologize to your mother when she sends for you, if she ever wants to see your ungrateful face again,” Odin tells him, and Lucas nods.

“I will, I will, I'll apologize to her, yeah,” he gasps, a traitorous part of him wants to ask what use Frigga would have for it, and he knows if he says it he probably will lose something.

“So be it. I had another announcement for you today, Loki, but your misbehavior distracted me from it. You are leaving the city in two days with the Warriors Four and your teacher,” Odin says, and there is a slight sneer in the way he says Tyr's title. “It truly is wondrous news.”

“Huh?” Lucas asks, and Odin lets go of him.

“You have been chosen to partake in my glorious quest to destroy the monstrous wolf,” Odin says, and the fact that there's a smile on Odin's face makes Lucas want to run far, far away. “I am disappointed in your lack of chivalry, but I am proud of the fact that you will finally be able to prove yourself before all of Asgard.”

“Huh,” Lucas says, and he can feel parts of his brain actually shutting off. Odin frowns, as if Lucas is extremely distasteful, but he shakes his head.

“You will meet the others in the stables two days hence, at dawn,” he informs Lucas before turning and walking out of the room.

“Huh,” Lucas repeats, rubbing his wrist. It doesn't hurt too bad anymore, and he feels stupidly grateful to Odin for that. He thinks about what's going through his head, and then he just plain feels stupid.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ikol flutters down from the top of his wardrobe when he finally makes it back to his room.

“You didn't eat dinner with them,” Ikol says, tilting his head at Lucas. “You could have told them those bruises were from falling, or from a mishap in the arena.”

“It was a mishap in the arena,” Lucas says dully. “I don't feel hungry.”

“They're both worried for you now,” Ikol complains. “I thought you didn't want Sif to find out about these things.”

“She won't,” Lucas sighs. “And Tyr won't. I don't want them to get in a situation. Are the bruises really that bad?”

“They are astounding. And hand-shaped. What did you do to make him hit you?” Ikol asks critically.

“Rude to Mother,” Lucas mumbles, and throws himself into bed with a pained hiss. Ikol is silent for a moment, before landing on Lucas's back.

“You think you deserved it, then?” he asks, and Lucas shrugs.

“I guess so,” he replies, and Ikol stays quiet for a while, his weight a welcome presence between Lucas's shoulderblades. Finally he does his awkward little bird-walk off of Lucas and nests in the blanket next to him. Lucas reaches up and strokes a finger against one wing, and bites back a sob as something in his wrist twinges.

“What is wrong?” Ikol asks sharply, and Lucas rolls onto his back and hugs his arm to his chest.

“Still healing,” he breathes out. Ikol puts his beak on Lucas's forehead.

“What is still healing?” he asks, and Lucas shrugs miserably.

“Broke my wrist,” he confesses, and Ikol looks swiftly at him. “But it's okay. He fixed it, just... not done yet.”

“I do not understand why you haven't told Mother,” Ikol says uneasily. “She is more of a healer than Father. She could help you.”

“She told him about this morning,” Lucas says, and shudders a little for no reason that he can think of. “She told him I was horrible. He said I was getting off easy, and that she would send for me when she wanted to see me.”

Ikol paces a little, and Lucas huffs out a breath.

“I wish you could have made yourself a Loki-body, Ikol. She would have wanted you.”

“I wish I could have made myself an Aesir body as well,” Ikol replies gently. “Perhaps they would have sent you home if I had.”

“It's not your fault, it's mine,” Lucas says, barely managing to kick off his boots before burrowing under his blankets. “I just... I just have to be more careful about what I say and who I say it to, that's all.”

“I wish you didn't have to relearn this lesson,” Ikol says, before putting his head under his wing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey, kiddo,” Lucas jokes, and Sleipnir noses against his hair. “Yeah, I know, I didn't come by for a couple of days. I wasn't feeling too good.”

“It knows you are a liar,” Ikol says smugly from his perch on Sleipnir's butt. “If the horse knows, everyone knows.”

“Oh my god, shut your face for like a minute,” Lucas hisses, flapping a hand at him. “Sorry, Sleipnir, this guy's a douchebag most of the time.” Clop.

“Very funny,” Ikol says dryly, and Lucas giggles and presses his face into Sleipnir's neck.

“Look, I'm gonna be gone for a little while, coupla days, and Tyr and Sif are gonna be with me. Are you gonna be okay?”

Sleipnir neighs at him. Lucas wonders if that's a no.

“You know I love you? I should be saying it more,” Lucas says quietly, and Sleipnir gives him a pointed look. “Well, it's true. I didn't say it enough before.”

“This sentimentality sickens me,” Ikol mutters, flying up to a rafter.

“He's just not comfortable with public displays of affection,” Lucas says loftily.

Sleipnir makes one of those weird horse noises that Lucas doesn't understand, and snuffles at Lucas a bit.

“I'll miss you too, big guy,” Lucas sighs, hugging him awkwardly before shuffling quickly out of the stables. After a moment or two, Ikol flutters down onto Lucas's shoulder.

“I bet I look like a pirate,” Lucas says, touching the fading bruise on his cheek.

“Yes. A very sad crippled little pirate,” Ikol agrees. “Stop touching it, you'll only draw attention to your face.”

“You know, I'm kinda not surprised I didn't have too many friends before,” Lucas says drily.

“I'm frankly surprised you have as many as you do now, for all the bitching that you do,” Ikol snaps, nipping at his earlobe.

“You're a bitch,” Lucas counters, before pausing. “I never stopped to consider if it bothered you to visit him.”

“What? The horse?” Ikol puffs up a little. “It does not bother me.”

“Yes it does, you're always bitchy when we've been to see him,” Lucas points out. “It's okay to have all kinds of horrible sad mixed feelings, dude. We're his mom.”

“We are not his mother,” Ikol sighs, exasperated. “Let it be, Lucas.”

“It's not too late, is all I wanna say,” Lucas says gently, reaching up to stroke a wing. “It's never too late.”

“It's too late for Odin,” Ikol says grimly.

“It wasn't too late for me,” Lucas says, just as grimly. “You ready to go kill a monster wolf?”

“I suppose. What do we know about it?” Ikol asks, happy to have a change of subject.

“It's a wolf. A giant monster wolf.” Lucas frowns. “I couldn't figure out which one it was, there are too many giant monster wolves in Norse mythology.”

“Well, what do they do?” Ikol asks patiently.

“Eat the moon, eat the sun... eat... Silmarils,” Lucas hedges. “Eat grandmothers?”

“I get the strong impression you did not do the research,” Ikol sighs.

“Well, there were a lot and they were boring,” Lucas snaps. “I skipped over anything that said it came out of nowhere or out of my loins, okay?”

“Wait, what?” Ikol asks, suddenly interested.

“Yeah, well-” Lucas pauses, not sure if he should look over at Ikol. “So one of the main ones, the one that's supposed to actually kill Odin at the end of the world, that's actually one of mine.”

“Fenris,” Ikol says in a very small voice.

“Shit,” Lucas says under his breath. “Really? Another one?”

“You performed a lot of experiments with yourself to try to get over what happened with the horse,” Ikol says uncomfortably. “It would not be unreasonable to expect that the stories are all, in fact, true in some way.”

“I am so sick of myself, I don't even think you know,” Lucas mutters, putting his face in his hands. “Does that mean one of my kids is a monster, Ikol?”

“It means you might be expected to kill him today,” Ikol says quietly, burying his head in Lucas's hair. Lucas doesn't think it can get any worse, but when he meets Sif and Tyr and the Warriors Three, they're standing in a loose circle with a couple of big Aesir in armor, one with his arm in a sling and the other with a wrapped head wound, and on the ground there are the bodies of five wolves.

One of the wolves is huge, and the others... the others are actually very small.

“They're puppies,” Lucas says, eyes wide. There's a lot of blood.

“Aye, the beast had a mate, and a brood of its foul spawn,” one of the Aesir spits onto the ground. “We snuck upon their den while the monster was out, killing the bitch before it could do the most damage-”

“Bjorn's still at the healer's, he may lose an arm if the infection has set in,” the other one cuts in, self-consciously touching the arm cradled against his chest.

“But the crying of its young alerted the beast to our presence,” the first one grunts, nudging one of the bodies with his boot.

“Don't touch it like that,” Lucas whispers. Volstagg's hand finds his shoulder and squeezes, and Lucas just wants to cling to him or something, but he won't because that's embarrassing. Ikol is shifting his weight on the other shoulder, like he's already super embarrassed.

“You lot won't be in much danger,” the first Aesir says cheerfully. “You just need to drive the beast towards the place where Odin and his party will be laying in wait.”

Lucas doesn't think that's like... honorable or whatever, but everyone else seems okay with it. There's about a day's worth of riding horses, which Lucas is no good at, so he's stuck riding with Fandral because they're both pretty light and Fandral's horse is very reliable.

Lucas hates it. He hates the motion of the horse and he hates how sore his body is and he hates the way the cold is seeping into his pores, it never really got hot in Asgard and he missed out on summer at home and it's only getting colder and he just buries his face in Fandral's cape and hopes Ikol's following them okay.

When they stop for the night, it's even more chilly, enough so that they buddy up to sleep in pairs. Lucas curls up with Volstagg, because he still blushes at Tyr when he thinks about sleeping with him, and only relaxes a little bit when Ikol swoops down and pecks affectionately at his shoulder before nesting in the blanket Lucas brought specifically for this purpose.

When it's quiet and Lucas is pretty sure he can't hear anybody else rustling around, he reaches over and pokes Volstagg.

“Volstagg, are you sleeping?” he whispers, and Volstagg reaches over to pat him on the chest.

“I am not, Lucas. What ails you?”

“I've never been camping before,” Lucas confesses, and Volstagg pats him again. Lucas snuggles closer, and is gratified when Volstagg wraps an arm around him.

“New things can be scary,” Volstagg says after a moment. “Are you worried, young Lucas?”

“Yeah. Not about the camping, though. I imagined more... drinking and fun, for camping, but it's not scary really,” Lucas says, and Volstagg gives him a quiet chuckle.

“Drinking and fun will be for next time, then. And there truly isn't anything to be scared of- the fire is safely prepared and if anything approached us, you're safe with the best warriors in all of Asgard.”

“I know,” Lucas begins, before something funny happens to his throat and chest. “Volstagg? I really wish Thor was here.”

“As do I,” Volstagg murmurs. “Tyr is a great teacher and a good man, but your combat training should not leave the marks that it does. Methinks Thor would remember to be a little gentler on you.”

Lucas bites back a sob, grabbing handfuls of Volstagg's shirt to bury his face in it. “S'not Tyr, he does remember, he knows not to hurt me,” he whispers, and Volstagg stops patting his back for a few seconds, before he starts up again.

“That's alright,” Volstagg says, and his voice sounds tighter. “As it so happens, my Hildegund was approached at her place of work by your mother the other day. We've talked it over, of course, but- well, we were wondering if you might like to stay with us.”

Lucas blinks up at Volstagg, but he's kind of wedged into the guy's armpit, and all he can see is beard and more beard. “What do- what's that mean?”

“It means you don't have to go back there,” Volstagg says quietly. “If you don't want to.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, because on the one hand he wants to, badly. On the other hand, Odin came to Tyr's place the last time he got mad at Lucas, and Lucas just imagined that taking place in Volstagg's house, in front of those kids.

“The offer is always on the table,” Volstagg adds, and it must have been a while that neither of them spoke. Lucas clings a little closer to Volstagg, and Lucas is almost asleep when he remembers something important.

“I don't want to help my dad kill my son,” he mumbles into Volstagg's side.

“I know,” Volstagg says gently, and he doesn't even sound all that tired. “Sleep now, Lucas. We don't want to wake your familiar.”

Lucas closes his eyes, and when he opens them again it's even darker, and Volstagg stays asleep no matter how many times Lucas pokes him. Finally Lucas wriggles out of their tangle of furs, grabbing his cane but leaving his feet bare.

“Where are you going?” Ikol asks sleepily, and Lucas shushes him and tucks the blanket back around his fragile little body and tells him that he's just going to pee and he'll be back in a minute.

Lucas traipses out until the dim glow of the fire is soft and small behind him, towards a stream they had considered getting water from. He does his business in some bushes and after about a minute he figures out how to wash his hands without being too obnoxious in the water.

The moon is full and bright and Lucas sees but does not understand for several moments, when the water becomes tainted with loops and streams of dark blood. He looks upstream and for a moment, far away, he thinks he sees something crouched in the water. It turns and it looks at him, its eyes emitting a faint light, and they're red and unblinking.

Lucas knows he should feel scared. He knows what he has come here to do and he does not believe in coincidence.

He is not afraid. He has been afraid since coming here, between his nightmares and Odin, and right now all he feels is sorry. He thinks about Sleipnir, and he doesn't know how old he is or what he thinks about, but he knows that he's been an unperson since he was born. He thinks that Fenris can't help that he wasn't born a beast of burden, that he wasn't born useful.

It's slow going, because his bare feet are soft and tender and there are sharp stones and tangles of thorns, and he does his best to navigate between the two in the bright moonlight. The creature is still barely visible, but it does cant its head to the side, as if a little surprised at Lucas.

“Stop,” it says, and Lucas stops, one foot in the stream. “You are not angry, and you are not afraid.”

“I know,” Lucas says, shrugging a little bit. “Are you?”

“Yes,” it sighs, “very. But not because of you.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, looking down. “I wasn't... I wasn't sure you could talk.”

“I am lucky,” it says. “My babies were lucky, too.”

“I'm so sorry,” Lucas whispers. “If there was anything I could do-”

“There is something,” it tells him. “There is one left. The runt. If you do not see me tomorrow, you will know that I have escaped and that we are safe.”

“If I see you tomorrow, does it mean that you're not safe?” Lucas asks, horrified.

“If you see me tomorrow, it means you have something you must take care of for me,” it says.

“Yes. Of course,” Lucas says thickly, blinking back tears. “Of course. Hey, um, I- I just- for everything, I don't know the story yet but I think I have a lot to apologize for-”

It lifts its head a little, and it's strange how Lucas can't see much of it, even from this close. “Someone's coming.”

“What?” Lucas asks, turning around to look. “I don't see any-”

There's something warm against the back of Lucas's neck, a single exhalation as dozens of sharp points press gently against the skin. For a second Lucas thinks he's biting me and it feels like when Odin healed the break in his wrist, power flowing through the points of contact.

“Was that a lie?” Lucas slurs, even as something gently lays him down against a tree.

“It was a lie,” the shape confirms, and Lucas sighs and means to tell him that it wasn't necessary.

A hand touches his face, and when he opens his eyes it's light out again, and he's shivering.

“Don't bite me,” Lucas yawns, and Tyr heaves a relieved sigh.

“My heart actually stopped when I found you lying cold on the ground,” Tyr scolds, and Lucas sits up and presses a smooch against the stubble lining his jaw. “Why did you wander off without telling anyone?”

“I woke up and had to pee,” Lucas tells him. “And I thought I saw something, so I went closer, and...” Lucas pauses, touching the side of his neck. “Did I get bit by anything right here?”

“No,” Tyr says, holding Lucas close. “I can arrange for it to happen, if you like.”

“Oh, wow, I don't know, we should try it,” Lucas grins. “But... really, there's nothing there? I... I guess it was a dream, then.”

“What sort of dream did you have out here in the woods, Lucas?” Tyr asks with a smile, helping Lucas to his feet.

“I dreamed that I saw Fenris, and then he was all mysterious and then he was like hey what's that over there and I was like what and then that he bit me and ran off,” Lucas explains, and Tyr's eyebrows knit together.

“That does sound like him,” he admits, and Lucas rubs his neck and frowns.

“But you said there's no bitemarks? Not even conveniently-arranged mosquito bites?”

“No,” Tyr says, kissing his forehead. “You must have been half asleep when you wandered this far, and fully asleep when you began dreaming up such details.”

“You really think so?” Lucas asks dubiously.

“No,” Tyr sighs, “but I do not think there is much point in worrying the others with a tale like that. If he'd bitten you there, you'd have died, as he would have taken enough flesh to separate your head from your body.”

“Really?” Lucas asks, aghast, and Tyr waves his handless wrist at him. Lucas blinks, taken aback. “Oh. Yeah. Okay. I guess you would be the expert on Fenris bites.”

“Yes,” Tyr agrees, leading him back to camp. “And just so you know, Sif is going to utterly destroy you for making her worry so.”

“Aw, she loves me,” Lucas grins, and Tyr only nods.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the time they're done eating lunch, Fandral has turned Lucas's story into some sort of fantastic Narnian adventure where he encounters tree-nymphs and Rhine maidens and Lucas almost chokes when he realizes that Fandral is using extremely flowery language and euphemisms to say that Lucas was having some sort of fairy orgy. Tyr pats Lucas on the back and glares at Fandral, and Sif hands him a cup of water and also glares at Fandral, and Volstagg and Hogun look like they want to laugh but also glare, so they're just clearing their throats awkwardly and not looking anywhere. Ikol is clearly angry at Lucas for leaving, and hasn't had anything to say.

Lucas doesn't mention it, just in case he's mistaken, but he sort of thinks they're doing the opposite of what they were told to do. They're just hanging out and having fun, and not harassing Fenris towards anything or anyone. They haven't even seen any sign of him, and they've been wandering around on horseback for hours. Lucas almost thinks that the dream last night really was just a dream.

There's a sharp pain in Lucas's side, right where he imagines his kidneys are and probably something lamer like his intestines, and the not-a-bite on his neck tingles.

“Ow,” he says, clapping a hand to his side.

“What?” Fandral asks, glancing back at him. His eyes widen, and Lucas thinks it's kinda funny looking, until he feels something thick and hot running down over his lips. “Lucas, you're bleeding!”

“I doe,” Lucas gasps, blinking. “I dink I doe where Febris is. Cad I borrow your cabe?”

“How would you know where Fenris-” Fandral starts, pointedly not looking as Lucas wipes his face off on the edge of his cape, and they both startle when they hear the baying of an impossibly loud horn. It makes Lucas think of the Horn of Gondor, and Fandral's eyes meet his. “That's the hunting horn of the Allfather's party. We must be close, if-”

“Go,” Lucas says, clutching him tightly. “Go fast. That way, where the trees are thinner!”

“As you say,” Fandral agrees, spurring his horse to speed up ahead of the others, towards where the trees start to give way. They burst into the clearing just as a heavily wounded wolf the size of a Land Rover does, panting and bleeding, a golden spear half buried in its side.

“Stop,” Lucas cries out, and Fandral brings his horse up short, and Fenris looks over at them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Lucas tumbles down, barely catching himself from a horrible fall even as Fandral cries out for him to come back, and Fenris flops down onto his side in time to let Lucas throw himself down onto his knees.

“Oh, god,” Lucas chokes out, because there's so much blood, there's so much blood everywhere. “Oh god, it'll be okay, this is manageable, you'll be okay-”

“It is nice to see you again, Father,” Fenris rumbles, and Lucas knows Fandral is scrambling over to them, terrified that Lucas is about to get his face eaten off, and he knows the others aren't far behind, and if Odin is nearby then surely he's on his way, surely he's watching, and he still starts bawling, wrapping his arms around Fenris's neck and burying his hands and face in the matted fur there.

Fenris's nose is like a dog's nose, but big enough that when he snuffles at Lucas it covers an entire cheek. “It is the end of me,” he tells Lucas, and licks at his tears. “You will keep your promise.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna, I promise, but please, we can take you home, can't we? Fandral?” Lucas calls out, but when he looks over at Fandral there's nothing but pity there. “It can work out okay, can't it? We can- I can-”

“No, Father,” Fenris says, licking him again, and Lucas starts crying again, because it's not fair, none of it is fair. “I would not want that even if it were possible. I have lived all my life in a cage, and I have run free. I will not go back.”

“Lucas,” Tyr says quietly, his sword still in its sheath, where it belongs. He's hanging back, the first one to catch up to them, and when Lucas shakes his head at him he comes over. After a moment, he and Fenris make eye contract, only briefly, and Tyr puts his hand on Fenris's head.

“Father, you should go,” Fenris pants, his gleaming red eyes finally closing. “You have a promise to fulfill.” Ikol flutters down onto Tyr's shoulder, but he's looking at Lucas.

“I don't want you to be alone for this,” Lucas says hoarsely, his voice breaking over the words.

“He won't be,” Tyr says, and Fenris opens one eye to look at Tyr for a moment.

Lucas wants to tell him that it can wait, that the absolute least he could do for Fenris as a parent would be to watch over him in these moments, but he thinks about four small bodies on the ground near the stables, and he thinks that only one thing would matter right now, if Lucas was in the same position.

He gets up on shaking legs and doesn't know how he knows, but he turns and starts walking towards the last of Fenris's children.

“Father,” Fenris calls out, just as Lucas enters the tree line. “I do understand.”

Lucas looks back and he wants to throw up, and he knows that he's never going to see Fenris again. If he squints, he can ignore the spear and the blood, and it would almost look like Tyr and Fenris are just sitting in the sunshine in companionable silence.

He turns and walks again, and Ikol follows.

It gets darker and darker the farther he walks, and even with the cane Lucas is having a lot of difficulty.

“Go up high?” he asks Ikol once, and Ikol perches unsteadily on his shirt and presses against the side of his head.

“I would lose you if I did,” Ikol says, and Lucas doesn't say any more about it, even when he stumbles and Ikol's talons dig into his shoulder for a moment.

Neither of them want to talk. That's fine. Tears were running down Lucas's face, and now they've stopped, and that's also fine. He's not sure how he's going to get back. He'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Lucas and Ikol hear it at the same time- whimpering noises from inside a den at the base of a giant tree. Lucas puts his cane down and kneels at the mouth of the hole there, and Ikol paces next to where he put his cane.

“Don't go in there,” Ikol says, and Lucas shakes his head.

“He's in there,” he says, and scoots himself in a little, his legs sticking out. “Can you hear me, puppy?”

“Father?” a teeny little voice growls, and Lucas sees two glowing yellow eyes in the deep shadows there. “Father come back?”

“No, sweetheart,” Lucas says, biting his lower lip. “He had to go away.”

“Father dead?” the little voice asks, and Lucas sighs.

“Yeah,” he admits, and the puppy whimpers and utters a mournful little howl. “Come out with me, puppy.”

“Want Father. Father alpha,” the puppy cries, and Lucas swallows the urge to start crying again, and reaches in and the puppy bites him, right on the hand.

“I deserve that,” Lucas sighs, pulling his hand back to inspect the damage. The puppy's needle-sharp teeth have left a few spots of blood, but as long as he gets it cleaned he'll probably be fine. “Come on out, puppy. I'm going to take care of you. My name is Lucas.”

“No. Kill Luka. Bite Luka hand,” the puppy whines, scooting back a little. “Luka bad. Want alpha. Want Father.”

“I know, puppy,” Lucas sighs. “Please come out for me?”

“Luka kill?” the puppy asks. “Bite Luka hand. Luka angry?”

“Oh no, puppy, I would never kill anybody,” Lucas tells it, reaching in again. “I'm not mad that you bit me, I promise. I know you were scared.”

A rough, hot little tongue laps against his bleeding palm for a moment, and then the puppy crawls out to where Lucas can see it. He loops an arm around it and wriggles backwards until he's in the cool fresh air again. The puppy is dirty and bedraggled and so much smaller than the other ones were, Lucas thinks. He cuddles it carefully, using his fingers to look for any injuries in its fur, and it snuffles at the blood on his clothing and cries a little. He hugs it closer, and it licks at the place where Fenris did-or-didn't bite him on the neck.

“Luka alpha?” it asks, miserable and hopeful all at once.

“Okay,” Lucas says, and feels slightly better when the puppy relaxes against him and goes to sleep.

“Congratulations, it's a flesh-eating hellbeast,” Ikol says drily from a fallen log. “Fatherhood suits you.”

“You are all kinds of butthole,” Lucas says, but he can't help but smile a little at the soft noise the puppy makes when it's breathing. “He trusts me, just because I said it was okay to.”

“You should name him after Thor, then,” Ikol says.

“That's a pretty good idea,” Lucas tells him, and Ikol shifts his weight a bit.

“I do not want to be considered its Mother,” he says finally.

“Good, because you're the weirdo uncle,” Lucas informs him. “We should... we should be getting back to our guys.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He meets them a little ways into the forest, and he knows he must have gone way off course, and he thinks he did it on purpose, because every time he thought about little Thor seeing Fenris he thought he would cry.

Sif notices the hot lump of sleeping dog in Lucas's shirt, and when she fishes Thor out the puppy can't figure out if it wants to fight her or what. It settles for wagging its tail as Lucas explains to her and the others what happened.

“So I'm taking little Thor home now,” Lucas finishes, and everybody suddenly looks like they're playing You Laugh, You Lose.

“Lucas, this wolf cub is a bitch,” Sif tells him.

“Rude,” Lucas says, blinking because he's more than a little shocked.

“This wolf cub is a female wolf cub,” Sif explains slowly, rolling her eyes. “Are you aware that there's a difference?”

“Oh,” Lucas says, and makes a face at Ikol, who's doing his creepy silent bird laugh. “Okay. Well. In that case, I'm taking little Thora home now.”

It's Volstagg who loses first, at this point, but Fandral is right alongside him after a moment.

Chapter Text

Lucas makes sure there are witnesses whenever he's in the palace. He's not sure why- not like Odin would care, not like it would stop him- but it just feels... important that there be someone. So it's Fandral who's standing next to Lucas when Odin stops and gives him a narrow-eyed glance as he walks through the hallways.

“You're leaving, Loki?” Odin asks, and frowns further at the sleeping cub in his arms. “That thing should be destroyed.”

“I'm going to take care of her,” Lucas says softly, looking down. Fandral's hand doesn't move from its spot on his arm. “She's my responsibility.”

“That it is,” Odin promises, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “How long will you be away?”

“Not long,” Lucas murmurs. “You said you expected me to be king one day. I'm going to go around seeing what life is like for Asgardians outside of the palace.”

“Hm,” Odin says. “A sound plan, in theory. Do not get caught up in the little details, Loki.”

“Okay,” Lucas says, and Odin takes a step closer, and Fandral's hand tightens slightly.

“Congratulations, Allfather,” Fandral says smoothly. “On your successful hunt.”

“Yes,” Odin says, and Lucas tenses up for a moment, but when he glances up Odin's smiling at him. “But, of course, there are always other monsters.”

“Of course,” Fandral echoes, and Odin walks briskly past them. Lucas thinks he might collapse if Fandral was to let go of him, but Fandral holds on tight and Lucas stays upright.

Volstagg's kids are delighted to have Lucas over, and are somewhat less delighted to have to help house-train Thora. Lucas stays a week before Gudrun asks him, over breakfast, why he cries so much when he's sleeping.

He stays with Sif and Tyr as their guest after that, but the nightmares don't lessen unless he sleeps curled up with Thora, and even then she wakes him up every morning whining and frightened. Lucas finds reasons to avoid sleeping much if he can, and Sif watches him when she thinks he's not looking, and Tyr's mouth draws into a tighter line with each passing day, until finally Lucas shows up to training and Tyr is sitting on a bench and gazing at the floor.

“Hey,” Lucas says slowly, and Ikol flutters over to sit in the shade with Thora. Tyr looks up at him, and frowns. “What?”

“You're not in any shape to be doing this, Lucas,” Tyr says firmly, standing. “When was the last time you slept through the night?”

“I-” Lucas opens and shuts his mouth a few times, before looking down with a shrug. “I dunno, Tyr. I'm okay, though. I mean, seriously, I'm fine.”

“Don't lie to me,” Tyr says gently, reaching over to cup his hand against Lucas's face. “How are you thinner than you were when you first came here? How is it you've become so pale?”

“I'm not,” Lucas squirms and Tyr lets him back away, struggling to fill his lungs. “I'm not skinnier. I'm the same. It's fine.”

“You can tell me,” Tyr says, and Lucas hesitates, before coming back and pressing his face against the steady warmth of Tyr's chest.

“Sometimes,” Lucas starts, his voice muffled. “Sometimes I can't tell, if I'm dreaming a memory or if I'm dreaming a nightmare. It's the same. The things I remember are nightmares, and the nightmares are all familiar.”

“It's going to be alright,” Tyr tells him, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Would it make you feel better if I slept with you tonight?”

“I don't know,” Lucas says, drawing his arms around Tyr. “Thora sleeps with me, too.”

“There is room for a naughty puppy as well,” Tyr grumbles, but Lucas can feel the curve of his smile. “We should go home, Lucas.”

“I thought it was important for me to get my training on,” Lucas says quietly, and Tyr sighs.

“Yes, well, it's pointless to train a student who is about to collapse from exhaustion.”

“I'm not about to collapse,” Lucas scoffs, and Tyr does try to smile, but even Lucas can see that he's worried.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

there are fingers, holding the back of his neck to keep his head still, pressing against his mouth, forcing it open

you think you know pain

there is laughter and sobbing and screaming that ends in a wet choking sound, hot blood spatters the inside of his mouth, dribbles down his face

he's so cold and his hand is hot where he's holding the extractor, and there is a whirring sound and there is an eyeless man screaming beneath him

we gave you a home, little wanderer, or don't you remember

there is a version where he lets go and a version where Thor pushes him, and he doesn't remember which one is real

are you alright, sir? Clint looks so worried for him, but his eyes are glowing blue

there are few who can claim the honor of making a god scream for mercy, and he is screaming and there is no mercy for him

he is small and alone, he wasn't good enough and the stitches are rough against his fingertips, he thinks Thor will come for him, but Thor has friends now and it's not Thor, it's Odin who comes and cuts the thread and it's been days since he's eaten, but he vomits the broth Odin gives him, and he is alone again

we saved your wretched life and we own it

Odin's foot is on Fenris's throat, and Thora is cold in Lucas's arms

I've been here before, he thinks, and Peter is staring at him through a thick pane of glass, eyes huge and horrified, and he presses a button to see what it does and Peter

falls

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Wake up,” Tyr says urgently, and Lucas sits upright and flinches back when Tyr moves closer. Thora is whining and crying on the foot of the bed, and Lucas can't breathe.

“Baby,” Lucas wheezes, and Tyr gently picks her up and puts her in Lucas's lap.

“Easy,” Tyr says, showing Lucas his hand before reaching over to rub soothing circles against his back. “Easy, Lucas. You're alright. I'm with you, you're safe.”

“I'm not safe,” Lucas snaps, and he hears Ikol in his voice. Lucas takes a shuddering breath, hugging Thora close and burying his face in her fur. “I'm a bad person.”

“No, you're not,” Tyr says firmly, and Lucas can't help it, every time Tyr moves he reacts like Tyr's going to hit him, and he knows that's wrong, but-

-but it might not be wrong. At this rate Tyr's the only person who hasn't hit Lucas when he deserved it, either as himself or as Old Him, and he doesn't know when Tyr's going to think he does deserve it, if it's going to be for one big thing or an accumulation of small things.

Tyr watches him, eyes shadowed in the darkness of night, and instead he strokes Thora's fur until her whimpers die down and she snuffles sleepily against Lucas's nightshirt.

“I'm sorry I scared you, Lucas,” Tyr offers, and Lucas exhales shakily.

“You didn't, I had- I had a bad dream,” he explains.

“I know,” Tyr says seriously, and Lucas winces.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, to wake you, I know you have stuff you have to do in the morning, this was a bad idea, I'm sorry-”

“Hush, please,” Tyr says quietly. “It's alright. You can't help that you had a nightmare, Lucas, you didn't do anything wrong.”

“I did,” Lucas whispers. “That's all it was. Me doing stuff wrong. Me doing stuff I know I did wrong. I hurt people on purpose, a lot.”

“Please relax, Lucas,” Tyr says, and he sounds scared. “Please go back to sleep. I'll watch over you, I promise.”

“Sometimes I think this is what he means,” Lucas mutters, and he's not even sure what he means by that. “Maybe I'm never going to deserve- to deserve-”

“Thora needs you,” Tyr says fiercely. “Do not follow that train of thought, Lucas.”

“Why? Because it's true?” Lucas asks bitterly, and Tyr sighs and presses a tentative kiss against his shoulder.

“Because you've walked this path before, and I don't want to see that happen to you again. You're a good person, Lucas. You deserve a little peace.” Lucas shuts his eyes and curls up against Tyr, Thora nestled in between them, and eventually he goes back to a restless sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I think I'm trying to mess this up on purpose,” Lucas says hoarsely, and Sleipnir beats out some kind of Morse code nonsense at him. Lucas gives him the hairy eyeball, but Sleipnir leans down and snuffles at Thora, who snuffles back up at him.

“Pack?” she barks hopefully, and Sleipnir whinnies at her. Thora takes that as a cue to run around barking, even though she's so small it's really... more of a toddle. Lucas wonders how old she is, how old she is in dog years. It's bittersweet right up until Ikol pecks at his hand to make him open up his little sack of worms to feed Ikol.

“Your frankly horrifying relationship with Tyr notwithstanding, I'm surprised at you,” Ikol comments around a beakful of whatever. “Why are you doing what you did before you fell?”

“What do you mean?” Lucas asks warily, but Ikol perks his head to the side and flutters up high. Lucas frowns a little at the lack of a response, but his jerky comment to Ikol dies on his lips when Frigga steps into the barn, looking as though she's never been before. Sleipnir watches her carefully, and Lucas notices the way he shifts so that his front legs are between her and Thora. He thinks if he didn't already love Sleipnir, he would start right now.

“Hello, Lucas,” Frigga says quietly, and Lucas's throat closes up on him. He knows, he knows mentally that he has to say something, that he has to speak to her, but he's alone with his sort-of-son and his sort-of-grandpuppy and his weird kinda-twin, and none of them can protect him, not when it's his job to look after them. He gapes up at her, because if he says the wrong thing it might not be him with a broken wrist, it might be Ikol with a broken wing or Sleipnir in a cage or Thora with her neck broken.

“I see you're busy,” Frigga says, after several awkward moments. “I'll... I'll just leave you to it, then-”

“I'm sorry,” Lucas blurts out, panic white-hot behind his eyes. “I'm sorry, I was rude to you and that was horrible, I didn't- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you, I won't, not again, okay? I'm sorry.”

“Lucas,” Frigga says, taking a step forward. “I'm not- I'm not angry. You don't need to apologize, it's not necessary, you don't-”

Lucas exhales shakily, because he's fucking this up and she's going to tell Odin about this, and he thinks maybe he should just grab Thora and climb onto Sleipnir and run until Ikol can't keep up, and then carry Ikol too.

“Lucas,” Frigga says, and she's right there, when did she get so close up? “Lucas, breathe. Can you hear me?”

“Please,” Lucas tries, hot tears pricking at his eyes. “Please don't tell him, I'll do better, I really will, just please don't say anything about, about-”

Frigga sighs, leaning back on her heels as Thora growls at her from behind Sleipnir's legs. “I won't... I won't say anything, Lucas. I wouldn't.”

Liar, Lucas thinks, and Thora bares her teeth at Frigga.

“Bad,” she barks. “Bad make Luka bad. I bite you hand.”

“Thora, don't,” Lucas hisses, scooping her into his arms and not letting her wriggle away from him no matter how whiny she gets. He looks up at Frigga, his fingers running through Thora's fur. “She doesn't mean it. Please don't- she's just, she's just a baby, she doesn't understand,” he pleads, and Frigga's face is unreadable, a small smile swiftly fading away as he talks to her.

“Luka alpha. Mine,” Thora growls, butting her head against Lucas's shirt and giving Frigga the evil eye.

“Yes, he is yours,” Frigga agrees, clearing her throat. “You're a very good girl to watch over Lucas, Thora.”

“Good Thora,” the puppy huffs, pawing at Lucas's shirt until he lifts her up and stuffs her down his open collar. He has no idea why she likes being nuzzled up against his bare stomach like that, but it's pretty much exactly like what he imagines pregnancy to be, and he's kind of okay with that mental image.

He's still watching Frigga, because he doesn't know what she's going to do now, and she's watching him with an expression that manages to make no sense at all, half smiling and a lot sad.

“Lucas,” she says finally, “would you walk with me a little ways?” He wants to tell her to shove off and leave him alone, but he's not strong enough to even imagine Odin's reaction to that without quailing a little at the thought.

“Okay,” he says instead, and climbs painfully to his feet, tucking Thora into the stall with Sleipnir, because he's actually a pretty good babysitter, considering.

He doesn't really listen as she starts awkward little conversations here and there, giving monosyllabic responses when he realizes it's his turn to speak and waiting and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They step through a heavy wooden door, and Frigga waits until Ikol swoops in onto Lucas's shoulder before closing the door and barring it.

“Um,” Lucas says weakly, the air suddenly far too thin. “What's... what's with the door?”

“I shut it,” Frigga says unhelpfully, gazing at the offending portal. “I built Asgard, for the most part. Did you know?”

“I know now?” Lucas asks, and she gives him a fleeting smile.

“I built Asgard,” she repeats thoughtfully, “and included places that could not be seen, even by those with the power to see everything.”

Lucas blinks at her, and suddenly thinks of the secret room where he met Ikol.

“Okay,” he says finally, and she sighs.

“This room is one such place, Lucas. We may both speak freely,” Frigga explains.

“Unless you decide to tell Odin,” Lucas says faintly, reaching up to draw his fingertips against the feathers on Ikol's breast. “Why did you bring me here? Did you want something?”

“I had hoped, when you were first brought back here from Earth, that you might be... more receptive to the idea of being close, as my son,” Frigga says slowly, looking away. “In the last four months I have seen the same transformation that took you an entire childhood to undergo the first time around.”

“I don't know what you mean by that,” Lucas says, but he thinks he does know.

“You do not trust me,” Frigga says, “and you would be right not to, but not, I think, for the reasons you expect.”

“I don't understand you,” Lucas sighs, suddenly exhausted. He wants to curl up with Tyr and Thora and just sleep forever, even if it means the dreams will come.

“I'm sure by now you're aware of your brother Baldur,” Frigga says, and Lucas looks up at her.

“I've come across some... stuff. Yeah,” he says slowly. “Nobody wants to talk about him, not to me. I guess I have this idea that I killed him at some point, though, right?”

“No,” Frigga says quickly, as Ikol squeezes his little talons into Lucas's tender shoulder. “No, Lucas. You did nothing of the sort, and what happened was not your fault.”

“I'm not following,” Lucas says, after a moment. “How did he die, then?”

Frigga looks at him with such naked pity on her face that Lucas wants to run again, before she holds out a hand. “Come. Let me show you something.”

He doesn't trust her enough to take her hand, but he follows along behind her, anyway.

She leads him through rooms and narrow hallways, until she stops in front of him and lets him pass, into a large room.

At first Lucas thinks it's like Snow White- there's gold everywhere, and a huge gold and glass casket, and there's a young man lying there, and he's beautiful.

“I don't understand,” Lucas says quietly, breaking the silence. “I thought he was.... little, I guess.”

“Baldur was a child,” Frigga acknowledges sadly. “But as time passed, his body grew and aged without him.”

“That's... that's horrible,” Lucas whispers, taking a tentative step forward. “So... so wait. He's alive? This whole time? I don't understand.”

“Baldur Sleeps,” Frigga says, and Lucas frowns a little.

“Is it... is it like when I was in a coma?” he asks, and she frowns a little, too, mirroring his expression.

“In a way. Baldur inherited his father's gift of sight, and he may still be aware of all that transpires,” she explains, and Lucas thinks that's terrifying. He takes a few steps closer, and he can see the glass is some sort of golden miasma.

“Will it hurt him if I touch him?” Lucas asks quietly, and Frigga shakes her head. He sits down next to Balder, slipping his hand into the golden barrier and giving Baldur's fingers a squeeze. “I still don't understand why he's like this, though.”

“He was poisoned, and it was such an evil concoction that he is still trapped in this state as his body works to eradicate its influence,” Frigga says, standing on the other side of her youngest son. Lucas looks up at her, eyes wide, and she blinks quickly before shaking her head. “You did not poison him.”

“You can understand why I would think that, though,” Lucas says, and Ikol digs his talons into his shoulder.

“You loved Baldur,” Frigga says firmly. “For all that you were the wiser of my two older sons, Lucas, you were just as irresponsible as Thor in your youth. That being said, you would have cut off your own arm before ever letting harm come to your baby brother.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, frowning as he makes a space for that information in his mind. “They tell stories at home that I killed him, you know? That I was responsible for all of it.”

“Lucas,” Frigga breathes out, and she makes a quick motion towards him, and he draws back, eyes wide. She stops and stares at him, before shaking her head slowly. “Lucas, my son. It... is painful to me, to realize that you have been thinking, all this time, that you had anything to do with what happened to your brother.”

“Well-” Lucas stops, frustrated. “Well, who did? He was poisoned, that makes it sound like it happened on purpose.”

“The question of who is not something we are likely to know for certain,” Frigga says carefully, “in that it cannot ever be proven.”

“I'm not very good with mysterious,” Lucas says flatly, reaching back in to hold Baldur's hand. “And I'm not comfortable talking about Baldur like he's not right here listening.”

“Lucas,” Frigga sighs. “Entertain this scenario, please. Imagine you have been given a glimpse of the future- a possible future, one you have the ability to change, but you don't know how to change it. Imagine you are a king, responsible for the lives of millions, and that the future you saw meant the death of every single one of your citizens. Imagine that you saw that dark future was first put into motion by the death of your youngest son.”

“I know this story,” Lucas says, squeezing Baldur's hand. “Ragnarok. Gotterdammerung. Three roosters and the end of the world.”

“Yes,” Frigga says, leaning down to stroke Baldur's hair back from his cool forehead. “Your father saw a vision of the future. One where Baldur was murdered in a holy place, and unraveled all of the magics that keep Asgard and all of her citizens alive. He saw a vision where his second son would grow up to murder his confidant, Heimdall. A vision where his son would father a serpent that would kill Thor, and a wolf that would devour Odin himself.”

“Fenris,” Lucas says flatly. “How did he know I would eventually go and make weird animal babies?”

Frigga is silent for a long time, before saying, “I don't think he knew it would happen. I think he assured it.”

Ikol's talons are so tightly clenched that Lucas thinks he is about to draw blood.

“I don't understand,” Lucas mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He wanted Ragnarok to happen?”

“No,” Frigga sighs. “He wants- what he has always wanted- is to manipulate the threads of fate so that this future could not happen. He only had a glimpse of this fate, and tried to recreate what little he could decipher so that he could know exactly who and what he was trying to control or change.”

“That's why Fenris is dead,” Lucas accuses, looking over at her. “He wanted to make sure there was a Fenris, so that he would know he was killing the one who kills him. And Baldur's locked away in a permanent coma, where nobody can hurt him. Right?”

“I cannot claim to understand his mind,” Frigga admits, looking down. “Odin... has had a long time to let this so-called knowledge poison his thoughts, until it became an obsession.”

“Why did you go along with it?” Lucas asks, and he really means all of it, and she looks as though she understands.

“I did not know, for a time,” she sighs. “I did not know what he was doing to you and to Thor, that he was grooming you to be on opposite sides of some imagined battlefield. By the time I found out, I... Lucas, you have to understand, Baldur was so much younger than you were, by the time I ever knew,” she pleads. “You were quick and smart and had your magic, and Baldur was still a very small child.”

Lucas stares at her, linking his fingers with Baldur's lifeless hand, and when he talks his voice shakes.

“You traded me for him,” he says finally. “You had to pick one kid worth saving and one who wasn't.”

“It wasn't meant to be like that,” Frigga sighs, looking down. “I couldn't change the past, and I couldn't bear the idea of what he did to you being inflicted on my baby.”

“It was okay for me, though,” Lucas hisses. “I wasn't your baby.”

“That's not what I meant, Lucas,” Frigga argues, but weakly. “You were in your teens when I had him, I knew you would be a man before much longer, I knew that soon you would be able to leave and he would be trapped.”

“Why did you let him to it to anybody?” Lucas asks, carefully plucking Ikol off his shoulder and putting him on the bier next to Baldur. “Why did you have to let him... why didn't you just say no?”

“How do you think such a king reacts when he is refused, Lucas?” Frigga asks quietly, and both he and Ikol snap their heads up to look at her.

“Does he hurt you?” Lucas asks, his voice tight. “He can't. He shouldn't. I- I should-”

“No, Lucas,” Frigga says quickly. “He knows better than to do such a thing. But he is... how can I put this?” She casts about, looking for the right analogy. “I built Asgard and I maintain her, but without the power he possesses, this realm and everyone in it would unravel. We would have no way of leaving this realm, and would be destroyed along with it.”

“He's your arc reactor,” Lucas says, thinking about Tony, about something Darcy told him once. “He keeps you alive, but he's damaging you, too.”

“That... is a fair and apt assessment,” Frigga says, after a moment of thought. “Asgard needs him. There is much Asgard will overlook, in the knowledge that he keeps her safe and alive.”

“Asgard's not the only one,” Lucas says darkly, and Frigga sighs.

“Lucas, you just... you don't know what it is to live with the constant knowledge that he could choose on a whim to leave this realm and destroy everything and everyone you know and love,” she says, looking at Baldur.

“He,” Lucas starts, and has to wait a moment to clear his throat. “He broke my wrist for yelling at you. He's been hitting me ever since I first got here. Sometimes it's just, like... out of nowhere, but usually I know why I deserve it.”

“Lucas,” Frigga breathes out, coming around to his side of Baldur, and he shies away from her, his heart pounding. “Lucas, why didn't you tell me?”

“You knew,” he points out, looking away. “You knew how he used to be, and you knew you let him get away with it when I was a kid, you knew you basically gave him a free pass as long as he left Baldur alone, and I get that, I do, I haven't even met the kid and I want to protect him, so I understand, okay? Because he's- he's the one people love, and first I was just this shitty little kid nobody wanted and then I was a bratty asshole psychopath and now I'm just... now I'm just like this useless appendage, okay, so I get it, I understand why you'd let it happen to me, although I'm never gonna get how you could let him do it to Thor.”

“What-” Frigga starts, but Lucas shakes his head, hunching his shoulders a bit.

“You knew what he would do when you told him,” he says softly, running his thumb over his wrist. “So, okay. I understand now what you have to do in order to survive, I get it. I understand that there has to be somebody, and that it might as well be me. I get that, too. But stop trying to pretend like you didn't choose this for me, stop... just stop.”

“Lucas, you are loved,” Frigga chokes out, and he shrugs.

“Yeah, but not by you.”

“I do love you,” she begs, and he sighs.

“I love you, too, but I don't believe you, like, at all,” he states flatly.

“How can you say that, Lucas?” she asks, tears streaming down her face.

“Because you act like nothing's wrong when I'm limping around with black eyes and bruises,” he says, turning to look at Baldur again. “Because for four months I've been sitting here going crazy thinking that maybe it really was normal, that maybe I really did deserve what was happening. And then I got Thora and it occurred to me that no matter what she did, I would never do anything remotely like what's been done to me. I would never hurt her, I would never freaking torture her, I would never play these messed-up mind games, and if I found out somebody else did that? I would...” Lucas squeezes Baldur's fingers again.

“I don't want to think too hard about the person I would be if I found out someone hurt her,” he says finally, patting Baldur's chest. “You're a lot of things, and I do love you, but I don't think you're ever going to convince me that I ever meant much to you. That's okay, I mean... it's alright. Just don't try to turn it around like you love me the way you love Baldur, or even Thor.”

She is quiet and he is quiet, and Lucas wonders- a little late- if he should have been more cautious. He could have been gentler. He could have said it a little nicer, or maybe just not said it, he should have just kept his head down, he could have made a whole month without any catching any heat from Odin and now he's gone and blown it-

“I apologize,” Frigga whispers hoarsely. He looks over- she's not looking at him anymore, though, she's staring off into space. “I tried to be a good queen, but I... have been a failure as a mother.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, because he doesn't... he doesn't know what to say. “If it makes you feel better, I think I must have been a shit father and a lousy brother and... probably not a good son.”

“You did the best you knew how to do,” she says quietly, and he sighs.

“Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?” he asks, and she nods, straightening herself out.

“I hope... I hope I can see you again soon, Lucas,” she says, and after she leaves Lucas curls up and puts his head down on Baldur's arm, watching his chest move.

“Lucas,” Ikol says tentatively, perching nearby.

“Did you know all of that stuff she told us?” Lucas asks, his voice ragged.

“I did not,” Ikol says quietly, “and if I did I would not have burdened you with most of it.”

“Okay,” Lucas sniffles, putting a hand over Baldur's heart. He feels like... like he should say something. Explain. Defend.

“It's nice to finally meet you, babybro,” he says instead. “As you can see, Thor won the Odinson Lottery. He's got an awesome girlfriend and he's super healthy and he... he escaped, and we didn't.” Lucas sighs and pets Baldur a little.

“I wish I could help you. I wish I could help everybody,” he mumbles, and Ikol pecks him in the head, but very gently.

“We should retrieve Thora and go home,” Ikol tells him, and after a brief hug and a smooch to Baldur's forehead, Lucas turns with Ikol on one shoulder and heads back home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tyr doesn't wear a shirt to sleep in, and Lucas wishes he was as brave about his scars as Tyr is. Sif's taken Thora for the night, and Lucas will be the first to admit that not having a baby wolf in bed with them is pretty good incentive to get their kissing on.

“Tyr,” Lucas sighs, and Tyr runs his hand inside Lucas's shirt, up his side. “Wanna ask you something.”

“Yes, Lucas?” Tyr asks, resting his forearm on Lucas's hip.

“Do you-” he starts, then stops, because he doesn't know if he can make this sound right. “When you look at me, which one do you see? I mean- I mean do you see the asshole I used to be or the loser I became?”

Tyr draws back a little, blinking. “I see you,” he says, eyes searching Lucas's face. “I have always seen you.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, a small grin curling across his face. “Hey, so, um. Sex.”

“What,” Tyr states, raising his eyebrows. “What about it?”

“I mean, I've never- but, do you want to? Now?” he asks hopefully, and Tyr curls his arms around Lucas, considering.

“Yes,” he says finally, “although I think an explanation is in order.”

“What? I know about sex,” Lucas says, nuzzling closer for a kiss. “I mean, I've seen it in books. And I've seen like, two whole videos on the internet.”

“Ye-es,” Tyr accepts, blinking. “Be that as it may, I think we should talk it over beforehand so that we both know what we're doing here.”

“Okay,” Lucas agrees, and Tyr educates him.

Chapter Text

Lucas and Ikol and Tyr make a point of taking Thora somewhere wide open and green every day with Sleipnir, and he teaches her how to run. In theory, anyway. In practice, Sleipnir runs a few laps and then spends the rest of his time with her playing with the wolf pup. Lucas's heart breaks and swells constantly as he watches them, and Tyr has developed a talent for knowing how to soothe Lucas when he starts crying for reasons he can't fully explain on these outings. These displays make Ikol uncomfortable to the point of leaving every time he thinks there's even a possibility of Lucas breaking down.

They make no secret of their preferred fields, taking Volstagg's family and the other Warriors on larger picnics at times.

After a handful of playdates with Volstagg's children, Thora jumps onto Lucas's lap and wriggles excitedly and begs him to put her up high, up in the sky, please Lukadaddy please, and she howls in confusion at him when he bursts into tears.

She has trouble pronouncing Tyr's name and Lucas is embarrassed that she tends to default to barking mine at Tyr when she wants him, but Tyr laughs and tells Lucas that he doesn't mind any name she chooses for him. It probably doesn't help that both Lucas and Thora tend to greet Tyr with demands for smooches, and after a few conversations with Tyr about it Lucas curls up with Thora and asks her if she'd be okay with calling Tyr Pops.

“Pop,” she agrees, licking Lucas's face. “Lukadaddy pack, Pop, Thora, Leap, Pip, Iko? Pack?”

“Yup,” Lucas nods, kissing her nose. “Sif and Sleipnir and Ikol, Pop, and me, we're your pack, puppy.”

“Pack,” Thora growls gleefully, biting Lucas's shirt and tugging on it. “Mine. Mine mine mine.”

“Yes, puppy, yours,” Lucas promises, grinning.

Tyr starts taking Thora on mysterious “hunting” trips and returning with baskets of treats baked by Tyr's mother, who somehow manages to spoil Thora even more than both Lucas and Tyr put together. Lucas suspects it is this association that leads Thora to tell him that Cake is in the pack, too.

Lucas usually goes to the Library with Hogun and Ikol and sometimes Fandral when Tyr takes Thora for visits. He first spends most of his time looking for information on the care and feeding of wolf hounds, since there isn't much in the way of domestication of wolves. After that he starts mixing it up, picking out Asgardian legal documents and atlases and histories at random.

He goes over to Tyr's parents' house for dinner and Arnvidr is there, which is unusual- Tyr's dad is usually busy with matters of the court until late in the night, it seems.

Arnvidr tries and fails to ignore Thora's begging, and she ends up perched in his lap and barking nonsensical baby-babble at him all during dinner. Lucas's heart actually melts, and he reaches under the table to squeeze Tyr's forearm.

“I noticed you were researching Asgardian inheritance law,” Arnvidr mentions, once Thora's settled down enough to rest a bit. “Why the interest in dry legal matters?”

“It's, like,” Lucas starts, flustered. “For laws.”

“Indeed,” Arnvidr says dryly. “I was a lawyer before I was your father's counselor, Lucas. Perhaps you have legal queries I might know the answers to?”

“Well like,” Lucas says, looking everywhere but at people's faces. “You know. What's up with people inheriting stuff- jobs, property, titles, kingship, that sorta thing. If there's a way out of inheriting something you don't want.”

“Hmm,” Arnvidr says, absentmindedly petting Thora's head. “I am going to have to do some research of my own, Lucas, but I think it's safe to say that there are a few known ways of postponing such things.”

“What are they?” Lucas asks, glancing up.

“I think the most recognized method is to leave on a quest for honor's sake,” Arnvidr says, thinking a little. “Often on an impossible quest, something that may never be fully realized.”

“I would like to sign up for one of those,” Lucas says seriously, and Tyr tenses next to him.

“It is a serious undertaking, Lucas, and one that usually results in the permanent exile of the quester,” Arnvidr replies, and Lucas... isn't sure if that's so terrible, but he knows that Tyr's home is here, and he doesn't want to make Tyr leave, so he sighs.

“Well, if there's a way to do it without having to be exiled, then I want the non-exile option. I don't want to be gone forever, I just want to not be King.” He pokes at his food and Tyr's arm loops around his waist, and Thora starts snoring from her nest on Arnvidr's legs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Servants show up and start setting down tents during what Lucas has been calling Family Picnics and what Tyr has been calling Lunch Every Damn Day, It Doesn't Need A Title.

Sleipnir lifts his head and starts shepherding Thora back towards Lucas, and Thora's nose twitches and she whimpers into Lucas's shirt.

“What is it?” he asks uneasily, and Sleipnir tosses his head in a way that Lucas has learned to identify as frustrated.

“Bad smell,” Thora whuffs softly, turning huge, terrified eyes towards the tents. “Bad man. Bad man take pack.”

“No, puppy,” Lucas soothes, kissing her head. “Nobody's going to take us, darling.”

“Bad man take pack,” Thora whimpers again, and Tyr puts his hand on the back of Lucas's neck.

“Took,” Tyr supplies quietly. “The bad man took your pack.”

Lucas looks where Tyr is looking, and he sees a few guards he recognizes, but wearing what he's figured out are normal off-duty clothes. It takes him a few seconds to figure out why he recognizes the guards-

-five bodies on the ground-

-and Lucas shuts his eyes tightly, as if that will make the memory turn itself off.

“Come, little girl,” Tyr says gently, picking Thora up. “Let's go have a word with your Aunt Pip.”

“Pack,” Thora says, lifting her head. “Packsmell. Pack!”

“Puppy,” Lucas begins, and Tyr puts his arm on his shoulder.

“Trophies,” Tyr is whispering, and he looks more furious than Lucas has ever seen him. “She smells trophies. Lucas, we must go.”

It takes Lucas a few minutes to process what Tyr's saying, and Sleipnir noses patiently against the middle of his back until he can breathe properly.

“Puppykin, stop wiggling in Pop's arms, we're going home to see Sif and Cake,” Lucas says urgently, putting a hand out to steady her. “Thora, stop, baby, please.”

“Smell pack!” Thora barks, and heads are turning to look at them. “Mamasmell! Mine!”

“What do we do?” Lucas hisses, and Tyr shakes his head, and Ikol swoops down from the sky, landing sharply on Lucas's shoulder.

“Mounted heads, leave now,” Ikol warns them, and Lucas's stomach does a flop.

“Jesus,” he moans, if he didn't need to be strong for Thora right now he would be crying or barfing or- let's be honest here- both.

“Lukadaddy, Mama! Mama here!” Thora howls, and Tyr's face falls, just a little.

“We must go, precious,” he says swiftly, “for there are bad men here, with blades in their hands and no love in their hearts for puppies. Come, Thora.”

“Mama,” Thora insists, confused and angry and hurt. “Want Mama, want pack, mine!”

“Thora, no,” Ikol snaps, and she looks at him with a soft whimper. “Lucas said no. Your alpha said no.”

“Luka,” Thora cries.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thora refuses to leave Sif's arms, and Lucas can't stop crying, and he knows he's starting to scare Tyr, but every time he tries to calm himself down another wave crashes over him.

“It's not safe,” he remembers babbling at one point, and Tyr's arms are curled protectively around him, and Lucas just doesn't know what to do.

At some point Lucas wakes up, which means he must have fallen asleep, and Thora is with him, so she must have forgiven him.

She opens her eyes and whimpers a little, edging closer.

“Lukadaddy,” she says quietly, putting her nose against his neck. “Pack dead?”

“Yes, honey,” he sighs, sniffling and hugging her close. “I'm sorry.”

“Like Father,” she huffs, and Lucas just holds her.

“You have me,” he whispers finally. “You always have me.”

“No dead,” she commands sternly. “Bad dead. Stay Thora.”

“I will stay with you,” he agrees, and even after she falls asleep he cannot close his eyes again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“We need to talk,” Tyr says simply, helping Lucas up from the floor of the training grounds. Lucas blinks, biting his lower lip.

“Okay. What about? I mean, in- in general, or do we have to talk about something specific, like is there something on your mind? Because I-” Lucas starts, and Tyr shushes him with a kiss on the cheek.

“I think we should leave Asgard,” Tyr says softly, nosing a little against his hair. “Thora and Quoth are not safe here, and they will not be safe with anyone else. We all should leave.”

“Oh,” Lucas breathes out, pressing his face into Tyr's shoulder. “Tyr, look, I should have told you this before, but Quoth is, um, he's not an ordinary bird-”

“He's a talking magpie,” Tyr says dryly. “And half the time you slip up and call him Ikol. Lucas, I can assure you, whatever you are about to tell me is something I most likely already know.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, a little embarrassed. “What else do I think is a secret but you totally already know?”

Tyr pauses, looking into Lucas's eyes for a moment.

“I know that some of your nightmares leech into your waking hours,” he says softly. “And I know that you're afraid of what that may mean.”

It's suddenly too warm and itchy here, and Tyr gently backs up a little so Lucas can have some room to breathe. When he finally catches his breath, he doesn't know what to say or look at, so they're just quiet for a few moments more.

“Earth,” Lucas says, eyes downcast. “We could take them to Earth. There are people there who would help us. Thor would help us, I know.”

“Earth it is, then,” Tyr says softly, and when Lucas reaches out to him he comes close and puts his hand at the small of Lucas's back. “It will be good to finally meet with the family that cared for you while you were away.”

“Gosh, I love you,” Lucas mumbles, sighing into Tyr's shirt. “I just love you.”

“I love you as well,” Tyr says very quietly, and Lucas grins and snuggles closer, because it's always a nice thing to hear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Sleipnir,” Lucas sighs in greeting, putting his hands in the thick mane of his 'son.' Sleipnir is quiet and still, and Lucas rubs his side a little. “You ever been to Midgard?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Father?” Lucas says quietly, and the room- full of courtiers and advisers, Arnvidr at Odin's right hand- goes still.

“Yes, Loki?” Odin asks, warm but surprised. “What business have you to bring to this court?”

Tyr's hand is solid at his back, and he takes a deep breath.

“I have come to formally announce, uhm,” he falters, glancing around nervously.

“You have come to announce um?” Odin prompts, eyebrows raised.

“A quest. That I'm going on,” he clarifies, and Odin's eye narrows slightly. “To prepare for when... for the role you've set for me here, in Asgard.”

“What is the nature of this quest, Loki?” Odin asks, and Lucas tries to be brave.

“I am going to travel to different, uh, realms,” he explains, looking around. “In search of knowledge. I'm going to, to meet with... kings and queens and rulers, and see what they do right and what they do wrong, and take that knowledge home and put it to good use when it's time, here. When I'm ready.”

“Surely you need only to observe the workings of your King to know how to rule a kingdom,” Odin suggests, and Lucas swallows dryly.

“With all due respect, Father, you've had thousands of years to know how to rule. Things that come naturally to you aren't going to be obvious to me. I need to learn from rulers who still make mistakes so that I might learn how to avoid making them myself,” Lucas says, his voice breaking slightly.

“This is a wise decision from one so young and inexperienced,” Arnvidr says firmly, looking at Odin. “It does no harm to witness foolish actions if one knows that these actions are foolish, and will provide a reasonable background of experience for the Prince if he ever has to face such decisions without your counsel.”

“And what are the terms of your quest, my son?” Odin asks, leaning forward.

“Well, uh. I will be bringing my familiar, Quoth, and also my ward,” Lucas explains, coughing. “Tyr here says he'll go with us so that, you know, in case anything dangerous happens, he can make sure I stay on track with the quest.”

“A wise inclusion, to ensure that you do not falter,” Odin murmurs, stroking his beard. “And what else?”

“Sleipnir expressed an interest in going with us for part of the journey,” Lucas says cautiously. “And we planned on going to Midgard first, since I'm familiar with the customs and there are literally hundreds of different rulers to observe there.”

“I will allow this quest,” Odin says, and Lucas's heart leaps. “On two conditions.”

“What are the conditions?” Lucas asks, blinking.

“The first condition is that you prove yourself through a trial of my own design,” Odin says seriously.

“Oh, okay, yeah,” Lucas says, blinking. “And... and how long until this trial's set up, then?”

“As luck would have it,” Odin says, smiling darkly, “I have been waiting for the perfect time to judge your worthiness. This seems like one such occasion.”

“Ah,” Lucas says, and he knows Tyr is close by and he still feels like he's standing alone on a cliff. “How... how much time do I need to prepare for this, then?”

“None,” Odin says firmly, and points Gungnir at him. There's a blast of light and power, and then there isn't anything.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas opens his eyes. Nothing hurts, which immediately sets him off, because something always hurts, he has never not been in pain before.

“Where am I?” he asks, and the darkness is empty, but there is a tiny, faint golden light, up and far away. He sighs, because of course there is no response, and after a moment of distress, wondering how he's going to get himself over to the golden light, he realizes that he's literally worrying about nothing.

For the first time in his memory, he takes off at a run, and he barely knows how to stop himself when the golden light is suddenly right in front of him.

It is an apple, on a small plinth at the forking of a road. Lucas looks down, and realizes he's been on the road the whole time.

“You're supposed to choose which path you take,” a young man's voice says, and a guy steps out of the shadows. He's smiling, and familiar, and in the golden light Lucas knows him.

“Baldur?” he says softly, eyes wide. “Am... am I dead?”

“Not yet, but you might die here,” Baldur sighs, and Lucas blinks at that. “Look down each road, Brother.”

Lucas peers down each side. On the left is the old him- Loki, standing tall and proud, with a light smirk on his face. He looks strong and cruel, and is actually beautiful, in a way Lucas knows he could never achieve himself.

On the right is himself- just Lucas, hunched over a cane, thin and weak and struggling for air. Lucas's heart stops- he's pitiful looking, and his face is just a little slack on one side, and his skin's pretty bad, and his hair doesn't really cover his scars at all, and Lucas feels his stomach drop, because he never realized that that's what he looks like, all the time, and god, he had no idea.

“I don't like this game,” Lucas says faintly.

“I don't like it, either,” Baldur says gently. “I came because I thought you could use a friendly face, but I can leave if you want to be alone for this.”

“Don't leave,” Lucas pleads. “I... please don't leave me here with them.”

“They're you, Lucas. They're both you,” Baldur tells him, and Lucas buries his face in his hands. Baldur comes over and pulls Lucas into a tight hug. “I'm sorry, but I have waited centuries to do this.”

“Love you too,” Lucas mumbles, squeezing Baldur a little. “Where am I?”

“We're technically in the astral plane,” Baldur says, patting Lucas's hair back. “I can linger here until you leave, and then I will go, too.”

“Are you going to wake up when this is over?” Lucas asks hopefully, but Baldur's smile is too sad to mean anything good.

“Let's just worry about one thing at a time, Lucas.” He gestures at the two figures beyond. “The rules of Odin's game are fairly simple. You may leave only when you have chosen, for once and for all, which of you is the real you.”

Lucas's mouth quirks up into a smile. “Is this some kind of trick, baby brother?”

“It's our Father, what do you think?” Baldur shoots back, giving Lucas a puzzled smile. “Choosing one means erasing the potential of the other, and means becoming whatever it is Odin has designed in these two selves.”

“I know, but-” Lucas shakes his head. “If Odin ever noticed anything, if he'd ever paid attention to me when I was on Earth, he would have known that I already know the answer to this question. As it is... as it is, this isn't such a huge issue, after all.”

“Confident, Brother,” Baldur notes, perking his head to one side. “You've grown up so well.”

“I dunno about that,” Lucas admits, shrugging. “But I can always keep trying, is all.”

“Indeed,” Baldur says, grinning faintly. “Are you going to make your choice, then?”

“Soon,” Lucas says, hugging his arms to his chest. “Just... I have so many questions.”

“Ask away,” Baldur says, amused.

“Do you know I'm adopted?” Lucas blurts, after a long moment. Baldur considers him for a moment, nodding. Lucas sighs. “Do you know I'm not even... I mean, originally speaking, I was never an Asgardian, I was really an ice giant all along?”

“I have known the truth of your parentage since I was very small still,” Baldur says quietly, and Lucas exhales.

“Did it ever bother you that we weren't ever actually, you know, related?” Lucas asks, and Baldur gives him an odd look.

“What have you been told about your origins, Lucas?”

“My... oh, uh, yeah. I know Odin found me, and that I was really the son of Laufey, who I guess was a king? And I guess my mom was a frost giant also, obviously.” Lucas frowns, struck by a sudden notion. “Do I have a birth mother out there somewhere?”

“No, your birth mother is dead,” Baldur says cautiously, “but your father is alive.”

“I thought I killed him,” Lucas says, after a minute. “They told me I killed him.”

“You killed one of your parents,” Baldur allows, and Lucas just stares at him.

“I killed my... Laufey's my mom?” Lucas asks, and there must be something in his face, because Baldur reaches over and hugs him tightly. “I don't understand. Everyone- but Thor said- I don't-” Lucas gulps, shutting his eyes.

“Why did... why didn't she want me, then? Laufey's my mom, right, so why didn't she want me?”

“I don't know the answers, Lucas,” Baldur says gently, “but I do know that there are people on Jotunheim who might.”

“My father? My bio dad, I guess?” Lucas asks, and again Baldur gives Lucas a strange look.

“Your other half-brothers,” he says, and Lucas sighs and rubs his face with his hand.

“Are they going to hate me for killing our mother?” he asks quietly, and Baldur sighs.

“Lucas, I watched you do the deed. I watched you for centuries before you did, and I've been watching you since.”

“What, the whole time?” Lucas squeaks, and Baldur blushes.

“It will be better for us both if I say no,” he mumbles, and Lucas covers his face with his hands. Baldur gently pulls his hands down. “All you can do is ask for forgiveness, Lucas, but even if they deny you that, it doesn't change the person you are.”

“And who am I?” Lucas asks, and Baldur smiles.

“I thought you said you knew.”

“I was hoping you had a better answer than the one I came up with,” Lucas says wryly, looking at his feet. “Why did I kill my mother, Baldur?”

“Because you needed a way to prove to Odin whose side you were on,” Baldur explains carefully, “and you could think of no better way to apologize for what had happened before.”

“Is our whole family fucked up, or is it just me and Dad?” Lucas asks, and Baldur smooches his cheek.

“Our whole family is fucked up, as you put it,” Baldur says, and Lucas snorts.

“You're pretty cool, actually,” he says, and Baldur beams at him.

“Thank you. I'm hoping that makes me the cool uncle,” he says, and Lucas giggles.

“You're the cool uncle, okay. Ikol's the weird creepy uncle and Thor's the...” he pauses, squinting. “Thor's going to be upset if I don't have a message for him from you.”

“Tell him that I love him and that I approve of his choices?” Baldur asks. Lucas blinks.

“I am just going to tell him the first part,” he says after a minute, and Baldur sighs.

“Very well, Brother. I hate to rush you along, but you are currently unconscious on the floor of the great court and Tyr is looking extremely distressed next to you.”

“Oh gosh, no,” Lucas says, alarmed. “Well- well okay, then. What's with the apple? Never mind, it's probably some kind of stupid distraction, I don't need it. But- okay. Baldur, I love you.”

“I love you too. Take care of Thora and perhaps I'll get a chance to meet her one day,” Baldur says wistfully. Lucas grins, taking a deep breath.

“Alright, Baldur. So Odin wants me to pick the real me out of a lineup, right?”

“Right,” Baldur says, giving him a slightly puzzled smile. Lucas gives him a thumb's up, putting a hand on his chest.

“It's this one,” he says, and there's a brilliant flash of light. Something that's been bugging Lucas finally dislodges in his brain, and he turns and has enough time to ask, “My other half-brothers?”

He sees Baldur smile, before the world comes rushing back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That was so rude,” Lucas wheezes, even before his eyes are open. Odin is staring at him, somewhat perplexed. Tyr's on the floor, cradling Lucas's head in his lap, and Lucas just wishes he could have some private time alone with Tyr instead of extremely public time with both of their dads in the room.

“What happened?” Tyr asks, his voice strained.

“I had to make a choice about who I am,” Lucas tells him, and smiles faintly. “Luckily, I went to the Granny Weatherwax school of self identification. I'm fine, Tyr.” He glances over at Odin, his smile fixed in place. “I passed the test, right? Because I'm still the same person I was. I didn't lose anything.”

“So it would seem,” Odin says, after a moment. “Indeed, you have neither lost nor gained. You are exactly as you were upon entering the challenge.”

Lucas blinks, remembering the vision of himself on the right.

“Yeah, well. Hopefully we all learned a valuable lesson about accepting ourselves for who we are,” Lucas says, his voice tight. “So when do we go on our quest, Father?”

“In a few weeks' time, when the other conditions of your quest have been reviewed,” Odin says, and turns away. Tyr helps Lucas to his feet, and they go together back to the house Tyr and Sif share.

“You were admirably brave and clever,” Tyr tells him later, tucking the two of them into a comfortable place near the fire. Asgard is colder than Earth is in general, it seems, but then winters seem milder here, too. Lucas misses seasons, and he just puts his face on Tyr and sighs, and Tyr calmly waits for Lucas to unburden himself.

“He showed me something I'd never really seen before,” Lucas admits finally, looking up at Tyr. “I mean, I've seen myself, sure, like in mirrors or photos, right, but I'd never actually... seen.”

“He did not show you yourself,” Tyr says patiently, and Lucas sniffs.

“Yes he did. I saw, it was me, the way I am now, and it's-”

“Lucas,” Tyr interrupts, carding his remaining fingers through Lucas's hair. “Did he show you a man who is caring and kind and literate, who's brave enough to stand up for the people he loves even when he's scared to do so?”

“No-o,” Lucas says slowly, turning away and hunching his shoulders to hide the goofy grin that's trying to appear. “Just me.”

“Now you're just being silly,” Tyr sighs. “You know how I feel about silliness.”

“Don't lie, you love silliness,” Lucas teases, peeking over at Tyr. “I love you, babe.”

“And I you,” Tyr announces, wrapping his arms around Lucas and sighing. “I experienced a moment of terror, watching you fall so suddenly to the floor.”

“I can't promise I won't do it again,” Lucas mutters, and he is pleased to feel Tyr's chest rumble against his back. “I promise I won't do it on purpose.”

They're quiet for a moment, and, surprisingly, it's Tyr who breaks the silence.

“If what Odin showed you made your heart falter, then it was a cruel deception. You are beautiful and I adore you,” he says flatly, and Lucas snorts and smooches his shoulder.

“You're just saying that because you adore me,” he says, and Tyr's mouth quirks into a small grin.

“That may be so. Love paints many things in a favorable light. You may be quite hideous to the eyes of another.”

“That's what she said,” Lucas says smugly, and Tyr just blinks at him.

“Inappropriate use of that remark,” he says, and Lucas covers his mouth in a kiss. They don't get too far with that before Sif comes in with Thora and immediately starts making loud coughing noises to get their attention, and then Thora jumps up on them anyway.

“Luka! Lukadaddy story!” she demands, so Lucas gets off of Tyr to accommodate Thora in his lap. Sif sprawls down next to him, and the fire is warm and leaves a rosy light across everything.

Lucas smiles at Thora, and she gives him a puppy smile.

“Okay, pup. Once upon a time there was a naughty blue puppy named Stitch...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He knows it's in his head. He was inside his head earlier, he remembers this place, the way his body felt- not whole, necessarily, but immaterial. Inconsequential, in a way his true body, with its constant aches and phantom pains, never is.

A sudden feeling, of being observed, trickles down his spine, and he whips around to locate the source of it.

“Baldur?” he asks cautiously, and there is no answer, but he thinks he sees eyes- taller than he is, taller than Thor even, and weird glints of flowing metal.

“We were promised victory,” someone says, in a voice deep and grinding. Lucas winces, backing away, even though the eyes are surrounding him. “In return for a favor from He Who Walks With Death.”

“Go away,” Lucas whispers, and there is a strange, chittering laughter all around him. It makes Luke's eyes water, and he just wants to run.

This isn't real, he reminds himself. It's just a dream, he thinks, and ignores that it feels like nothing but the sensation of being in the astral plane, only with no Baldur to protect him.

“We will have our victory,” the voice promises, and Lucas crunches into a little ball, covering his ears with his hands, but he can still hear every word. “It is a fortuitous thing, little wanderer, that you have stepped foot in the realms of the mind where we have our many outposts. If not for your sojourn earlier, we might not have found you so quickly.”

“This isn't real,” Lucas hisses, and the voice laughs, and the other voices laugh with it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas is shaken awake, and he knows this feeling. Tyr is looking down at him, eyes wide, and Ikol is perched nearby on the bedpost.

“It was a bad dream,” Lucas lies, and Tyr looks more than a little disappointed.

“Lucas, you don't have to lie to me,” Tyr pleads quietly, and Lucas shuts his eyes and lets Tyr pull him into a hug.

“I don't know what else to do,” Lucas admits, exhaling with a sob. “I don't know if there's anything to do.”

“Tell us what it was,” Ikol prompts, and Lucas scrubs at his eyes with his hands.

“It was like when I was... earlier. The astral plane thing,” he whispers, wringing his nightshirt in his clumsy hands. “But there were people there, and they felt bad, and they laughed at me and said weird things.”

Tyr's mouth tightens, and he closes his hand around one of Lucas's.

“Tell me every detail,” Ikol says finally. “I may have knowledge of this.”

Chapter Text

Lucas does not like the Bifrost- he doesn't even like looking at it. It makes him dizzy and nauseous, and he's afraid that he'll somehow slip and fall several feet to one side and tumble off the edge into oblivion.

He's had nightmares about doing exactly that, and he's been having them for so long- so much longer than he's been in Asgard- that he knows, deep down, that it's something that's happened before.

Still- after he told Ikol everything that happened in the dream, if that's what it was- his familiar thought long and hard before saying, finally, that Lucas should go to the gatekeeper at the end of the Bifrost, that he was trustworthy and could help Lucas figure out how to stop the unwanted intrusion into his mind.

Lucas told Tyr and Sif to stay home with Thora and Ikol. Lucas doesn't like being alone here- anywhere in Asgard, really, but he needs some time to think, and he has an irrational fear that thinking about those creatures will draw their attention to him, and to Thora if she's nearby.

It takes a very long time for Lucas to get to the end of the Bifrost, and the big man in armor is there. Lucas can tell it's the same man- what he sees of his face is the same, dark and rugged, with bright orange eyes.

Lucas wheezes for a few minutes, leaning heavily on his cane before shuffling a little closer into the room, marveling- now that he's not surrounded on all sides by terror- at the beautiful way this machine was stitched together, like something half alive.

“Hi,” Lucas says finally. “I'm Lucas.”

“I know who you are,” the man says. “I am Heimdall, the gatekeeper.”

“Heimdall,” Lucas says thoughtfully, frowning. “I know who you are. You're the guy who's like Odin, right?”

“That depends entirely on your point of view,” Heimdall says, his voice slow and deep.

“I mean you can see all of everything all the time,” Lucas explains, and Heimdall's chin dips in a nod. Lucas bites his lower lip. “And you're Dad's friend. The one he thought I was going to murder one day at Ragnarok.”

“You seem remarkably calm, for having learned that you are prophesized to bring about the end of all worlds,” Heimdall states, and Lucas squints at him.

“I don't believe in that kind of stuff,” he explains, and at Heimdall's curious expression Lucas gives a little huff. “Well! I don't. I mean, this stuff here, it's all supposedly magic, but it's science fiction magic. It's quantifiable. Give Tony enough time with it and he'll make it, only better and cooler.”

“Your adopted father has built his entire career out of the use of magic,” Heimdall notes, and Lucas frowns.

“Doc's magic is different. It's spiritual and comes from inside,” he says, frowning. “And Doc's magic is organic. He doesn't act like once it's there, it's solid and forever.”

“That is not who I meant,” Heimdall says gently, and Lucas takes a step back. He feels... bad, and he's not sure why.

“You can't tell me the future and expect me to think it's going to happen,” Lucas says quietly. “You know why? Because there's always someone who thinks he knows better. Dad tried to make it happen just enough so he could know where to stop it, right? He wanted to let me get to a certain point before cutting the legs out from under me.”

“So you think he did the right thing?” Heimdall asks, and Lucas blinks, not sure how to answer.

“Do I... I don't know, probably definitely no,” Lucas says, after a minute. “It doesn't seem like anybody really minded much what happened to me, but he really fucked Thor and Baldur over, and if he could do that kind of thing to his own kids just to make sure he could see the story to the end, then I don't think he did the right thing at all. I mean...” Lucas gestures futilely.

“What if he'd just... what if he'd been good to me, instead? What if I'd never known how to be an evil little prick because I was normal? I mean, I don't know, I probably wouldn't have had too many friends anyway, but from the sound of it, I was a warped little kid because I could see how crazily different my life was, and the only explanation I ever got was that I deserved it. If he didn't want me to be that horrible in the first place, why didn't he just let me grow up and be the person I would have been without all his crazy jerkassedness?”

“He did,” Heimdall says, gesturing at Lucas. Lucas gapes at him, not knowing what to say, before taking a deep breath.

“I deserved that, I'm sure,” he says finally, exhaling. “I know you see everything. I know you've seen,” he adds pointedly, looking down. “And I know, I guess, if you didn't think I deserved it, you wouldn't have let it happen.”

“That is an assumption,” Heimdall replies, and Lucas shakes his head.

“Tell me about the time you stood up to him,” he says quietly. “Tell me about the time you said that he was going too far.”

“He is my king,” the guardian says, and Lucas snorts a laugh.

“So was I,” he counters, looking up. “Nobody's told me how you acted when things went weird and I was the king. But nobody has to, right? Because I know that it happened. I know Thor was sent away and I was made king by my mom while Odin was sick, and I know I was doing some terrible things, and that the people who are my friends now weren't back then. I know they came to you for help to stop me, and I know a little bit about what they and Thor saw here when they got back from that thing.”

Heimdall is silent, and Lucas sighs.

“It's okay,” he says quietly. “I know that I started to believe that I deserved it, too, and I've only been here for like less than a whole year and I know better. I know what's inside me better than anyone outside of me can, and I still thought maybe there was just something wrong with me. And I know you've had a thousand years to think that, too.”

“This is not why you came here,” Heimdall says, after a moment.

“No,” Lucas agrees, shuffling his feet. “Ikol told me to talk to you about this problem I've been having. He doesn't know, you see. His last memories were from right before Dad got sick that time. He still believes you're trustworthy.”

“You trust me enough with the secret of his origin,” Heimdall points out, and Lucas shrugs.

“We haven't been careful and you watch everything. It's another assumption, but it's not wrong, either.”

“No,” Heimdall agrees, and they stare one another down for a bit. Lucas blinks first, and he folds his arms a little, leaning back on the curved wall.

“So-” Lucas starts, but Heimdall interrupts.

“There was nothing,” he says, his voice resonating with every bone in Lucas's body. “There was nothing I could say, there was no action I could take. I saw everything. I also saw all possible courses my own actions could take. There was no path, for nothing I could think of would have led to your safety.”

“The future's not written in stone,” Lucas answers, looking outside, towards the bridge. “It's not even written. You could have tried- you should have tried. You're worse than Mom, because at least she could delude herself into thinking it wasn't happening, but you-”

“Yes,” Heimdall says, “and I am sorry.”

“I think I would have appreciated your sorry a lot more back when I needed a friend,” Lucas says, after a moment. “I think it would have felt realer if you'd said it when I was imploding on the throne.”

“I know,” Heimdall says. Lucas rubs his eyes, frustrated.

“Yeah, because I just told you,” he mutters.

“There are very few ways to protect yourself, now that you are mortal,” Heimdall says quietly. “Those with telepathic or magical skills may learn to resist all psychic intrusion. Some mortals without such skills undergo years of training in order to become even slightly resistant to such intrusion.”

“I don't know if I have years before they do bad Cthulhu things to my brain,” Lucas admits.

“I know of one thing that may help you,” Heimdall says, after a brief pause. “There are a handful of items that have been designed to block mental invaders. There is a helmet, crafted on Midgard, that was created solely to protect the wearer from psychic invasions of all kinds.”

“That sounds like it would be hard to sleep in,” Lucas grumbles, and Heimdall's eyes focus somewhere off in the distance.

“I know where it is. When you are sent to Midgard, I can place you close to it's wearer.”

“That sounds like an extraordinarily bad idea,” Lucas says, rubbing his chest a little through his shirt. “I mean, if they made something like that, specifically, then they probably want to keep wearing it, for reasons.”

“Yes,” Heimdall says. “It was made during the war that was the making of Captain America, by a mortal with strange powers. And now another mortal wears it, both as a trophy and as protection.”

“Mortal with strange powers,” Lucas muses. “World War Two. Psychic protection helmet. You're- you're really not doing me any favors, are you?” he asks sourly.

“Why start now?” Heimdall asks grimly, and Lucas can't help laughing a little, morbid as it is.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas is lying in bed with Tyr, unable to sleep, when Tyr's nightmare comes. At first Lucas is a little fascinated- it's never occurred to him what other people must witness when he has one of his own terrible dreams- but fascination quickly gives way to worry. After a few minutes Lucas gently shakes Tyr's shoulder, struck with a sudden terror that the things in his own dreams have found a way to sneak into Tyr's.

Tyr's eyes open and he stares at Lucas, and they are uneasily silent for a few moments more. When he speaks, Tyr's voice trembles a little.

“I am a warrior,” he whispers, and Lucas nods and rubs Tyr's chest a little. “I celebrate war with a passion that has led the people of Midgard to believe me a god of blood and battle.”

“Yeah?” Lucas asks, tucking himself against Tyr's side. “Is that what you were dreaming about?”

“Yes,” Tyr says softly. “But in my dream, you were there, Lucas, and I-” Tyr cuts himself off, burying his face in Lucas's neck.

“Shh, hey, it's okay,” Lucas soothes, gently scrubbing at Tyr's ribs with his short fingernails. “Hey, we're alright, we're both alright.”

“You have escaped the shape of your previous life,” Tyr rumbles, clinging to Lucas with both arms. “And I have not. I am still that man.”

“That's alright,” Lucas repeats, worry gnawing at his heart. “I love that man.”

It is true, and Lucas can feel it when Tyr smiles against him, but Tyr doesn't say anything else, even as Lucas snuggles back against him and pulls Tyr's arm across his midsection.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It is only a week before they will be sent to Midgard, and Ikol and Thora are playing tag in the grassy field behind Volstagg's house. The children are chasing them and each other, and Thora keeps biting the heads off of flowers and slobbering bits of flower and petals onto Lucas and Tyr.

“I'm gonna miss these kids,” Lucas says fondly, leaning against Tyr. “Thora's going to need friends when we get to Earth.”

“Yes, she will,” Tyr agrees.

“I wonder if they'd let her go to school?” Lucas asks, before sighing heavily. “I know they won't. I know there's an X-men girl who's like a werewolf, though, maybe she could come babysit or something.”

“Perhaps,” Tyr suggests faintly, and Lucas looks over at him, fighting the urge to frown.

“You're not acting all that excited,” he says slowly, and Tyr doesn't look him in the face. “Tyr, I... I know Earth isn't exactly the place you want to be, but I... aren't you even a little bit happy to be moving in somewhere we can all be a family? Somewhere relatively safe?”

“Lucas,” Tyr says gently. “I don't think I'm going to Earth with you and Thora and Ikol and Sleipnir.”

Lucas stares at him, until he finally looks over to meet Lucas's gaze. The expression on his face makes Lucas sob, dry and sudden and sharp in his chest.

“You wanted to,” Lucas tries to say, and it comes out soft and strangled. “I don't... I don't get it, Tyr. Are... are you telling me we should just stay? Here, in Asgard?”

“No,” Tyr says, cupping his hand against Lucas's cheek. “I'm saying you will go without me.”

“But,” Lucas feels his face scrunch up and go hot. It wasn't supposed to be like this, at all. “But we love each other.”

“I know, Lucas,” Tyr sighs, and he sounds like he's as close to crying as Lucas is. “And say we do live on Midgard. Fifty years, or sixty, or maybe even seventy years if I am lucky and you are long-lived. And you will wither away and die, Lucas, and I will still be this. I will not change.”

“You're,” Lucas breathes out, pulling back. “You're breaking up with me because I'm not, I'm not immortal and I won't stay young and, and pretty?”

“No,” Tyr starts, but Lucas is already crying.

“I'm not pretty now,” he wails, and Tyr's hand closes weakly around his arm.

“That's not it at all, Lucas,” Tyr pleads. “Please. I don't mean that, and I'm so sorry that I made you think that. I love you. You know this.”

“I know you're making me go alone because you don't want to see me get any more old and gross and decrepit than I already am,” Lucas gasps, running his sleeve over his eyes. “What about Thora? Or are you waiting until I'm dead before you want to come back into her life, huh?”

“Lucas, stop,” Tyr hisses, his hand squeezing slightly. “I am a warrior, of Asgard. I am undying and unaging and I am still the person who killed for fun, who killed so many I bathed in blood. And you are soft and weak and mortal, Lucas, and everything I do, everything I am, is lethal to you. Do you not see? I love you, but that is no protection against the monster I can be, the monstrous life I lead.”

“That is the biggest load of garbage I've ever heard in my life,” Lucas snaps, anger clawing its way up out of his throat. “You've been nothing but kind to me and Thora. Why are you making excuses?”

“I am not the good man you've deluded yourself into believing me, Lucas,” Tyr grits out. “You can only ignore the truth of my history because you've never had a chance to see the part of me that is the killer and the warrior. Shall I show you?”

“Why are you doing this?” Lucas cries, because this doesn't even seem real. Lucas blinks, re-examines that thought, and narrows his eyes a little.

“Why,” he asks again, softly, “are you doing this?”

Tyr's eyes widen, and for a moment the expression on his face is naked fear, and nothing else.

“Tyr,” Lucas says quietly, reaching toward him. “Do you want to continue this conversation elsewhere?”

“No,” Tyr growls, shaking his head. It's gone quiet, and Lucas wonders how much of this is being watched by the kids. “I want you to understand that you had a chance to fix yourself and to live a life as long as mine, and that you chose to leave me alone with the weight of my grief for you. I want you to understand that you had a chance that I never had to fix that which is wrong with you-”

“Tyr, stop,” Lucas hisses, struggling to pull his arm out of Tyr's grip.

“-and instead you chose infirmity, you chose to remain useless!”

Many things happen at once. Tyr finally releases Lucas, and the tip of a sword swings down between them. Volstagg is staring down at Tyr, and Lucas can't really see his face, but Tyr's staring up at him with a closed-off expression, masking any emotion.

“You know the way back to your home from here,” Volstagg says flatly.

Tyr exhales slowly, gets up, and walks away.

Lucas doesn't say anything and doesn't object when Volstagg, after a few minutes of awkward silence, helps Lucas to his feet and helps him back into the house. Inside, Thora jumps excitedly around Lucas's legs, and dives into his lap as soon as he's seated.

“Where Pop?” she asks, licking Lucas's face. “Luka take Thora home?”

Lucas blinks at her, his voice mysteriously absent. He has no idea if he is even welcome in their home anymore. A part of him insists that this is a ridiculous thought, that he and Tyr love each other. The rest of him is numb and hollow. Thora whines a little, and Lucas hugs her close and buries his face in her fur.

Hildy, in a stunning display of Volstagg's great parenting skills, effortlessly scoops Thora up and distracts her with a new game. Lucas just sits there and curls up on Volstagg's couch, staring up at the ceiling. He thinks long and hard about what just happened, and when Thora comes back along with Rolfe, he lets them cuddle up in his lap and after a few minutes of interesting baby babble, they settle down and go to sleep on him.

Lucas looks up when Hildegund sits down on the other end of the couch, and Volstagg reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“You can stay here until your journey home, Lucas,” Hildegund tells him, and he blinks slowly at her. She exchanges a worried look with Volstagg, who squeezes her shoulder a little. “Do you need anything, dear? Would you like one of the other Warriors to come sit with you?”

“I want,” Lucas starts, his throat closing off as the urge to cry comes forward for a moment. He swallows and sits very still before trying again. “I want him to not break up with me.”

“I know,” Volstagg says gently. “I'm sorry.”

“He didn't mean it,” Lucas says quietly, stroking his fingers through Thora's fur and Rolfe's hair. “He didn't mean that stuff he said. He doesn't want to break up with me, he didn't want to say that stuff.”

“Lucas,” Volstagg sighs. “It matters little what he does or doesn't want. He said those things, anyway.”

“But we love each other,” Lucas says in a tiny voice. “Love wins. Love's supposed to win.” Volstagg and Hildegund exchange uneasy looks, and Lucas curls up a little over the children in his lap.

“We're supposed to be Thora's parents now,” he whispers, looking down at her. “He loves her. Even if he didn't love me anymore, he loves her. Why would he leave her?”

“Lucas,” Hildegund sighs, putting a warm hand over his bare foot. “You love each other, and that will never stop. He will love you forever, just as he will love Thora forever. But- despite what you believe about whether he wanted to do it or not- he's made a choice not to be in this relationship with you. And you are already everything you need, and everything Thora needs.”

“You're talking about this like, like it's already over,” Lucas pleads, looking up at them. “But it isn't, right? I can still fix this. Maybe he just needs some time, right? And if I can fix this, if I can get rid of the thing that made him break up with me, he could take me back, right?”

“Lucas,” Volstagg says, folding Lucas's head and shoulders into an awkward hug. “The only person who should work to fix this is the person who caused the hurt in the first place. You just need to take care of yourself and Thora, and everything else will sort itself out.”

“Do you think he's going to try to be with me again?” Lucas asks softly, his voice muffled by Volstagg's beard, and there is no response.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lucas suspects for days, but when Odin looks up at him with a smile Lucas knows.

“I don't know how or when or why,” Lucas says flatly, not looking up from the plate of food in front of him. “But I know you're behind this.”

“This may be the last meal your mother and I share with you in this life, Loki,” Odin replies pleasantly. “Is this the time for foolish, unfounded accusations?”

“It's not foolish,” Lucas says quietly. “You've managed to poison every single one of my other relationships- with my brothers, with my friends back home. Why should I expect this thing with Tyr to be any different?”

“Son, please,” Frigga says quietly, gently placing a hand over Lucas's wrist. “Your father and I were so happy when you chose Tyr. We were glad you had someone to love here on Asgard.”

Lucas bites his lip and says nothing else, and lets Frigga help him eat. It's at the very end of the dinner when Odin stops talking about diplomacy and things to remember when Lucas is speaking to foreign dignitaries, and makes eye contact across the table.

“Sleipnir cannot go with you on this journey,” Odin says. “We are preparing for war, and his duty first and foremost is as my war steed.”

“You ride my son in battle,” Lucas says heavily, and Frigga winces. “That's... you know what, I somehow was expecting you to not let him go with me. Okay. What war? What battle? This is all news to me.”

“The Norns are allying themselves with dark forces,” Odin says, as if that's supposed to mean something. “And they have sent envoys to our enemies, the Fire Giants of Muspelheim.”

“Hmm,” Lucas says. “All your enemies are Giants, do you notice? Maybe they're the ones who are regular size and we're all Tinies.”

“There is a design and a purpose to creation, and Giants are an aberration in that design,” Odin snaps, and Lucas flinches. He relaxes only slightly when he realizes Odin's staying on his side of the table. “And you would have been told if you'd expressed any interest in the safety or wellbeing of Asgard, Loki. All of Asgard's warriors and generals have been made aware, and prepare for war.”

Lucas blinks up at him, tilting his head a little to one side.

“This was a few days ago that you told them all, Dad?” he asks, and Odin gives him a small nod. “And you told Tyr he had to fight in this war you're having?”

“Tyr volunteered,” Odin replies, looking mildly surprised that Lucas would even ask. Lucas thinks about it, and once dinner's over he calls Ikol to him and hobbles to Tyr's house as quickly as he can.

“This is a bad idea,” Ikol frets, nipping at Lucas's ear. “He doesn't want to see us anymore. He doesn't love us anymore.”

“Love is super complicated, Ikol,” Lucas explains, wheezing a bit. “And I'm not leaving for Earth without saying my bit. You don't have to stay but I would like it if you did.”

“I will be nearby, but I do not want to listen to any more of what he has to say,” Ikol grumbles, ruffling his feathers. “He had no right.”

“You're a pretty good bro, you know,” Lucas suggests softly, and Ikol scoffs at him. Lucas doesn't have to wait at Tyr's door- before he even makes it all the way up, Tyr opens it, and Ikol flutters off to perch on a rooftop.

“We need to talk,” Lucas says simply, looking up at Tyr. “Let me in, please.”

Tyr stares at him for a moment, before nodding curtly.

“I have duties to attend to,” he mutters, and Lucas limps in after him.

“I know,” he says. “I know about this war my dad says is coming. Yes or no, Tyr. Are you trying to tell me you're dumping me and abandoning the, the daughter we were raising together, okay, are you doing this just for a... a job? Like, for your career, you'd leave us?”

“It's not that simple,” Tyr hisses, locking the door behind Lucas. “I wish you wouldn't speak in such broad generalities, Lucas. These two things have nothing to do with one another-”

“-stop lying to me,” Lucas insists, grabbing Tyr's shirt with his free hand. “Look, Tyr, please, just... look, I get it, okay?” Tyr's eyes widen, and Lucas inhales once, before releasing all his breath in one rushing sigh.

“I get it. You're a warrior and you're the god of war, and you were a general and you commanded warriors, and I took all that away from you. And now you finally have a chance to have it again, but-”

“Lucas, no,” Tyr says, closing his hand around Lucas's wrist.

“-but you can't do that if you're stuck babysitting some stupid, useless loser,” Lucas finishes, looking down.

“Gods, no. You're not useless and you're not stupid and...” Tyr folds his arms around Lucas, pulling him close. “I was a fool to let such a monstrous statement pass my lips.”

“It's true,” Lucas mutters into Tyr's collar. “Everybody knows it. I just hoped you wouldn't know it for a little while longer.”

“Oh, Lucas,” Tyr sighs, “it isn't that, at all. I wanted you to be angry with me, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Talk,” Lucas commands, too overwhelmed to be able to force himself to form full sentences. “Explain.”

“Let's sit down,” Tyr suggests, seating Lucas down in a chair and crouching down, just below Lucas's eye level.

“I have to fight,” Tyr says miserably, “because I cannot bear the thought of my father dying at the hands of a Fire Giant. I have to fight because I have worked all of my life to protect Sif, and I cannot stomach the thought of letting her go off into that battlefield. She is a warrior, but she isn't a soldier, and soldiers die, Lucas.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking exhausted. “One member of each family is required, Lucas. I'm all we have.”

“I don't have to go to Earth,” Lucas says quietly. “I don't. I can stay. It's no big deal.”

“It's not safe for you here,” Tyr says, looking down. “And even less so with me at war. Do you not understand, Lucas? War here lasts years. Decades. The great war with Jotunheim lasted centuries. And those years you would be alone here, you and Thora, with him.”

Lucas looks into Tyr's eyes at that, and sighs raggedly. “Oh.”

“I thought if I could make you angry with me, you wouldn't cling to the hope of a swift war. I hoped you wouldn't think it was worth it to stay and suffer here,” Tyr admits, and Lucas bites his lower lip. “I have seen a year of your life under his heel, Lucas. I will not consign you to thirty more, knowing that I cannot even be here as a safe haven for you. I want you to be free.”

“Honey,” Lucas exhales, diving forward into Tyr's lap. Tyr kisses like when they're half-asleep in bed; Lucas kisses like he's trying to take pieces of Tyr with him. It's Tyr who gently pushes Lucas away, their foreheads touching.

“I want you to find someone else,” Tyr whispers. “I want you to have a haven. I want someone to protect you, because I no longer can.”

“Tyr,” Lucas whispers. “If the war wasn't going on. If it ended, if it didn't even start. Couldn't... just, you know...”

“I'm terrified of the abuse you'd be willing to endure for our love,” Tyr says gently. “I am haunted by the thought of you staying here, letting him beat the spirit out of you, inch by inch, while you wait for a miracle that is not likely to occur. You have to get out, Lucas. Even if you think yourself not worthy of that effort, what of Thora? She is in as much danger as you are here, and I cannot take her to war with me, Lucas. She needs out as much as you do.”

“I don't want someone else,” Lucas says slowly, letting himself relax against Tyr's chest. “I only want you. I love you.”

“You deserve safety and you deserve to be loved by someone who can stay by your side, and now I can provide neither,” Tyr sighs, and Lucas sighs too. “Lucas, I am sorry. I was a pig and I tried to force you into a course of action without presenting you with the full truth.”

“I forgive you,” Lucas says hollowly, “just please don't make me be without you.”

“You cannot stay and I cannot go,” Tyr says simply, and Lucas has nothing to say to that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It is a cold morning, for Asgard, and Sif is fussing over Lucas's bag.

“You should have more in it,” she keeps saying, and Lucas doesn't know what to say to that.

“I'm sure I can pick up any necessities when I get there,” he tries suggesting, and Fandral claps a hand on his back.

“Don't try to dissuade her when she's convinced she has a mission to fulfill, friend,” he grins, and Lucas grins weakly back at him. “And we haven't given you your goodbye present yet, have we?”

“No-oh,” Lucas gasps, and Hogun nods solemnly at him. “You guys got me a present?”

“Aye,” Volstagg sniffles, pulling out a rumpled sheet of parchment. “And the children made this for you.”

Lucas looks it over, showing it to Ikol when the bird swooped over to land on one shoulder. It is a picture of Lucas and Thora and Ikol and Sleipnir riding large green creature with antlers in the sunshine.

“I like the crocomoose,” Lucas says honestly.

“It's a bilchsteim,” Ikol mutters. “That's very sweet.”

“Here,” Fandral offers, holding out a thick, blobby disk. “You are a librarian, are you not?”

“Yeah,” Lucas smiles faintly, running his fingertips over the smooth surface of the disk. It lights up and the pages of a book appear over it, made of the same faint green light Ikol had been made of. “Ooh, what? How does this work?”

“It stores thousands of books from Asgard in its memory,” Volstagg grins at him. “Nearly everything in the royal libraries.”

“Wowzers,” Lucas breathes out. “That's a lot. So it's basically, like... so it's a Kindle? Super cool!”

“It obeys your spoken commands,” Fandral adds, and Lucas beams up at him. “Try it, young Lucas.”

“I want a children's book about boats,” Lucas says to the disk, and a page lights up in front of him, and he recognizes it from Old Loki's collection. “Neat! Thanks, you guys, this is great!”

Sif comes back, Thora in her arms, and Lucas spends nearly a whole minute rendered inarticulate because Thora's wearing a little dog version of Thor's armor- a knitted blue dog sweater with a short red cape. When he discovers there is a little red hood attached to it, he actually squeals. His friends accompany him as far as they can go, and nobody mentions that there is someone missing. Sif's mother couldn't come, but Lucas is pretty sure there is a lump in his bag shaped like a batch of her cookies.

The good mood fades away by the time the group has made it over to the Bifrost. Odin is waiting with Frigga, next to Heimdall, and Tyr is nowhere in sight. The others hang back a little, and Thora sits on Lucas's foot as Odin comes closer.

“When you said he volunteered,” Lucas says lightly, “you didn't mention it was because the other choices were to make his old dad or his little sister go to war instead.”

“And he chose them over you,” Odin notes, and Lucas isn't sure if he can respond to that. “What does it matter, Loki? When you return you will be made his King.”

“I fail to see how that makes a difference,” Lucas admits, and Odin smiles tightly.

“It doesn't matter if he rejects you, son. As his King, you choose your own consort. He must abide by that.”

Lucas stops and stares up at Odin, really looks, because he thinks he might cry if he has to see more than a glimpse of Frigga's face right now.

“I see,” he says, and for a moment he wonders if this is something he should have seen before.

“I admit, it took me some time to discern the force that would finally drive you to desire your true place as heir, Loki,” Odin says quietly, a hand on Lucas's shoulder. “Ambition no longer worked, and fear only somewhat. But there is one thing that I could always rely on to motivate you.”

“What might that be?” Lucas asks, because really.

“Love,” Odin says, giving him a conspiratory wink. “You go on your quest, son. And you come back a King, so that you might have that which you desire more than anything else.”

“Right. Got it,” Lucas whispers, feeling queasy. “Heimdall? Is it time to get out of here yet?”

“Hold on to each other,” the gatekeeper says to him. Lucas scoops Ikol and Thora into his arms and squeezes his eyes shut, and it's less nauseating to travel by Bifrost this time around.

Lucas opens his eyes and puts Thora down and lets Ikol perch on his shoulder and preen. They are next to a road, and Lucas is pretty sure it's America. It certainly looks familiar, although also not. When he spots a road sign across the street he bites his lip and crosses himself, before tucking Thora into his shirt and crossing the pavement as quickly as he can. He tries not to think too hard about roadkill or Frogger.

When he gets to the sign he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Las Vegas, he reads off the sign. 12 miles.

“Aw, garlic balls,” he mutters.