This is my first attempt at a crossover fanfiction - please go easy - this upload is the prologue and first chapter - please leave reviews I'm begging.

PROLOGUE

Loki's grip was slipping, he held fast to his brother - no. Not his brother. Thor's hand holding him was firm but Loki's grip wasn't nearly as fast as the God of Thunder's.

"I did it Father!" Loki shouted past Thor to Odin, recently woken, grasping Thor's foot with his renewed strength from the Odinsleep. "I did it for you! For all of us." Odin looked on in woe at his deranged son, the frost-giant he adopted, born to be a king, but never of Asgard.

"No loki."

Loki's face changed - hopeful to please, to betrayed and resentful.

Thor's cry was nothing compared to the pain, fear and regret he faced in the fall:

Two women...Their selfless choices...their unfortunate landings...shortly followed by his.

"Damnit Anders!"

"The crucible is armed."

Chapter One

"Get back little one - you're no match for me."

"Aha! But I am the God of Mischief and magic and ma-adnes! Way cooler than you!" Two little boys were quickly shushed by their mother and made to sit and stop being so insensitive. Quite frankly Robert and his little brother Ned didn't understand at all - Thor and Loki and superheroes were real! Why was no-one else as excited as they were? After receiving a final glare from their mother they quickly stopped complaining and waited silently for their doctor's appointment. Their mother felt tempted to get up and ask the lady behind the desk to turn off the television showing those - those things in New Mexico on the news. Flying men and spear-wielding ladies - she didn't know what to make of it but she wouldn't have her sons getting any crazy ideas.

A crash rang in her ears as another problem limped in the door - A woman with blood matting her hair, trickling out of her ears and a big - stick thingy on her back - it almost looked like a demon's pitchfork. The mother held her sons behind her.

"I was told healing can be found here. I need it. Now."

Hawke was tired, hungry, fed up and bleeding from too many places to care where the hell she was.

"Lady this is a private office - you want your healing you gotta go to a hospital - we ain't got no time for your freaky-dressed problems." Linda the secretary was a fierce guard-dog of appointments - this lady did not have one so she could go right ahead and scram.

Hawke nodded in acceptance. She didn't see the necessity of appointments - one was sick and thus went to a healer why make it complicated? Although - the lady with 'Linda' tagged onto her shirt didn't seem like a chatter so she got to the point.

"Okay, Hospital - where, how far from here, is there a faster way, does it cost anything." She wasted little time asking questions and stated her inquiries.

Linda noted Hawke's mood and responded in kind.

"73rd on ninth street - eight blocks in the direction of the waterfront, ambulance - you don't look like you're insured so I suggest you suck it up and walk sweetheart."

"Well - Linda, when your chantry blows up - what was it? Oh yes - suck it up, sweetheart." Hawke limped out of the office wearing her worst scowl. This place was not where she wanted to be.

"So you're saying that you're actually dead right now and just waiting for this - Garrus guy? I ain't seen him 'round here before but you look like you've had enough." The bartender was sick of listening to the lady who kept ordering the hardest liquor he had and not being nearly affected enough by it - he couldn't tell if she was already drunk when she came in or some kind of extraordinary 'ordinary drunk', if there even was such a thing.

"That's what I've been saying the whole time and my pride prevents me from admitting that death beat me before it beat Garrus." Shepard downed the eighth shot she'd had in the space of half an hour. The death-bar was full of weaklings if this was the best stuff they had - heck, even Joker would laugh at their attempts.

Joker.

A nagging feeling in the back of her mind was telling her she wasn't actually dead yet. Yes on the way to being dead, but not quite there. Those feelings having something to do with the fact that she was still in her blood-soaked, scratched up armour, and her body hurt like hell. If there was one thing she knew that good place in the afterlife, is that there shouldn't be pain, and hell couldn't they clean her up before setting her loose into the raving-booze filled afterlife? The actual-life version of afterlife was ten times better than this.

"You look disappointed in the liquor-quality, how'bout we scope out for a place that can actually let me drink away my problems." Shepard received a scowl from the bartender as she addressed the silent pale guy in leather, he'd been there longer than she had judging by the tower of shot glasses and the all-too-disappointingly-sober look on his face.

Loki looked up from his study of the graining of wood in the bar - the woman who had addressed him looked to be frustrated and in need of good drinking company. What did he have to lose?

"Aye, lets." He stood and winced - Shepard did the same.

"Ya know, I don't think I'm actually dead. Shit."

Loki smiled. "Damn."