Notes: This story takes place in the crossover created by coneycatjr in her story a href=" s/7056537/1/Monsters-A-Thor-and-Being-Human-crossover"Monsters/a, in which Loki, after the events of the first Thor movie, falls off the Bifrost and lands in Bristol. I recommend reading "Monsters" for basic background on the universe and character dynamic here, though I've tried to be clear about any references to previous stories. (Really, you should read the original series just because it's awesome.) "Clean" takes place a few months after the holiday story, a href=" s/9103281/1/The-Wool-White-Bell-Tongued-Ball-of-Holidays""The Wool-White, Bell-Tongued Ball of Holidays."/a
The Housemates stories offered my brain an opening to try to solve a problem that's been worrying at it for awhile now: How could things have been different for Mitchell? This story is my attempt to answer that. I'm posting it with coneycatjr's kind permission, and many thanks for her stories and for her enthusiasm for this project!
Loki stretched lazily and looked contentedly around at his housemates. It was Sunday afternoon, a rare one when neither George nor Mitchell had to work, and the four of them were sprawled comfortably about the lounge. Loki lay stretched out on the couch with a book and the kittens, now leggy adolescents, draped across his lap. Annie leaned against him, pleasantly cool against his side, paging through a cooking magazine and making notes with a highlighter pen. George occupied the red chair beside the couch, and Mitchell stretched out on the floor beside the coffee table, propped on an elbow, both of them intently watching a football match on the television as the afternoon light waned. Scamp, the little ghost dog the four of them had rescued from her imprisonment in an abandoned church, dozed in her basket beside the couch, her tail wagging occasionally.
Annie noticed him move and glanced up curiously. Loki smiled. "Nothing," he said, in response to her unasked question. "Just happy."
Annie grinned. "Me, too," she agreed, snuggling against him. There was an eruption of cheering on the television, and both George and Mitchell let out huffs of disgust. "Unbelievable," George muttered. Mitchell huffed again in agreement. Annie and Loki exchanged smiles and both went back to their reading.
Life in the little pink house on the terrace had been blessedly quiet in the months since Annie had confronted Owen and banished him from their lives for good. They had later gotten word through Heimdall that Owen, half-mad, had turned himself in to the police and was now locked away in a high-security mental institution; a fate, Loki thought, rather better than he deserved. In the continued absence of any leader to emerge following Herrick's death, now over a year previous, the Bristol vampires had remained underground. Ownership of the pink house had changed hands quietly, to a young couple happy to have them as tenants, and the boiler was finally fixed by a repairman quite baffled at how it had ever worked in the first place. Loki had smiled innocently, pretending puzzlement, and offered the man a cup of tea while Annie smothered her giggles.
The housemates had had a boisterous Christmas (not to mention Festivus, Yule, Hannukkah, and Kwanzaa) with the Avengers at Tony Stark's mansion in Scotland, followed by a quiet New Year at home (well, three of them; George had spent his with Nina) drinking champagne and watching Casablanca. They rewound the bar scene three times to watch Mitchell-invisible on camera, of course-knock over a chair in the background.
After further consultation with Ms. Kingston and Ms. Hamoudi, the headmistress and deputy headmistress at the school where he worked as a custodian, Loki had decided to begin his Access to Higher Education course the following fall, in preparation for pursuing the credentials that would allow him to become a teacher. In the meantime, Loki had spent the first months of the year reading the works of Shakespeare, having grown tired of being unable to follow the frequent references his friends made to the plays. He was currently reading A Midsummer Night's Dream. He was greatly amused at the activities of mischievous Puck, though he confessed to being a bit bored by the squabbles of the lovers.
Another eruption of shouting on the television drew Loki's attention back to the room. "What?!" George almost squeaked, at the same time as Mitchell cried, "Seriously? Are they not going to call that?"
Loki glanced at the television, watching to see if the referee would display a flag denoting a penalty. When none was forthcoming, he observed, mostly to annoy Mitchell, "It appears they are not."
Mitchell shot him a withering look and Annie giggled into her magazine. Mitchell's expression turned suddenly hopeful, and he asked, "I don't suppose you could hex the ref through the TV?"
Loki spread his hands with an expression of regret. "Alas, enchantment via the television is beyond even my considerable capabilities. Perhaps if I had held onto Excalibur." He paused, then added, "Although, I doubt that would be a use of which the Lady of the Lake would approve, even for Manchester United." George snorted. Loki frowned at the figures on the television and asked blandly, "Or is that not who's playing?"
Annie smacked him with her magazine, and George muttered, "That's not even the right league."
"You're hopeless," Mitchell sighed dramatically.
"Well, if I'm going to be hopeless at something..." Loki murmured, turning back to A Midsummer Night's Dream.
A knock sounded just then at the door, and Mitchell got to his feet. "That'll be the food," he said, collecting the money they had all contributed from the coffee table as he crossed the room.
Loki had dropped his head back against the armrest of the sofa to watch Mitchell with the vague intent of seeing if he would need help with the parcels, and so he didn't notice right away that Scamp had got to her feet in her basket and was watching the door with her ears pricked up.
As Mitchell reached the door, she let out a warning bark, and then a growl. Alarmed, Loki glanced in her direction. Her former occupation as the guardian of a churchyard had left her with certain...abilities, when she sensed danger, and now her shape changed, grew, until she was nearly as large as a pony. Her curly coat transformed into coarse fur, and her eyes went red. Loki's heart dropped.
"Mitchell, don't!" he shouted, but too late: Mitchell paused with his hand the latch, already turning it as he glanced back at them. The door slammed inward, there was a smell of burning flesh, and Mitchell staggered back into the entryway, a wooden stake protruding from his chest.
"Mitchell!" George shot to his feet.
Mitchell's back hit the wall and he slid down it, gasping and choking on blood.
Loki vaulted over the arm of the sofa, sending kittens and books flying. He crossed the room in three long strides to kneel beside him. Dimly, he was aware of his friends moving, the door slamming, panicked voices, but his attention was focused on Mitchell.
A dark stain was spreading rapidly on his chest. Mitchell's mouth worked like he was trying to speak. Instead, he coughed and spat out blood, pain beginning to replace shock on his face. His hands hovered around the stake, as though he wanted to pull it from his chest but couldn't quite bring himself to touch it.
"Shh," Loki said. "It's all right, you're going to be all right." Loki grasped the stake in one hand and braced the other against his friend's chest. "I'm going to take it out, Mitchell. It's going to hurt, I'm sorry," he said, and then pulled.
Mitchell screamed. His cry seemed to go on forever, though it could only have lasted a few seconds before it trailed off into short, painful gasps. Loki tossed the bloodied piece of wood aside and pressed both hands over the wound in Mitchell's chest. Blood pulsed against his palms.
Annie appeared next to him and held out a clean towel. Loki took it and pressed it against the wound. Her eyes were bright with tears, but her voice only wobbled a little as she said, "Hold on, Mitchell, it's going to be all right." She looked at Loki. "You can heal him, can't you?"
Loki nodded and closed his eyes, focused on his breathing. He formed a picture in his mind and, as he did so, gathered his power. Inhale, exhale. Warmth began to gather in his chest. He visualized the wound in Mitchell's chest, the torn flesh and bone and vessels, the damage to his heart, and poured his magic into repairing them.
He was...pushed out.
He snapped back into his body, inhaling sharply. Mitchell's chest heaved under his hands. "What is it?" Annie asked. "What's wrong?"
Loki shook his head, bewildered. "I don't," he began, then shook his head again, to clear it, closed his eyes, and tried again.
Inhale, exhale. He formed the picture in his mind, saw it clearly, and directed his magic toward repairing the damage to Mitchell's body. He was prepared for the resistance this time, met it, and pushed.
And was pushed out, harder this time. The sensation was like trying to hold the wrong ends of two magnets together. He rocked back onto his heels, his eyes flying open.
"I can't," he said to Annie, a note of panic in his voice. He looked around at George, still standing with his back against the door. "I don't understand. His body, it's pushing me out."
"What do we do?" Annie asked, frantic.
George pushed away from the door and fumbled for the phone. He dialed and asked for an ambulance, his voice high and agitated.
"What are you doing?" Loki demanded. "We can't take him to the hospital! He's-"
"He needs blood," George interrupted, hanging up the phone. "They can help him. We'll deal with the rest when-"
"When Mitchell's better," Annie finished, nodding. Loki concentrated on applying pressure to the wound, thinking, half-hysterical, that the practice of donating blood, which George had explained to him, was about to be put to a very different purpose than for which it had been intended.
Mitchell coughed up more blood and moaned. Annie reached up and smoothed the hair from his forehead. "Hold on, Mitchell, help is on the way. All right? We're right here."
He looked from her to Loki, then over to George, who had come to kneel on his other side. "Herrick," he said. His voice was a thin, painful whisper.
The three exchanged a glance. George squeezed Mitchell's hand and said, "No, Mitchell. Herrick is dead. Remember?"
Mitchell shook his head. "It...was...Herrick," he insisted. He closed his eyes "...Alive."
At Loki and Annie's questioning expressions, George gave a small shake of his head, indicating he hadn't seen Mitchell's assailant. Annie said, soothing, "All right. It's all right, he's gone now. Stay with us, okay, Mitchell? Open your eyes."
He did, focusing on them with some effort. "Don't know how, but...back."
Fear made a heavy knot in Loki's stomach at the thought, at what else it might mean. The implications swirled in his mind, the kind of power it would involve... Firmly, he pushed his fears aside, to be dealt with later. "He will not harm you," he told Mitchell. Loki's gaze encompassed George and Annie, as he added, "I will not allow it."
A few moments later a siren and flashing lights announced the arrival of the ambulance. With some relief, the housemates turned Mitchell over to the paramedics. None of them wanted to leave his side, but since only one of them could ride in the ambulance with him, Loki went with Mitchell, as the best equipped both to defend him from any threats and to make sure any medical equipment behaved as though Mitchell were human. George and Annie followed in the car.
They gathered again in the corridor outside the trauma room, watching through the open door as nurses and orderlies moved him from the stretcher to a table. Confused and disoriented, Mitchell tried to resist, half sitting up and pulling the oxygen mask from his face. A nurse took his shoulders and pressed him down, kindly but firmly. "Leave the mask, Mitchell," she said, repositioning it over his nose and mouth. "Lie back." Mitchell's fearful eyes found his friends, standing the doorway. His eyes began to lose focus. He relaxed, allowed himself to be pushed back. A doctor strode into the room, pulling latex gloves on as he did. "I need some blood in here!" he called over his shoulder, followed by a string of other commands Loki couldn't understand, and then an orderly drew a curtain, shielding Mitchell from view.
Annie buried her face in Loki's shoulder. He put his arm around her and squeezed, as much to take comfort as to offer it, then reached past her to rest his hand on George's shoulder. George reached up and patted it, and the three of them shuffled backward until they reached a row of chairs against the opposite wall and sat.
"Now, we wait," said George.
Loki did not know how long they sat in the corridor; it could have been hours, or only minutes. He felt numb, drained. At some point he followed George's directions to the lavatory and washed the blood from his hands, though his clothes were still covered in it. Annie vanished home, briefly, to check on Scamp and the kittens, and returned with the little ghost dog in tow.
"I couldn't leave her," she said. Scamp sat at Annie's feet and leaned against her.
"Of course not," Loki agreed, scratching her ears. They were alone in the corridor for the moment, which was good, because he would have looked very strange indeed, petting an invisible dog. He didn't particularly care. The three of them sat in silence, staring at the curtain that hid Mitchell from them, as if staring hard enough would tell them what they wanted to know, would make Mitchell all right.
"George!"
Loki looked up at the sound of Nina's voice. George stood up as she approached and threw his arms around her. They held each other tightly for a moment, and then Nina drew back, still holding his hands as she looked up at him. "I just got in for my shift and I heard about Mitchell. Is he...?" She glanced behind her, where the curtain still shielded Mitchell from sight. Turning back, she caught sight of Loki and her eyes went wide. "My God," she said. "Is that all his?"
Loki blinked, then looked down at himself, at his shirt. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes," he said quietly.
"Shit." She looked back at George, chafing his hands between hers. "Are you all right?"
George's knees buckled. He dropped back into his chair, clutching Nina's hands tightly and shaking his head. She squatted before him. "George?"
His face crumpled. He bowed his head and pressed their linked hands to his forehead, letting out a sob. Annie reached up and patted his back, looking like she might start crying, as well. "It happened so fast," George said, his voice muffled. "There was so much blood."
Nina closed her eyes, looking pained. "Shit," she said again. Her gaze took in Loki and Annie as well as she said, "Is there anything I can do?"
Loki felt a surge of warmth for her. He knew she did not like Mitchell very much, but her concern was sincere, and it was for all of them. He reached past Annie and also placed a hand on George's back.
"Thank you," he said. "I think that all we can do right now is wait."
Nina nodded. She ducked her head toward George and said his name softly. He looked up at her, hiccupping. She freed her hands from his and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. "I have to go work," she told him. "I'll come check on you again in a little while, all right? You know where to find me if you need me."
George nodded. She kissed him, ruffled his hair, and left, glancing back before she turned the corner at the end of the corridor.
It wasn't long after that they wheeled Mitchell out. George, Annie, and Loki followed in a tight huddle, through a maze of corridors and into a lift, to a quieter, dimly-lit ward in another part of the hospital. Loki barely listened to the doctor telling them he could do no more that night, only waited anxiously for him to go, to leave them alone.
As soon as he had gone, Loki and George stationed themselves on either side of the bed, each holding one of Mitchell's hands. Annie perched at his shoulder, smoothing his hair. Scamp hopped up on the bed and lay down by Mitchell's feet, her large brown eyes watching him anxiously. Mitchell lay motionless. He was bare to the waist, a sheet and a light blanket tucked around his legs. A large square bandage was taped to his chest. His normally pale skin was ashen, his eyes sunken into their sockets. A needle in his arm was delivering dark blood from a bag hanging above his head, and clear fluid from another dripped into his hand.
He's going to be all right, Loki told himself firmly, squeezing Mitchell's cold fingers.
"Of course he will be," Annie said. Loki looked up, not realizing he had spoken aloud. George nodded.
"He'll be fine. He needs blood, is all."
Annie, George, and Loki huddled close to their friend, and watched, and waited.
"This is not good," George said. He was pacing around the little hospital room, scrubbing his hands through his hair and kicking at the walls when he reached them. "This is really, really not good."
Hours had passed since Mitchell had been moved out of A&E, and he still lay motionless, though Loki thought his color looked a little better. As promised, Nina had come to check on them, and told them there was a room set aside for patients' families if any of them wanted to sleep a little, but none of them had.
"I don't understand," Annie said. She vanished from where she was standing by the bed and reappeared in the chair beside Loki's. "Why isn't he getting better? They're pumping him full of blood. Isn't that what he needs?"
George gestured helplessly. "I don't know," he said.
George and Annie both looked at Loki, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands, staring at Mitchell. He felt their gazes on him and shrugged. "I don't know," he agreed, sighing and sitting up. "I think it may have to do with the reason I could not heal him. I do not completely understand it, but I have been thinking, and I am starting to have some ideas."
George gestured impatiently for him to go on, but before he could, there was a rustling sound from the bed, as Mitchell began to stir. They rushed to his side.
Mitchell moved restlessly, moaning a little as he came awake. "Hey," George said, taking his hand. "Hey, hey, hey." Mitchell looked up at him, his eyes unfocused and confused. George smiled down at him. "Hey, mate. You're all right."
Mitchell blinked a few times, and then he startled into wakefulness. He bolted upright, grabbing George's arm. His other hand found Loki's and clutched it painfully. "He's coming," he said, looking from one to the other.
"No, no, it's all right, you're safe now. We got you away, Mitchell, it's fine," George said, his voice the same soft croon as he gently uncurled Mitchell's fingers from around his arm and tried to encourage him to lie back down.
Mitchell shook his head, looking fearfully around at the three of them. "No, he's coming here, he's in the hospital. We have to-I have to..." He trailed off into a moan, sinking back against the pillows. His hand went to the bandage on his chest. "He's here."
"Didn't you put the rhinoceros charm on the hospital?" Annie asked Loki. He nodded. He had renewed the defensive spells on the hospital and on the school only last week. Any ill-intentioned supernatural creature attempting to enter should have been stopped by what was essentially a patronus, in the shape of rhinoceros. (Loki was very fond of rhinoceroses.)
"Then how could he have gotten in?"
Loki shook his head, fear and worry making a tight knot in his chest. "I do not know. I did not feel the spell trigger," he said. He looked down at Mitchell; he was trying to push himself upright once more and reaching for the machines monitoring him.
"Have to...Get me out of here," he said.
"We can't move you!" Annie protested.
"Mitchell." Loki placed a hand on Mitchell's shoulder and pressed him back against the pillows. He was too weak to fight him, but he tried, looking at his friend with terror in his eyes as he struggled to sit up. "Annie is right," Loki said. "We cannot move you. I will handle this. It will be fine." He turned to Annie and George. "Stay with him. I will go investigate."
In the corridor, Loki cast about with his magic until he found a faint trail, and then turned to the left and strode down the hallway.
He reached a junction and paused again, inhaling deeply. The scent of magic was like and unlike the faint whiffg that accompanied most vampires. It had the same undercurrent of carrion, of blood and rotting meat, but it was overlaid with something else, something more elemental: a deeper, older magic that smelled of metal and sulfur.
He turned another corner and came to a halt when he saw a familiar figure at the far end of the corridor.
Herrick was wearing his policeman's uniform. He stopped several meters away from him, spread his hands and smiled at Loki with mock regret. "Your little rhinoceros trick didn't work. I wonder why?"
"I suspect it is because you are dead," Loki replied, with studied boredom. His mouth was dry. "I seem to recall reducing you to dust not very long ago." He examined the nails on his left hand, though he kept a sharp watch on Herrick out of the corners of his eyes. To an observer, he appeared to be standing casually, but his whole body was coiled, ready to fight at the slightest hint of a threat from Herrick. He held his right hand at his side, palm toward the floor, a defensive spell at the ready.
"So you did," Herrick agreed. "And yet I am back."
"Indeed." Loki let his hand fall to his side and fixed Herrick with an expression rather like the one the teachers at his school wore when they were faced with the latest hijinks of the young pranksters, Trevor and Patrick. "I confess I find it rather annoying. I'm going to have to kill you again, now."
Herrick chuckled. "You can certainly try." He took a step forward. Loki gathered his power, began forming it, but Herrick raised his hands, palms out. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his tone amused. "Yet. I'm just here with a warning. Your tricks don't work on me." He dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, a wide smile on his face. "I'll be coming for you." And then, starting at his feet, he began to dissolve into an oily black smoke that roiled in the still air. Herrick's eyes went black and he smiled, showing his fangs, and then his face, too, vanished into the roiling black mass. The cloud hung in the air for another moment before it began to dissipate, leaving behind the overpowering scent, to Loki's magical senses, of sulfur and blood.