Loki's run of journey into mystery is over, my OTP strewn in the ruined ashes of it's once great self.

Or is it? I dont know how this is going to go, I have an outline for the whole story, but I might start writing it and decide it was a bad idea. So if you like it let me know and I shall endever to keep going.
But for now have a chapter and see what you think.

as always I own nothing!

It was hot, to hot. The rage built inside him, and it seared his flesh like a brand of his emotions, hot and clear to see across his face.
There was no noise as his voice filed in his throat, none save for the soft snap of hollow bones, and wet gurgle of Ikols blood as it dribbled hot down his chin.
He had won, but at what price, this was it, this was the end.

And as the blood ran down his throat, it burned and he found it hard to breath. He was drowning, his lungs burned for air that they could not have. Yet the blood lacked all the metallic tang and taste he had come to associate with the thick substance, it was thin and salty.
He closed his eyes, accepting the lie, not sure of what would come next, what it would feel like to simply cease to be. With hot salty liquid still on his face, on his tongue, lungs still burning, he was falling. Though he felt quite sure he was standing still his body dropped. Eyes squeezed shut braced for impact and with a resounding thud he hit.

His body jolted, and he gasped, dragging in a great lung full of air. The world seemed wrong, there was not hard marble under his form as had been with him and Ikol, and the green light from the hellish magic flames, had been replaced with the soft amber of Midgardian street lamps shining in through his window. He desperately tried to shake the sleep from his mind as the information in his head tried to knit itself back together. His cheeks where tear streaked eyes hot and blurry with shed and unshed tears, he sat up pushing his skinny frame up on his elbows. Loki had never had a bed, he had a mat surrounded by books in the dusty attic of an abandoned tower, yet he knew this to his room, his bed. He accepted that these where just the remnants of a dream, yet to make their way out of his head, and soon he would have his wits fully about him.
But they did not leave. The memories of two lives stayed stuck as vivid and violent as though real and lived through, both fighting in his head for dominance. Loki passed a glance at the night stand, the red flashing display reading 3:47 as it blinked at him in the darkness. He slumped down on his pillow cold damp patch from his tears rested against his face, as he stared blankly into the darkness. Willing himself to go back to sleep, finish the dream, when you wake it will be out of your system.
Though the sleep did not come easily, tossing and turning, convinced that he was not use to such comfort as a bed, though he knew that to be false. He slept in this bed every night for the past seven years, since Hela, he shook his head Helen adopted him. He would allow himself no excuse for this as he tossed and turned further, desperately trying to find comfort upon the bed.
The light through the window was blinding as he woke facing it. He was unsure of when he had finally gotten back to sleep, but as he shook himself back to wakefulness he knew one thing it had been dreamless. Blanc and black and brief, and as he lay there with his forearm covering his eyes from the bright morning sun he could still remember all of his two lives.

He lay like that for some time, bathed in the sun that filtered in through his window, all this thinking, it was making him sick. He tried to sift through his newly acquired memories, trying to find flaw with them, despite the obvious that mythical god's don't exist. He had little luck despite the glaringly obvious already mentioned flaw, the continuity of the dream could not be faulted. He through his arm off from his face and sat up, there was little he could do for it, as strange as the situation seamed he could only wait for it to correct itself. There was nothing he could personally do and, well let's just say the odds were against him enough, adopted, scrawny, a loner, spends more time in his fantasy world than real life, known to others as trouble and confirmed by himself to be bad news. Going around telling people he had the memories of a Norse god stuck in his head, well that was not going to do him any favours.

It felt like hours that he lay there thinking, but he knew it wasn't. Helen would not let him "waste the day in bed" so the knowledge that she hadn't called on him, or sent Leigh to retrieve him, was enough to tell it was not as long as it felt. Relenting to his own helplessness in the situation definitely did seemed like the best option, although it would turn out to be far from the easiest. Lethargically he dressed, shuffling round his room looking for the matching green sock before giving up and settling with the odd black one, tatty denims and a green t shirt that only looked one size bigger than him and he was more or less ready for the day. He marched down the stairs into the kitchen, Leigh and Helen where already up and bright, Helen sat at the table with the daily newspaper spread before her, single hand holding a steaming cup of coffee just abreast of her lips. Leigh sat opposite her black t shirt and blue denims fitting her better than any of the cloths in Luke's closet, although that was mostly through choice, as she eyed her cereal. The attention of both drifted to him as he entered the kitchen, and as he made to the counter to fix himself some serial, he felt the makings of a haircut related conversation coming. But as he poured the milk and turned back around he saw a note of concern in the otherwise stern and dutiful eyes of Helen, and a guarded concern in the eyes of Leigh. However when his attention slid to Leigh, her eyes fell back to her breakfast the air of disinterest falling over her side of the table.
"You look terrible." It was neither a question not an insult, merely a statement that came from Helen as she folded closed her newspaper and looked across the table at him, drinking her coffee.
"Doesn't he always." Leigh sneered across her cereal at him but it held none of the fervour that her usual morning teasing had. Surely he could not look bad enough to get sympathy from Leigh. At this he cast a glance to her, but as his eyes met with hers the oddest sensation came over him. His stomach lurched and his head spun like the after effect of being caught in a rip tide. They were meshing together again. And the speed at which his mind swapped Leigh for Leah could give him whip lash.
He quickly tore his eyes away, in a desperate bid to stop the feeling and clear the two in his head.

This was Leigh, annoying snotty goody two shoes Leigh. She makes fun of you for playing kids games, and hides your books and socks. Leah is made up, from some two real dream, with a short temper, and long hair, like silk, and she likes milkshakes, mint choc chip ones, and her eyes . . . come on keep it together!

The emotions steadied as he focused staring down at his cereal, like it held all the answers in the world, dragging his spoon aimlessly through it. Only when he was fully confident that his mind was back in the game did he venture to look back up at the two of them. Instantly he wished he hadn't. The questionable looks from both where marred with concern, and the last thing he wanted right now was the inquisition.
"I didn't sleep to well, I feel kinda sick." He put his eyes back down to his breakfast and took a tentative spoon full, clinging to the hope that his answer had been enough to satisfy them. That his lack in eye contact hinted at how little he wanted to carry on this line of conversation.
"Yea you don't look so good." Helen put down her coffee and strode to his side, he glanced from under his sweat matted bangs to meet her vision. As she put a hand to his forehead.
"Well you don't seem to be running a fever, but you certainly don't look well." she sighed "I was going to take you and Leigh to the mall today, to pick up some new cloths for school starting back. But from the looks of it you would do better to stay in bed today." Well there was always a silver lining, for the reason his cloths fitted him so ill was that he despised no place like he despised the mall. He would sooner face Surtur's forces a second time than be forced to . . . . and he was doing it again want he.
"I think that that would be the best idea" He put his head down and continued swilling his cereal that was all but turning to mush now in the milk.
"Ok then go back to bed and try and sleep it off," She looked over at Leigh "Come on lets go before the car park gets too full." He never turned around but he heard the push of Leigh's chair, the rustle of Helens handbag, and the jingle of her SUV's keys as they made their way to the door.
All he could do was look at the milk and mushy cereal he truly did not feel like eating.