Notes: In Chapter Five of Brother's Keeper, there's a reference to a song by John Prine , and it comes up again in this chapter. In the interests of anyone who is unfamiliar with it, the song is a"Fish and Whistle." It's worth looking up.
Warnings: In case we need some. But we do not.
Chapter Two
Loki arrived at the train station considerably later than the appointed hour. His workday had ended with rather an emergency in the girls' lavatory- really, if he ever found out what demonic child had thought it a good idea to flush a library book, he might give the punishments of Norse mythology a run for their money. Having pledged to Mrs. Kingston, the headmistress, that he would work no sorcery within the school (what she did not know about the extensive magical wards he had already placed on the building and grounds would hurt no one, except of course ill-disposed supernatural beings)-
At any rate, by the time he and Carol got the toilet unstopped and the flood mopped up, Loki had missed his intended bus and had to wait for the next.
He fairly ran across the platform to the cafe, pulling up outside the door to catch his breath, hoping to look at least slightly less ruffled and ridiculous when he walked in.
There was a sort of stir in the atmosphere, and Annie blinked into sight at Loki's left elbow. Well, she blinked at least into the sight of supernatural creatures.
"Hi," she said cheerfully. "I thought I'd come meet Thor with you."
Loki smiled. "I am sure he will be delighted to see you." He led the way to the cafe door and pushed it open.
The cafe was small and brightly lit, and there was definitely nowhere to hide anything as large as Thor. And yet, as Loki cast his gaze about, there could be no doubt Thor was not there.
"Maybe he missed his train?" Annie suggested to Loki, in an undertone despite the fact none of the humans present could possibly hear her. Loki put his left hand to his ear as mortals did with hands-free mobile phones and argued quietly,
"He would have called me, if he knew he was to be late." He cast an apologetic smile at the waitress who had started forward as though to seat him, then backed away through the cafe door.
Once on the platform again, Loki decided there was no benefit in jumping to conclusions, so he and Annie made a careful circuit of the station, checking waiting rooms and the bookshop in case Thor had mistaken the time or become distracted. Loki also investigated the lavatories, although by that point what Thor would have been doing for all this time really did not bear thinking about.
Thor was not in the waiting room, the bookshop, or the lavatory. Annie passed into a few storage rooms to make sure Thor had not somehow become locked in like a confused pet- both of them knew the idea was ridiculous, but when the sensible options have all been exhausted, it is time to test the ridiculous ones.
At length, the conclusion had to be faced: Thor was nowhere in the station. Loki had elected not to attempt to call Thor until he ascertained that his brother was not in the vicinity, but now there seemed no alternative.
"He would have called, if he missed his train," Loki muttered unhappily.
"Well, perhaps he forgot his phone," Annie pointed out encouragingly. "He probably isn't used to carrying it yet." Thor had not precisely resisted pressure to begin carrying a communication device, so much as refused to acknowledge the existence of the pressure. Recently he had given in and allowed Tony Stark to equip him with a device probably capable of redirecting communication satellites, all his important contact numbers programmed into it, and Thor had made a sincere effort to learn use it. He was capable of sending and receiving calls, and the texting function was known to him- his spelling was unreliable owing to the size of his fingertips, and Tony had turned off the autocorrect function when it became apparent that it only made matters worse, but he could indeed send and reply to messages. Still, Loki conceded, it was very possible Thor had forgotten the device somewhere.
"Very well," Loki decided. "We will call him, and if there is no reply we will call Tony Stark and ask whether there has been a problem."
"Right," Annie nodded. "It's probably nothing to worry about."
Loki reached into a pocket and extracted his own mobile phone, keyed in the shortcut that automatically called Thor's number for him. After a moment, he heard a ring on the other end of the line.
And, from somewhere across the platform, down on the outermost line where trains would pass, there was the sound of music playing:
Father, forgive us for what we must do
You forgive us and we'll forgive you
We'll forgive each other 'til we both turn blue
Then we'll whistle and go fishing in heaven…
Loki and Annie exchanged a look.
"Isn't that- ?" she asked.
"The song Thor told us he intended to use as my ringtone? Yes," Loki replied, already moving toward the sound. Thor's reason for choosing the song was rather a blur to Loki, something to do with an incident early in their last adventure when Loki had still been recovering from the effects of abduction and torture, but when he found and listened to the song he had a sudden powerful feeling of safety and warmth. Apparently, wherever these positive emotions had come from, they were shared by Thor.
Which made it doubly a shame, really, that he now felt such a terrible, cold knot in the pit of his stomach as he walked toward the sound.
He is not down there, he is not down there, someone would have noticed a body on the tracks… Loki could not remember when the next train was due, nor did he know whether it would arrive on that particular line. The raised platform would hide from sight anyone down by the rails, especially if they were lying there hurt or dead because someone had failed to arrive on time to meet them and they had instead fallen victim to muggers or brigands or…
Loki did not notice when he started to run, and he did not break stride when he reached the lip of the platform, but vaulted down to the cinders and rock and iron tracks.
There was no one there. It was by now quite dark, but there still would have been no concealing a body the size of Thor. Loki had not been aware he was holding his breath, but he let it out now in a little sob of relief and lingering panic. Then, once again, he pressed the button that called Thor.
As the song played again, Loki turned his right hand palm-up and called on magical green flames. The green glow cast illumination in the direction from which the music came. Loki took a step forward and finally saw the small heap that turned out to be a duffle bag. The music was coming from inside it.
Well, there was no way Thor could fit into a bag of this size, not even if he was in small pieces. Loki firmly banished the idea, then picked up the bag, threw it onto the platform at Annie's feet, and pulled himself up after it. The two of them carried it around the corner of the nearest building, where Loki set the bag down, knelt beside it, and unzipped the top.
Thor was an experienced traveler, and was therefore skilled at packing to travel light. Loki was familiar with his brother's habits and knew, among other things, Thor was inclined to roll up his garments, so as to avoid unnecessary wrinkling, save space, and render everything easier to find. Loki did the same thing, though for many years he would not have thanked anyone who pointed out who he must have been emulating.
Knowing this, and already anxious, Loki was immediately visited with a jolt of near-panic when he opened the bag and saw crumpled clothing apparently stuffed into the top. He had no memory of Thor ever doing such a thing, even when in a hurry. And considering that he must have packed in New Mexico and then spent an entire day on various conveyances with the bag at his side, there was no reason to think Thor would not at some point have corrected his own untidiness.
The sick anxiety worsened when he realized the crumpled clothing consisted of trousers, shirt, jacket, and underclothing- in other words, a complete outfit, such as Thor might have been wearing during his travels. It was, as Loki knew from television programs about police detectives, inadvisable to rush to conclusions, but it looked to Loki rather dreadfully like something had happened to Thor- had been done to him, perhaps- and then whoever did it had stuffed his clothing into his bag and tossed it down on the line.
The burning question was, Did what?
And also, of course, Where was Thor?
~oOo~
Thor crouched under a bush and peered out, warily checking for any sign of pursuit. After scratching the strange woman, he had run away as fast as he could, narrowly evading death under the wheels of several automobiles. He ran until he was sure he was not being pursued, and then he ran some more, until his lungs ached and his heart was beating so fast that sparks danced in front of his eyes. He had finally stopped, confused and frightened, the fear making him angry, ready to evade any more strangers who might try to take hold of him, and scratch or bite if they succeeded.
And now, hiding under this bush, Thor was aware of a sensation in the pit of his stomach: Lost. It felt like sadness and loneliness, and a little as though he was hungry. He huddled into himself, front paws folded under his chest, and tried to decide what to do.
Deciding what to do was difficult, particularly since his brain now seemed to work mostly in pictures, sounds, smells. It took some time before an image began to form in Thor's mind, showing him what he wanted.
Not what. Who. Thin, with a smiling face high up in the air and a voice like purring. As the picture became clear to him, Thor realized he was purring himself. The lost feeling came back when he realized he had no idea where to find this who, but now that he knew what he needed to do, a little of his courage came back.
He would find his who, and somehow that would make everything all right.
Thor slipped out from under his bush and trotted purposefully along the pavement. Surely if he began looking now, he would find his who soon.
~oOo~
"It doesn't necessarily mean anything's happened to him, though," Mitchell argued, with infuriating- and unconvincing- optimism.
Loki turned a savage pale glare on his beloved friend. "Of course it doesn't," he replied, in a tone of vicious sarcasm he had never before unleashed on anyone in the household. "Thor simply decided he felt warm, and was tired of the clothing he had brought with him on this trip, and so he disrobed anddiscarded his luggage, and is at this moment walking happily around Bristol, viewing the tourist sites, in the dark and in the nude. Now that is an inconspicuous sight to imagine. No wonder it has not yet been reported on the local news."
Mitchell sighed, clearly unoffended by Loki's very real, if badly out-of-practice, effort to wound him. Loki, for his part, was quite aware he would feel shame about that very soon. He was not sure what he was feeling at the moment aside from angry panic. He had of late rather lost the habit of venting his fear and helplessness in malicious words, but it seemed to him that it used to make him feel rather better than this.
"You don't have any proof those are the clothes he was wearing, though," Mitchell insisted.
"On the television, they refer to a thing called the 'preponderance of evidence'," Loki replied sulkily, looking at the floor as, right on schedule, the shame began to make itself felt. "Particularly considering I also found his boots- very well, a pair of familiar-looking boots in an appropriate size- on the tracks near where the bag had fallen."
Mitchell opened his mouth, glanced at Annie as she shook her head, and closed it.
"All right," Annie spoke up instead, "maybe we should look in the bag again and see if there are any… any clues, to what happened to him." At disbelieving looks from Mitchell and George she argued, "What? Do you have any better ideas?"
Loki had not. He had made an attempt to scry for his brother, using as his focus point the reflection of a candle in a bowl of water. Owing to his own agitation, however, he had found it impossible to concentrate enough to enter a suitable trance state, and all he was able to receive were confused and unclear images that might have been the lower parts of rubbish bins or fences- or might have been recumbent Frost Giants, for all he could tell. He finally conceded temporary defeat, not least because the fact he could not seem to feel any sense of Thor anywhere in the vicinity frightened him.
"I have no better ideas," he conceded quietly.
"I know you don't want to snoop in your brother's things," Annie said gently. Loki gestured tiredly.
"It is not as though it would be an unprecedented occurrence," he muttered. Feeling the eyes of all three housemates on him, he shrugged. "Unlike me, Thor knew no spells to protect his privacy when we were children, after he left me behind in the nursery."
"You used to get into his room?" Annie asked mildly.
Loki shrugged again. "Get into his room, play with his toys, sleep on his bed if he was at the sparring grounds and I had slept badly the night before. He was always at the sparring grounds, and I had always slept badly. I always woke in time to get out of his room before he came back, so he never caught me, and no one else ever missed me. I really was the most dreadful little sneak." He sighed. "And then I was old enough to join Thor for training in combat, he and his friends, and after a while it was no longer comforting to slip into his room and sit among his things."
Annie patted his knee and began without comment to remove things from the bag. Rolled up clothing. The copy of Treasure Island that Loki had sent him. The copy of A History of the British Parliament that Loki had sent him, the same copy Loki had initially bought for himself, still bristling with the sticky notes Loki had used to organize his ideas for how parliamentary government could be introduced to Asgard, to the benefit of all. Never let it be said that Loki Odinson was enslaved to such things as common sense and likeliness.
Loki's pad of sticky notes had been yellow. As he flipped through the book, Loki found that a rather large number of pink sticky notes had been added, some of them attached to his own notes, all of them bearing Thor's blocky handwriting: questions he meant to ask or points he wished to have clarified. Ask Loki… ask Loki…
"He's definitely been reading that," George said as he looked over Loki's shoulder. "But I don't think it's a clue, necessarily."
Loki closed the book and abruptly set it down on the coffee table. Not, perhaps, a clue to where Thor was now, at least in a physical sense, or at all helpful in finding him, but…
"What's this?" Mitchell asked, poking at a t-shirt that was not rolled as neatly as its fellows. There seemed to be something concealed within it. Mitchell carefully unrolled the shirt-
And a tiny, horned plastic figure in green and bronze armour fell onto the coffee table. Loki and his friends stared down at the little figure, which stared up at them, its solemn little face reflecting the same grim worry Loki's did. This was hardly surprising, since it was in fact Loki's own face, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.
"That's- " Annie began.
"- you," George said, reaching out gently to stand the little figure up. "He brought you an action figure of you."
"It's really cute," Mitchell commented, momentarily distracted.
"And sweet of him, too," Annie added, and then added, "Loki? Are you all right?"
"This is my fault," Loki blurted, unable to look away from the accusing little face of the action figure.
"Don't be silly," Annie argued uneasily.
Loki did not even look up. "It is," he insisted. "He was coming to see me. If he had not been doing that, if he had stayed in America- "
"Loki, stop," Annie said calmly.
"It is too late to tell me to do that," Loki snapped, although this time it was evident the ugliness of his tone was not directed at Annie. "The time to tell me to stop was before I invited him to come here, and land in whatever disastrous mess he is in now." George and Mitchell exchanged a look, and then George got up without comment and walked into the kitchen.
"Whatever happened to Thor, it's not your fault," Mitchell spoke up. Loki dragged a hand back through his hair, pulling at it in what might have been an effort to focus or simply to punish himself.
"Then whose fault is it?" he demanded.
George came out of the kitchen again, carrying a small pink spray bottle. "Loki."
"Yes?" Loki began, turning toward George. The stream of cool water caught him in the throat and splashed both ways: up his jawline and down the front of his shirt. Loki's head jerked sideways and he let out an indignant huffing sound as he turned on George.
George, completely unintimidated by his friend's expression, said calmly,
"Sorry about that, but it had to be done. It was your brain. You know how your brain gets." He extended the hand not holding the pink spray bottle, and held out a tea towel.
Loki blinked, took in a deep breath, exhaled, then accepted the towel and wiped his face and neck. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I am quite sure I needed that."
"You did," Mitchell assured him.
"It's true," Annie agreed, ruffling his hair affectionately. Loki turned a wobbly smile on his friends and tried again.
"I may have allowed myself to become too agitated- I am not blaming myself for doing so, and do not require another shower," he added hastily, glancing at the water bottle George still held.
"Oh, excuse me," George murmured, and put the bottle on the coffee table next to the little action figure.
Loki smiled faintly. "Very well. I will calm myself, and then try again to scry for my brother, and we shall see what happens. In the interests of clearing my mind, I think I should go for my run." He hesitated, registering the looks on his friends' faces. "I promise not to do anything rash."
"Maybe you should just promise not to do anything at all until you get home and can talk any ideas you get over with us," Annie suggested.
"You do sometimes have… an unusual idea of what constitutes 'rash'," George said. Mitchell smiled ruefully and nodded.
Loki considered, then nodded. "Agreed," he said, and went upstairs to change into his running clothes.
The run- evening and morning- was a ritual Loki had begun some months into his new life here in Bristol. Given that neither he nor his friends could ever be sure where a supernatural threat might come from, he realized it would be wise for him to retain some sort of physical conditioning in addition to keeping his magic sharp. He had briefly considered one of the gyms that offered lessons in arts like "kickboxing," but on second thoughts had realized that if he forgot himself he was likely to draw unwanted attention- and also possibly kill someone. That being the case, it seemed wiser to do something unthreatening, something with no violence involved.
Shortly after his arrival in Bristol, possibly in those hazy first days when he had been so confused and tired that all he could do was sleep on the couch and then follow Annie around like a pet, Loki had noticed a pattern of human activity on their street. Certain humans, always the same humans, walked or ran- often accompanied by dogs, which puzzled Loki since, in Asgard, dogs existed to hunt or guard, not to frisk happily beside a particular person and look at them with adoration- through the neighbourhood at predictable times of day.
He fairly soon figured out that such activity was normal on this realm, its practitioners inconspicuous within the community. Running was good for the body, and if one planned his route carefully, it was also a good way to discreetly patrol the boundaries of the little part of the realm he claimed as his own. Within limits, since it was impossible to actually circumnavigate the United Kingdom every morning before he went to work, but by varying his route slightly in a pattern throughout the week, Loki was able to maintain a fairly constant sense of the normal level of supernatural activity within his part of the city.
Now, having stretched as any watching humans would expect, Loki set off down the pavement with most of his attention attuned to the presence of magic around him. Something had happened to Thor, something that prevented Loki, and also Annie, from being able to use their powers to find him. Unless he was dead- and the abandoned belongings somehow seemed to argue for abduction rather than death- the only explanation Loki could think of was that he was somehow cloaked by powerful sorcery.
If he could not actually find Thor, Loki felt his best chance was to seek out spikes in magical activity, and see where they might lead. Accordingly, as he ran Loki allowed his mind and his magic to wander, not thinking or filtering or expecting, in the hope that something would call itself to his attention.
~oOo~
Thor kept one eye on the dog and maintained a continuous growl as he ate the contents of the animal's dish. The dog, a large black creature with floppy ears, carefully avoided eye contact and remained at a respectful distance as its dinner was consumed.
A very small part of Thor felt rather badly about the situation, but he was hungry- this little form seemed to burn nourishment at an accelerated rate- in addition to being tired and lonely and, if he would admit it, frightened. And being frightened still made him angry. He had resisted the impulse to slay any of the tiny scurrying creatures that lived in the spaces under the houses, or to rob the dishes of any small dogs or cats be encountered, but the hunger demanded sustenance and the anger needed an outlet.
The big dog had seemed a fairer target, but he had retreated with a startled whine when Thor, fur fluffed and spine arched, had come sidling toward him uttering the siren-like moan that was all he could now manage by way of a war cry. The dog's reaction made a very small part of Thor feel ashamed of himself, but necessity still pushed him to eat the dry morsels in the food dish- more appetizing than they looked- before climbing the fence and proceeding down the alley.
His search was not going terribly well. He had no idea where to start, or even where he was. Something suggested that if he went back to the train station he might be able to find a clue, a track of some sort, but he did now know how to find the train station, and after a further close call he was reluctant to approach the streets where cars roamed. He was beginning to fear his search would prove entirely fruitless, the anxiety declaring itself in images of sleep snatched under bushes, an empty belly, and no one whose gentle fingers knew exactly the best places to rub behind his ears.
(A very small part of Thor tried to remind himself that the who he sought was not normally a bestower of ear-rubs, but the rest of him rejected the argument. The object of his search was a focus of safety and comfort and warmth. Obviously, there would also be ear-rubs.)
Disheartened, Thor crept out of the alley, for once remembering to be wary of cars.
And then he… smelled… something.
Even in his current form, Thor knew what he was doing was not precisely smelling, and a very small part of him was surprised at himself for being able to sense anything in the first place. He stopped, sniffing at first and then opening his mouth, curling his lips and tongue to draw even more of the phantom scent into his olfactory glands as he inhaled. In his usual form, Thor had been exposed to this "scent" for most of his life, though he had never been aware of it. His current form, however, was extremely sensitive to magic. And his current form recognized the magical signature at once, as though realizing now that it had always been familiar, a combination of fresh wood smoke, cinnamon, and mint.
He had not yet found the who he sought, but he was very close. The roots of Thor's ears fairly tingled in hopeful anticipation.
If he turned one way, the scent of magic was stronger, the mint drawing him forward. The other direction was fainter, still easy to follow, but older. Thor was a hunter, his current form also, and he realized the temptation to follow the fresher track would be a mistake: he was too small to catch up, and so the wisest course was to follow the track backwards to its starting point- comfort, rest, kind voices, food in dishes- and wait for the source of the magic to return.
Resolutely, and feeling a little braver, Thor began his task of following the track backward.
And then he heard the sound of feet on the pavement behind him.
~oOo~
Loki had found nothing concrete on his run, no definitive signs of unusual magical activity. There were ebbs and flows, but nothing that told him of danger or threat. Even his most careful probing for cloaked magic came to naught. There was nothing to take hold of, nothing to investigate, and as he turned toward home, on the part of his route that backtracked away from the river before looping through his neighbourhood from the other direction, he was both discouraged and frightened.
He was distracted enough, aside from the dark, that he did not even see the furry shape that launched itself at him until he had nearly tripped over it. Loki stumbled, managed not to step on the small orange cat- kitten, really, it was large for a cat but still surely no more than half-grown- and came to a panting stop as the creature assaulted his shins, squeaking and trilling and purring so hard it practically grunted on each inhalation, winding between his feet and rubbing its head against the cuffs of Loki's trousers and the tops of his running shoes.
Loki was not terribly familiar with the habits of cats, although he found them appealing creatures. He did, however, have the impression such an outbreak of affection toward a total stranger was unusual for the species. He looked down at the cat, which looked up at him, eyes squinted in adoration, and once more rubbed its head against him.
Loki bent, reached out a cautious hand, brushed his fingertips against the small, insistent, furry head.
A picture flashed into his mind, a smiling figure in cape and armour. Loki's eyes widened. He withdrew the hand, to a disappointed yowl from the importunate cat. Then he reached down and ran his hand firmly along the creature's head and back. The picture came back, and this time its expression was relieved.
Loki knelt, and the cat immediately tried to scramble into his lap. Scarcely daring to believe it, Loki spoke:
"Brother?"