Alright, this marks the end of the Janie POV for a very, very long while. Which is good, because he's not exactly the most stable student in the yoga class.
I still own nothing you recognize, because if I did the movies wouldn't be half as fabulous as they ended up being.
Janie had a theory. The universe was out to get him.
It was the only reason he could think of that explained the utter disaster that was his life. How on Earth could he have been right there when MPM crashed in the alley way? And the homicidal nature of his guest was just icing on the cake. He couldn't even go out for a stroll (Ok, for a fleeing to the next county) to clear his head because of the mother of all blizzards that was currently going on. The power had left, and had taken such comforts as light and, more importantly, heat, away, leaving him to make a nest of blankets in the mouth of the kitchen so he could be warm and check on MPM at the same time without being within arm's reach. That man had a ridiculously long range, and had actually almost lunged off the couch to get at him the last time Janie woke him up.
He was also more concussed than his brother had been when he had taken a header down the Grand Canyon. That had been fun.
Every time he woke up, he went for Janie, no matter where he was poking/throwing from (he probably had control issues, according to Janie's admittedly spotty psychology knowledge), and demanded to know where he was. Always. Janie would dutifully answer him, because that is what you were supposed to do with people with concussions, and had offered him an ice pack last time his consciousness had surfaced (Because he had just noticed the huge bump on MPM's head, wasn't he just an awesome doctor), which he was sure would be used as a projectile the next time MPM woke up.
It was a safe bet MPM was just concussed, not bleeding internally, so Janie decided to just let him sleep until he woke up naturally. It was safer to his person that way.
Unfortunately, that left him with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs.
Janie was seriously considering just poking his guest again for something to do, which was probably not a good idea, but he was bored.
So.
Bored.
TV was out, his stupid brother had "misplaced" all of his books when he had helped him move from his previous apartment, all of his games required at least two people, and he hadn't paid for cell phone service since the Christmas before when Kiki got him a gift subscription. He hadn't really seen the appeal of having a little block of plastic that could tell anyone his location, but now we was starting to see their usefulness. A bit late for that though. The point was there was nothing to do in his whole apartment except to harass the probably deadly personage sacked out on his couch.
Determined to keep living, he wrapped his second-fluffiest quilt around his shoulders (Vines, not flowers) and went off to dig through his room for some sort of sanity saving entertainment.
He found socks (which were put on, his feet were cold), a safari hat (a gift from a family friend), an Ushanka (which was also put on, it made his ears happy), a flashlight (yay!), and a battery radio.
The radio was thankfully alive, and was brought back to his little nest in the kitchen along with the flashlight. Sadly, no music was playing on any stations; it was all just blizzard warnings and reported sightings of giant…blue…
He tossed a look at MPM. He wasn't too giant, it was all good. Yep.
Tuning back into the radio, he learned apparently the entirety of the Eastern Seaboard was immersed in what was rightfully being called the snowstorm of the century, it had come from the Western Seaboard, and its cause was currently unknown, but being seriously looked into by government officials. Splendid. Because the government was so trustworthy about out-of-the-ordinary events.
Sarcasm most definitely intended.
He entertained himself for a good three hours by mocking and mimicking the various reporters, and making one-sided bets with MPM about what the various statements would be. He thought he was actually pretty accurate.
"I bet he's going to make some sort of snow pun, like 'they're getting a frosty reception.'" He glanced at MPM, "How about you?"
That quickly degraded into an argument with Janie manning both sides and making excellent points, but eventually conceding to himself on MPM's side. He had a different voice for MPM and everything.
It was about at that point he realized he hadn't really slept since the day before, and that was only really a catnap. He was almost as exhausted as he was ravenous earlier, which was impressive, because usually he couldn't get his brain to shut up long enough to even think about yawning.
He also started to trip over the trashcan lids whenever he got up to check on MPM and almost brained himself on the counter when he had actually slipped. So sleep sounded awesome. After he moved the lids to somewhere less life threatening.
He ended up just chucking them out into the street through the window. Once again, it was a night for bad decisions.
Now he was really cold, covered with snow, and hungry. And his wrist was starting to really, really hurt, which was just fantastic. He was all out of painkillers too, except for the really high-grade medical stuff he technically shouldn't have, so pain relief was out. It was just time to call it a night.
Gathering up his blankets, he plodded through the kitchen, into the bedroom, and collapsed on his bed. It made a worrying noise, but he was comfy and did not care. Janie started to drift off, and had almost reached the Land of Nod, when his conscious piped up.
We should check on MPM, just to make sure he'll be ok for the next couple of hours.
Dratted thing.
What he had was a conundrum. If he stood up, he would never get comfortable again, and he liked being comfortable. On the other hand, his guilt could keep him up all night if he didn't make sure MPM wasn't going to die while he was napping. He tugged on the earflaps of his hat in thought. Hmmm…
Gah.
Who was he kidding?
Why did he have to be such a caring, wonderful person?
He hauled himself up from his nice, warm, comfortable bed to go check on the possibly dangerous, definitely not friendly man on his couch that had assaulted him. Repeatedly. And possibly caused him permanent damage. That wasn't crazy at all.
Maybe his psychologist was onto something.
The man did have a Ph.D., and they were only generally given to people who earned them through such things as studying and experience. He should probably buy him flowers or something to apologize for his behavior.
Still trying to devise a way to say sorry about the last ten years without actually meaning it, he meandered into the kitchen, fiddling with the gauze on his wrist. He should probably look at it before he went to sleep, but that would require energy. He had no more energy to do anything with, so tough luck wrist.
He looked up from messing with his injury just in time to see MPM leap off his couch at him.
Like a panther.
Loki was not in a good mood. His head was throbbing and he was exhausted but otherwise unharmed, which was the only really positive thing that could be said about his situation. The real problem was the worrisome lapse in his memory.
The last thing he could recall was Thor heaving him off of the Bifröst and into the vast expanse of endless space around it. Which lead to his next, much larger issue: he had no idea where he was.
It was frustrating, to say the least. He was used to knowing such simple things, and maybe this was how his bro- Thor felt all the time.
He had awoken on a highly uncomfortable surface in the dark, which gave him no hint of his whereabouts, and had spent his last moments of semi-consciousness contemplating it. It was too small, and his neck ached from the awkward angle he had been propped at. The material was rough and made him itch. Whatever it was was probably the ugliest one of its lot, and was his first indication that he was not, in fact, on Asgard anymore.
He sat up, which sent something skittering to the floor and revealed he had been covered with a blanket at some point. It had a simple brown diamond pattern and was quite warm, which only served to put him on higher alert. People were only thoughtful if they wanted something.
Something was on his arm. After a quick examination, he decided it was a crude sort of brace.
Was I injured?
He certainly wasn't anymore, so he vanished the contraption with a wave of his hand. It took much more effort than he was comfortable with, but at least his magic was still doing what he wanted.
It was then he heard something come shuffling down a hallway directly behind him. Not one to be caught unawares, Loki turned and readied himself for whatever or whoever may appear.
As soon as the unidentified person rounded the doorway, he made his move. He decided to incapacitate the mystery person and promptly launched himself towards it, intent on getting some answers.
The man, because apparently it was a him, looked up from examining something on his wrist at the last moment and tried to duck out of the way with a yelp. He managed to dodge the first strike, tripping backwards out of Loki's reach, and caught himself on the counter. The ridiculous ear-hat on his head was shunted off in the process, and an absurd mop of hair sprang free.
"Shh! You'll wake the neighbors," hissed the man.
The what? Loki scowled at him. Was he being mocked?
The possible mocker grinned at the glare directed at him, danced away from Loki's second lunge, and promptly backed himself into a wall of cupboards. The third attempt at evasion was not quite as successful as the first two, and after a small scuffle, he found himself wrenched off of the ground and slammed against the wall. He stopped grinning, and Loki felt a thrill of vindication at wiping the smug look from this Midgardian's face.
The Midgardian delicately tried to peel Loki's fingers off of his shirt, which he promptly stopped when Loki gave him a shake in warning. Finding escape to be impossible, he settled, relaxed, and assumed an expression of irritation Loki would have found amusing if he had cared.
Instead, he demanded, "Where am I?"
"How are you so fast?" His captive looked utterly perplexed, "You were literally concussed to kingdom come last time I checked. Super-healing, right?"
"Where. Am. I?"
Perhaps sensing Loki was reaching the end of his rope, the man answered, "New York," and then, "Just like the last ten times you asked. This isn't some magical TARDIS-esque apartment, you know."
"New York…" Loki paused in thought, It sounds familiar, "I am on Midgard?" This was a disturbing turn of events. The Midgardians, like most others, wouldn't be too happy to see him. Especially regarding the Destroyer incident.
"Hopefully. Unless we accidentally launched ourselves off the planet's surface or something. It's happened. Could you let go? You're kind of crushing my trachea, which leads to my bronchi, then to m-."
"Why am I here?" He needed to know how he had ended up in this dwelling. It couldn't really be called a home.
"Air is important. I could answer better if you let go." He shot Loki a disgustingly cheerful smile. Loki felt and barely repressed the need to crush it right off his face.
"That will not happen until you answer my questions to my satisfaction."
"Really? That's what you're going with?" They sat there and glared at each other until the man acquiesced, "Fine. I brought you here."
"Why?" What did this Midgardian think he could gain from helping him?
"Because it was blizzarding, and I'm a nice guy." He glanced at Loki, who wasn't impressed with his explanation, and mildly added, "I was just walking home from one of my jobs when I saw you in an alley way. You made a pretty impressive crater."
They stood in silence for a moment, Loki contemplating motives, and Midgardian contemplating him. Suddenly coming to a decision, the Midgardian announced, "I'm Janie by the way, just in case you care."
Loki really didn't care, but he had gotten the information he wanted so he supposed he could release this 'Janie' and deal with him later.
He smoothly dropped the Midgardian, brushed himself off, and went to properly examine his surroundings. The Midgardian was hardly a threat. As he approached a window next to a rundown-looking table, he noted Janie had not been exaggerating with his assertion that it had been 'blizzarding'. It was beginning to look like Jotunheim…
How had the aftermath of his plan had played out? Maybe the war had been renewed. That would probably make Thor happy at least. Maybe they had already forgotten him.
A supremely put-upon voice cut through his thoughts, "Are you hungry?"
"What?"
"Are. You. Hungry. Very simple. Super-healing tends to make people peckish in my experience, either that or very grumpy. You've already got that part covered, though. An' I'm going to sleep for like a month, so I figured I should check before I go slip into a coma." He shrugged sleepily at Loki, "So are you hungry?"
Loki sneered at the impudence in his tone, did he not know who he was talking to? Why he should…he shoved down his murderous urges to actually contemplate the question. "Why?"
Janie blinked in surprise, then put a finger to his chin in thought, "Well, I'm morally obligated to feed the people that I bring into my house…apartment…thing." He bounced on his toes nervously, "Dad was a stickler for hospitality. So, food?"
"No." Well, yes, but he wasn't going to stoop to asking a Midgardian for food. He wasn't that desperate.
Janie took the rejection with good humor, "Alright, but if you do, there's some ramen around here somewhere with your name on it. It might be in the fridge," he pointed at a small silver box, "or somewhere on the counter." He gestured expansively at the speckled surface and grinned, "Have fun with your superiority complex. G'night."
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked down the length of the kitchen towards his sleeping chambers. Loki was fairly certain he had just been insulted, but was also starting to feel the effects of expending magic to heal himself, as well as his little trip through the universe. He could kill the Midgardian for impertinence later.
Healing was a process that tended to take up absurd amounts of energy if it wasn't properly monitored, and as he had been unconscious the whole time, there was no monitoring and thus there was too much energy expenditure. Energy that he felt he rather needed to reacquire. Grudgingly, he began to search for the 'ramen', and scoured the counters and the 'fridge'. He had actually gotten a bit sidetracked by the thing.
It was colder on the inside than the outside, which was impressive because it was very chilly, and he could not quite understand why. He believed it had something to do with the cord that attached it to the wall, but before he could discover how, Janie skidded back into the kitchen.
His hands were shoved firmly into his pockets and he was searching for something on the floor with the air of a man on a mission. Loki watched him putter around for a while, his irritation slowly growing, before finally snapping "What?"
Janie looked up, apparently having forgotten Loki was there at all, and blinked owlishly at him.
Stupid Midgardians.
"I'm looking for my hat. Have you seen it?" He drew some vague rectangles in the air, "It's about this big, very furry, and a gift from a friend of mine. I kind of need it."
He then proceeded to carefully search the area around Loki, staying a good arm's length away at all times, and suddenly lit up with an 'ah!'
"'Scuse me." He shimmied past Loki, stooped down, and nabbed what was presumably his hat. Janie glanced at Loki and offered a completely unwanted explanation, "I hate it when my ears get cold."
Hat now firmly on, he cocked his head at Loki and asked, "Are you planning on sleeping at all?"
"Of course." The fool didn't think he was that gullible, did he? He wasn't going to leave himself that vulnerable, and he didn't think he was up to setting up some of his more nasty wards. Sleep would have to wait until he could properly protect himself. He didn't think the Midgardian could do anything to him, but he would rather be wrong and alive than wrong and dead.
Janie looked dubious, "Alright. In case you get a case of late night munchies, the forks are here," He opened a drawer next to the table, "and the ramen needs heating before you eat it. I don't care how you do it unless it ends with the kitchen in flames."
He began to stroll back to his room, and then turned back around, "Actually, feel free to do that if you can do it quietly. I don't care as long as I don't wake up."
And with that, he strode back to his room, utterly done with dealing with Loki for the night.
Loki eventually found the 'ramen' on the table and heated it with a whiff of magic. It was a mere parlor trick, but it took much more strain than he was comfortable with. He seriously considered loudly burning down the kitchen just to be contrary, but restrained himself because that would leave him out in the snow, and he wasn't sure how his form would interact with so much exposure to the cold.
He didn't want to risk turning.
The ramen was surprisingly good for Midgardian fare, and quite filling, not that he would tell the Midgardian. It helped him to clear his head and, feeling refreshed; he started planning his next move to pass the night away.