Author's notes: And now the ball finally begins to roll! Dramaaaaaa

Sorry for the great delay in updates, so here, have a super long chapter! :D Also, my apologies for any delays in responding to reviews! I read and appreciate every one, it's just that things have been a little hectic lately, and I haven't yet had the opportunity to give these reviews the replies they deserve (Batman, what are you doing here?).

Warnings: Violence, and lots of gore. Character death.

For I have returned. To have. My. Vengeance.

-Star Trek: Into Darkness (dun dun DUN!)

There had once been days when Loki was far too absorbed in his own issues to notice those of anyone around him. Those days weren't so very long ago, but a person can change a great deal in a short time. Even while Loki mulled over what Granny Lucas had said, trying not to get destructively angry, his eye was caught by Balder.

The young Æsir hadn't seen Loki yet. He was staring into the foaming mug of stout that had been set in front of him upon the table, a frown tightening his features. It was during moments like these when it seemed that Balder was the eldest Odinson, not the youngest. Loki pushed aside the thoughts of his conversation with Lucas, deciding to sort those out another time. He took the last steps required to reach the booth, dodging several dwarves as he did so.

"Something troubles you," the librarian stated as he sat down at the booth for the third time that evening. Balder glanced up at him before turning his eyes back to the nearly-black stout occupying his stein. Loki's nose wrinkled a little as the sharp smell poked its way up his nostrils.

"Ever the sensitive one, Loki," Balder noted. It didn't hold the derision that Loki had known such remarks to have. Balder curled his fingers around the handle of his mug, seeming to consider taking a swig. "I'm not troubled, exactly, just… restless. Staying in one place has never been for me."

"Does Julia agree with you?" Loki asked. He noticed that his glass of red wine had arrived while he had been with Lucas in her office. It was chilled. Loki frowned.

Balder stopped almost mid-swallow, setting his mug back down. The stout sloshed within the constraints of the stein, not a drop spilling over the edge. "She talked to you, didn't she," Balder said. He sounded bitter.

Loki was surprised. Until a few minutes ago, he had thought that all was well with Balder and his wife. Now came the part where he had to tread very, very carefully. "Nay, she hasn't spoken with me," he told Balder. "Would it be too intrusive of me to inquire what the problem is?"

"I can't find contentment in any place, Loki," Balder said, aggravated. His fingers tightened on the handle of his mug, and Loki opened his mouth to warn of the fracturing glass. "For me, that exists only on the open road. I'm a Questor! Julia used to understand that."

Loki winced. He could hear the structure of the stein's handle crumbling under Balder's grip. It lent a tense atmosphere to what was otherwise a loud and happy scene. The dwarves and their royals were all laughing and chatting amongst themselves where they were sitting along the length of the bar. Henry and Sheriff Swan were separate from the group, talking quietly at the table they had chosen along the wall.

"It's all thanks to this Curse," Balder continued, his resentment plain. "Julia can't leave Storybrooke. She doesn't even want to, and she doesn't me to leave, either." He growled, withdrawing his hand from the stein (Loki concealed his relief) in order to tug at his cropped hair in frustration. "Sköll curse it, Loki, I can't fathom what goes on in her head! Women."

"Lady troubles?" Balder and Loki both looked up, and Loki's eyes narrowed slightly at the unfamiliar waitress who was standing at their table. She carried a tray with two separate dishes upon it, both lasagna. The waitress smiled, sweeping loose strands of her blonde-highlighted bangs out of the way. When her eyes met Loki's, she blanched. "But, um, that's none of my business, of course. Sorry, sirs. Um, here are your dinners."

She set a plate in front of each of the brothers, tucking the now-empty tray under her left arm. The lasagna's bright red sauce stood out in contrast to the soft white of the dishes, and Balder released a slight hum as the scents of his favorite Midgard dinner put him somewhat more at ease. The waitress jerked her hand away from Loki after she set his plate down, as though she was afraid that he was going to burn her.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, glancing nervously over at Loki. She chewed on a rose-painted lip, trying to bring forth a smile for Balder. Loki observed her fearful behavior with an odd mix of disappointment and curiosity.

"This shall more than suffice," Balder assured the waitress. She nodded and reluctantly turned to Loki. He told her much the same, but stopped her before she had a chance to leave. Her eyes flared in alarm as his fingers brushed her wrist.

"Query," Loki started, calmly bringing his hand back to settle on the table. "Is the diner going to be closing soon?"

"Y-yes," the waitress stammered. Now that she was actually facing Loki, he could see that her nametag read Yun. "The Lucases are working on a project overnight, I don't know what exactly…"

"Well enough," Loki replied. "You have told me plenty, Miss Yun. Thank you." He dipped his head in a slight nod to indicate that she was free to go. He watched as Yun practically fled from the booth, again feeling the strange mixture of disappointment and curiosity.

Loki and Balder remained silent. Balder picked up a fork and knife, slicing and eating his lasagna in steady succession. Loki's own fork spun aimlessly between his fingers as his thoughts wandered. His gaze went to the doorway leading into the back of the diner. Somewhere back there was Ruby, locking herself in a cage in vain hopes that she wouldn't bring harm to anyone.

Vain hopes? Where had that thought come from? Loki stirred, giving his fork a last spin before poking it half-heartedly into his lasagna. It wasn't that the lasagna wasn't appetizing—the warm smells of cheese, sauce, meat, and noodles had blended together fantastically, and the mere sight of it was enough to make a food critic drool, yet Loki still couldn't focus on the deliciousness waiting for him on his plate.

The news of this conflict between Balder and Julia was unsettling, but the librarian wasn't overly concerned. He knew Balder and Julia, and Julia's mother even more so, so he had no doubts that this storm was one that would be weathered. Much more unsettling, however, was the borderline terror of the young waitress, Yun. She behaved as if she expected Loki to strike her down.

It was almost the same way Loki had seen people look at his fa—at Odin. He had never thought the day would come when someone would look at him like that. But why should he be surprised? He was a Frost Giant, after all, and with all that he had done to Manhattan…the fear, the hatred, he had long since earned it.

Somehow Loki's eyes and Balder's met. The librarian abruptly decided that he couldn't bear the silence between them any longer.

"You said something about a cave—"

"I just realized that I never asked—"

They stopped. Loki felt a hint of a chuckle in his throat as he realized that he and Balder had been thinking the same thing. He waved his hand toward his junior. "You first."

"I just realized that I never asked what Matthew's former identity was," Balder said. Loki tapped his lip to indicate that Balder had sauce spread on his, and Balder quickly licked it off. "I don't mean to pry, of course. It's just that I think I may have met him before the Curse, but I can't remember."

"The visually younger residents of Storybrooke tend to be more open with their identities," Loki informed Balder. He picked up a knife and started cutting his lasagna into relatively neat slices. "Matthew's pre-Curse name is Mowgli. He is a principal character in a collection of stories referred to as The Jungle Book. He's mentioned a few from his first home: his pack, the village he was living in when the Curse struck, Baloo the bear, Bagheera the black panther…"

"Bagheera?" Balder nearly dropped his fork in his haste to put it down. It clattered loudly against the plate, lasagna sliding off the prongs. Balder didn't seem to realize that sauce had splashed onto his shirt as well as his face. "Are you sure he said Bagheera?"

"Yes," Loki replied slowly. He set his fork down as well, albeit more gently than his sibling had. Balder looked as though a ghost had sprung into being right before him, his eyes wide and hands shaking. "What of it? As Midgardians say, spit it out."

Balder propped his elbows up on the table, resting his chin on interlaced thumbs. He seemed to be struggling to breathe; Loki hadn't seen his brother this disturbed in all the time he had known him. "Bagheera… I knew him," the Questor stammered. "Know him. I…" He buried his face in his hands, fingertips digging into his scalp. "Norns, what have I done?"

"Balder." Loki pushed aside the plates and drinks, reaching across the table to grab his brother's shoulder. The Asgardian didn't look back up at him. "Tell me."

"Bagheera and I met barely a day before the Curse was cast," Balder began. He pulled his hands away from his face, overlapping one fist with another hand and tucking them under his nose. "We were with each other when time froze, forced to watch as we both lost someone we loved."

"Julia and Mowgli," Loki murmured. He withdrew his hand from Balder's shoulder, resting his forearms on the table.

"He never stopped talking about that boy," Balder recalled. His voice sounded distant. "He ransomed Mowgli as a babe, purchasing his life with a bull. I can't believe I didn't realize that your Matthew was him."

Loki was intrigued by Balder's belief that Matthew was his, but he knew that now was not the time to speak. Instead, he waited for Balder to continue, absently picking at the cuff of his sleeve.

"You know that I was imprisoned by the stone curse, but you don't know all of the circumstances." Balder unconsciously imitated Loki's posture, straightening up and setting his forearms down on the table. "Before I took on the curse of Thor and others, before Thor came from Asgard looking for me, Bagheera and I encountered Stonebreath for the first time.

"We came to what had been a farmer's home. Every living thing had been turned to stone—livestock, rodents, and the farmer's entire family. Even insects." Balder shuddered. "Graveyards are as crowded marketplaces compared to that place, Loki. The silence was… unnatural. It felt like Death itself was dwelling there."

Balder fell silent, staring fixedly down at the table. A distant part of Loki noted the exit of Henry and Sheriff Swan, while Nolan and his bride stayed with the dwarves. "Keep going, Balder," the librarian prompted gently.

"It came up from behind," Balder said. His eyes were slightly glazed, reliving dark memories. "I knew the creature was abnormal, whatever it was, but it was Bagheera who made the connection first. When I was only just putting it together, Bagheera leaped to knock me to the side, and…" Guilt twisted Balder's features, seeming to add centuries of regret. "The curse was intended for me, Loki, it was aimed at me. And Bagheera was the one who was caught up instead."

Loki knew there was more. He waited.

"The method I used to save Thor and the others no longer exists," Balder continued. "And it wasn't truly enough to begin with. It came down to a final two, and I had to choose." His eyes closed for a moment, and Loki was startled to see tears catching on Balder's cheeks. The Questor opened his eyes again, staring directly at Loki. "You know who I chose."

The gaze challenged Loki to hate him. No, it begged. And Lucas had said that Loki was self-loathing. For Hati's sake, Loki, you promised yourself not to think of that right now. "It had to be Thor," Loki reminded Balder. "Not so much a choice, when you think about it." He leaned back in his seat, brow creasing as his fingers laced together. "You're going to have to tell Matthew."

The panic was evident on Balder's face. But Matthew had to be looked out for far more than a seven-hundred-years-and-some Asgardian.

"Bagheera is dead, Balder, the boy must know the truth," Loki continued. "Just as he must hear it from you. You are the one who was present, after all."

"Bagheera isn't dead," Balder stated. Loki realized with a hint of dread that he actually believed it. "I have to save him. I promised that I would save him, Loki, and I will! I am a Questor, this is what I do."

"What about Julia?"

Balder wouldn't meet Loki's eyes. "She'll understand."

"Your wife is a patient creature, Balder, but I would not test her tolerance," Loki warned. "The kindest people can give the harshest backhands."

Balder gave no answer, rising abruptly from his seat and walking away. Loki did not like the look that had entered the younger Asgardian's face. He grabbed his jacket and launched after the Æsir, catching him outside the door. The air beyond the confines of the diner was almost shockingly cold. Loki didn't notice.

"Balder, Bagheera is dead," Loki said flatly. He held his brother's eyes. "This quest… what you seek to accomplish is impossible."

Balder jerked his elbow out of Loki's hold. "I have done the impossible before."

"I can assure you, Balder, that you have not." Loki's fingers couldn't decide between being loose or being fists. He released a slow breath in an attempt to steady himself. "I will not deceive Matthew. Not for you. If you refuse to tell him, then know that I will tell him myself."

"You won't need to," Balder replied. Loki nearly growled at the ignorant confidence of his words. He was still so naïve. "I am a Questor, Loki—"

"But you are also a husband!" Loki snapped. Balder's eyes widened. Loki knew he was crossing into forbidden territory, but honestly, he no longer cared. "It's not about you and what you want anymore, about your career. You have responsibilities now. You have a daughter who is going to be born any day. We endured centuries of absent parents, Balder, how can you even consider abandoning your wife and child in the same way?!"

"I am not abandoning them!" Balder roared. He had charged Loki, pushing him back, and Loki knocked over one of the bistros and three chairs as he was thrown off balance. "I'm not abandoning anyone! I have to do this, Loki. I owe him."

"You should focus less on your debts and more on your family," Loki said harshly. He pulled himself back up to his feet, crouching for a moment to pick up his jacket again. The scattered furniture he would attend to later. "Bagheera is dead, Balder. Some promises can never be fulfilled."

"I am not going to leave him!" Balder snapped back. Loki stomach twisted at the sound of the desperation and determination that had woven together in his voice. Before he could say anything further, buy some time at least, Balder had turned and stormed away.

Loki growled in frustration, kicking a chair across the diner's outdoor area. Odinsons. He turned sharply as movement caught at the corner of his eye. It was one of the dwarves; Loki had heard him referred to as Happy. He seemed rather nervous now.

"Hey," he said, and pointed back at the diner with his thumb. He didn't seem to be sure whether he should be looking at the overturned chairs and tables, or over at Loki. "Are you going to eat that lasagna inside, or…?"

"Help yourself," Loki told him curtly. The dwarf nodded and left hastily, glancing back over his shoulder occasionally. Loki stepped further away from the diner. He'd pay for the dinners later, but right now the thought of dealing with people was undesirable, to say the least.

The librarian ended up under the archway leading into the outdoor dining area. With spring on its way, Loki could see the vines had returned to their familiar places with new growth. He frowned, pulling at the collar of his shirt. It was uncomfortably warm out tonight.

Someone stepped up behind his elbow. Loki decided it was Ruby. There wasn't anyone else around Storybrooke who would come so close to him while remaining so quiet. There certainly wasn't anyone else with the nerve to do it.

"Balder takes them for granted," Loki fumed. "Even though he was often overlooked, he never experienced true spite in his childhood or youth. I took that for him." He made a disgusted noise upon realizing that tears were slipping down his cheeks. Sentiment, it had always been his greatest weakness. "It is maddening to see him treat love so… callously."

"I wouldn't say that Balder is callous in response to the love of his family," Loki's companion replied. "He simply finds it difficult to believe that there are people who would actually miss him if he were gone."

Loki whipped around. Mr. Gold inclined his head in greeting, his hands placed neatly atop the handle of his cane. Loki's lips pulled back to reveal a furiously hostile snarl.

"Get. Away. From me."

Mr. Gold obliged, taking three uneven steps back, his limp altering the scampering gait Loki had long associated the imp with. Loki's snarl eased, but his eyes remained just as fierce. He thought briefly of the number of small blades secured in the back of his vest, but knew they would be useless. It would take much more than a mere blade to destroy the Dark One.

"Good evening, Loki," Mr. Gold said, sounding ever so courteous. Loki considered the knives again. "Or do you prefer Tom?"

"You do not call me by that name, snake," Loki spat. His fingers had curled; not into fists, but into claws.

The imp's head tilted curiously. The light from within Granny's Diner lit only one side of his face, causing his right eye to glint from the shadows. The sparse lighting made his features seem even more crooked and sharply-edged. "Why shouldn't I?" Mr. Gold questioned. "I'm the one who gave it to you, after all."

"Why are you here, Rumplestiltskin?" Loki demanded. "Whatever it is that you want, I can tell you right now that you won't receive it from me."

"I was merely out for an evening stroll," Mr. Gold said mildly. Loki saw him glance over at the diner, at Belle chatting with one of the dwarves inside, and quickly summarized Gold's true reasons. What was the Midgardian term? Creeper. "You seemed troubled after your conversation with your brother." Mr. Gold's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be inspecting Loki. "In fact, you don't look well at all."

The Dark One as well? Loki tried to keep the alarm from showing on his face, but he knew that the brief second it had been there would be enough for Rumplestiltskin to see. If it weren't for Balder's and Matthew's observations earlier, he would disregard the imp entirely, but… three times. Three times meant there was definitely a problem.

Not that Mr. Gold needed to know that. "I'm fine," Loki snapped. "And besides, my wellbeing is obviously no concern of yours." He turned his back on his old friend, stepping out from under the arch.

"You assume much of me, Loki."

A grin appeared, the one that sprang up on Loki's face when he was angry and hurt and wanted nothing more than to rip apart whoever was responsible. He stopped and turned back around to face the pawnbroker, his fingers wrapping tightly over the top of the white fence around the front of the diner. "No," he replied, chuckling bitterly. "I used to assume much of you. I learned the hard way that I was wrong." He lifted a hand up to his chest, where a curse-written heart beat underneath. His grin hadn't wavered. "Remember?"

Something that looked like guilt weighed down on Rumplestiltskin, but Loki was certain that the Dark One had no remorse for his deeds. Otherwise, he would have reversed the curse on Loki long ago. "I would stay home tonight, Loki," the imp advised. His voice was oddly soft, and for some reason that rankled Loki all the more. "Rest. There's a bad air out tonight."

"Foresight, Rumplestiltskin?" Loki made his contempt plain as he scoffed. He released his grip on the fence and gestured dismissively as he turned his back on the imp again. "I make my own fate."

"That may be true, Loki," Mr. Gold called after him. "But there are only so many strands you can avoid in the Norns' tapestries."

Loki's stride faltered for a moment, but he drew himself up taller and moved on, pulling on his jacket as he did so. Mr. Gold watched him go, a concerned frown pulling away his usual, disconnected exterior. He looked over as the dwarves and a few last customers were evicted by Granny, who was closing down the diner for the night, just as he had expected.

The Dark One slipped away before anyone else saw him, though he didn't realize that Belle hadn't failed to notice his presence. He unlocked his car's door upon reaching the vehicle, slipping the key into the ignition after sitting down. Mr. Gold paused before turning the key, looking up at the black sky and knowing that it wouldn't be long before the full moon began its climb. Then the night would really begin.

Matthew was not fond of the cold. In fact, he and the cold had a distinctly unfriendly relationship. For nine years of his life, cold had been somewhere around seventy degrees. Fahrenheit. Then the Curse had dropped him into Storybrooke, Maine along with a whole bunch of others, and now cold had a whole new meaning.

Yet, despite all of his dislike toward chilly temperatures, Matthew was enjoying himself. All of the boys had gathered up on the roof. According to Jackson, they were going to spend the whole night up there. Matthew would have been worried if it weren't for Miss Sandy's immediate provision of blankets and hot water bottles. She knew how to look after her boys, but then, she did have centuries of experience.

Benton and Fenton had declared that it was a great time for ghost stories, and so they had huddled together in a circle, cocooned in blankets with mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. Matthew liked the feeling of the steam on his face, and Jackson teased him as he expressed fondness for the muggy climate of his jungle. Benton provided illumination for Thurston—though he seemed to have more fun pointing the flashlight into the other boy's face, eliciting chortles from the whole group. Thurston had a very loud laugh.

Thurston's signing was at turns swift and exceedingly dramatic. With Jackson murmuring translation into his ear, Matthew came to the conclusion that no one, ever, could tell a ghost story like Thurston Coon could. Sometimes he jumped up and acted out a scene, as if his intensely signed narration wasn't enough. Matthew's hot chocolate was hardly sufficient to combat the chills running up and down his spine. Occasionally he could hear Miss Sandy chuckling in the background.

Wakahisa must have heard this ghost story before, because after a while he retreated from the group. Matthew glanced over his shoulder, still listening to Jackson's translations, and saw that he was practicing boxing with Miss Sandy. She was definitely better than he was.

Thurston finished his ghost story. Matthew and Jackson looked at each other, laughing nervously as they said that they totally weren't scared. The flashlight was clicked off, and Matthew could hear the twins goofing off in the dark. He shrieked when someone poked him in the ribs, leaping right out of his blanket, and sputtered indignantly when he realized that it was Thurston. Everyone laughed.

"Thurston's got crazy eyesight, he and Tink are like cats in the dark," Jackson explained between snickers. Matthew's face reddened in embarrassment, and he hoped Thurston wouldn't be able to see that. He kicked Jackson, who just continued snickering.

They all curled up in different places on the roof. Matthew and Jackson were side-by-side, and Matthew wondered at the fact that Jackson had somehow achieved the feat of being a human furnace. Thurston and the twins were in a pile by the chimneys, unbothered by the smoke. Wakahisa had his back propped up against the wall surrounding the roof, and Miss Sandy was next to him, her feet hanging over the fatal drop that awaited her if she should lose her balance.

Gradually the chatter and laughter quieted, and one by one they fell asleep. The moon had risen, full and bright, and each star was beautifully clear. A rare event in this world. Matthew could hear Jackson's breath deepen as he fell deeper into slumber, but he kept drifting in and out.

As he found himself awake again, his ears ringing with the silence surrounding him, he looked across the roof at where Miss Sandy was still sitting on the wall. The stout fairy hadn't moved a muscle, her head tilted up to look at the moon. Matthew thought he could see her eyes gleaming green in the moonlight.

It was now that he noticed she had never brought a blanket up for herself. She wasn't even wearing a coat, just a thickly woven tank. The golden color of her hair had been washed out by the silver light of the moon.

As he watched her, Matthew wondered just what sort of fairy Tinkerbell was. She was different from the other fairies Matthew had met around town, the nuns. She was something wilder, more savage. What kind of person had she been, in the days before the Curse had taken her power? Was she petty, as books and films had depicted her to be? Matthew thought not.

Matthew hadn't realized Jackson was awake, too. The other boy sat up beside Matthew, following his gaze to Miss Sandy. "I don't know what sort of fairy she is, either," he confessed in a whisper. "I've asked plenty of times, but she never really answers. She's one of those fairies that came before the ones that we know now, I think. Before magic came with a price."

"Magic didn't used to come with a price?" Matthew asked. This was new to him.

"Yeah. She told me that once. Makes me wonder just how old she is." Jackson fell silent for a while, watching Miss Sandy with what seemed to be a very sad expression. "She always looks so lonely on full moons."

"Why?" Matthew asked.

Jackson just shook his head, indicating that he didn't know. Matthew was intrigued by the fact that Miss Sandy kept secrets from him, and he was alright with it. It was like him and Mr. Hemming, if Matthew thought about it. Mr. Hemming kept plenty of secrets from Matthew, but not because he didn't trust him. Maybe it was because there were things that he wished he didn't know.

Maybe everyone was that way, to some extent. Matthew thought so.

Jackson laid back down, curling over on his side and pulling his blanket up over his shoulder. It didn't take him long to fall asleep again, much to Matthew's envy. The jungle part of him was so used to being active at night, rather than at rest. Matthew laid back down, too, but didn't try to go back to sleep just yet. He kept watching Miss Sandy, wondering what she was thinking about.

The fairy still hadn't moved, continuing to stare up at the moon. Her eyes reflected the orb's light back at it in vibrant shades of green.

It took Loki a few moments of blind pacing to settle down after his encounter with Rumplestiltskin. Once he was sufficiently calmed, he remembered Balder. The librarian quickly chose his route and raced for Julia's house. He had a nasty suspicion that the Asgardian was about to do something really, really stupid and impulsive. Considering they shared no blood, there were times when they really did seem like brothers.

He reached the blue-painted house, though the color was washed out by the rising moon, and raised a fist to knock on the door. The sky lit with colors severely out of place on a full moon, and Loki's teeth gritted. He had wasted time in arguing with Mr. Gold, and now because of that, he had just failed to stop Balder before he proceeded with his reckless quest.

It was surprising that Balder had chosen to call upon the Bifrost, though. Perhaps he had chosen to call upon Eir for aid—after all, there was no one in any of the Nine Realms with more knowledge of remedies and cures than she. But there was no way Loki could know for certain. Now that Balder had gone beyond Storybrooke's borders, there was nothing he could do.

The librarian sighed, putting his hand on the handle of the house's door and rotating his wrist. The door was unlocked, the same as always. Loki went in, silently closing the door behind him. The only light in the house was coming from the lamp in the living room.

Julia was sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. She was alone, except for her mother's black cat curled up next to her. It raised its head to blink yellow eyes at Loki. He stayed in the shadow of the entrance into the parlor, feeling that he was intruding and probably should leave.

Julia seemed to realize that someone else had come in, and looked up. Something twisted painfully within Loki's chest as he saw the tears tracking down her face. Julia's grief quickly turned to anger. "How could you?" she cried furiously, rising up to her feet. "You're his family, and you made him run. Now I'm his family too, and he won't stop!"

"Julia," Loki started, but he knew that she was right. He hung his head, retreating further into the dark hallway. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Julia snapped. Her words were unnaturally harsh. Loki had never heard her speak to anyone like this. Then her shoulders sagged, and she used her fingers to pull away more tears. "Stop hiding in the shadows, Loki," she said, her voice softer now.

Loki reluctantly stepped into the living room. The cat was still staring at him. So far it hadn't blinked. "I'm sorry, Julia," he murmured again. "I tried to convince him that he needed to stay here."

"So did I," Julia replied. She bit her lip, massaging her expansive belly in an attempt to soothe herself. It didn't seem to be working very well. "But Balder is going to have to learn on his own. He has to learn… and I'll just have to wait until he does."

She looked back up at Loki, as though for a moment she had forgotten that he was there. Loki was used to that. They stared at each other for a moment, and Loki opened his mouth, words burning on his tongue, but for some reason he just turned away without uttering one of them.

Outside, he gazed up at the full moon. He felt no surprise as he heard the first howl pierce the air, the Wolf reveling in its newly attained freedom. He walked over the rounded stones that formed the path from the house's front door to the driveway. At the sidewalk, he looked over his shoulder, watching Julia sit back down on the couch, her hand brushing along the sleek coat of the nameless black cat. Loki wondered what she was waiting for.

The librarian slipped off his jacket, carrying it in the crook of his arm, and kept walking. He wanted to chase after Balder, to drag his ignorant younger brother back home before he hurt more people who cared about him, but of course that wasn't possible. What Loki should do was go back to the inn and rest—he was starting to feel lightheaded—but stubbornly he chose to remain outdoors, to spite Rumplestiltskin if nothing else.

Besides, the night air would probably do him some good. It had always helped with his summer fevers in the past. If it even was a summer fever that was bothering Loki…

Most of the townsfolk were already inside. In Storybrooke, most people knew better than to wander the streets on a full moon. Loki wasn't concerned, however. The moon's light was pleasant, and he had always liked how the worlds looked painted in silver, strengthening the shadows.

He paused for a moment, tilting his head back to breathe in deeply. He could hear howling again, but it was distant now. The Wolf would most likely spend the entire night deep in the woods, and be perfectly content to do so. That was usually the way with werewolves. The air was cool, easing the discomfort of Loki's temperature.

The smell of saltwater grew stronger in Loki's nostrils as he continued his walk. He was getting closer to the docks; not to his preferred location along them, but close. The former sorcerer quickly stepped back into the shadows as a truck drove past. Loki read the logo painted on the door—Franklin's Towing & Salvage—and remembered that the name of the young man who had been flirting with Ruby was Billy. Billy Brie. He had come to take care of Julia's car when it had been rammed by another vehicle. He and Lillian had shared a chuckle over his surname being Brie, since formerly he had been a mouse.

A mouse had been asking a werewolf out. Loki would have chuckled at the humorousness of it, but right now he didn't want to be heard. Brie's truck stopped nearby, the engine idling. The driver's door opened and then slammed shut. "Evenin', Mr. Spencer," Brie called cheerfully. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Not sure," the by-now familiar voice of Albert Spencer replied. Loki frowned, immediately getting the sense that something wasn't right here. "I had to stop to get something out of the trunk, and now my car won't start."

"Sounds like your battery is dead," Brie remarked. "I'll just get some jumper cables—"

"Oh, no need, Mr. Brie. I have some in the trunk." Loki pressed closer against the wall as Spencer came into view, walking about to the back of his car as Brie watched him. Spencer opened the trunk and then laughed, shooting an embarrassed look towards Brie. It seemed forced to Loki. "They're sort of buried… Mr. Brie, if you could give me a hand?"

"We can just use the cables in the truck," Brie said, but when Spencer insisted, he didn't argue. He came around to join Spencer, peering into the trunk. "Buried under what? W-whoa, Mr. Spencer, what are you—"

Loki's stomach dropped. He knew the sound of metal striking flesh far too well. Brie screamed, and the Jotun vaulted from the shadows, the handle of a blade already dropping into his palm.

Matthew woke up again. It was already becoming a habit to look across at where Miss Sandy was sitting, so it was startling to realize that she wasn't there. Matthew's head whipped around, and he saw that she had almost reached the door leading back down into the apartment building. "What's wrong?" Matthew whispered after her. Because something was wrong, he could tell by the fairy's taut movement.

Miss Sandy looked back over at Matthew, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Her apprehension was worryingly obvious. "There's a bad air tonight," she whispered back, and her voice sounded different, old. "Stay here, Matthew. Stay with Jackson. The signs are bad for you."

With that, she opened the door and disappeared inside. Matthew squinted as the light from behind the door blinded him for a moment, then blinked for a few moments as he waited for his vision to readjust. Miss Sandy's motorcycle growled to life down below, and the sound of the engine quickly faded into the distance. Matthew wriggled his way out of his blankets, shivering in the cold, and poked Jackson until he woke up.

The redhead blinked groggily up at Matthew, and the boy was certain he was currently on the receiving end of a very disgruntled look. "Miss Sandy went off somewhere," Matthew told Jackson, trying to keep his voice down to a murmur. "She said something about there being a bad air. We should follow her."

"No."

Matthew's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Acting contrary to an adult's command was very much Jackson's modus operandi, so for him to so flatly refuse to act out against Miss Sandy's orders was kind of bewildering. Yes, Tinkerbell and Peter Pan went back a long way, but… Matthew had never heard Jackson say anything so tersely.

Jackson groaned as he realized that his single, grunted word wasn't enough reply for Matthew, and went on to clarify. "We've got to stay here, Mowg. I didn't listen to Tink once. I paid a heavy price for that, and I'm not just talking about my scar."

"Oh." Matthew frowned. He didn't want to just let something like this slide, but he didn't want to argue with his best friend, either. Jackson had to know what he was talking about. Reluctantly he sat back down next to the redhead, scooting a little closer as he registered just how chilly it was.

Jackson chuckled. "You really can't the cold, can you?"

"Shut up," Matthew muttered, cocooning himself in blankets. Jackson chuckled again, and Wakahisa threw a shoe at them, growling at the pair to be quiet. Jackson threw it back, somehow nailing him in the head. Wakahisa just grunted and put it back on his foot.

A smile tugged at Matthew's lips as the Twins began snoring in chorus. Jackson informed him in undertones that this meant it was officially after ten o'clock. The two boys leaned against each other, neither having any intent to go back to sleep. They watched the moon in silence, waiting for Miss Sandy to come back.

A howl pierced the air, the sad sound of a lone wolf. The steady breathing of all the boys stopped, and they made no noise as they listened. Matthew's eyebrows drew together to form an anxious expression. The Wolf was confused, distressed. She didn't understand what had happened to her, or where she was.

Next full moon, Matthew would have to help her sort things out. From the sounds of it, Miss Ruby didn't have the clearest line of communication with her other half.

It was strange to see streets so empty at night. Most towns had at least a few cars travelling along the roads at all hours, a handful of shops that were always open. Storybrooke seemed to be a rare exception. This lack of activity could prove helpful or troublesome to the man standing on top of Storybrooke's library, but that remained to be seen, like so much else.

He spared the moon a glance, frowning as he listened to the howling of some unknown wolf. It sounded… almost unnatural. Given the places his line of work had taken him, it honestly wouldn't be surprising. Aliens led by a mythical god had nearly destroyed Manhattan, after all.

Civilians never looked up. This enabled the man to move quickly from one rooftop to the next without being detected, his quiver pushing harder against his back as he rolled with his landings. Unfortunately, though, it didn't seem to matter where he went—his target wasn't to be found anywhere. The radio in his ear confirmed that the rest of his team was having the same problem.

This left only one place for him to check in his search grid: the docks. The archer took a moment to plan his route, then set out. He stopped on the roof of the last building in front of the docks and crept up to the edge.

A grim smile appeared as a lithe, familiar figure seemed to catapult from the shadows between the building he was on top of, and the one immediately to its north. There was his target, as ignorant of his position as the assassin could ever want.

"Ice King located," he murmured, knowing his earpiece would pick up his voice and instantly transmit it to the other members of his team. The archer was still puzzled by the codename assigned to their target, but he didn't waste too much time wondering about it. They couldn't call him by his real name, of course, they couldn't risk Stark's butler program picking it up.

Now he just had to wait for the rest of the extraction team to arrive, and Loki was going to get what was coming to him.

Spencer could move surprisingly fast. Loki was much faster, but right now the concern was Brie. The boy was lying on the asphalt, bleeding profusely from his chest as he groaned. Was that an ax Spencer had dropped as he fled? Loki froze for a second, gaping in horror, then out of pure instinct sent the knife in his hand flying after Spencer. It struck him in the spine, instantly paralyzing him, and he dropped like a slaughtered elk. Loki ignored the old king's agonized cry.

He knelt down beside Brie, vainly trying to keep the blood in with his hands. The wound in the boy's chest was gaping, there was no way he could survive it without aid. Loki made shushing noises, trying to calm the human. He was so young, so young, why hadn't Loki moved sooner…

"O-ow," Brie stammered. He seemed surprised. And why wouldn't he be? The boy had done no act of malice to deserve this. He was just a mouse.

"Don't speak," Loki told him gently. The mortal's blood was soaking into his hands, feeling like it was burning his skin. "Conserve your energy, Mr. Brie, you're going to be alright." Lies, of course. Loki was good at that. But wasn't Mr. Brie had Spencer had called him? "Billy. Look at me. You can get through this, but you must hold on. Keep your eyes open. Do you understand me?"

Billy struggled to nod. Loki reached for his phone, but all of the blood made his fingers too slick to keep a grip. The phone clattered to the pavement, and Loki wiped his hand off on his slacks before reaching to pick it back up again. He did not allow himself the luxury of a grimace as he felt Billy's blood continue to pulse out from between his fingers.

The ambulance call took only a minute, but it was a minute too long. Loki considered calling Sheriff Swan, but there wasn't enough time for that right now. He had to focus on keeping Billy alive for the three minutes it would take for the ambulance to arrive. Just three minutes.

Loki knew that three minutes was going to be too long. He knew it, felt it deep within his bones, but he pushed the certainty aside, determined to defy what was inevitable. There are only so many strands you can avoid in the Norns' tapestries. Loki bared his teeth, tightly gritted against each other.

He needed more than his hands to keep the blood contained. Buttons went flying as Loki ripped off his vest and shirt, putting the vest to the side and tearing the shirt's material into long, makeshift bandages. He deftly wound the material around Billy's chest, uttering apologies as the boy kept releasing sharply pitched whimpers.

"Hold on, Billy. Help is coming, just hold on."

"I'm trying," Billy murmured. "It… hurts." He had lost so much blood already; his face was beginning to lose color. Then confusion was added to Loki's mess of emotions as Billy chuckled weakly. "I guess this means I won't be getting my date with Ruby Lucas. Maybe you could… ngh… do it for me, huh?"

"I don't think I'm the dating type," Loki replied. His vision was blurring, and he used the back of a hand to clear it. He didn't notice the smear of crimson he left behind. "You'll just have to survive this and ask her out yourself, Billy."

"Don't think that's gonna happen." Billy's voice was barely audible. His eyes were fluttering, but still he tried to keep them open.

Loki cursed furiously. How could he be so useless? Thor and his friends had taken much deadlier injuries than this, and Loki had saved them every time, but without his magic he couldn't help anyone!

He had to try. For Billy's sake, he had to. Loki closed his eyes, focusing in on the wound. Heal.

He felt the magic shift within, sluggish after all these years of disuse. Then pain burst inside of his chest and Loki nearly lost consciousness. He curled in on himself, keeping his hands over Billy's wound—the blood had already soaked through the layers of bandages Loki had applied.

Loki struggled to regain his breath, blinking back tears as he was overcome with enraged helplessness. He couldn't do anything. All he wanted to do was save this boy, this one boy, and he couldn't. He had failed again.

"I'm sorry, Billy," Loki whispered. "I'm sorry."

But Billy was smiling. "At least I'm not alone," he murmured. His pain had faded from his voice, and he sounded strangely content. "Mice hate being alone…"

His chest stilled, brown eyes turning blank. Loki stared down at his face in silence, unable to move for his shock. The wailing sirens of the ambulance battered at his ears, but they were far, far too late.

The extraction team was in position. The team's leader frowned as he looked down at the docks in front of his location. The arrival of the ambulance was certainly a setback—orders where that witnesses were to be avoided at all costs—but so long as Loki didn't try to go with them, it wouldn't put too much of a hitch in their plans. At least the noise of the sirens enabled the archer to unlock his bow without being heard.

He watched as Loki spoke with one of the paramedics. He didn't stop staring at the young man whose body was being lifted onto a gurney. The sheet pulled over his face confirmed that he was dead. The man on the roof wondered briefly why Loki had tried to save them, then decided that he must have been some sort of accomplice.

The paramedic placed a hand on Loki's shoulder. He angrily shrugged it off, and the archer shook his head in disgust. Imagine, people trying to console Loki. Someone obviously didn't know who it was they were dealing with.

The paramedics picked up the second body, the one Loki had dropped, but this one was still alive. Odd, but the archer wasn't curious enough to pursue that line of thought. He just wanted to get this job done.

Finally, the ambulance left. Loki stayed behind, picking up his phone and vest, and stared out over the darkened waters of the bay.

"Remember, you move on my signal," the archer ordered his unseen team. He drew an arrow from his quiver and sighted down the shaft. Loki had tucked his phone back into his pocket and knelt down on the edge of the docks, apparently washing his hands off in the water.

The archer pulled the arrow back fully, and he smirked. "Gotcha."

After the ambulance left, Loki didn't know what to do about the silence. He could still hear the final shuddering breaths of the mortal boy, his softly spoken words. "At least I'm alone." As if Loki's company was company he would have desired.

He forced himself to move, tucking the phone in one hand back into the pocket of his slacks and sliding on the vest gripped in the other. The blades concealed within were cool against his skin. He went to the edge of the one of the docks and leaned over to wash his hands.

Seawater wasn't the cleanest thing on Midgard, but Loki knew that if he didn't at least some of this blood off, he would raise a panic across the town if seen. The vest should at least prevent people from thinking he was wandering the streets shirtless.

Loki's head bowed, his shoulders hunching. Billy. Norns curse him, must he fail everyone who needed his aid? First Madge, now this… and all because of Rumplestiltskin. Loki's lips pulled back in a snarl of impotent rage, and for the first time he tasted the salt of his tears.

So he had been crying. No wonder that paramedic had tried to comfort him. Not that Loki deserved such a thing. He had failed, that was nothing earning the reward of comfort.

The icy water of the bay splashed over Loki's fingers. It should have felt colder. Distorted reflections of himself and his surroundings pulsed back up at him, the lights of the docks like stars on the water. There was something on one of the rooftops that looked out of place…

Loki's instincts kicked in. He rolled back from his location, and an arrow lodged more than halfway into the dock's wood. Loki spun, searching for his attacker as well as cover. There was no one to be seen, but Loki knew better than to believe that he was alone. As for cover, the closest location was Billy truck. From there he would find a more defendable location, preferably somewhere in the dark.

He made it to the truck without harm, but he could hear the whistles of arrows in flight again. Two of them slammed into the vehicle's metal while a third shot through both of the front windows, disappearing into the bay with barely a sound.

Then Loki remembered that on Midgard, arrows had a tendency to explode.

The Asgardian moved, but not quickly enough. The charges stored in the two arrows detonated, and the blast tossed Loki and flaming chunks of truck into the air. Even Spencer's car was sent rolling by the shockwave.

He was hanging in the air over the bay, and in the brief second before he started falling again, Loki angled himself into a dive and disappeared under the water. The water was cold, but not too cold for Loki. Hypothermia was a nonissue for a Frost Giant.

However, he couldn't stay under the water forever. Without magic, that wasn't even a remote possibility. Still, he would be able to put plenty of distance between himself and his attacker before having to resurface—

The depths burst with light; the third arrow. Half of Loki's air was shocked out of him as an arrow finally found its mark, tearing into the flesh of his back. He recovered quickly, putting more energy into his kicks, but another arrow hit, this time in his shoulder. And this one had a tether.

Loki was yanked backwards and hauled up to surface, the last of his air lost in a scream. He was tossed down on the dock like some harpooned whale, and the team that had pulled him up from the bay backed away, watching. Loki struggled to his feet, blinking seawater out of his eyes as he tried to identify the one man who had dared to remain close. He knew exactly who it was and really, he wasn't that surprised.

"Hawkeye," the wounded Jotun snarled, thick blood spilling onto sea-stained wood.

His hands moved faster than any of the humans had time to react to, and five knives were launched. Three met their target, hitting the archer's shoulder, chest, and leg, but the other two were evaded. If Loki had access to even a spark of magic, one blade would have sufficed.

But he was slow. The team of humans grabbed hold of the tether attached to the arrow buried in the back of Loki's shoulder and dragged him back, eliciting a strangled snarl from their captive. Hawkeye notched an arrow and had it flying before Loki had time to twist out of the way.

It slammed into his gut, and a second one hit his chest, puncturing a lung. The pain was blinding. Loki's knees slammed into the dock's heavy wood, and he groaned. His hands trembled as he reached for the shaft of the arrow lodged in his belly. It snapped easily, but it wasn't the shaft that was the problem. These arrows were injuring Loki as effectively as Æsir weapons. But that couldn't—shouldn't—be possible.

Hawkeye was watching him with cold disinterest, making no move. He didn't need to. Loki's head was reeling. His pulse throbbed at a steadily decreasing rate. Something foreign was in his system. Poison? How could humans have made a poison capable of decapitating him?

"Drug should have kicked in first thing," Hawkeye said to someone Loki couldn't see. "Can't trust the docs with anything these days, can we?"

Loki struggled to lift his head. He was almost prostrate by this point, his arms shaking as they tried to hold him up. Whatever it was that Hawkeye had injected into his bloodstream, it was working. The archer smirked down at defeated foe.

"Goodnight, Loki."

The features of the archer were growing increasingly distorted. The contrasts between lights and shadows became more extreme than could be possible, until darkness and brilliance dominated every aspect of Loki's vision. He collapsed onto the dock, splinters of wood digging into his cheek. A woman slipped up behind him and confirmed that their target was unconscious.

One of the members of the extraction team approached Hawkeye. Like everyone else under the archer, his face concealed by a helmet. "The target wasn't supposed to be damaged," he reprimanded his commander.

The other man shrugged. "Not my problem," he replied. "We've got our Ice King, don't we? The little monster can fix himself."

"No, he can't," the woman standing by Loki retorted. The Asgardian's body was almost alarmingly still.

Even with the mask, it was pretty clear the taller man was giving Hawkeye a derisive look. "Didn't you do any of the reading? We can't afford to keep slackers like you around, Agent—"

"Let's get out of here before Ice King is missed," the woman cut her teammate off. She looked at Hawkeye expectantly. This was his op, after all.

The archer gave a curt nod and began barking orders, sounding more like a drill sergeant than an assassin. "Gregg, Evans, Johansson, Renner, you're responsible for loading Ice King. Let's haul out, stat."

They were gone within moments.