Disclaimer: "You must be mistaken..." –Loki, Thor

A/N: OH MY LORD GUYS I AM SO SORRY! I cannot believe I missed Monday, planned for Tuesday, and am only just now getting around to actually posting. Sorry!

As always, TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba, ladies and gents. Without her help, this story would not have gotten anywhere.

To Mandy: Well, it's a surprise. And we shall see about Darcy!


Chapter 4: Gratulerer

Alternatively titled: In which the surreal outweighs the "normal."


My knife left my hand almost before I knew what I was doing. Four bodies went diving for cover, indignant shouts rang out, and the one body that hadn't made it out of the way let out a howl of angry pain.

I would've felt bad if it had been Thor. Really, I would, because even if he does irritate me and condescend to me and drive me crazy, he's still my brother and I would never want to actually hurt him.

That being said, it wasn't Thor, and I had no qualms at all about throwing my knife straight at Fandral's shoulder.

It missed, of course, barely grazing him, because I am perfectly capable of controlling my weapons and I didn't want to kill the man.

Okay, so I did, a little, but not for real, and certainly not permanently. That way doth lie hospital visits and Family Meetings and my mother giving me sad, disappointed looks and I was just not psychologically in a good place to deal with crap like that right then.

"Holy crap, Loki! What is wrong with you?" Fandral cried, and okay, so I could have given him leeway for basically anything else that came out of his mouth right then because, yeah, I'd just grazed him with a six-inch throwing knife, but come on. He was seriously asking me that?

I opened my mouth to defend myself, only to find that I didn't have to.

"Leave him alone, Fandral!" came Thor's rough order from behind the chair he'd overturned when knives started flying. "We startled him."

Big brother to the rescue. One day, I was sure, Thor was going to wake up, look around, and die of shock from suddenly being forced into the realization that I wasn't five years old anymore.

Still, I guess there are worse things than having your older brother defend your rights to toss around a deadly weapon. (Tony, there isn't a joke there. There really isn't. Stop looking for it. Stop. Now.)

"You need a bandage?" I asked wearily. Still a bit miffed-looking, Fandral nevertheless shook his head and managed a small wave in my direction. Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg all climbed warily to their feet and gave me a nod.

"Hi, kid. What's kickin'?" Sif greeted.

"I am," I answered. "You guys. Out of my apartment."

"Aw, Loki, don't be like that." This was Volstagg, all red hair and huge mass lumbering around my living room, picking up furniture and obviously trying to figure out who he needed to placate more, me or my brother. "We didn't mean any harm."

"Yeah, I know. You guys just broke into my home and camped out in my living room because you wanted to throw me a surprise party," I agreed sarcastically. "Clearly, I was overreacting."

"Exactly!" Volstagg beamed at me, relieved that I'd seen sense. I didn't even have the energy to roll my eyes at him. Which was fine. Hogun was taking care of that.

"Seriously," I said, "what do you guys want?"

Fandral's attempt to look innocent was even more pathetic than Thor's. "We can't just come by because we want to see you?"

Refusing to dignify that with an answer, I turned to my brother. Predictably, he caved.

"Dad wants to know when you're coming home."

"Um, this weekend? Sunday dinner is still on, right?" I can fake innocence too. Only, you know, believably.

He gave me a Look. "You know what he means, Loki." Oh. Apparently not that believably then.

"Thor," I sighed, "I'm not coming home permanently. You know that. Dad knows that."

Stubbornly, Thor lifted his chin. "Why not?" he asked, sounding just the littlest bit wistful.

"Because I've gone straight!" I exclaimed exasperatedly. "I have a life now, outside of the Family. I can't just… go back."

"I still don't see why you left in the first place," he grumbled under his breath. I heard him anyway.

"No, of course you don't!" I snapped. "You don't get it at all, because nobody treats you the way they treat me! With me it's all, 'protect Loki,' 'don't let Loki know about such and such,' and 'make sure you keep track of Loki.' You don't get it, Thor, because Dad doesn't smother you!"

"He's trying to keep you safe," Thor protested, sounding kind of shocked, defending our father and making me even angrier in the process.

"Why doesn't he focus on keeping you safe more? You're the oldest, aren't you more of a target than me?" This was a bit nasty, probably, but I was too far gone to care at that point.

"Well, of course he focuses more on you," Thor retorted quickly. "I can take care of myself."

"Are you saying I'm not capable of taking care of myself?"

"Yes!"

That stopped me. I honestly hadn't been expecting to hear that. Neither, I think, had Thor.

"Loki," he started.

"Stop," I said, holding up a hand, suddenly feeling very tired. "Just… stop." Turning around, I headed for the kitchen, hoping that, despite my lack of grocery store trawling, food would have magically appeared in my fridge.

I opened said appliance without much enthusiasm, then closed it again very quickly. Then opened it again. And then closed it. I turned around.

Thor was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking both fierce and sheepish at the same time. Behind him, Sif and the Warriors Three (Where do they get these names? I mean, seriously. They sound like a cheerleading squad. Or a 90's boy band.) peered anxiously around his shoulders as if afraid I was going to start throwing things again.

"You went grocery shopping for me," I said.

Thor hesitated for a second before conceding. "Yes," he admitted.

For a moment, I tried really hard to be upset with him. After all, he had just basically told me that the entire Family thought I was essentially helpless. And he had broken into my apartment. Again. But then he was looking at me with that big, blue, wide-eyed expression that said, "I hope he isn't too mad," and "I was just trying to help," and I couldn't keep it up. And he'd gone grocery shopping for me.

Sighing, I started pulling things out of the refrigerator. "Did you at least get coffee?" I asked.

000

Thor eventually kicked the Warriors Three and Sif (who used to have this enormous crush on Thor, which I found out and threatened to tell him about when I was fourteen – I ended up not doing that: Sif is really scary sometimes) out and the two of us sat at my kitchen table, sipping coffee and eating chocolate cookies.

"Did you really just come here to check up on me?" I asked finally.

Thor gave me another Big Brother Look. "Not just," he answered. "I also wished to inquire as to when you'd be coming home."

Sighing, I set down my coffee and looked him dead in the eye. "Thor," I said clearly, "I'm not coming back to the Family."

"I'm not asking that, brother," he said earnestly. "But there's no reason you cannot come back to Yggdrasil and live with us at least!"

I shook my head, reaching for my mug. "It wouldn't work, Thor. You know how Dad is. We'd be fighting within a week. I don't… I can't get along with him like you do."

"Loki…" he hesitated, then plunged ahead determinedly. "You know Dad loves you, right?"

Surprised, I glanced up from my coffee. "Of course!" I said. The question had honestly never occurred to me. My father was many things to me. Demanding, pushy, uncompromising, and slightly terrifying at times, certainly. Sometimes I was sure he was this close to locking me in my room until I either shaped up or grew up, whichever happened first. But there was never a doubt in my mind that he loved me.

Thor looked relieved. "Good," he said, standing up somewhat awkwardly. I stood as well, cautiously. I wouldn't put it past Thor to tackle me suddenly and hog-tie me, then toss me over his shoulder and take me back to Yggdrasil that way.

Hey, just because I love my brother doesn't mean I'm naïve about the kind of things he does for a living. He's totally capable of hauling me over one shoulder. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done it, either.

I had a very interesting childhood.

"You're still coming Sunday, right?" he pressed one last time, slowly making his way to the door.

Hiding my breath of relief that I wasn't going to be abducted tonight, I nodded firmly. "Of course," I said again, offering him my brightest smile. Seemingly reassured, he swallowed hard and then, somewhat to my surprise, swept me up into a bone-crushing hug. My feet dangled six inches in the air, and I tentatively put my arms around his neck in return.

"Thor?" I said, feeling a little bit worried. Not that Thor wasn't usually affectionate with me, but he generally gave me some warning when he was about to glomp me.

"Loki…" he took a deep breath and set me down, holding my shoulders. "Just… be careful, little brother," he said anxiously. "Promise me."

Confused, I said, "I promise. Thor, what –" But he was gone, slipping out my apartment door and locking it behind him.

"Okay," I said to the empty room, "that was weird."

About ten minutes later, I let out a small… ahem. Let's say, yelp of frustration. (It was not a shriek, Tony. Most definitely not.)

There was another envelope of cash on my kitchen table. In Thor's handwriting, a little note said, Bus Fare. Love, Thor.


A/N: Way shorter this time. It wasn't going to be, and then…

Writing Thor is hard. Sif and the Warriors Three are even harder. Why is it so much easier for me to get into the mind of the canonically psychotic character?

Please don't answer that.

Next Chapter: Privacy, and how Loki never gets any of it.