Disclaimer: I am going to be ILL if I have to tell y'all one more time that NONE of this stuff is mine! Is it legally okay if I just put in the prologue/first chapter of my next fic that none of the copyrighted stuff belongs to me? Because I really don't do witty disclaimers (You should check out Alicia Blade for those) and I'm quite tired of finding infinitely different ways to say the exact same thing. I'm starting to feel like a politician. STINKY!

Chapter 9

Angel had finally come to a gate in the wood – the voice in Sleetcold took its hold on her and she had followed it as far as she could. The giant gate, made of cold metal, swung open slowly with a great awful clanking sound. She took a few tentative steps forward. Softly, eerily, the floating voice called her to come f forward and as such she could hardly tell it no. As if outside her control, her feet began to walk towards the voice.

"What is this place?" she asked no one in particular, unsure if she spoke aloud or not and uncaring if anyone actually heard her. "Where am I?"

She continued forward, the path turning from snow and rocks and broken branches to one of hewn stone. All of a sudden, Angel came to the realization that she had no shoes on. No wonder she couldn't feel her feet! She looked down to see them all scraped and cut and bleeding. The few footprints she had left on the stone were bloody. Looking herself over, she discovered that her appearance had changed dramatically.

Surely she had been wearing her lavender pajamas just a little bit ago, hadn't she? Yes, she could swear it! But now, she found herself in a thin shift-looking thing that looked like it had once been white. It also sported bloodstains, plus quite a few rips and tears. The hem may as well have never existed, dripping with frayed-off threads. Angel assessed her situation and decided that she had never looked more like a zombie in her life.

But that thought took a very immediate back seat as the voice of Sleetcold found its way back into her ears. She could now tell that it was clearly a woman's voice, one sweet and low. The irresistible tone wrapped its way round every one of her senses. Angel forgot about the cold and the pain, continuing on the hewn path that had started to look intensely pretty to her. Oddly, equilibrium all but left her as she went along. So she wavered back and forth, flitting along the path like some sort of otherworldly being.

The voice continued to take over her consciousness, bringing her further and further down the path. Hewn stone became black marble, the smooth stone cold against her bare feet and thankfully not showing bloodstains. Angel looked round, taking in the gloomy but palatial surroundings. Thoughts other than following the voice leaked away from her head.

Hel could feel the small mortal's soul getting closer. She had seen the explosion of blood all over the soldier-man in the hospital room. It had been rather desperately endearing to watch the girl protect her toy at the very end. There in the viewing pool, she watched the super-soldier and the aftermath. The big, strong man actually looked quite traumatized by it all… That surprised her – she thought he'd have been made of sterner stuff than that. Even with the medical staff surrounding him, he refused to let go of the tiny body.

Steve had seen death before. He had lost one of his best friends back all those years – even though that did end up sorting itself out. But he had never experienced something like this. Matter of fact, he found himself still in shock. Angel was just a little girl in his eyes… How had he just held her in his arms and felt the life leave her body? It didn't seem possible. No… she was just having another symptomatic episode! That's what Doctor Banner would say in just a minute, right?

Banner himself approached the two of him once he felt sure Angel wasn't going to start spewing blood again. Steve blanched as he reached for the girl, but allowed him to check her pulse and eyes. The two men exchanged looks.

"Captain Rogers… I…" he began, his voice almost faltering before he caught himself. "There's really nothing…"

The doctor's voice trailed off – he had given that news before, but the look on Cap's face just gave him pause this time. He backed away a bit, unable to find words for the situation at hand. Thankfully, he did realize that now wouldn't be a good time to lament the loss of the symptom/sample/treatment source. But really… what were they going to do now? They couldn't derive an effective treatment for the other two symptom sets without her. His mind started working in overdrive, contemplating the possibility of only treating one symptom set. If that worked, maybe the gastroenteritis and bronchitis would… No, they'd probably still kill people.

Meanwhile, the super-soldier still had issues processing what had just happened. His brain rejected Banner's clumsy attempt at saying there was nothing left to be done for her. This couldn't be possible… She would get up soon – it had been the pattern this entire time! He looked down the length of the bed and found her bear beside her knees where she had pitched it. Shifting Angel's small form to one arm, he reached down to retrieve the stuffed toy. It looked a lot more loved and worn when he looked at it up-close. Instinct told him to settle the bear in her arms, but he thought better of it. If she awoke and found blood on her beloved bear, it would upset her deeply.

"Angel, come on," he whispered down to her pale, motionless face. "Please… wake up – you always do. Wake up for me…"

He felt as if something inside of him had… not broken, but maybe cracked just a little bit. His brain just wouldn't make the connection. Angel wouldn't wake up, and he knew that logically, he thought. He had just told her it was okay to let go, hadn't he? Looking down at the worn stuffed toy in his hand, he blinked slowly and let his mind go totally blank. His eyes kept tricking him, thinking that she might have just shifted or blinked or something.

She hadn't.

Hel continued to send her voice out through Sleetcold and watched the mortal girl follow it along the corridors. She had fought the Asgardian disease remarkably well right to the end. The Mistress of Sleetcold cast an eye over toward the viewing portal. Still in shock apparently, the super-soldier cradled the lifeless mortal body on one arm, holding a small brown bear in his other hand. Even in her state of perpetual resentment and immortal unconcern, Hel could not help but feel a twinge of pity for the man.

The mortal girl's soul continued towards the source of the voice and, finally, she saw a set of gigantic doors up ahead. Her first urge was to run down the corridor and burst through those doors. Immediately, though, something else stamped down on that urge and she felt overwhelmingly suspicious. However, she knew that whatever she knew herself to be looking for would be on the other side. From the room beyond, the voice continued to call her. She advanced until the doors were so close she could touch them.

But did she really want to? She had to think very, very carefully for once in her seventeen-almost-eighteen years. Had it been that long already? Her mind went blank and she reached out, almost zombie-like, for the door handle. In a blink, though, her faculties returned to her and she snatched her hand back. For a moment, she studied the door as if it might explode or catch fire or something.

What is this place? Angel wanted to say, but something in her throat seemed to have shut itself. The little chords in there simply refused to move. Clacking her jaws together as she tended to do out of nerves didn't make a sound either. Okay, this had all of a sudden gotten way more unnerving than it had even been to start with – and that was saying something! Something in the back of her mind pushed her again to try opening in the door.

"Open it…" prodded the mysterious voice from nowhere.

She wanted to – even knew that she all but should! But, something else in her, probably that latent self-preservation instinct, told her to think about it. Whatever else happened, once she opened that door, there could be no going back. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any way to get back out through the corridors either. All of a sudden, the memory of the way she had come had gone extremely fuzzy. Angel knew, somehow, that if she tried to go back that way, it would end very, very badly.

So she took a deep breath. Now that felt strange, taking a deep breath and not feeling the rush of air filling her lungs… Something odd and disturbing had taken a hold on her mind – a drilling, inescapable thought. It couldn't be! Could it? She stared at the door as if trying to see through it. Soft, gray light came through the keyhole and drove the point home – could she be… dead? In the back of her mind, it registered with her that she had not expected this. Charlie had a much easier time of it, she decided.

"Open it, I said," the voice insisted, speaking right into Angel's head and shutting out her own thoughts. "I have been… waiting for you."

Back in the SHIELD medical facility, everything had been quiet for a good long while. No one seemed to be able to say anything to Captain Rogers, least of all Doctor Banner. From the looks of things, it looked like nobody wanted very much to try. He still cradled Angel very close to his chest, as though that might do something for her. Her blood had gotten very sticky and cold against his chest, having soaked very quickly through his shirt. For some reason, he just couldn't shake the thought that those green eyes would pop back open any second.

Hel found herself losing patience. When it became clear that the mortal would not open the door of her own accord, it finally started to move on its own. Angel took a wide step back so as not to get hit by the giant slab of iron. She shielded her face, blinking in pain and confusion as the light from within stung her eyes. Finally, tentatively, she stepped into the great hall in front of her… and nearly fell to her knees at the sight she beheld.

The entire place looked to be made of frosted gray glass and cold iron. She looked round to see the most depressing thing ever. People, old and injured and sick, sat about the great hall on either thin cushions or small stools. Angel felt like a rock encased in ice had just dropped from her throat into her stomach. A wave of devastating sadness overtook her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up, burst into tears, and never stop crying. But, for some reason, she could only stand, transfixed, as she saw the dais at the far end of the room.

Angel had seen some strange things in her young life, most of which had been hallucinations, but nothing compared to this. A woman sat on a throne upon the dais, but not one like any woman Angel had ever seen before. This… person… looked as if she had been split right down the center of her body. Facing her head-on, the side that Angel saw on the left had beautiful features: an icy, clear eye that drew one's gaze to a shapely nose and full lips. That same side had an impressive hourglass figure and milk-white skin. The other side, though…

Even her worst nightmares and most terrifying hallucinations had not prepared her for something like this. Where the left side had a beautiful shape and lovely features, the right side looked like an ad for death. Tattered, gray skin clung to bones that lay exposed in some places. Where there should have been a waistline, the skin stretched between ribs and hip like a drum. And nothing ever could make someone ready for a face like that. There was no eye in the socket, just a shriveled, perpetually-closed lid. Angel could see teeth through the split skin of the cheek, lips curling back dryly from the eerie smile.

Instead of wanting to run screaming into the night, anything to get away from this… woman, Angel took a curious step forward.

"You have spirit, mortal," the woman said in a rich, mellifluous voice. "Approach and present yourself to Hel, Mistress of Sleetcold."

For the next few seconds, Angel could only blink and gape like a goldfish.

"Um… Okay," she finally said, stumbling forward. "Wait… what'd you say your name was, ma'am?"

Hel decided to ignore this disrespect for the moment – the little insect simply didn't know any better.

"My name is Hel, daughter of Loki and Queen of the Underworld," she introduced herself once more. "And you are a rarity among mortal spirits."

Angel blinked and looked round again before pinching herself very hard – it didn't hurt, but it occurred to her that nothing did anymore. She only felt vaguely tired, as though she had been exercising strenuously two days ago. Her muscles had this heavy sensation to them. But then, she tilted her head, seeing something shiny beside the woman who called herself Hel. It looked like a mirror at first, but it had a different image than a reflection in it.

"Can I ask what's so special about me?" the mortal girl asked in her blunt way, causing Hel to smile benevolently.

"You are the first mortal to die of an Asgardian disease," the woman told her, making a sweeping gesture around the dismal hall. "Sleetcold is where mortals who do not die with the valiant in battle spend their afterlife. Those who are casualties, or die by accident or from disease and old age… They are my subjects."

Angel looked over the occupants of the hall. Yes, it did occur to her very suddenly that there was no one here who looked happy or healthy. The way she had been raised, heaven was supposed to be a glorious, joyous place. Well, further proof that their loony religion had been wrong, she thought. She tried to swallow hard, but the sensation that should have been there was not. It seemed that Sleetcold wasn't a painful place. It wasn't like the Hell she had been taught, not a place of punishment. But certainly this couldn't be a place of reward either.

"So… did I do something wrong to get here?" she asked, still fishing for some sort of explanation.

Hel shook her head, causing the mix of beautiful brown hair plus caked, dead strands to ripple down her back.

"No, dear," she said, still in that fond, indulgent tone – sounded as though she might be speaking to a neighbor's precocious child. "The All-Father Odin simply does not value as high the souls of those who do not die in battle. I, on the other hand, find the vast methods of mortal extermination fascinating."

Angel stared at this woman like she might something very dangerous, like explosives or her best friend before 8 AM. Hel looked the small mortal up and down like a fine piece of art. Yes, this would certainly be a lovely addition to her collection, like the one who kept blasting himself with cannon balls. Odin wouldn't take him, so she snapped him up right away. She had a special place in her iron palace for the souls of her collection.

"It is time for you to take your place in my collection, mortal," she informed Angel, pointing imperiously to a corridor at the side of the hall. "My attendants will see to your care."

Looking blank and stunned at the same time, Angel turned and followed Hel's pointing finger. A very muscular man with the head of a sheep stood beside the door, holding it open in as dignified a manner as he could. Normally, Angel would have something snarky to say at this, but her mouth had gone dry. She found herself drifting over to the sheep-man's door. He remained silent, but bowed her in and escorted her down the corridor. The door swung closed behind them, but made no sound.

Hel sat back on her dais and returned to her viewing portal with some amusement. In a moment, the mortal's spirit would be roomed in her collection and the man could let go of her body. But that didn't seem to be happening right away. A chill had entered the hall, one stronger than usual. A second later, the great iron doors swung open. The occupants of the hall dropped from their seats and genuflected to the newcomer.

"Father!" exclaimed Hel, rising from her throne with a macabre smile that she simply couldn't help. "What occasion brings you to the realm of Sleetcold, Father?"

Resplendent in golden armor and emerald-green cloak, the figure of Loki strode forward into the hallway, barely acknowledging the occupants. He smiled easily and extended his arms. His daughter descended the steps and rushed forward to embrace him. After a moment, he stepped back to view her at length.

"Daughter, you grow more beautiful each time I see you," he told her, a tone of joy rarely heard in his voice. "Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter? However, it does regard your collection - I wish to see your new addition."

A slight frown stole across Hel's face.

"Father, these visits seem never to bode well for me," she said easily, as though this had happened before. "Are you sure this does not involve you angering the All-Father or my honored uncle again?"

A grin that made Loki's upper lip disappear lit his countenance and he actually laughed.

"No, of course not, dearest!" he exclaimed, draping his arm round her shoulders and escorting her back to the dais. A large man with the head of a horse set up another seat for the God of Mischief. Loki seated his daughter before taking his own place. "I simply wish to see this mortal spirit that has brought you so much joy!"

Hel smiled genuinely this time – it seemed only her father could look directly upon this expression.

"Well Father, why didn't you say so?" she laughed, lifting her hands and clapping them sharply. The horse-headed man appeared and dropped to his knee. "Retrieve the mortal who died of the Asgardian disease for my father wishes to see her!"

The horse-headed man bowed, got up, and trotted from the great iron hall. He caught up with the sheep-headed man and Angel quickly. The two of them exchanged a sort of silent communication that scared Angel quite badly. Before she really knew what was going on, she found herself following the two of them back up the corridor she and her guide had just come down. While the man with the horse head opened the door, the sheep-man ushered her in. Hel had resumed her seat on the dais, joined by a man instantly familiar to Angel.

"I know you!" she blurted out, pointing at him.

Loki simply watched the mortal shout at him in amusement.

"And I know you, mortal," he fired back, his smile turning very dangerous. "For a time sufficient to amuse a god, I have known you."

Angel felt very dirty all of a sudden and wanted to go hop in a Loki-free shower.

"You've been sending me dreams too," she continued accusingly. "A giant snake… An eight-legged horse… A great big wolf…"

The grin widened, chilling Angel to what remained that she could feel of her core.

"Yes, and now you meet the most beloved of my children," he informed her, gesturing at Hel, who drew herself up proudly. "It is because of this that I visit her here in Sleetcold."

Hel frowned again.

"Father, you said…"

He silenced her with a hand held up, but he did not stop smiling.

"You see, my dearest daughter," he started gently. "You must throw this one back."

The half-beautiful, half-rotten frown deepened.

"Oh, but Father," she wheedled, only half-serious though. "It would be a lovely addition to my collection – the first mortal ever to die of a disease of Asgard!"

Loki smiled.

"Yes, but this one is simply too much fun."