Chapter 10

A loud shout jerked Sven back to awareness. He blinked through his grogginess and peered round, trying to remember where he was. It was getting dark. He dug the heel of his palm into his eyes. He must have fallen asleep at some point, but he didn't remember any of his dreams. He did feel altogether much better now than he had done, except for his throat which ached terribly for a drink. Shifting up and edging off Sam's lap he realised that they were outside a park, the buildings around them houses. Oh, yes. They hadn't gone back to the library. He tried to console his sinking heart by telling himself that it was probably for the best. This way he wouldn't return to the woman again and 'sarchal services' wouldn't be summoned. He shivered. That was if she hadn't already and they were the men who came for him last night. If that was true, he just had to hope they wouldn't come again tonight. He rubbed his jaw as the dream last night whispered to him, the ghost of it threatening to sink its fingers back into his skin and rip off his face. Outside, with no walls and door to protect him, they could simply pluck him off the street.

No, Sam would protect him. He'd always done so, just as long as he was still a good boy. He swallowed or tried to. His throat was far too dry.

"Sam, can I have a drink?" he asked. Surely, as he hadn't had a drink for over a day, Old Sam must let him have one now. He still had two cans from the night before.

The mendicant was scowling, muttering to himself as he dug through his hat, counting the inside money. It was starting to get dark though, so maybe he had missed some, but the coins seemed small. All ten and twenty pences. Old Sam's expression wasn't happy.

"Sam? I'm really thirsty…and hungry," he added.

"No mone'."

Sven nearly burst into tears, "But I really need a drink. I have not had a thing since yesterday noon. You have two cans from yesterday. Pleeeeeeeeeease."

He ignored the small part of his mind that sneered at his begging, wiping away the tears threatening to fall. "Please," and he swallowed thickly, "P-Pa." He shuddered, hating the taste of the word on his tongue.

It seemed to work. Sven could make out the beggar's expression softening though the haze. Old Sam patted his head. "Ol' Sam ge' a drin' fa us. Pa'll loo' afta 'is boi." He stumbled to his feet. "Stai." He commanded his boy before shuffling off.

Sven sighed. The dark of night was encroaching, the chill creeping back into his flesh. He pulled up the hood of his top, fiddling with the rim. Only the very occasional person would walk by, nothing like the bustling streets he was used to. There was nothing to keep him occupied. If only he had a book. Well, he had no story but at least he could make sure he didn't forget what he already knew. "A for apple, B for bee, C for cat…,"all the way to Z for zebra. He did it again and again, trying to get quicker each time. Even then Old Sam had not come back by the time he finished. Had Sam forgotten about him? No, he never really did and he'd left his bag here. What if the Faceless Men came for him while Sam was gone? Spelling! He could spell. Cat: c-a-t. Dog: d-o-g. Pig: p-i-g. All the animals he knew and all the words in the books he remembered and still no Sam. Oh, Sam: s-a-m. Sven…s…s…how was it spelt? S…f?...e…n?

"Ma Boi!"

Sven practically ran back to Sam when he heard the voice, so relieved that he had forgotten why he had left in the first place. In his arms was a very big bottle, mostly blue and white. "Bough' Ol' Sam 'n' 'is boi a drin'."

Old Sam opened it and took several large gulps, making Sven's mouth water, and then passed it down. It was heavy enough for him to nearly drop it. He sat down, putting it on the ground and wiping the top on his sleeve. He failed to pick it up, too heavy for his little arms. He somehow managed to pull it up onto his lap. He lifted it up, but it quickly started to slip out of his grip. He glared down at his drink, taunting him with it proximity. The bottle was far too wide to get his small hands around. How was he supposed to drink this? He looked to Old Sam only to see him setting off back down the street again.

"Old Sam?" The boy tried to scramble back to his feet, spilling some of the drink as he did so.

"Stai boi. Pa gonna go fin' foo'. Stai," the mendicant shouted back without turning.

Sven dropped back to the ground. He dreaded to think where Sam was going to get food from. At least he had a drink though, finally. He looked back down at the large blue bottle. He tugged it back onto his lap, spilling more as he went. It smelled…unpleasant, he could catch a hint of Sam's booze in there. He shrugged it aside, a drink was a drink. There really wasn't any other option for him. He managed to pull it up to rest on his knee, balancing precariously, and got his mouth over the top without spilling the content all over him. He took his first few greedy gulps and immediately pulled away, his tongue hanging out with a disgusted, 'eurgh'. That was horrid. If this was how all of Sam's booze tasted he wondered why he drank it. Maybe that's what made him grumpy sometimes.

It was bitter, terribly bitter. There was a vague hint of something that might have once been apples, but it was drowned out by other flavours of…he had no idea what they were but they were unpleasant. He gave the bottle a glare. Under normal circumstances he would have left the rest of the drink to Sam, but that little trickle of liquid had been divine to his throat. The first drops of rain after a drought. His body was begging for more, to beat away the slightly nauseous feeling that had crept down his throat and settled heavily in his belly.

He felt the corners of his mouth pull down. Maybe if he drank it quickly he wouldn't taste it as much. He took a deep breath, steeled his will and tried again. He balanced the bottom of the bottle on his knee and leaning back to tip the drink into his mouth. He gulped it down like it would be his last drink, stopping only to breathe. It seemed to have done little good. It was as if it had passed through him without touching. He tried again, the desperate edge fading from his gulps. He was attempting to hit the back of his gullet that felt as if it was sticking together. He had to lean further back than ever and push his knee higher up until his belly was full and he couldn't drink any more.

His throat felt a little better, still thick, and his body warmer. He screwed the cap back on the waited for Sam to return. The drink had improved his mood, spreading a little warmth through him leaving a slight tingling sensation in its wake that grew as time trudged on. The side of the face started to feel numb and his body light, almost…disconnected. He poked his face. Perhaps the sensation should worry him, but he found it hard to care. He looked up and round for Sam. Perhaps he should go through the alphabet again it came slowly through his sluggish mind.

He stomach rumbled and he giggled at the noise. He wasn't sure why, he was awfully hungry, but it did seem funny. Could it be the hunger was making him feel strange? Or maybe he was just tired; he mind was certainly cloudy which was so strange. Had little clouds drifted inside? He giggled again. Wasn't that funny. He wondered if they were as soft as they seemed in the sky. They must make a wonderful pillow and would they be warm…

"Sven! Ol' Sam bough' 'is boi food'."

Sven blinked up at Sam, who had magically reappeared in front of him. The beggar was grinning down at him holding out a packet of…food? Food! Sven was very hungry. He reached for the offered pack. Old Sam pulled the top three pieces off, beige, hard rectangles stuck together with something white, and passed the rest to his boy. He took the rest of them knowing somewhere in the depth of his head that he didn't want to put them anywhere near his mouth. He couldn't remember why though. It seemed important, but at that moment he didn't care, he wanted food.

And so, he tucked in.

(&)

Sven woke later that night feeling terrible. It didn't start too badly, just a little wobble in his belly. He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but his mind refused to shut off again. He could feel the pavement underneath him though couldn't really recall lying down. Sam's old shirt was over him, but it did little to keep the chill seeping into his bones. The ground felt strange, like it was slowly tipping. Was that possible? He opened his eyes to check. The world seemed normal, yet he could still feel that slight tilting. The mismatch between his senses aggravated his churning belly and his eyes quickly snapped shut. He flipped over onto his other side in the vain hope that it may somehow help. That turned out to be a mistake. He wasn't half-turned when he felt as if he was spinning through the air. No, that wasn't right. He felt as if he was still and the world was revolving around him in a whirl.

Above him, Sam snored loudly, oblivious to the way his boy's stomach rolled and squirmed. It was as if it had come to life and was trying to crawl out of him to find stable ground. The image was too much. He had just enough time to roll onto his hands and knees as his belly made a desperate bid to escape. What little he had eaten that day splashed back on the pavement, burning his throat as it went. He breathed deeply, resting his forehead in his lap.

The reprieve was brief. Soon the queasiness was chewing its way back. Why did feel so bad? He shouldn't have eaten the food Sam had given him, that must be it. Why had he eaten it? He was never doing it again. He could still taste it in his mouth, mixed with the sharp bitterness of the dri-

His thoughts were rammed aside as the nausea scaled high enough to tip over the edge. He heaved again. Nothing came up. His body tensed, trying to purge itself of the foul substance he had consumed, again and again until it subsided.

He closed his eyes again and sobbed. He was going to have a horrible night.

(&)

Steve had finally managed to convince Thor to step out into the city to have lunch. He had been reluctant, even when his friend had explained that he would always have his phone on him. When he had relented, the men and women of S.H.E.I.L.D. had looked rather relieved. A small drop of guilt ate at him all the way to the small eatery, stopping him from enjoying the new food as much as he would otherwise have. A rumble of thunder shook the air as he picked at his meal, Steve digging into his own with more relish.

"I have been unbearable," he said, making the Captain look up.

"A little," his friend admitted, not one for such a bold-faced lie. "You just need to get out from under their feet. You're a little overbearing. You make them nervous."

"I have never been patient, I apologise. I do not like feeling helpless, with nothing to do."

Steve turned back to his food. "No one does, but I doubt that glowering at the people trying to help will do much good." He gave a small smile to take the bite from the words.

Thor couldn't disagree as he knew it was true; it was just harder to put into practice. He had become a better person since his banishment to Midgard, but a lifetime's worth of habits were difficult to break. Even now he found himself falling back on them. Thunder rumbled over head again and lightning flashed. Thor frowned and looked out. Another flash of lightning, it was almost directly above them.

"Looks like we'll be caught out in the storm," Steve commented. There was a short pause in which he must have seen Thor's frown because his tone became cautious. "What is it?"

"Something feels amiss with the storm."

"You can feel that?" Steve sounded surprised.

"Not all of my power stems from Mjonir. The storm runs through my veins."

"I see," though his tone contradicted his words. "What's wrong then?"

"I do not know, it feels… unnatural."

Steve turned to the entrance, scowling. He stood. "There's no rain. I know that's possible, but with how humid it's been…" He turned back to Thor. "That's odd, right?"

Thor nodded, rising to his feet. He was right, but that was only a reflection of the real problem. This didn't just feel unnatural; it didn't feel like a storm. At least none he had ever known. A ringing suddenly cut through the air. Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Thor listened though he kept his eyes on the sky, trying to understand what was so wrong with this squall.

"Steve here…. The Storm?...Thor sensed something was wrong with it…. I didn't know either… He's not sure… Yes… We'll be there… I have a hang of it by now. Bye." He hung up and pulled out his money instead. "They picked up strange readings from the storm as well; they're the same ones that Jane flagged as being suspicious." He dropped several notes on the table. His phone lit up and Steve was immediately pressing the screen. "That's the source, come on."

Thor was already heading out, his heart falling short of the elevation he had thought he would feel at a development. There was something to do and chase, but this was unlike Loki. Even when he was terrorising Midgard his actions and magic fit his brother's habits. This was completely new.

"This way," Steve directed him right and they jogged down the street. "Turn left at the crossroad." He glanced over. "Do you think this is Loki?"

Thor shook his head. "I have known Loki to dabble in this kind of magic. It would be most unlike him."

However, two years ago, he would have thought trying to crush a realm under his heel was most unlike Loki as well.

A/N: Yeah, so this chapter changed about three times which delayed this by about a month. In the end I brought Sven's scene forward from a later chapter.

I'm sorry, if you wrote a review and I haven't replied. I didn't mean to ignore you, I lost track of which ones I replied to and I didn't want to reply twice. So if you didn't get a reply, I'm very sorry. I probably composed the reply in my head/on paper and genuinely thought I did reply to you. :/

On that note, thank you to Cool bean and Nagirisushilover for your reviews and sorry for the long wait.