I was so excited about the last chapter when I got 7 reviews before the end of the night! Thank you so much!

Then I realized something really terrible. Y'all don't trust me. :/ Give me some credit here, people. She's my favorite OC too! I haven't even gotten to the good parts yet.

You guys should have more faith in me ;) lol.

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Loki felt a sudden rush of power as he heard the gunshot. He heard Cara's body hit the ground behind him even as magic tingled through his fingertips. But the sudden, inexplicable return of his powers didn't even register in his mind as he knelt by her side, confused by the blood on the floor. Realization hit him even as the Avengers sprang into action and Mjolnir whirled through the air above him.

"You stupid girl," he muttered as he surveyed the damage, pale hands shaking. "Why would you do that?"

She smiled faintly through a grimace of pain. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," she coughed, closing her eyes.

He should be the one dying on the floor. Not her. The bullet had been meant for him. He wasn't bulletproof like he had been a year ago – bullets hadn't been a concern in the least. Now, however, mortality was in the forefront of his mind. Not his own, but hers… He shook her awake, trying and failing to ignore the panic he felt creeping up on him. He couldn't help her if he couldn't think. "Open your eyes, Cara. You must stay awake," he demanded, forcing her to look at him.

There was so much blood on the floor. Blood on his hands. Blood on Rogers's hands as he worked to stop the flow gushing from her stomach. He tried to remembered what he needed to do. How many times had he seen his friends wounded and not batted an eye? He had always been able to keep his head. But not now. There was something about seeing her blood on the floor – and knowing that it should have been his own – that threatened to unhinge his precarious grip on reality.

Can you wipe out that much red?

The question hardened his resolve and brought the situation back into focus. He was damn well going to try.

On Midgard, the wound in Cara's stomach would be fatal – a slow, agonizing death over the course of several minutes as the acids in her stomach leaked into the rest of her body. It was a terrible death. An idea struck him suddenly. He needed to buy some time.

Her eyes drifted shut again and he took her face in his hands. "Don't you dare close your eyes, Cara. Don't you dare." He had to refrain from shouting at her as he searched his memory for the knowledge he needed. She looked as if she might have protested before she winced and groaned.

Loki tried to think, allowing himself to recognize the return of his powers for the first time. He wondered why they were back, but could not spare the time to consider the question. All that mattered about it was that he had access to magic again. He was best at illusion magic – at deception. It was no coincidence he was called the Prince of Lies. But he would need something more real if he was going to save her. He knew no spells that would help, and regretted not listening to the Enchantress's lessons more carefully when he was younger. So he reached out instinctively with his magic, ignoring all the rules of magic his teacher had instilled in him. He could almost hear her mocking him. But he couldn't afford to care about that. If only he could slow the bleeding…

"Thor," he called over the sounds of chaos in the helicopter. The bleeding had stopped and he spared the briefest of moments to take in the scene of the Avengers restraining indignant S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and a furious Agent Summers lying on the floor with Mjolnir on his chest. His brother looked up at him – he wondered when he had begun referring to Thor as his brother again – and Loki didn't have to say anything more. There was only one thing Thor could do that Loki couldn't in that moment, and it was the one thing he needed to heal the woman on the floor beside him.

He briefly caught Rogers's glance as well, and knew the man understood. The Captain nodded grimly and stood to restrain Summers in the bigger man's stead. Loki didn't wait for anyone to protest before he stood with Cara in his arms, muttering to her to stay awake. He didn't know how he'd be welcomed in Asgard, but it didn't matter. She was worth the risk.

Thor's hand clamped down on his shoulder just as the Earth disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke.

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Cara hadn't the slightest idea where she was. A white mist swirled around her knees as she walked, obscuring the rock beneath her feet. She was cold, but not uncomfortably so. She shoved her hands in her pockets to warm them up a little.

She tried to remember what had happened. It felt like remembering a dream. She'd been in a desert of some kind. Loki had been there – which was odd, considering the last thing she really remembered was him being in the cave with her. A man in a black suit had put him in handcuffs. Now that was ridiculous. There was no way she'd let that happen.

But something told her that it had happened and she hadn't been able to stop it. There'd been something about a blonde bear and freeing her friend, but after that she couldn't remember because….

Her face whitened as she figured it out. She'd been shot. The pain in her stomach had been excruciating, but there'd been a strange light in Loki's eyes and he pain had gone away. It had felt so good to be in his arms.

Her hands travelled down to her stomach, expecting to find the wound but finding only dry cloth. She frowned before anger surfaced. She was dead? Now that wasn't fair. She'd only gotten one kiss.

"Welcome to Hel." A female voice spoke behind her and she jumped as she turned around.

"Hel? I didn't think I was that bad." The woman before Cara's eyes seemed to constantly be shifting from youth to old age. She was undoubtedly beautiful in every form she took, but the transformation was unnerving. There was a cold agelessness in her eyes that chilled Cara to the core. That being said, there was a certain familiar quality to her that made the hunter take a closer look instead of turning away.

"Ignorant Midgardian," she muttered. Cara wasn't sure whether or not to take offense. "Hel is the realm of the dead. I am Hela, Mistress of Death."

"So I'm dead then?"

The expression that crossed Hela's face was something between greed and supreme disappointment as she answered. "No. The Norns have forbidden me from claiming you. Your time has not yet come."

"Norns?" Grateful as she was not to be dead, she wasn't a fan of some other entity messing around with her life.

"They seem to think you have some greater purpose than you have as yet fulfilled. I'm not one to argue, I suppose."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Then why am I here?"

A frightening grin spread across her face. "I wanted to talk to you in person. Is it not natural for a daughter to want to meet the mother she never had?"

"I'm sorry?" There was no way she could have heard that right. Cara hadn't had any children – let alone a daughter who was "Mistress of Death."

"Terribly disappointing," she sighed as she turned away. "Then again, I suppose you still have some growing up to do. We'll see each other again, Mother."

Before Cara could open her mouth to say anything in response, she felt herself being pulled away by some unseen force. In an instant, the swirling mists of Hel disappeared.

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Loki was running towards the palace of Gladsheim the moment his feet touched the rainbow bridge. Although the bleeding had mostly stopped, his magic had only added maybe minutes to her life as her stomach fluids escaped into her body. By the time he reached the city walls, she was already writhing in his arms. With every whimper that escaped her lips, he increased his pace, forcing Thor to keep up. The healing stone would do her no good if he was too late.

Thor called for help as they ran, and the big man's voice broke the stunned onlookers from their silence. A message to the healers raced ahead of them by word of mouth. Loki had always been jealous of how his brother could command the love and obedience of the crowds, but now he felt only gratitude. He didn't really trust himself to speak anyway. Besides, the only one he really needed love from was dying in his arms, and she was by far his first priority – not a popularity contest.

They had reached the steps of the palace before a healer made her way out to meet them, a small pouch in her hand. Loki vaguely recognized his old friends running down the stairs after her. It didn't matter. The healing stone in the pouch had his full attention. He released the magic over Cara's stomach as he set her down on the ground, letting the wizened woman work.

Loki watched carefully as the healer pursed her lips and crushed the stone carefully over the wound, trying to read in her face the severity of the damage. He didn't dare breathe as she took out a second stone.

"Well?" he asked at last, watching Cara's chest rise and fall with each breath. Her eyes were closed, and he thought she must have drifted off while he was running. It worried him. The hole in her stomach was closing, but there was more damage inside her than just what the bullet had caused.

"She is with Death." His heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment at the woman's quiet words. "But she may yet return to us."

Loki had to think about that for a while before it made any sense. Cara was hovering somewhere in between life and death. Her body slept while her mind wandered. He watched her breathe for a few moments before gathering her into his arms, reassuring himself that she was, in fact, alive. If he had to go to the underworld and confront Hela herself, Cara would open her eyes again.

He left Thor to explain his presence there to Sif and the Warriors Three and went in search of a room Cara could borrow.

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Odin was in his study when a guard came in with a message from Heimdal. The words were simple – the gatekeeper had never had a need for eloquence – but had the Allfather striding purposefully through the halls of Gladshiem within moments.

"Your sons have returned."

It was the plural that caught his attention. There could be no mistake. Thor's visits to and from Midgard rarely warranted much heraldry at this point. The boy was visiting Jane Foster at least once a week, so his comings and goings were no longer of much interest to anyone. But a plural "sons" was definitely deserving of his attention.

He didn't have much of any idea where he should be looking, but the maids and menservants curious trek through the halls and confused expressions pointed him in the right direction. News travelled fast in Asgard, and, although the Allfather was often only second to Heimdal in sensing a threat, he was usually the last to learn the latest gossip. The task of keeping him informed often fell to his wife, Frigga.

There was a small crowd gathered around Loki's bedroom door, and Odin knew he'd reached the right place. Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three were trying to usher people away, but the curiosity was too great. The fallen son had returned, and everyone wanted to see it for themselves. Odin found himself wondering what had driven Loki to suddenly become so private – the transformation must be great indeed for him to pass up an audience.

As the gathered crowd became aware of the Allfather's presence, all whispered questions and hushed speech turned to silence. He carefully surveyed each face and said quietly, "Now is not the time."

That was all the command necessary for the party to disperse, each Asgardian going their separate way. The four warriors bowed their heads immediately and knelt before him, fists going to their chests in salute.

"Father – " Thor began, face creased with worry and the need to explain the situation. Odin had not intended for Loki's punishment to continue indefinitely – no explanation was necessary. He quieted his son with a slight smile and a raised hand.

"There is no need." He motioned for the warriors to stand. "Today I am only a father who wishes to see his son." Power and authority was all well and good, but there was no need for a mask in the presence of his family. He had done his own soul-searching during the past few years and had come to terms with his mistake. First and foremost, he was the Allfather – king of Asgard and ruler of the Nine Realms. There were times, however, when his sons needed their father, not their king.

It was true, Loki had confused and troubled Odin as a child. The boy had no aptitude for honorable combat. He had watched his sons train often, and it had been clear that Thor held a distinct and significant advantage over his brother. And where Thor had bonded with his father over tales of battle and bloodshed, Loki had been left to his own devices. Karnilla, the most powerful of the Three Norns, had seen something in the boy that Odin never could, and had trained him in the use of magic.

Although Odin did not entirely approve of such activities, he had to admit it had leveled the playing field between his sons considerably. Thor fought with his strength, Loki with his wits. And when they had finally ventured into the Realms – albeit against Odin's expressed wishes the first time – Loki's magic seemed to add an interesting twist to nearly every story they brought back.

And when it had come time to name Thor as his heir, he would freely admit there had been some reservations. The older boy had the love of the people, but had yet to attain wisdom. He had believed, however, that Loki would be able to temper his brother's rashness. They had always been two sides of the same coin, each contributing to the other's success. It had never occurred to Odin that he was giving the appearance of favoritism until Loki had brought it up.

The Allfather had been proud of both his sons, but it was entirely possible he had kept too much to himself.

Odin took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders in preparation for what he was about to do. Perhaps it was childish, but he always found there were few things more difficult for him than admitting fault.

He was prevented from barging through the gilded doors by a slim hand on his arm. He turned in surprise to look into his wife's thoughtful face. "Wait," she said softly. Her normally penetrating gaze was now somewhat glassy, as it usually was when she was looking at something no one else could see. She rarely shared what she saw, but when she did it was always worth listening. He watched for a moment as she returned to herself, blue eyes regaining their almost frightening intelligence. He had always made a point of not getting on Frigga's bad side.

A small smile appeared on her face as she nudged Thor away and cracked the door just enough to peer in. Odin, dreadfully curious, followed suit, and had to blink a few times before he was convinced his eyes were not deceiving him.

Loki, obviously lost in thought, was seated in a chair beside his own bed, elbows on his knees and hands near his mouth. He was in simple, rugged clothes, including a pair of worn… "jeans," he thought Thor had called them. After his first few visits to Midgard, the god of Thunder had thought to bring back gifts for his family, among them a pair of the thick pants large enough for the Allfather. Almost more surprising than Loki's garb, however, was the fact that the man was covered in blood. His sleeves were soaked to the elbows, and the dark hair falling in his red-streaked face was caked with it.

It was then that Odin noticed the small, inert figure lying in the bed, carefully tucked into the green blankets. He was too far away to be able to see clearly, but he could tell the form was female – and deathly pale.

The Allfather glanced over his shoulder and delivered a "you've got a lot of explaining to do, young man" glare to his eldest son. Thor merely grinned sheepishly, so Odin rolled his eye and went back to watching, curiosity winning out over prudence.

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For clarification's sake, Cara is essentially in a coma. I blame Hela.