Author's notes: I've had this knot twisting in my stomach for the past two to three weeks now, in regards to this very chapter. I swear it's not my sole purpose in life to tear your souls to shreds. Really!

Warnings: Character death.

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

And leave me alone

Don't try to wake me in the morning

'Cause I will be gone

Don't feel bad for me, I want you to know

Deep in the cell of my heart, I will feel so glad to go

-Emily Browning, Asleep

Balder struggled against his exhaustion—he did not want to drive Thor away—but his eldest brother noticed his weariness nonetheless. Before, Balder wouldn't have thought it possible for Thor to see the troubles of others. Thor stood up, reluctant, and Balder could tell he was about to leave.

"I shall see you in the morning, brother," Thor promised.

"Yes," Balder murmured, looking away. "In the morning." He wanted to tell Thor of his certainty, of the knowledge deep in his bones that this night was going to be his last. Sometimes one could sense their end coming, and that was so with Balder. But as much as he wanted to tell Thor, even more so he didn't want to push anxiety into his brother's heart. Thor had suffered enough guilt on Balder's account.

He moved his good arm to the table beside the bed, but was unable to pick up the envelope that had been placed there. "Julia wrote it down for me," he explained to Thor as the Asgardian picked it up. "It is a letter, for Sif." He shook his head. "What you have told me of her bravery tonight, standing against a wraith… I was so very, very wrong about her, Thor. And I am ashamed."

He looked up at his brother, eyes pleading. "Please make sure that she reads it tonight, Thor," he begged. "I need to know that she will read it."

Thor nodded gravely. "I will see it done," he assured Balder. Balder felt relief ease some of his tense muscles; another measure of peace.

"Thank you, Thor," he said gratefully. His brother kept the letter clasped between his fingers with sweet-hearted delicacy, and the action coaxed a smile to Balder's tired features. Thor placed his other hand on Balder's face, thumb stroking a still soft cheek.

"I'll be seeing you again with the dawn," he told Balder. He took his hand away but Balder grabbed his wrist, wincing as his body protested.

"Thor," he began to ask, "when you find Loki… if I'm… please tell him that I still love him. I don't care what the others have said, or even what you have said. I still love Loki. Please tell him that for me."

Thor set the letter on the desk and hugged Balder. "You will tell him yourself," he said, but Balder's heart broke as he caught the first note of uncertainty in Thor's voice.

"Of course," Balder murmured. "Of course I will."

Thor reluctantly slipped away, taking the letter for Sif, and his steps sounded heavy as they went down the stairs. Balder blinked up at the white ceiling, topping four blue walls patterned with soft pink. His cheeks were wet when Julia rejoined him a few minutes later.

"Balder?" Her fingers caressed his face, silken brows drawing together in concern.

"I'm making my peace," Balder whispered. "But it's hard to let go."

Julia's gaze was deeply grieved. "There's no salvation for you, is there," she said, facing at last the cruel fact. Balder looked up at her in distress, and in there she saw her answer. Julia sobbed. "This isn't—we found each other at last, Balder!" she cried. "And so soon I will lose you. You… you won't even get to meet your daughter."

"Ssh." Balder pressed a finger against Julia's lips, cold and stone, and the sobs shuddered through her all the more. "Julia, don't be angry. This is more than I had ever hoped for. Please, dearest. Will you stay with me?"

Julia nodded, lying down beside Balder and pulling the blankets over both of them, clinging to her husband and wishing she could hide from the inevitable reality: that right after she had found her husband, she was going to lose him.

"I don't want to go to sleep," Julia confessed. "Balder, let's talk."

She felt his breath ruffle her hair. "What of, Julia?" he asked.

"Anything. Everything. I don't want to fall asleep, and miss you," Julia said. She shivered, pressing closer, longing for the humanity in her to save the curse taking her husband's.

"Yes." Balder's hand went to her belly, feeling the life she nurtured inside. "Let's talk about her, shall we? Our daughter." His lips grazed the top of her head, pausing his speech for a kiss. "What are we going to name her?"

"I had thought Benjamina," Julia told him. "Before the Curse broke, I only remembered my husband as Benjamin, and so I was going to name our daughter after him."

"Benjamina," Balder murmured. "Yes, I like the sound. What is its meaning?"

"Since it's a girl, 'daughter of the right hand,'" Julia replied. "Strong, trusted, an heiress to great power."

"I like it," Balder declared, kissing Julia's hair again. Julia tilted her head up so he could get the right place. "Benjamina she shall be."

"But what about her middle name?" Julia asked. "You should choose what that will be."

"Perhaps Pandora, like you?" Balder suggested. He chuckled lightly to show that he was in jest. Then he fell silent, thinking, and Julia waited. "Ván," Balder decided. "It means 'hope.' Because that is what I have found."

They looked into each other's eyes, soft light and soft dark. "Julia," Balder said quietly, "I know my end is coming, but I have never been so filled with hope as I am in this moment. We are going to have a legacy, you and I. There is a daughter to carry our mantle, who will find her own way in the worlds. Yes, I am full of hope because I know now that this does not end with us. It will continue on."

"Oh, Balder." Julia trembled, weeping again. "I am glad of your hope, but I still don't want you to go."

"I know, my love," Balder said, kissing her. "And I desire the same. But there are things that cannot be, and the best we can do is to make peace while we can." He fell silent again, until Julia's fingers wove between his and tightened.

"Don't stop talking, Balder," she pleaded. "Not yet."

Balder granted her wish and spoke, trying not to look at the stone crawling across his skin, remembering happier and worse times, reliving the days again with his wife now by his side. And she listened, and she spoke, and they all tried to forget what was so swiftly coming. Balder stroked her raven tresses until he couldn't move his arm anymore, silently grieving that the tears his wife shed upon his chest were unfelt.

"You, ah, you did say that the first time is usually the worst?" Fandral asked Volstagg. He hissed slightly through his teeth as Volstagg gently set him down on the floor inside of the inn Ruby had brought them to.

"Usually," Volstagg replied, absently watching Ruby as she picked out keys for each of them. "Though I must admit, the older warriors made killing a wraith sound much easier than the actual fact."

"The fish story always changes," Ruby commented, coming out from behind the counter and handing a different key to all of them. Fandral took a moment to appreciate the elaborate metalworking put into each key's tag. None of them were identical. "You're in luck," Ruby informed them. "There's just enough rooms for all of you, including Thor. Fandral, Sif, I suggest you take the two available rooms on the first floor. You need rest the most out of everyone."

Sif frowned, but she understood the reasoning of Ruby's words. Fandral seemed ready to protest, but a stern look from Volstagg prevented him. Fandral huffed, then winced.

"We'll discuss payment methods in the morning," Ruby said as she directed them to their rooms. "Unless you'd prefer right now?"

"While beholding your face, fair maiden, is a most luxurious experience," Fandral said with practiced flourish, "I think losing consciousness holds even more appeal."

"Yeah, I thought so," Ruby chuckled. "I'll see you guys in the morning." She disappeared off to wherever it was that she belonged. Sif went immediately into her room, and Hogun retreated to his, but Volstagg stayed with Fandral a while longer.

The room Fandral was to stay in was small, but treated with care, and there was a welcoming feel to the wooden walls. Volstagg's fingers pressed against the warm-colored timber.

"I am quite alright, Volstagg," Fandral assured the elder Warrior, sinking carefully down onto his bed. It was well-kept and comfortable, an exception from most inns. "Just a bit of knocking about, that's all."

"No, that is not all," Volstagg said worriedly. Guilt stabbed Fandral as he saw the close fear he had put into Volstagg's eyes. "Things… they have not been the same since Jotunheim. You nearly died that day, Fandral, and it was only Loki and his indifference towards glory that saved you. Saved all of us. You haven't been the same since that day, and please don't try to convince me otherwise. You hang back in fights now, by the smallest amount. You're afraid that it will happen again. But you've been pierced in that very manner before, and it never elicited a response like this from you."

Fandral sighed, hanging his head in defeat. A shiver ran up his spine. "It was terrifying, Volstagg," he confessed. "I could feel myself freezing from the inside out, as though I were turning into a Frost Giant. And I couldn't stop wondering, while my essence was turning cold and I was helplessly watching as the Frost Giants closed in… how did we ever win? How did Jotunheim ever lose? I suspect we were very, very lucky."

Volstagg said nothing, crossing the room to sit beside Fandral. The bed creaked, but held. Fandral shivered again, rubbing his hand against the place where the Frost Giant's spike had gone through. "I can still feel it, some days," he admitted. "Reaching out, trying to turn me into… into… I don't know." He frowned soberly, but then forced himself to perk up. "Ah, but come now, Volstagg, let us speak of less solemn things. I espied a dining area downstairs. Do you think you shall be adventurous tomorrow morn and set your taste buds upon Midgardian cuisine? Providing that you can wait until morn," he added with a wink.

Volstagg smiled, for Fandral's sake more than anything. "Thor has spoken very highly of pizza," he said to Fandral. "He tells me that it is godly."

"Midgardians do think of the oddest names," Fandral remarked in amusement. His eyes twinkled, and Volstagg was gladdened by the sight of it. Fandral did not seem himself without his charm and humor.

"Perhaps they say the same of us," Volstagg replied with a chuckle. He stood back up. "The hour is growing late. Rest well, Fandral."

Fandral let out a teasing scoff. "Rest? A strong warrior of Asgard like me? Never."

They laughed together and said their farewells for the night, falling into slumber until the dawn should come.

Lillian was reading when Thor came back down the stairs, hidden away almost entirely behind stacks of worn books. Thor didn't see her at first, and caught sight of her only when the movement of her lifting head drew his attention. Lillian smiled in greeting, so briefly that Thor almost missed it, and went back to her books. Her lows lowered tiredly and he heard her murmur, "Useless."

Matthew had fallen asleep on the couch, looking as if he had done a flying leap for the cushions and then stayed that way, his form cast about haphazardly. Thor had intended only to speak with Balder for a few minutes, but he felt surprised to see now that nearly an hour had passed.

Matthew awoke at the sound of Thor's step. While the Asgardian could walk when a quiet step when he so desired, the boy had learned to keep attentive ears. He hadn't entered deep sleep, anyway. Cracking a yawn, he stretched in a cat-like manner before hopping to his feet. "Shall I get you to the inn?" he inquired.

Thor nodded, then his brow furrowed curiously as he looked around. "Where is Julia?" he asked.

"Outside," Lillian replied, not pulling her eyes away from the new book she had opened, paging through the great tome's index. "She wanted a few moments of peace to think, and to pray."

"Pray." Thor felt an odd mixture of surprise and understanding. Surprised that she was Midgardian and still believed in prayer, understanding that this faith had been the source of the steadiness in her eyes. He looked over at Lillian, wondering if the occasional murmurs from her that he hadn't been able to interpret from her had been prayer as well.

When he was a youth, he had scoffed at those of faith as naïve and fearful, refusing to face and fight the unknown. Now he looked at Lillian, who had certainly proven herself a woman of both mystery and worth (no wonder it was her that Loki had befriended), and she prayed. Her daughter, carrying the mantle of her mother's wisdom, prayed. Thor was bewildered, and he would readily admit it, but now was the time for him to go.

He looked over at Matthew, who had put on his shoes and a coat that Thor thought might be a little thick for thawing winter, but he did remember that those of southerly regions on the realms could have difficulty resisting the cold. "I am ready to depart, Matthew," he told the boy, who nodded.

"Right," said Matthew, "let's go." He opened the door, promising to Lillian that he would return soon. Outside Matthew went, a brief grumble against the weather escaping his lips before turning to see that Thor was following.

The Thunderer was, and soon boy and Æsir were walking briskly, Matthew following the familiar map within his head. They formed an odd contrast: the lanky, umber-skinned wolf boy from the jungle and the towering, golden warrior-prince of Asgard. Matthew's hand went up to the bandage on the side of his head, his expression thoughtful. "Mr. Thor," he began, "did you treat Mr. Hemming—Loki, I mean—the same way you treated Mr. Balder?" He looked up at Thor, and his gaze wasn't accusing or angry, only wondering.

"What do you mean by that?" Thor asked. He didn't understand the question, Matthew could see it even through the dark.

"I heard you and Mr. Balder talking," Matthew said, and lifted his hands defensively as Thor started to make an affronted noise. "Look, I just want to know about you! People never hate each other without reason, and I'm trying to figure out why Mr. Hemming... Anyway, I heard you talking about how Mr. Balder had always been overlooked, by you, by everybody. And I wondered if you treated Mr. Hemming like that."

"Loki wouldn't let himself be ignored," Thor mused, feeling a twinge of hurt as he considered why Loki had so desperately fought for attention, and how little he had won in the end. "It gave him an unfavorable reputation among many. I never gave it much thought, even to this day."

"Did you mock him?" Matthew asked. His voice was quiet, dark eyes searching Thor's face. Thor wondered how much the boy could see.

"Well, yes, but it was only done in jest," Thor replied. "We all did it, him as well. No one on Asgard could match Loki's sarcasm and wit, though admittedly they weren't talents held in great regard on our realm."

"Mr. Hemming understands words, Mr. Thor," Matthew said pointedly. Thor was puzzled by the emphasis. "He uses them carefully, as defense or a weapon. Even more so, now that his Loki part is back. Words have power, and they can hurt. A lot."

"I would never hurt Loki!" Thor cried in protest, his step halting. A part of him wondered in outrage who this sprig of a mortal thought he was, accusing Thor of wounding his own brother. In battle it had happened, yes, but only because the fates of entire realms had hung in the balance. Not for anything less would Thor force himself to harm his brother.

"Not on purpose," Matthew replied. He stopped his pace also, so Thor did not bother to resume his. "But sometimes…" Matthew's gaze turned down, shoulders growing heavy. "Sometimes he doesn't even realize how much he's hurting you," he finished quietly.

Thor could feel his chest tighten. "You are speaking from experience," he realized, and remembered what he had learned so well since Loki's fall: people in pain always find each other.

"Not everyone can be a silvertongue, Mr. Thor, and no one's perfect," Matthew told him. "But you've got to be careful with your words, because those stay with a person. Especially someone like Mr. Hemming. Think about some of the things that maybe you didn't say: I love you, I'm proud of you, I'm glad you're my brother, I respect you."

"You are a great man," Thor murmured softly to himself. Regret was etched deep into his face. "I have never spoken any of these words to my brother, Matthew."

Matthew was silent, scuffing his shoe. "I guess when you think about it, the betrayal was a long time coming, huh?" he said.

Thor sat down on the sidewalk, head in his hands. Matthew folded his legs and sat down next to him. "I truly am the worst brother in the Nine Realms," Thor said heavily.

"Well, you finally caught on, so that's a step in the right direction," Matthew said encouragingly.

"But what is the next step?" Thor wondered in despair. "So often I have tried to bridge the gap between Loki and I… and it is only now that I realize the gap has been growing for centuries." He shook his head. "Did I ever know my brother?"

"Probably not," Matthew said honestly. Thor winced, and Matthew realized there were certain questions better unanswered. "Look, you're reaching out to him now, and that does count for something. Just don't be totally crushed when he doesn't reach back for a while, okay? He's been flying solo for a long time, from the sounds of it. He was surrounded by people, Mr. Thor—especially since you're both princes—but did he have any friends?"

"I don't know," Thor confessed. "He was always with my friends and I, I just assumed…" He shook his head. "He was terribly lonely, wasn't he? And we would laugh at him."

"I guess it takes one to know one," Matthew said thoughtfully. He looked over at the despondent Asgardian. "Mr. Thor, you're alright," he told the Thunderer with an approving nod. "I've gotten pretty good at sniffing out rotten eggs with the number I've been surrounded by in life, and there isn't a hint of that around you. I know this must be rough for you—we both had someone we trust unconditionally turn around and knife us—but I guess it's time for us to be the bigger men and not strike back."

He laughed softly. "Heh, Bagheera would never believe I could say something like that. Storybrooke really does change people."

"And how has it changed my brother?" Thor asked, his voice and bearing low.

"For the better," Matthew answered. "He just has to figure it out. And he will, Mr. Thor." He stood up and offered Thor a hand up. Thor smiled gratefully but stood on his own, not wanting to break the fragile bones of the human's hand.

"Thank you for speaking out, Matthew," Thor said humbly. "You are a great friend to Loki, I can see. Better than I have been," he added in shame.

"Life doesn't stop giving chances," Matthew replied promptly. "Come on, Mr. Thor, let's get you to that inn."

Thor nodded and they traveled the last amounts of the distance in silence, neither feeling inclined to speak. Matthew escorted Thor to the door of the inn and bid him goodnight, eyes darting alertly before he slipped out of the light of the streetlamps on his way home.

Thor went inside. No one was in the small entry he stepped into, and he looked around in slight panic as he wondered if maybe he should have asked Matthew in help finding an unoccupied room.

"You certainly took your time," Sif remarked dryly, slowly walking out of the room she was staying in. Were there enough rooms for all of them? That would be splendid.

"Balder and I had more to talk about than I had anticipated," Thor said with an apologetic shrug. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Sif."

"I couldn't sleep," Sif answered dismissively. She handed Thor a key, and he took a moment to admire the craftsmanship. "This is the key to your room, it's on the second floor. Last door on the left, I believe."

"Thank you," Thor said gratefully, an immense yawn releasing itself from his lungs. "And I have something for you as well," he added, placing the white envelope into Sif's hand. "It's from Balder. He wants you to read it tonight. In fact, I think he needs you to."

Sif nodded, eyeing the letter like she would a stalking dragon. She and Thor said their goodnights and they separated. Thor trudged upstairs and collapsed onto his bed, falling immediately into slumber.

Some minutes before Thor's return, Sif had not been alone. She had retrieved the belongings of herself and the other Asgardians from the horses, and had her nightwear set on the bed. She was not looking forward to the painful process of removing her armor—too much movement for her liking. Even when sitting, her abdomen throbbed. But she was alive; that was the important part.

Sif's teeth gritted in anger. Had Loki been there at the town hall, Fandral never would have skirted the possibility of death, and Sif wouldn't have either. Had Loki been there, he would have protected them and drug all of them away in a tactical retreat at just the right moment. Had Loki been there, he would have striven to save everyone. Curses! Why did the little tagalong of childhood days have to turn on them? They all were weaker without him.

Because they needed him. There was a hole in their lives where Loki was supposed to be. Yet instead of that, there was this mad hunt.

A knock sounded at the door, a single rap without the accompaniment of a voice. "Come in, Hogun," Sif called. She looked in the mirror and realized in surprise that she couldn't braid her hair in preparation for the night anymore. How short it was. Sometimes she forgot. Her fingers reached up to brush against the cropped locks, not even half the length of her thumb, and Hogun entered.

"You miss it," he observed, nodding to her hair.

Sif's mouth tightened, and she jerked her hand down. "It is a vain folly," she said sharply.

Hogun seemed amused, or at least less grim. He wasn't going to say anything more on the matter, however, Sif could already see that. The often silent warrior had come here for other reasons than Sif's erstwhile tresses.

Hogun's limp had already eased from the near paralysis it had reduced him to. Still, it would be a number of days before he could tread smoothly again. Sif looked at him and waited, and Hogun looked back.

"You were planning to fight the wraith alone," he noted. So he had seen it, in the brief second she had glanced his way before seeing David on the other side of the room, taking up Fandral's sword.

"I had to," she replied. "And I would have done it alone, Hogun. For my honor—"

"Foolishness," Hogun cut her off. His hard gaze upon her bore a hint of forgiveness. "We fight together, Sif."

Sif blinked at Hogun and then dipped her head in silent thanks. Hogun had chosen to come down here and do the most unexpected: restore to Sif his trust. One never truly understood what happened behind Hogun's closed eyes.

Hogun left, not asking for Sif's help in journeying back up the stairs and Sif did not offer it. This was a battle Hogun desired to fight alone, and he should be allowed to do alone. Sif sat down on the edge of her bed and thought. For how long she didn't know, but eventually she heard the door to the inn open and a distinctive tread: Thor.

She winced as she lifted herself from the bed and picked up Thor's key from where she had set it on the dresser. She opened the door and almost smiled at the bewildered look on her friend's face. "You certainly took your time," she remarked dryly. It occurred to her how much like Loki she was in this moment: badly hurt and speaking in sarcasm. Strange.

A guilty look flashed across Thor's face. Again, Sif felt the impulse to smile. Still, for some reason she didn't. "Balder and I had more to talk about than I had anticipated," Thor explained, shrugging in apology. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Sif."

It still surprised Sif that apologies was something that Thor did now. Extraordinary, how much Jane Foster had changed Asgard's prince. "I couldn't sleep," Sif answered, trying to dismiss Thor's guilt as well as the sharp pain that came with thinking of Thor's human lover. She handed him his key. "This is the key to your room, it's on the second floor. Last door on the left, I believe."

Thor thanked her and then yawned. Then he surprised Sif by telling her that he had something for her as well, and gave her a white envelope, unsealed. "It's from Balder," Thor informed her. "He wants you to read it tonight. In fact, I think he needs you to."

The last words Thor murmured were low, almost afraid. Sif nodded, eyeing the letter warily. She murmured a suitable response to Thor's goodnight and they parted, Thor dragging himself upstairs while Sif forced herself to walk with care back to her room.

She took the several extra minutes required to change out of her armor and into the more comfortable tunic and leggings she wore to bed, her teeth clenched against the pain the entire way. She stayed seated on the edge of her bed, the lamp still on as she stared at the envelope held between her fingers.

She hated being agitated. Scowling, Sif opened the envelope and withdrew the folded letter. She refused to be intimidated by a piece of paper.

Sif, the letter opened, I hope that I am not passed onto Valhalla by the time you read this. Sif's lips twitched in a brief smile. She could almost hear Balder's wry tones, and felt a hint of amusement at finding proof that Balder did indeed have a sense of humor.

First of all, I wish to apologize. At this, Sif's eyebrows lowered. Evidently the humor wouldn't continue through the rest of the letter. My behavior towards you has been harsh and judgmental, and as I look back I am ashamed. Yes, the deal you made with Rumplestiltskin was wrong, but so many right things have come from it. I actually have a bond with my oldest brother now, something I never had before. And because of you, my wife and I are reunited, and now I learn that she carries our child.

I am sorry, Sif. I say this in the humblest way, I assure you. Apologies do not come to me easily, but I can see that this one is long overdue. You are an honorable woman, Sif, an honorable warrior, and I have been the fool for not seeing it.

The letter nearly fell from Sif's fingers as they went slack from her shock. She was astonished: the last thing she had expected to find scratched into this paper was an apology, from Balder of all people. However, she could see that not all had yet been read, and so she continued.

There is more on my mind, as well. I have seen the way you look at Thor; I know you love him. It is not only the love for a comrade or brother, but something that is both stronger and gentler. It is the same love I share with my wife, Julia.

Part of me wants to ask how long you have loved Thor in this way, but truly, does such a question matter? Time renders itself irrelevant when one heart turns to another—Julia and I have known each other for barely a fraction of my time, and already it seems our souls have been joined since my first breath.

I suppose the true thing that makes me wonder is the fact that you have not spoken to Thor. Why? You have never been one to hold back your thoughts. Is it because of the woman of whom Thor so fondly speaks, Jane Foster? My inclination is to believe so.

Again you have surprised me, Sif, and again I realize how quickly I prejudiced myself against you. Once more, I must apologize. You love Thor, and he loves another, and you have chosen not to come between them. You may have acted in treason, Sif, but there is no doubt that you are still noble, and to the utmost extent.

I can tell you that the loneliness will hurt, deep and sharp. Although he may never know, Thor has become your world now. I wish I could make this a promise, a guarantee, but I cannot: souls find each other, Sif, in all their varying amounts of brokenness. It seems that for you, that other part will not be Thor, but do not despair!

Remember, Sif, that it is despair which truly kills, not curses nor weapons nor any monster or army. Despair is what steals away hope and will. So do not give in, and I am sure that there is little chance of it. You are a fighter, Sif. I hope that someday we shall fight alongside as friends and equals.

With all sincerity,

Balder Odinson

Sif slowly forced herself to release her breath. First an apology, then insight and encouragement in the love she had for Thor, love that would not ever be returned in the way she desired. Balder was certainly an Æsir full of surprises.

Sif's head bowed, her shoulders hunching slightly. She couldn't recall quite when it started, her love for Thor. For many centuries he had been a friend, a brother-in-arms. Perhaps it was a few years ago that she had come to see it. It was possible. It actually had taken a hit to the face for her to realize that love was standing right in front of her.

Really, it oughtn't startle her so that Balder had known. Volstagg had said Balder could see it, what with being in love himself. There was a difference, however, in seeing that someone was in love and talking to them about it. Or, in Balder's case, writing a letter.

But not alone, it would seem. Sif's eyes flicked to a last section of script, written smaller and separate from the rest yet obviously by the same hand.

In case you were wondering, the miniature letters started, Balder wasn't able to write this on his own, so I, his wife, was his humble scribe. Balder does mean this is earnest, and if there was anything in the worlds that he could tell you, it would be this. Also, Sif, if you want to speak to me about anything at all, feel free to come find me. I'll be the black-haired woman who is looking very pregnant.

With equal sincerity to my husband,

Julia Pandora (or Charlene Boxer, I'll answer to both)

Sif's eyebrows lifted and she nodded. Balder had married young for an Asgardian, very young, but it seemed that he had chosen very well. While Sif likely would not take up the offer to talk—deep, heartfelt conversations had never been the sort of thing she excelled at—she wanted to at least meet this Julia Pandora. Or Charlene Boxer. Curious that the mortals here went by so many names.

Sif folded the letter up and reinserted it into its envelope, rising to carefully place it on the dresser. She turned off the light and took several moments to position herself under the covers, her breath frequently hitching in her throat. She ached, and not just where Volstagg's ax had struck.

Loki sat awake far, far into the night. He kept his small fire blazing, wishing for a minor charm to keep it smokeless. He frowned as his thoughts continued to churn, however much he wanted them to still. He couldn't stop going back through the two conversations he had held with Ruby, the anger and understanding she had given him, rather than the fear he had so quickly grown accustomed to from mortals.

"You are not a monster. That part of you is not a monster."

"You don't know anything about monsters."

"I'm a werewolf!"

Loki remembered how, in less time than a second took, his condescension and transformed into utter shock—and yes, fear. Werewolves went by many names: lycans, walking wolves, children of the moon. There were many kinds but not many members, though Loki had heard rumors of Jotunheim…

No, Jotunheim was not the place he wanted to think of now. Loki's stomach growled and he started searching through his satchel for snacks, since he had already eaten the soup and sandwiches that Ruby had brought earlier. He'd cleaned the can and his hands so as to not attract insects or anything else unwelcome.

He managed to find a bag of dried fruits and nuts, which he carefully opened, still wary about making much noise. Whether or not the others were still looking for him in this dark (and he knew Sif and Hogun at least would be smarter than that), he didn't want to take chances.

Loki scooted a little closer to his gradually declining fire. He could feel the air growing steadily colder around him, although it was more an awareness than a discomfort with the dropping temperature. He could feel the dew collecting on his shoulders and hair; he'd stayed still for long enough.

The coals crackled on occasion, and Loki gazed down at them thoughtfully. It was a strange thing, for a werewolf to be found among mortals. The moon's offspring had been hunted out on Midgard centuries ago. Though there was always a possibility of them returning: Hati had long proven resourceful with what little power he had.

"You are not a monster. That part of you is not a monster."

How could a werewolf say something like that? A werewolf, of all creatures! Maybe she was right. But no, that couldn't possibly be. She said that she had seen the pictures, but she hadn't been there. She hadn't been there when the Bifrost froze into place, an iced tree of death, an intended weapon of salvation. She hadn't been there when Thor tossed him into the abyss (you fell, liar, you fell). She hadn't been there in the void. She hadn't been there.

She was wrong. She couldn't possibly be right. A Frost Giant couldn't be anything other than a monster. But he had been an Æsir for so long… a human, too… perhaps Jotun wasn't all there was to him. Perhaps he could choose. Hadn't Matthew said something along those lines?

Loki sighed, massaging his forehead, and looked up as he realized the sky was turning grey with the coming dawn. Where had all the time gone? He hadn't slept, except when he had accidentally dozed off while watching Matthew. He looked up at the dull colors, a dreary banner over his head.

Loki made up his mind. Quickly and efficiently, he packed up his few things and extinguished the fire. He pulled his cellular phone from his duffel bag before hiding it away, then straightened to his feet and ran towards Storybrooke. He grinned over at a precocious stag and proceeded to outpace it.

A part of Loki was surprised when he took into consideration how small Storybrooke was in comparison to all the other places he had dwelt. The entire town and the surrounding woods and bay would take up barely a sixth of Asgard's palace. He was surprised that he had always felt more claustrophobic in the massive halls than he did here in this little Midgardian place.

Most of the town's people had not arisen yet. The grey of the sky was still fairly dark; it couldn't be much later than seven o'clock. Loki approached his destination: the teashop of Mr. Ethan Starr. Starr made teas by profession—excellent loose stuff, not just the little bags one would drop into a cup—but the gentlemen was an herbalist by hobby. Loki happened to know that he kept something of everything in the back of his shop, and so that was where Loki went.

He was glad for his sharp eyes, picking up the dozens of labels with barely any light to aid him. He paused to take a small bag from the box near the door and slipping a pair of gloves over his hands. After a few minutes, he found what he had been seeking, and he carefully filled the bag with dried berries.

All blessings to teashops that come with every desired tool, Loki thought to himself as he coaxed heat into a shallowly filled kettle. He emptied the bag and ground the berries with a mortar and pestle, adding the steam water to form a thick, crimson paste.

Loki withdrew Balder's knife from where he had hidden it in the back of his belt, taking the briefest moment to admire the workmanship and fair treatment the blade had obviously received. The paste gathered on the tips of his gloved fingers and he massaged it into the knife, careful not the cut the fragile material of the gloves. Eventually he nodded in satisfaction, concealing the knife again and removing all signs he had ever been in the shop. The gloves he dropped into the trash bin.

Loki saw the notepad and pen behind the teashop's polished wooden counter, and he hesitated. Bending to accommodate his height, he took up the pen and wrote for a moment, then tore the sheet off the notepad and tucking it into his pocket. He left the shop without so much as teasing the alarm.

The sky was pale gray at this point, the shadows of night almost gone. There was no more time to waste. Loki released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Help your brother. Beg Matthew's forgiveness. Do the right thing," he echoed Ruby's command from the previous night. He started trotting down the street, flipping open his phone to dial in a number.

Ruby's eyes snapped open and she glared vengefully at her ringing phone, buzzing loudly against the top of her bedside table. It took her three badly aimed grabs to get the obnoxious object into her claws, and she stabbed the answer button with her thumb.

"This had better be good," she growled. Because if it wasn't, she was pretty sure she was going to eat someone, namely the moron who had just called her on her one day off.

"Ruby, it's…" The man on the other end hesitated. If Ruby still weren't half asleep she probably would have been able to identify him by now. "Loki," he finished. Going by his tone, he was having second thoughts. "I need your help."

Ruby groaned into her pillow. So much for sleeping in. "What's the problem, Tom?" she asked. "Hold on, let me reiterate: what's the problem this time?"

"Do you have a defibrillator?"

"Most places do these days—wait, why do you need a defibrillator?" Ruby sat up straight in alarm, loose strands from her braid flying around her face. "For Pete's sake, Tom, did you stop someone's heart?"

"No," Tom huffed impatiently. Going from the shortness of his breath, he was jogging. "But I'm going to need your help to restart one."

"You are making about as much sense as the two lives in my head," Ruby groused. She shoved her blankets aside and swung her legs off the edge of her bed, dropping to her feet. "Which is to say: none. Okay, who is the defibrillator for?"

"Balder," Tom replied, and quickly explained. "The stone curse can be escaped, I've done it myself, but unfortunately Balder can't use the same method, and I can't do it the same way. I possess about as much magic as a dying snail, thanks to Rumplestiltskin. So I'm having to use somewhat more rudimentary methods."

"Like a defibrillator?" Ruby questioned, and shook her head as she opened her closet, browsing for something to her tastes. She put Tom on speaker and set the phone on a shelf. "I'm not following you."

"The stone curse is parasitic," Tom informed her. "It isn't powered by an outside source, like most curses, it's powered by its victim. As long as there is life in the host, the stone curse can spread."

"So, let me guess," Ruby said, brow furrowing as she thought. Considering she didn't have a drop of coffee in her, she was doing pretty well. "You're going to use the defibrillator to stop Balder's heart, make this stone parasite believe its work is done, somehow get it off, and start Balder's heart up again?"

"Very good, except it will take a lot more than a defibrillator to stop an Æsir's heart," Tom answered. Ruby paused in buttoning her jeans to frown. "I have to go now, Ruby. Get the defibrillator and bring it to Charlene Boxer's house, stat."

"Tom, wait—!" Ruby sighed as the speaker clicked, signaling that the man had already hung up. She shook her head, inserting the phone into her pocket, and pulled on a shirt and jacket before zipping downstairs. Granny was already there, of course, about to go check on the staff who had opened the diner this morning.

The older woman gave her granddaughter a sharply questioning look. "What are you doing up so early?" she asked.

"Psycho duty," Ruby replied offhandedly, pulling the defibrillator in its case from the cupboard where it was kept stored. At Granny's bewildered and slightly disturbed look, she explained further. "Tom Hemming, you remember him? He's gone a little nuts since the Curse broke, something to do with the belief that he's an evil monster. Sound familiar? But it looks like he's sort of on his way back. He needs my help to save someone's life."

"Hence the defibrillator," Granny noted. She tossed Ruby a knife and her granddaughter caught it deftly. "If he tries anything, stab him," Granny advised. Ruby nodded and slipped the knife into another pocket, half certain she wouldn't have to use it. Tom hadn't tried to kill her during the verbal kicking she had given him last night, so why would he try for that now they were trying to save Balder?

Loki tucked his phone into his jacket and slowed from his run as he saw the kitchen lights were still on in Lillian's house. Likely she had never gone to sleep the previous night—but just as likely there were visitors in the former librarian's house. Still, Loki had decided that he would do this, and when the once-sorcerer set his mind to something, there was always a way to be found. He slipped into the backyard and snuck into the house from there, taking a moment to appreciate that Charlene oiled her door's tracks.

He paused after spotting Lillian, slumped over on the dining room table, eyes forced shut by exhaustion. He noticed a blanket left on the couch and picked it up, stepping over to Lillian and carefully wrapping it around her shoulders. She stirred, but did not awake. Loki moved on.

Balder was asleep, the same as he had been when Loki had first come. Charlene had remained also—Balder's wife, Loki reminded himself with a shake of his head. He was still amazed by that. But there was something different about the two of them now. Balder's face was more relaxed, peaceful and far too old. Charlene in contrast seemed to be in deep pain, clinging to Balder even in her sleep. Tears stained both of their cheeks.

Balder was nearly solid stone. Even his clothes at this point had been turned. All that remained flesh on his chest was the space over his heart, and the stone was slowly creeping up towards Balder's face. He had minutes. Less than that. Panic fluttered up Loki's throat and he ruthlessly quashed it. Ruby would make it in time.

Loki slowly withdrew the knife and set it down on the bedside table. It barely made a sound, but Balder's eyes snapped open and latched onto Loki's. The two brothers, long estranged, regarded each other silently. To Loki, Balder seemed much older than his seven hundred years should have allowed, his eyes carrying a pain that equaled Loki's own. Yet, beyond that pain was tranquility, and it bewildered the older immortal.

Immortal. What a pretentious title.

"Hello, Loki," Balder said quietly. To him, Loki seemed foreign. Marks inside the skin had never been the sort of thing Loki had expressed interest in, but Jotnar did bear tattoos to indicate identity. He was still tall, of course, with the same eyes that Balder had never decided were green or blue.

Who was this Loki, this merging of two people? Three people, to Balder: the Loki he knew, the Loki he had been told of, and Tom Hemming. According to some, the Curse had a way of changing people. How had it changed Loki?

"Hello, Balder," Loki replied, just as quiet. The blue of his gaze had never been so sad, so achingly empty, and Balder hated it. His eyes flicked over to where Loki had set a knife down—Balder's knife, the one he had lent to Matthew. Loki sat down in the same chair that Thor had several hours prior. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"I would tear myself from my body if it meant escaping this pain," Balder said honestly. There was no condescension in Loki's face. Some things hadn't changed about him. Julia shifted in her sleep, but Balder knew there was no danger of her awakening just yet: she had staved off sleep for too long, and it would take a typhoon to wake her now. Balder was glad of it; he didn't want to disturb what little peace his wife had left.

"I suppose they've told you of me," Loki said. He kept his face carefully under control, searching Balder's face almost hungrily. "Of what I have done."

"They have," Balder confirmed. His composure slipped and his expression turned desperate, pleading for answers. "Loki, why? I know you! You are kind, though over the decades it has taken steadily more prodding for you to show it. Why would you ever… brother, why?"

"I'm not your brother," Loki responded, but it lacked its usual venom. "That's why. Because no matter how hard I strive, no matter how many times I drag the near-corpses of Thor and his friends from the battlefield and give them their strength from mine, no matter how many times I have to nearly kill myself for the sake of Asgard, I will never be your brother. Ever."

Balder stared back at him for a long time, and Loki was surprised that he had somehow spewed out the truth. The Asgardian's gaze, strangely enough, was full of understanding. "Why do you think I left?" he said. "But something we both need to learn, Loki, is that family isn't something you earn. And sometimes they're broken and can't understand you the way you need them to, but you can't cut the ties and give up. Neither of us can."

"I never had you to start with," Loki said, looking away.

Balder's lips quirked in a brief smile. "I remember telling myself the same thing, the night I left Asgard," he replied. Loki gave him a startled look, and Balder's eyes softened in response. "You're not as lonely as you like to think, brother."

Loki glanced down as his phone vibrated in his pocket. ETA: 5min, the text from Ruby read. Loki frowned. Five minutes could be too long.

"I wanted Thor to tell you something for me," Balder said, half musing. "I hadn't thought I would be able to say it to you myself. I wanted him to tell you that I still love you, no matter what has happened. And I do." His jaw tightened when Loki shook his head. "I didn't come out here hunting my own brother's blood, Loki. I came here to find you. To learn what went wrong. To see if maybe… maybe I could prove it was all one great mistake."

"You've been spending time with Matthew," Loki noted.

"He's a good lad," Balder replied. Loki could see that he was struggling to talk, the stone working to lock his jaw in place. He looked up at Loki quizzically. "Why did you come here, brother?" he asked. "I have a feeling it wasn't just to return my knife."

"I know what's happening to you," Loki said. "The screamer, it did this, and I can reverse it before it's too late. We only have to wait five minutes until Ruby gets here. You will live yet, Balder."

"I don't have five minutes, Loki," Balder pointed out. He seemed very calm; Loki had seen impending death have that effect on people. "I smell mistletoe—it's on the knife, isn't it?"

Loki's eyes darted to the blade. Mistletoe was lethal to Æsir, even in the smallest portions. Whether he was at risk from it, he didn't know, but Loki wasn't going to put that to the test. "Yes," he said. A part of him wanted to tell Balder to not be afraid, but Balder wasn't the frightened one here.

"Do it," Balder urged suddenly, and Loki's eyes widened in horror. "Mistletoe, a stab to the heart… that is a painless death."

"No!" Loki shot upright and backed away, nearly knocking over the chair. "Balder, I can't murder you, I'm here to save you!"

"Loki, you and I both know that once I am encased in stone it will not end there," Balder said. "I will still be alive under all that, suffocating while the stone works inward. Call me a coward if you wish, but I cannot face that."

"Just a few more minutes," Loki begged. "A few more minutes, Balder, we can save you."

"A few minutes," Balder murmured tiredly. "Loki, I don't have one." The stone was creeping onto Balder's forehead, coming up behind his ears. The stone curse was about to complete its course and there was no time, no hope. "Please, brother, put me to sleep. Send me on my way. I don't want to linger like this."

Loki was trembling, eyes flashing between the knife and Balder. Desperate tears dripped off his chin. He fixed his gaze on Balder's face, the exhausted blue eyes that looked back at him. "Do you really want me to do this?" he asked. His voice was weak, cracking around the edges.

"Yes," Balder rasped.

Loki's head bowed and the fingers of his left hand clenched around the hilt of the knife. He stared at them, sharp lines blurring through his haze of tears. "Thor is never going to forgive me," he whispered, shivering as he thought of the powerful Asgardian's wrath. Balder gave no response, for he could no longer hear. Stone traced his cheekbones.

Loki's right hand drifted out, almost against his will, and rested upon Balder's transformed shoulder. The cold of it nearly bit. Loki's and Balder's eyes locked, tears and resignation.

"I trust you, Loki," Balder said, and said no more. His lips were sealed and gray.

Loki looked back down at him, not taking his hand from Balder's shoulder as he watched the stone reach greedily for Balder's eyes. "You shouldn't," he cried. The knife plunged in and pierced Balder's heart clean through. Balder's eyes snapped wide, shining too bright and then the light was lost entirely.

Loki pulled the knife out, stained gray rather than scarlet with Balder's essence, and the stone closed over the wound. Balder was gone, and a silent statue lay in his place. Grief shuddered through Loki's body, forcing him to the floor as the knife dropped from his fingers.

The door opened and Ruby rushed in. She jerked to a halt, taking in the fallen Loki and abandoned blade, the wholly stone Balder on the bed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"You're too late," Loki whispered, head bowed. "We're too late."