25. The Returning Star

. . .

It was Odin that saw the change in the sphere that represented Asgard first. As he started a quick, rough roar to acknowledge some distant victory, another rumble spread through the stone and soil of the realm. He cut himself short, turning to regard the distracted Loki.

Without needing to be asked, Loki ran his hands over one of the consoles he'd identified as potentially most useful. "If you mark an upgrade in our situation as no longer being in an unnaturally controlled descent but rather an uncontrolled and possibly speedier one, yes, we've just seen a useful change in our status." He studied the changing patterns on the console, the strange material itself morphing to physically describe new mathematics to its observer. The first step was to temporarily shut down the Bifrost, the second to reroute its cycling power through the machine. He hoped by now that there was no one still lingering on the iridescent bridge, because he knew a little about what that fall was going to be like.

"Can you stop it? Will the machine work?"

He tilted his head slightly as he regarded the console, his voice grim and wry. "Here's a quick question – at our acceleration, if I use this machine to spring us back into rightful position, how much fun do you think that's going to be? Because I tell you now we're going to be rebuilding for centuries as it is. This will finish the job on a number of buildings still teetering. But what choice left?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer. He looked for a specific set of indicators, ones that matched their old place in the almost infinite breadth of space. "Hold on to something."

. . .

A wild, rising cheer went up from the agents assembled on the bridge of the Helicarrier as tracking confirmed and then confirmed again that the planetoid was no longer on a rapid trajectory towards them. Phil held back, his hand gripping the railing of the main observation platform. "Any clue where they went?"

Fitz looked up from his display and shook his head. He was also not joining the celebration yet. "Not certain. Satellites are picking out a burst of energy we're already trying to figure out. I'm running a hunch that it's something we've seen before – Bifrost energy, makes sense based on the little I got to read – but that doesn't tell me for certain they're all right."

"Okay." He took that in and went for still hoping for the best. Asgardians were durable. They had to be okay. "Daisy, how's the debris catch looking?"

"Latveria's still got the high atmosphere and they're being downright chatty about it. I'm trying to not think about the fact that there's about fifty of those weird robots up there just casually salmon-trawling for space junk like NBD. We tracked another forty two flashes of incinerated debris in the last ten minutes, all over the northeastern part of the Atlantic. It's slowing down. They missed some small stuff closer to the tropics, Stark got it before it hit. We've mopped up the rest so far, except for small crap that hopefully isn't gonna do anything weird to the water. You know, for once." She snorted, studying weapon charts. "Worst Asgardian junk probably does is put gold sprinkles in your poop."

Phil worked to not picture that, did anyway. He winced. "Kinda not surprised he called for central American waters. Probably go to Acapulco when this is over."

"I can't blame him," muttered Fitz. "Can we go to Acapulco?"

Several voices muttered "No" in his general direction, including the Director himself.

"Look on the bright side, people. We can all be really depressed and still really alive while we're not on vacation. I'll order some pizzas from the good place up the street when we're done cleaning here. Compromise?" Coulson clasped his hands together, trying to look authoritative and not still worried about the now-disappeared world. The crystal in his pocket was silent. He hated that, but for now there wasn't anything he could do about it.

The mutters he got in response indicated that, in fact, it wasn't a great compromise, but they wanted extra pepperoni on at least four of the pizzas.

. . .

The crystalline windows blew out instantly from the force and the pressure of the landmass above abruptly changing the rules of its own location. The facility yet held, but it was under a mighty duress. Dug in hard against the console and feeling glass shards patter hard against him, Loki knew it beat weaponizing the Bifrost this time. As he'd in fear and anger once tried to accomplish. This was at least technically an enhancement of what it was always intended to be; no sparking wild lightning, but still the rushing glare of rainbow light.

Of course a trip through the Bifrost always played on some momentum. It would likely – hopefully - slow as they reached position, but that was going to take several more minutes of raw and bumpy ride with the planetoid still set at angles that defied its normal gravity. Meanwhile he grit his teeth and hung on even as his stomach wanted to pack a lunch on its way to anywhere but here, glancing up once to regard where Odin gripped at another console set against the wall. The orrery's orbital displays swung wildly in the freefall but the structure held firm otherwise. The light from the rushing of space outside their atmosphere flashed along its orbs, dazzling and almost hypnotic. He tore his sight away and looked again at Odin, not certain why.

Then he knew. The old man's grip slipped a second later as the world jostled, his stout body toppling with a cry first against the machine and then catching a last-second grip against the shattered window. The king struggled, trying to reassert a stronger grasp on the frame. Loki could see a thin line of blood where broken glass had nicked the broad hand as he fell.

He didn't waste time thinking, instincts at the back of his mind calculating his own drop as his hands immediately let go of his own firm place in the world. He thudded against the base of the machine first, and he used that for his next automatic move, managing a slide across the floor to thud the bottoms of his booted feet against the broken bay of windows.

Almost not enough. The blood loosed Odin's grip just as he scrabbled into position to snake a few fingers into the fabric along the old man's arm. It tore as he sneered in frustrated anger, the All-Father dropping next into the small balcony outside with a pained groan. Not lost yet, but underneath him was now the rushing river of unstoppable space.

Now Loki had a moment to consider, his arm wrapping itself around the narrow but durable central bar of the broken window. Glass shards dug against him, too, but were mostly turned away by armor and durable black leather. He looked down at the tumbling figure of Odin, the last great king of Asgard, and he thought again about what a world without that shadow might look like. Those old ideas and illusions, that first, last, and greatest temptation. One more moment while the old man struggled, and it wouldn't even be by his hand. All he had to do this time was wait.

Odin looked up at him, that one eye fixing plain on him, and there was no fear there. Instead it was something like acceptance. Weariness. That set off a flash of some other raw emotion inside Loki, the realization that there was something within this situation the old man wanted. He tensed his arm where it held him in place and stretched the rest of himself out as best he was able. Now it was good enough. He managed a long-fingered grasp around Odin's cold wrist, all but snarling a mess of confusion and new anger down into the man's wrinkled face. "Well, now, here's a new kind of revenge come 'round at last."

The king stared back into him, calm and ready for his fall. The world jerked once more, nearly pulling Loki's arm out of the socket due to its force and the king's unbalanced weight and the snarl became a grimace of fresh pain. Still, his fingers tightened their grip. "This time, old man, I'm not going to let go."

. . .

Farbauti didn't look into the sheltered courtyard where a number of those pale refugees gathered to peer at the jotun who were either their captors or rescuers. She'd seen each assumption and more etched on their small faces as she came home through the gate, herself among the last to return before Heimdall cried enough and sealed it for safety and hope both. She stood high above, watching the skies as the storm parted to show the distant stars and the haze of other still-distant realms. From old she knew where to look, a tiny sparkle that her elders warned her held dangers to their kind. A sparkle gone for some few hours while the Aesir children huddled under hastily gathered furs to keep them safe from the eternal winter of Jotunheim. Her handmaidens' own children skipped around the edges of the courtyard to study them as they shivered under the weight of some possible future.

A future where these small creatures had no place to call home. Her expression was closed. It stayed closed, even when some of the youngest and less inured jotun snuck stolen bowls of the tiny, sweet ice berries close to the frightened children. They all watched the sky, as she did.

Her chin lifted when the sky changed before her eyes. It was oddly undramatic; a single point of light that was once gone and now returned. Her voice carried down into the courtyard, restrained and courtly, but pitched to reach all corners of her sanctuary. "Look, little lost ones. Your home yet stands." She half-turned, now looking down to see that the crowd had nearly doubled. Many yet remained inside, or were spread among the other nearby citadels. Almost four thousand Aesir had been pulled through the gate by her command. A fraction, but an unharmed fraction. "Battered, no doubt, and in need of care. But you live, and so does it."

She expected one of their victory cries, those bellowing roars her warriors knew all too well, and she braced for it, forever weary of their bravado. Instead, a few of them wept in open relief. She looked away again, wondering how great would be the damage to that old kingdom.

. . .

Rocket fumbled at his console controls when a planetoid suddenly reappeared in his cockpit view like it had something to prove. The abrupt emergence managed to set off all his pre-arranged proximity alarms and, for a weird moment, his rapid acceleration detections. "Ho shit!" was his first blurted reaction, almost drowned out under the sonic assault.

"I AM GROOT!" followed the obvious, in a tone distinctly similar to Rocket's outburst. The smell of fresh leaves filled the ship as Groot sagged back against his seat. He looked over to his friend, nodding wildly. "I. Am. Groot!"

"Right? Right? Craziest god-damned mufuggin Asgardians. Here, watch the console while I get the Corp on the line. Bet they got injured up the wazoo down there, could probably use a hand." Rocket stared at his channels while half of them lit up with space truckers holding terrified refugees in their cargo. For whatever reason, until the Corp got on the scene they were looking to him like he was in charge. Probably that Sif's fault. Nice lady. Sounded scary. Should probably meet Gamora. "First I gotta find an open one, it's like concert tickets just opened up."

"I am Groot?"

"Yeah, do that. Just pick 'em up, say 'I am Groot' in your most professional tone, then hang up while they still confused. We'll sort it out later."

. . .

He'd fought to get Odin pulled back into the orrery room as their world settled itself back into place, the old man apparently worn almost to the point of unconsciousness. The bleeding in the king's hands had already stopped, the cuts barely through the skin layer. The scars would be gone by morning. Loki himself now sat with his back pressed against that broken bay of windows, himself exhausted utterly and not entirely certain why he'd done what he'd done. There the old king lay silent and prone, alive. Still alive, and that much was by his hand and deliberate choice. He no longer understood what he felt about Odin. It wasn't hate, he supposed. That had long since guttered out. But he didn't know what came after pity.

Finally, new silence hung over battered Asgard. He didn't want to go above yet. The castle was going to be cracked, certain spires lay to ruin and remnants of Chitauri lurking underneath to be chased out. The city itself half-shattered and burned black, he'd seen that before they even begun this last ditch effort. It was going to take time to heal, and if Thor had not somehow torn the stone away from its thief, there might not be that time. A great thing to fret at, but maybe not in this moment. He opened his mouth to sigh at that curse of Thanos still coming home to roost, the sound of it cut off when the old king shifted where he rested.

"I lost it all," said the king in a dead, weary mutter. "Condemned Asgard, condemned my soul. I lost both my sons in my foolishness. Both driven away, by my own acts. All of it lost."

Now Loki sighed, feeling familiar old discomforts and giving them a place inside to call their own. "No, you old idiot. We're still here."