"…could've done it! For you! For all of us!"
"No, Lo…"
"…but never doubt that I love you."
"She wouldn't exactly be shocked…"
"I didn't do it for him."
"…Before your queen."
"The god of mischief. But you could be more…"
"Your savior…"
"I'm here."
"…will shine on us, again."
"You… will never be…"
Logan awoke with a start, his breaths quick and ragged, images, half-formed, dancing around in his head, just barely out of reach. This was why he hated waking up.
His subconscious knew everything, but that awful moment between sleeping and waking was the perfect opportunity for all the memories to go dancing back to wherever his mind had expelled them to. The more he reached for them, the further they slipped, so he simply allowed them to wash over him, as he sat, trembling, head in his hands on another unfamiliar bed.
A palace… a… a king?
Perhaps… a spaceship… No, that wasn't right.
Lo… Lo…
Sigyn?
The flash of daggers in the sunlight, the dreadful stench of blood, "Brother!", a club. Or was it a hammer?
And then it was all gone, leaving only wispy trails like smoke, reminding him there was something before… but he would never recall it.
If he was anything, before, he certainly was nothing, now.
What more than that?
With a dejected groan, he flopped backward, his head colliding with his pillow.
All he had was now, so best to find out where he was, now.
The problem with this blasted memory loss was that it wasn't a one-time deal. Remembering anything was difficult, no matter how long ago it was. From his childhood, to last week, he was clueless. Waking up and not knowing how he'd gotten there was not a new experience to Logan at all. He couldn't even remember the previous evening.
It was easier, remembering the goings-on over the past year, but still difficult. Recollections from before then were like reaching into a black hole.
And he hated it. Norns above, (What the heck is a Norn?) he loathed the uncertainty. Constantly being thrust into confusing, sometimes frightening situations just by waking up. It's why he'd spent so many of those months in insane asylums, because any time someone would try to help them, he'd forget their names by morning.
A blur of helpful faces, that's all they were to him.
Most likely, this was another one of those situations. He could recall a pier, and moonlight on black water, a friendly voice from the night prior, but nothing more.
Any moment, they'd come to offer him breakfast, and he'd stare at them long and hard, trying to recall how he'd gotten there, and what their name was, and how he was supposed to treat someone he owed a great debt that he couldn't even remember, and what his own name was, because Logan didn't exactly fit, until they sent him to the asylum again.
He needed a shower.
He was so tired of existing.
A rap sounded at the door, and Logan mentally died, because here we go again. He was so done with it all.
"Hey, Logan? Breakfast is ready, if you're hungry." A man's voice called through the door. His name… started with an F, Logan believed, but he couldn't be sure.
"Thank you." That was really all he could say. Wearily, he stumbled out of bed, and shuffled down the vaguely familiar hall after the heavenly scent of eggs and buttered toast. The man glanced up with a soft smile, and nodded towards the plate resting on the counter. "Go ahead, I made a plate for you."
Logan nodded his thanks, and picked up the fork, pushing the eggs around his plate. He was hungry, yes, he just didn't feel like eating. He'd eat after he got to the madhouse.
"I'm going to be talking to your brother, today." The man was saying. "You can stay here, if you'd like, until I get back."
Wait.
Back up.
Hold on.
"I have a brother?"
"If our theory from last night is correct, yeah." The man grinned. "You don't remember?"
Shamefacedly, Logan shook his head. "No. I'll be perfectly honest with you, I don't even remember your name."
"Fafnir." He gave Loki a strange look. Not pity, nor the look most people gave him when they were beginning to suspect Something was Wrong, in his head. He didn't know exactly what the gaze meant, actually. "Fafnir Vilison."
"My apologies." Logan nodded. "What was our theory, again?"
Fafnir snorted a little, and sat down in the chair beside him. "It sounds crazy in daylight, I guess. And don't get your hopes up, of course. But I've been thinking that you might be Prince Loki, of Asgard."
"I am Loki. Of Asgard. And I am burdened with…"
The memory hit so forcefully, so hard, Logan almost fell over in his chair, his eyes stinging from unexplained tears, but, like lightning in the dead of night, the scene flashed once through his mind, and then was gone.
"Who?"
"My cousin." Fafnir admitted. "He was King Thor's brother, but, supposedly, Thanos killed him."
Thanos.
…Thor.
The names meant nothing to him.
"He's been dead for ten years, but a lot of people are pretending to be him, to get at the treasury." Fafnir went on. "And, of course, I'm as outraged about that as the next guy, and if those doofuses hadn't been doing that, I'd probably have no doubt in my mind about you, but… I'm afraid Thor's not going to believe it unless I have irrefutable proof. Which I don't, yet."
"Do I not look like him?" Logan guessed.
Fafnir shook his head. "No, you're the spitting image of him, just having aged ten years. Your… your mannerisms, the way you speak, everything, it's spot-on. Like, the way your hands move when you're thinking."
Logan glanced down at his fingers, lacing and unlacing together. That was the mannerism of a prince? Furthermore, he could be a prince? Of this Asgard place?
"So, either you're a fantastic actor," Fafnir was saying, "or you're him. I know, I've seen every other imposter that claimed the kinship, and you're the only one who holds a candle to my cousin."
A tiny flower of hope blossomed in Logan's chest. "You mean it? I could be… I might be…"
"I'd say you probably are."
At that, Logan dropped his head on the table, and burst into tears. All this time, the constant pressure of not knowing who he was, and now, the opportunity of possibly having a name, and more than that, a title, it was almost more than he could bear. "Please…" He sobbed. "Please tell me you're not joking."
Fafnir gently laid a hand on his shaking shoulder. "I'm not. I could be mistaken, though."
Suddenly, Logan sat bolt upright, and looked him in the eye. "I cannot prove your claim. I have no memories of anything. Whatever proof you have must come from outside of myself, for I can give you nothing. If you are trying to fool the king, you're fooling me, also." Earnestly, he leaned forward with a pleading expression. "You're absolutely sure it's me?"
"No." Fafnir admitted. "I'll be honest with you, I'm only about sixty-three percent sure. But that's better odds than anyone I've ever seen. I'll talk to Thor, okay? You just hang in there. And remember." Fafnir's eyes grew dead serious. "Even if I'm wrong, and you're not my cousin, your life is still worth living, even if you don't have the answers you're looking for."
Logan smiled softly, and leaned back in his chair. "Y-You're very kind." He sighed.
"It's the truth." Fafnir smiled, and, with that, he strode out the door, leaving Logan alone to his thoughts.
I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH
HEHEHE
TheOnlyHuman.