"And who are you, Midgardian?"

Thor was striding quickly towards her, but he slowed as his eyes lit on Loki. The swaggering posture wavered, drooped, and Rachel saw the breath leave his body.

"Blood of the ancients," he said. A curse, not directed at Rachel. "Loki. Brother."

Thor's blue eyes were suddenly small with pain, and he let the hammer drop to the ground, where it cracked the smooth rock. Its impact wave knocked Rachel down and made Loki arch his back.

"How has it gone this far?" asked Thor, and he stood there, staring.

As if he were helpless. Rachel could have clawed his face off.

She'd never been angry, this kind of angry, in her life, and she sprang to her feet and ran right up to the huge man, trying to scream at him, though the impact of her words was lost in her choking sobs.

"Why?" she cried. "Why would you do this to him? Your brother? You abandoned him here? Sewed his mouth shut? Tortured him – those are burns! What the hell his wrong with you? And what – what are those, snake bites? He's dying!"

Thor's gaze found its way to her. He had continued to stare at his brother, and it clearly took some effort for him to focus on Rachel, who felt like a fly buzzing around a bear. Her small fists had pounded Thor's armor, and he hadn't appeared to notice.

Now he blinked, shook his head, made an obvious effort to register her existence.

"You have not answered me, mortal," he said at last. "Your name. And your purpose here, aiding a prisoner of the Allfather."

"My name is Rachel Honeycutt," she spat, "And I don't care whose prisoner he is, you can't treat people this way. You bet I'm here to aid him. And if you stop me, I'll…"

Her small fist rose again, sitting pathetically at the end of a straw-thin wrist, and she could have cried at her weakness.

She didn't know what to expect from Thor. A blow, a laugh, a bolt of lightning? His clear gaze pierced her. Then, to her surprise, he stretched out a hand, wrapped it around the back of her head, and pulled her to his armor-plated chest.

A hug.

The god of thunder was hugging her.

He released her almost immediately and smoothed her hair.

"You remind me of a dear friend," he said. "I do not know how you came to be my brother's ally, nor how you managed to cross the barrier between worlds. But I know your pain. It kills you to see him suffer. It does the same to me. It was not my choice to send Loki here, and were it in my power, I would free him."

Rachel's limbs were trembling. She felt she was on the verge of passing out. "Let me untie his mouth. At least. Please."

There was a long hesitation, and a few longing glances at Loki, before Thor gave a small shake of his head.

"It cannot be."

"WHY?"

"It was the Allfather's decree. Loki was to be bound here, hands immobile, mouth sewn shut, so he could not perform his magic nor tell his lies. Since it had to be done, I did it; no hand could have been kinder than mine. I am his brother."

Rachel didn't doubt Thor's good intentions, but his thick fingers had undoubtedly caused more pain than they'd prevented.

"Loki must remain here. Each night, the serpent comes, a black thing salvaged from the Forgotten Realms, kept starving and angry. It will be here soon, and you ought not to witness the attack. Its venom, for us, is concentrated pain. For you, it would be fatal."

The giant man offered his arm, but Rachel took a step away, in Loki's direction.

"How long?" she asked. "Forever? Has he eaten? Drank? How long can he live like this?"

"We can go months without food or drink," said Thor. "Loki is to remain here, by our father's order, as long as it takes."

"For what?"

"For him to free himself."

Thor held up a silencing hand at Rachel's outraged cry.

"The chains, you see," he said, "Are enchanted. They will break – dissolve to dust – when Loki has repented. When his heart is free from rage and envy, and he bears no further ill will to the Midgardians or the Aesir. Then, and only then, can he have his freedom. 'Ware, mortal. Above us."

Rachel followed Thor's eyeline. He was watching the chain stretched high above Loki's head, which was thicker in one spot – thicker because a large, dark shadow was working its way down the chain like a glob of oil.

A snake.

Loki's chain shook as the snake moved close. Feeling it, Loki stiffened. His already-wide eyes widened, and his mangled lips, beneath their bindings, worked furiously. A terrible noise came from him. He lunged toward Thor and Rachel, looking from one to the other. Panicked. Terrified.

"Brother…" Thor said again, but he failed to finish the thought.

The snake was closer now, and Rachel could see it well. Thick as her arm, with glittering, intelligent eyes and bright fangs two inches long. The fangs dripped yellow venom.

A drop landed on Loki's shoulder and smoked. Loki twisted. Began to hyperventilate.

"You can't let this happen," Rachel moaned. "Free him. Your dad will forgive you. He'll understand."

"Father is in the Odinsleep," said Thor. "For him to wake, and find that one of my first acts as king was to defy him in so serious a matter… I cannot. Come, mortal. You will be cared for in the palace, where you can tell me your story. We will send you home through the Bifrost. You can do no good here. Nor can I."

He pulled Rachel by the shoulder. Perhaps he meant to be careful, but his large hand yanked her forwards so hard her neck muscles strained against whiplash. She was sure that she'd have a hand-shaped bruise tomorrow.

Even so, she resisted. She turned toward Loki, and found her wrist caught in Thor's grip. It was like being held by a piece of granite.

"You said he had to free himself," she said.

"Yes."

"He brought me here. His magic did."

Thor stood, loomed, really, and raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"Let me try to help him," Rachel pleaded. "He brought me here. If I free him, that will, that will count, right? As him freeing himself?"

"For all I know, mortal, you may be a witch. Perhaps you have magicked yourself to his side. How did he summon you, without aid of word or motion?"

Rachel stumbled over her words. She wasn't a good liar, and did her best, instead, to spin the truth. "He knew something like this might happen. Gave me a way to contact him. To call him. And, and he used it to call me instead, I think. It was this."

Thor gave her enough freedom that she could kneel and find the coin where she'd dropped it on the ground. She pressed it into Thor's hand.

The serpent was so close now. Ten feet away, moving slowly.

"A summoning stone," Thor said. "Yes, this is one of his. But why give it to you? Do not think I underestimate the strength of Earth's women. Even small ones. I have known them, and found them brilliant. But you have no physical powers. And I came upon you trying to free him without magic. What is it you think you can do for him?"

"I don't know!" Rachel exploded. "But let me try! It won't be defiance, it won't be anything, please, please, let me go!"

"The serpent," Thor began.

"Your brother!" Rachel answered, and the granite hand released her.

Too late to save Loki from the serpent. While Thor had delayed, it had reached Loki. Attached itself to his neck like a giant leech. Rachel could see its body working as it pumped, pumped, pumped that venom into him. Its eyes were rolled back, as if it were in ecstasy. Some of the venom leaked out around its mouth, slushed down Loki's shoulders, adding a new layer to the paint-drop burns.

Loki's gaunt body had gone limp. There was no light in his eyes, though they were open. Even the screaming had stopped.

There was no question of Rachel trying to fight the serpent. All she could do was continue the work of opening Loki's mouth.

When Rachel touched Loki's lip stitches again, the serpent thrashed; its tail whipped against her face, making her scream, and its eyes fixed on her face. But it didn't let go. Rachel had the idea that it couldn't let go. Couldn't release itself from the pleasure it got, causing Loki pain.

Frantically, clumsily, she pulled and pulled at the knots. Thor was watching her, and his scrutiny embarrassed Rachel, slowed her work.

At last, there, the enormous knot was gone, and she could begin pulling the thong out, one enlarged hole at a time. The serpent's pumping had slowed; it was almost done, and it was watching her hungrily.

One stitch out. The leather strip was a foot long, took ages to pull through each hole.

Another.

Another.

Loki's mouth was half-open, and hot air was rushing through it onto Rachel's fingers. His lips were crimped and stiff; he wouldn't be able to talk for some time. And the holes, the holes from the stitches, god, they were huge, like Jack-o-lantern teeth…

The serpent released its fangs from Loki…

One stitch to go.

Coiled…

Pull, pull – there, the stitch was out!

Leapt –

And halted midair, inches from Rachel's face. There, it writhed and hissed. A light spray of venom misted Rachel's face, burning her like hot oil leaping from a pan.

Thor had caught the thing. His mouth was set in a grim line.

"I was not helping Loki," he said, and his voice was quiet, tight. "I was helping you, mortal. Now save my brother."

He flung the serpent upward. Somewhere up there, hundreds of feet away, there was a clanging noise, and Loki's neck chain jerked. The serpent was still alive, crawling back to its home. Waiting to come down again, resume its fun.

Monsters. These people were monsters. Rachel had to get Loki out of here.

His lips were opening and closing now; he sucked air, and a quiet noise came from him, but he couldn't speak yet. Rachel could see him trying to form words, failing as his lips, with their nerve damage, their months of stillness, disobeyed him.

His face, she could now see, was gaunt as his body. The skin over his cheekbones appeared to be vacuum-sealed on. He was a skull with a nose, a collection of prominent features and dramatic shadows.

"Th…" he tried, and gasped. Rachel pressed a kiss to both sides of his mouth, not caring whether Thor saw. She was remembering Loki's smooth, white-chocolate voice, and wondering if she'd ever hear it again. With the damage to his face and the screaming he'd been doing for months, his voice might be gone forever.

"Th- Ch…Chmmm. Ch—m. Chn." There was no volume behind it. A faint whistle where vowels ought to be. Laryngitis.

The gaunt body sagged forward again, drained of energy. From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Thor dart forward, as if to catch his brother, but at the last second, the blonde giant remembered himself. Loki's momentum was stopped only by his chains.

His wrists dripped blood, and he hung there like clothes on a line.

"Take a second," Rachel whispered. "I'm here. Your brother's here. Tell us what to do." She brushed his hair back from his maimed face. Revealed tear-filled eyes. Still beautiful.

"Ch…ns. Chns."

"Chains?" Rachel asked.

The beautiful, sculpted, damaged mouth opened, and a breath of relief rushed out. Loki's eyes closed, and he nodded, as if his work were done.

"But I'm not strong enough to break the chains."

Rachel turned.

"Thor? Will you…? Please?"

Loki's chains rattled. Rachel turned back, and found those wide, wild eyes piercing hers. They were wide open, and Loki was shaking his head. A frustrated growl escaped him. "Nnn!"

No.

His lips moved, and there was no sound at all, but Rachel read the word "You."

"Me? Me, break the chains?"

His nod was desperate.

She sighed. Reached for one chain, wondering how she could even begin to pull at them without further wrecking Loki's stretched, bleeding wrists…

And at her touch, without a second's delay, the chain disintegrated. Black dust scattered, and Loki was suddenly leaning on Rachel; he'd collapsed against her the instant his arm was released.

Behind Rachel, Thor cried out. In anger or relief? Both, probably.

He didn't interfere, and Rachel touched the remaining two chains, which also vanished, then she sank under Loki's weight. He was thin as wire, but his frame was large, and Rachel had no muscle at all. She couldn't keep him upright.

"How is it possible?" Thor demanded.

Rachel lay flat on her back, absorbing Loki's weight, the coolness of his skin, the rhythm of his breaths.

She managed to turn her head to Thor, and found herself smiling.

"Whoever put the spell on those chains," she said, "didn't count on someone like me touching them."

"Like you?"

"Somebody who doesn't… somebody without…"

"Resentment."

Loki had spoken. He had the voice of a cheese grater, and the single word set him coughing. He tried to rise off Rachel, but couldn't; his wrists were too hurt to support him.

"Father will not like this," rumbled Thor. "It does not comply with the spirit of the – "

Loki rolled to one side. Moved his hands, the barest flicker of movement, but Rachel saw the agony it cost him.

And beside them stood another Loki. This one dressed, healthy, tall, and smiling.

"Thor, how I've missed you," it said, in Loki's old voice, the smooth, crisp one Rachel so loved. "Forgive the theatrics. Easier to talk like this, I hope you agree?" The second Loki stepped casually towards Thor, and as it moved, it wavered like a hologram.

An illusion.

"Oh, my king," the illusion laughed, "You should not have let her come. A fine actress, this one, playing a frightened, helpless human. She is a sorceress not to be reckoned with. Unlike you, I have no taste for unexceptional humans."

The second Loki walked in a slow circle around Thor, and Thor turned, following it, leaving Rachel and Loki behind him.

Loki's hand, his real, shriveled, bloody, snakebitten hand grasped hers.

"Come," he managed in a raspy whisper. He was shaking, trembling like a child in a snowstorm. "Help me."

His illusion-form continued to talk, and to swagger as it did so. "You will answer to her, and to the Nine Realms, for Father's treatment of me. The Hall of Silent Screams? For one you call brother? For a son of Odin, even an adopted son?" The fake Loki's voice caught, and vulnerability shone in its eyes. "How could you? How could you?" And more quietly, he added, "How long has it been? Has… has mother asked…?"

Rachel was almost as taken in by the moving performance as Thor was. Poor Thor immediately began to argue with the thing, weakly, with tears in his eyes, as Rachel dragged the real Loki half-upright.

"Mother has been in agony. As have I. You know, brother," Thor said pleadingly, reaching out a hand to the illusion's shoulder and letting it hover, not touching, fingers clenching in the air. "You know what this has cost me. The thought of your suffering… You know why it had to be. Hundreds of lives. Mortals. Innocents – slaughtered, thanks to your envy, your ambition. Even so, your pain has tortured me – "

"Tortured you?!" spat the illusion, eyes wide, grin stretched in disbelief. "YOU?"

"Brother…"

"Though you are not my brother, Thor, and though there have been times I would have happily watched you die, I would never, never have stood by while you suffered here. I would have found a way to end your pain. Protected you. As I did in Jotunheim. In the Kenning Hall. On the mountains of Halberd, and when you were in the belly of the Gnawing Relkh. Always I have saved you, no matter what it cost me. Yet your turn came, and how long have I hung here, waiting?"

The illusion strolled now, casual, and Thor turned with it. "You must understand."

Loki and Rachel were out of Thor's line of sight, and in an instant, Loki's body stiffened. He might have sprung to his feet if he'd been in any condition. As it was, the slight movement alone, the straightening of his spine, was enough to set him hissing. The effort pushed yellow venom oozing in spurts from the most recent, still-swollen snakebite at his neck, and Rachel's heart wrenched in agony at the sight of more damage to that once-clear skin.

"Your… hand…" he whispered, his damaged lips struggling to work.

"My hand?"

His eyes had closed, and for a moment, Rachel thought he had passed out. But the second version of himself was still berating Thor, and his wrecked, real self managed a nod.

Rachel held up her right hand, examining it. It looked normal. A little singed from the venom. Loki did not open his eyes, so Rachel pressed the hand as gently as she could to his face. The one undamaged section of it, anyway – the hollow beneath one cheekbone, still holding the marks of the muzzle.

God, his skin was cold. Frozen.

Loki's damaged head tilted toward her warm fingers. Rachel wanted to take the weight of it, to hold him up, let him collapse and sleep in her arms, but the ruined, melted skin of his scalp and shoulders prevented her from so much as cradling his head.

His lips were moving. Crudely. Soundlessly. One side of his mouth was stiff, and Rachel wondered if a nerve had been cut by Thor's cruel needle.

She let her fingers drift toward those ruined lips.

Loki bit her.

It was quick, targeted, and deliberate. The surprise was intense, so intense that anger didn't manifest until a few seconds later, long enough for her to yank her hand away, examine it, and note that the damage was minimal. He'd nicked the tips of two fingers. She was bleeding, but not seriously.

And out of instinct, still sensing that Thor was the enemy in this scenario, she had not cried out. Not drawn attention to the real Loki. She was grateful for that in a moment, when Loki again garbled out a few words.

"Necessary. Bl... Blood. Need…"

He shuddered. His eyes were still closed. One hand raised itself just an inch off the ground, the loose, piled skin at the wrist dangling like a sleeve. He dragged a finger along the ground in a wide arc, twirled it in the air, then his strength seemed to give out.

"Blood," Rachel whispered. "You need blood to…" Blood magic. She'd read about it. "For a spell? You want me to do what you just did?"

He didn't respond. His doppelganger had gone quiet. It still stood, but was now staring seriously at Thor, letting him talk in his booming voice. It blinked every few seconds, but otherwise didn't move, and Rachel wondered how long it would stand once Loki fell entirely unconscious.

Not even feeling the pain anymore, Rachel dragged her fingers along the same arc where Loki had brushed his. Her blood spread in a messy line.

It stayed on the ground, inert, and Loki's breath rattled.

That couldn't be all he wanted, a curved line of blood, what kind of spell…? A circle. Rachel needed to make a circle. On all the supernatural shows, you drew some kind of circle on the ground, a pentagram or something. She worked quickly, shuffling her body as well as she could without jostling the burned, ruined body at her side. When she was finished, the blood line formed a rough circle about three feet across, with her and Loki on the inside, though his long legs jutted out of it.

And no sooner had she completed the circle than the vision-Loki flickered and vanished.

Thor had been in the middle of a sentence. "The people of Earth were under my—"

And he turned back to face the pair on the ground.

"He's passed out," Rachel said weakly. "You have to get us out of here. He's free, he freed himself. You said it was allowed. Now teleport us… or at least him, teleport him, fly him, whatever you do, get him medical help."

"No," said Thor, not unkindly. "Those were not the terms. He must free himself from the cavern."

"He's dying!"

Tears were brimming in Thor's bright blue eyes. Surely he could be convinced…surely…

"What is that?" Thor's expression changed, his eyebrows pulled together in alarm. A few steps brought him towering above her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not d-" Rachel began, then realized he wasn't talking to her.

Loki was not unconscious after all. One set of long, bony fingers had found its way into the edge of the blood circle, and he was in the process of scrawling a few small, messy symbols on the surface of the dais.

And he gasped one word. There was only the barest hint of vibration behind it. "Eir!"

"Be safe," Thor said.

Within the blood circle, the ground vanished neatly, all at once, and Rachel and Loki fell together into an endless black abyss.