Sigyn had only booked her hotel for the span of two weeks, so the planned departure date was going to be three days hence. Three whole days seemed to stretch for an infinity for Logan.
It was seventy-two hours, or four thousand, three hundred twenty minutes, or two hundred fifty-nine thousand, two hundred snail-paced seconds of pent-up excitement.
They spent most of the remaining time together, planning out which castle would be his, what he'd be ruling over, what sort of responsibilities he had, and also simply hanging out together, taking walks along the pier, talking about anything and everything, probably multiple times, not that Logan would know, and simply enjoying each other's company.
He couldn't ever be quite sure of this, but he felt as though he hadn't been so happy in a long time. And not simply excited; it was a sort of deep, utter contentment that thrived in his very soul and kept spilling out of his lips in little giggles.
He didn't even dream of jumping off the pier, again.
Fafnir, bless his benevolent soul, was thrilled to see his favorite ship finally be realized, and acted as if he had been waiting years for this, when Sigyn and Logan had only known each other for a single fortnight. He did everything he could to help Logan get along on his way to greatness in Vanaheim. Logan wasn't sure how he was ever going to repay the man. After all, he'd saved his life, brought him into his home as a stranger, and funded his stay the entire time, including paying for Logan's appetite, without asking for anything in return.
The last night Logan would spend on Midgard, he sat cross-legged on his bed, poring over the notebook full of plans Sigyn and he had compiled together, trying to ensure he hadn't missed anything, that nothing had slipped his mind. He'd seen it all a thousand times, before, but this was going to be a whole new world for the both of them, or at least the very beginning of one. If things didn't work out between him and Sigyn, he would be Vanir royalty, he'd have connections, and he could figure something else out.
But for now, it was just going to be the two of them, in space, for as long as they could stand each other.
Well, perhaps that was a dramatization of events, but that's certainly the way it felt. He could hardly wait for the next morning, when Sigyn and he would take the train to Oslo, and fly off in Sigyn's ship to the jump point that led to Vanaheim.
He'd have to get up early, probably around five o'clock, if he was going to make it to her palace before Vanir sundown, and it was already nearing midnight.
Honestly, though, how was he supposed to sleep with all this excitement bouncing around like a pinball machine in his head? He could barely sit still, let alone rest.
He slid off the bed, and into his shoes, deciding to see if a little fresh air would put his mind at ease. Besides, even though he knew he couldn't see Vanaheim's star from Midgard, it was a fantasy he liked to indulge in the notion that if he looked hard enough, it might actually be there.
No such luck, of course. The city of New Asgard's lights drowned out a lot of the heavens, anyway. Still, it was calming, peaceful, outdoors. The cool wind blew in the smell of the sea (which was dead fish, but Logan didn't mind), and there was something about the very atmosphere that had such tranquility. This was the side of Midgard he was really going to miss.
He was still wide awake, though, so he set off on a trial of his own, breathing in the clean Norwegian air.
Little did he know, that at that exact same moment, someone else left their home to go on a walk and clear their head, unable to sleep.
Fifteen minutes' walk through the village brought Logan through twists and turns, past many houses that really all looked the same. He thought he'd be able to find his way back to Fafnir's house, and typically, he was an amazing navigator.
He hadn't counted on forgetting, again.
His brain began to buzz with fatigue, eventually, but when he turned around to start heading home…
It was gone.
It was all gone.
He couldn't even remember what Fafnir's house looked like.
No matter. It was okay, he could just ask someone for directions. But at one in the morning, there were very few people up and about. He was just going to have to figure this out for himself.
Tentatively, he trotted down to the end of the street he seemed to have come from, but the houses there looked even less familiar. And, of course, the more he desperately attempted to remember, the more he forgot.
He knew he was looking for something. He knew, once he saw it, it would probably ring a bell. He had no idea what he was looking for.
He knew he needed it. Panic welled up in his chest, hot and strangling, as he walked down more and more rows of streets, and couldn't find it.
Where was he going, again? Where had he been?
…Where was he? What was his name? What did he need?
…He missed someone. Who? He didn't know, but it made his heart hurt and ache inside him, with how much he needed the person. He thought he could remember… Blond hair? A cocky, bearded smile? Something about a hammer?
No. That wasn't right. It was soft brown skin, laughing, confident eyes, Sigyn…
Who was Sigyn? The name floated through his head like a forsaken balloon through a cloud.
Who was he? What was he doing? His breath wheezed out from between his clenched teeth, turning into plumes of steam in the air.
It must be cold, out. So that was why he couldn't feel his fingers.
No, this wasn't right. He needed to calm down, collect himself, and it would all come back to him. A bit more wandering, and he came across a bench. He sat down on it, hunched over on himself, and tried to focus.
But he couldn't. It was terrifying, having his mind go so completely empty, like this. He was lost in a darkened maze of his own creation, overturning every rock, every stone, only to come up with just as many tools as he'd begun with.
Why was he like this? In that moment, he loathed himself, loathed his mind, loathed his very state of being. He was so afraid, and if he could only remember, he was sure, this time, that he actually had something to go back to.
His hands were shaking, and he wasn't sure if he was beginning to freeze, or if he was simply so frightened. His breath came in panicked, hysterical wheezes, so he could deduce, most likely the latter. He tucked his arms around his ribcage, and gently rocked himself back and forth, trying to figure out what would be a safe option, from here.
Someone was walking down the street, towards him, and he glanced up through eyes he hadn't realized were leaking to blink helplessly at the oncoming potential threat.
As he got closer, and the street lights shone down on his face, he began to recognize him… tall (but not quite as tall as he was, and somehow that brought him immense satisfaction), blond hair, dressed in a fur coat, with a look of great depression on his face.
He could've sworn he'd met him. He knew him from somewhere. His name started with an R… or was it… no, it was a T.
"What are you doing out here?" The newcomer asked, his voice deep, rich with an accent he couldn't quite place. "Aren't you cold?"
"Probably." He breathed. He knew it wasn't polite to stare, but he knew this man. He knew him like he knew… well, very little else. Just... where?
"Logan, wasn't it?" He went on, and Logan nodded, because that sounded… mostly right. "Does Fafnir know where you are?"
"No." He replied. "I'm not a child."
"I see. Do you know where you are?"
Logan's brow furrowed. How had the man guessed? Well, it wasn't as if he looked as though he was going anywhere, and he been extremely close to having an anxiety attack before Thor had arrived.
Oh.
Thor. That was his name. "Thor!" He blurted, and stood up in a frenzy of excitement. "I've been looking all over for you!"
Thor did not respond as Logan had thought he would. He seemed even more displeased, suddenly, and backed up a step to put distance between them. "That's 'your majesty,' to you. Or at the very least, 'King Thor'."
Was Thor cross with him for some reason? Why was he enforcing titles? They were brothers. What had he done to get on his bad side like this? "I… I'm sorry. Your Majesty."
Thor huffed a frustrated snort. "Look, I'm very aware of your mental… situation. So I'll forgive you, this once. But you are not Loki. And you do not get to speak to me as if you are."
Oh.
Oh for the love of the norns, now he remembered. He remembered it all, ever since the pier, crashing down upon his mind like an avalanche; the meetings with the officials, and with Thor himself, the allegations, Sigyn…
"I understand." He whispered, because now he finally did. A blush rose to his cheeks as he realized what, exactly, he'd just done, again. Thor hadn't earned any of this, and it was just as well that Logan would be leaving on the morrow.
"Why don't you have a coat?" Thor ran a tired hand through his hair. "It's freezing out here."
"I… I didn't notice." Logan shrugged. "I can… I can go…"
"Don't worry about it." He replied. "You're obviously freezing. We'll stop by my place, and I'll phone Fafnir to come get you."
"Thank you." Logan blinked in surprise. "Your… Your majesty." He hadn't expected Thor to be so kind to him, especially while they were both in agreement that he was an imposter.
He only shrugged, and gestured for Logan to follow him. Silently, he padded along behind him until they arrived at Thor's house. It looked different in the dark, somehow a bit more home-like, warm, like a refuge from marauders, or something.
Thor guided Logan to the end of his couch, and threw the warmest, coziest blanket he had had ever had the pleasure of snuggling under over his shoulders. "Sit tight for a second, I'll be right back."
So sit tight, Logan did. He could hear the king's voice in the other room, speaking on the phone to a most likely extremely groggy Fafnir, and suddenly felt extremely guilty for imposing himself on everyone in his nearby vicinity. He was also exhausted, and still shaking.
About five minutes went by, before Thor returned. "He's on his way."
"Thank you." Logan whispered again, through chattering teeth. "May I ask you a question? Your Majesty?"
Thor grunted in approval, and sat down on the other end of the couch.
"Why are being so kind to me?"
His eyes shifted back up to study Logan's face. "Because I'm not going to lie, you do look a lot like my brother. So I'm being kind to you in his honor. Besides, your lips were turning blue and I'm not a monster."
Something about the way the words "turning blue" and "monster" were used in the same sentence made Logan flinch, and he wasn't sure why.
"I hear you're leaving the realm, tomorrow?" Thor spoke up.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Logan nodded. "To Vanaheim. How'd you know?"
"You realize Fafnir and I are cousins, right?" Thor's mouth quirked into a tiny grin. "We do speak to each other."
"I see." Logan nodded, and lapsed back into silence. It seemed there was little more he could say without treading on extremely thin ice, so he didn't say anything.
"Are you still cold? You're shivering." The king pointed out. "Do you need another blanket?"
"No, I can't feel cold. I'm fine. I just… I shiver when I'm tired." Logan shrugged again, snuggling deeper into the blanket.
Thor did not say anything in response to that. There was a very long, heavy pause, the silence only filled by the clacking of Logan's teeth.
"It's… Something about my nervous system gets shot…" He went on, when it had become far too awkward for his liking. He glanced up to gauge Thor's reaction. He appeared to be dumbfounded, his eyes wide in some sort of epiphany as he stared blankly at Logan's face.
"I'm… I'm sorry, your majesty; did I say something wrong?" He attempted, but Thor waved his hands in gesture that clearly said SHUT UP I'M TRYING TO THINK.
"You… You shiver when you're tired. But not when you're cold?" He repeated.
"Er… Yes." Logan had never been so bewildered in his very short recollection of life.
Thor shook his head, and stood up from the couch. "How… How did you know Loki did that?"
"I… What?!" Logan reeled back, bewildered. "Your Majesty, I promise you, I'm not trying to convince you, any longer. I'm not even trying to convince myself. We… We probably have the same odd habit, or something, but…"
"No. Shut up." Thor flapped his hands as he paced in a circle. "No more talking. I don't… You."
"Me." Logan echoed weakly.
"I've… I've got an idea." With that, he rushed out of the room, leaving Logan in a puddle of despair.
It seemed to him that Thor actually did want to believe him, so hard that now that the threat of his leaving was making him desperate for his brother back. And it's not as if Logan didn't want to help. He was just extremely skeptical that he could. Thor really missed his family, but Logan was sure he couldn't provide that for him, now.
He'd thought, perhaps, once. But not anymore.
Thor rushed back into the room with a box-ish thing in his hands. It was gorgeous, gilt in silver, with a glowing pulse of blue light within a glass casing. "Do you know what this is?"
"Uhm… No." Logan admitted. "It looks dangerous."
"It is!" Thor brightly explained. "This is the Casket of Ancient Winter. It has the power to freeze over a whole planet if used improperly."
"Oh." Logan wasn't exactly sure what to do with that information.
"Here." Thor pushed it towards him. "Take it."
"But you just said –"
"I know." Thor bounced impatiently. Logan hadn't ever seen him so excited, and he had a sickening feeling he was about to drastically let him down. "Just take it."
"Your Majesty, I don't think…"
"AsyourkingIorderyou take the damn box, Loki." He stamped his foot like a small child. "I mean… Just… Take it."
Logan glanced sadly up at Thor's face, so tight in this flare of hope, of desperation. Honestly, if there had to be a foolproof plan, at least it could be one that didn't risk him freezing the entire realm, didn't there. But he really couldn't deny a direct order from the king, so reluctantly, his hands still shaking, he reached out and closed his hands around the handles.
Thor stood back, searching his face, his hands, for something, only god knows what.
Logan tried for an apologetic smile. "See, Your Majesty. I'm just…"
"Loki." Thor's eyes were filled with tears, as he stared down at his hands. "Look at yourself."
He shifted his gaze down to the box, only to see a strange blue hue creeping up his wrists, disappearing under his sleeves, staining his skin, and when he looked up, again, it was with crimson-red eyes.
TheOnlyHuman.