The blade sliced through the log with a solid clap as the ax came down in full force. It echoed out from beside the barn when Barney lifted the mug to his lips, the liquid inside still steaming. He could hear it in the depths of his eardrums—but he didn't dare turn his head. Not even his eyes. No, they remained straight forward, taking the likeness of a homeowner proud of his lawn on a Sunday morning from where he stood on the porch. This was as close as he needed to be.

Movement in the corner of his right eye caused his head to turn in a quick glance, lingering a moment as Clint's face came into view. "Think he knows that's a normal ax?" Clint asked, angled to see the barn as he came to stand beside his brother.

"I don't give a fuck what he knows," Barney answered, honestly, before taking another drink from the mug. "As long as he knows it over there."

Clint tilted his head. "And when he comes inside?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Look, I'll be the first to admit I had my reservations. But he's Cass's father, and he's in her life—so he's gonna end up being in ours. Least we can do is not be total assholes about it."

Barney grimaced at that word. Father. It made sense in hindsight, his mother having an affair to produce Cassandra. After all, genetically, it didn't make sense any other way. And he didn't blame his mother for doing what she could within her power to escape his own father. But there was an urge, an instinct, in his gut to feel anger. It blossomed in the pit and stoked itself with negative thinking, little annoyances and observations like coals added to the basin, and the flames licked upward at his rib cage. Desperate for a taste of his heart.

There'd been a reason he recognized Logan when they met in the basement of the school, and it wasn't an innocent case of Deja Vu. Logan knew this. He knew that, eventually, he was going to be confronted with this truth when Cassandra got around to sharing her paternity with her siblings—and, odds were, they would not be pleased. Clint was a bit apprehensive but made an effort to be polite. Barney, however, had no intention of being so cordial.

The information was like a sudden slap to the face. Do you cry? Do you yell? It was the pause of indecision and shock that festered his resentment. A kernel of his anger was directed toward Cassandra, as well. Though they were not as close as they once were, he thought that something like this might be important enough to share regardless, now that they were in contact again. Instead, she hadn't told either of them. When she did tell someone, it was Clint.

Barney had been left in the dark. Then again, hasn't that been exactly where he's kept Cassandra? He had been so busy with work and his own life that he neglected any possible relationship that might be rekindled with his sister, and he alone was to blame for that. It wasn't as if she didn't reach out. Was it to tell him this? Had he simply avoided all her attempts to loop him in? With this come to light, it felt like he truly didn't know any of his family members anymore. The kernel was turned back on himself now.

"What do you know about him?" Barney half grumbled the question.

Clint exhaled, thinking. "Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know exactly how old he is, but it's at least a hundred. Probably more. He fought in at least four wars. He was a part of some kind of experiment, but he was a mutant before that. They don't know much else."

"And Cassandra didn't tell you anything?"

"We haven't talked about it," Clint shook his head. "All she said was that he's nearly indestructible and has a temper."

Barney sighed a grumbled sigh as he lifted his mug to his lips. A temper, he thought. Didn't all of mom's boyfriends have one? It left a bitter taste on his tongue that soured the coffee he sipped. "You know he can hear everything you're saying, right?" Natasha questioned, a cheekiness to her tone as she leaned against the banister post at the end of the porch steps. Clint missed most of what she'd said, but Barney's brows lowered with annoyance.

"Great. He's got super hearing. You think he'll hear me if I say he's a cu-"

A particularly loud clap thundered out, echoing off the barn and the trees in the distance. Natasha twisted to see over her shoulder in a quick glance, the sound too loud to ignore despite not quite being startled, and Barney begrudgingly leaned forward to peer around the support beam blocking his view. Logan sunk the ax blade into the stump before making his way toward the porch. His features were their usual level of disgruntled, but there was something strategic to the way he walked, a purpose behind each step.

Clint noticed it almost immediately. "Tired yet?" he jested, when Logan approached them. Natasha stood upright, stepping back to let him through as Logan continued to the stairs, climbing up them without concern for the two men in his way at the top. Though, there was no real need for pleasantries. He knew something they didn't. Something they would really like to know.

Logan's eyes shifted to meet Clint's, silently letting him know he needed to 'hear' what was being said as Logan opened his mouth, speaking loud enough for the others to hear at the same time—a gesture that would not go unnoticed. "She's awake," was all Logan said. At least, that was all that Clint could read. The brute continued onward, into the house, and Clint's eyes met Barney's. Both stuck in a split-second's pause of shock.

Then, they were hurrying inside after him, ditching their mugs at the kitchen counter on their way to the stairs.


It was the sunlight that called loudly enough to wake her. Gentle heat warmed her skin wherever it touched, a soft breeze cooling it soon after in light gusts. A window was open. Though, she didn't know which one. Where were the windows? Her eyelids lifted in a single thrust upward, slowly, with only a small flutter as she squinted against the light. It came from the right. When she rolled her eyes in that direction, they landed instead on the nightstand—more specifically, the cactus sitting in its pot by the lamp.

She had seen it before. Was that her cactus? She thought back through it all, the steps she took after rescuing it from her crumpled apartment, but she couldn't remember what she'd done with it after staying at the mansion. Had she even thought to bring it with her when she left? Perhaps she'd left it behind? If so, how did it get here? Where was here?

Cassandra lifted her head then, eyes flitting in the other direction quickly. To the far left, on the same wall as the bed she lay on, was the bedroom door. Near it, the bathroom, left open for her to see through to the shower against the back wall, and a wardrobe to the right of the bathroom door. There was a dresser along the wall straight ahead, and—every muscle in her body tensed as her eyes landed on a figure. A man sat in a chair near the foot of the bed.

The midnight ink running through his hair would've given him away had his general demeanor not, and she blinked. She was dreaming. She knew it now. This was all a dream, something her mind put together to ease her into death so she might go willingly. Still, something inside her ached. Heat burned the corners of her eyes as she pushed at the mattress beneath her, sitting in an upright position against her head's wishes, everything inside it swirling like a stirred cocktail. He sat in the chair at the foot of the bed with a book open in his hands.

She couldn't quite read the title on the spine, its gold lettering blending into the green fabric shell with age. She blinked again. He did not look up. Death's cruel trick. "Loki?" her voice sounded worn, almost like it had when Victor gripped her neck hard enough to draw blood. She'd almost forgotten what that had felt like until now.

Gold rushed over him in a blink of light, eating up his image as quickly as it went, and he was suddenly huddled into the chair in a heap—leaning heavily against the right armrest and backing with disheveled hair and tired creasing near his eyes. Though, his head was lifted now and he stared at her with genuine surprise. It faded quickly into a mixture of relief and joy, and he was quick to sit upright in the chair. "You're awake," he breathed the relief in his chest into each word. Then, his eyes narrowed slightly, brow knitting in confused realization. "You're crying?"

Cassandra reached a hand to her face, mindlessly swiping at the heat beneath her eyes, but she couldn't look away. "What is this? Where am I?"

"This is your brother's house. I believe this is the guest room."

Loki pushed himself out of the chair to move to the bed, coming to sit on the edge of the comforter, near her knees. She stared at him, skeptical—but every detail was there. There was visible texture to his skin, softness to the wisps of hair catching the light she could feel just by its appearance, and her stomach felt hollow. Sensations, thoughts, memories were creeping in. The plaid button up he wore, obviously borrowed, had a streak of green and it reminded her of the leather.

How it felt beneath her fingers as she clung desperately to any life that might be left within him. Was it possible that she truly brought it out? Again she reached up her hand, this time cautiously resting her palm against his cheek, cold to the touch, the palm that she'd felt the surge of energy heat to a boiling point. It was real. It had to be. How could the softness, the iciness be some kind of purgatory? His eyes fluttered gently closed as he tilted his head, leaning into the touch with a calming exhale.

"You're alive?" she asked, hopefully, as the heat returned. It brimmed her eyes with a hazy warmth that pressed into her throat, burning the back with vigor.

Loki's eyes reopened, and his features softened. He reached for her then, nudging himself closer on the comforter, and tugged her hand from his cheek before pulling the other into his as well from where it rested in her lap, holding them close to his chest. His heart. "I breathe now because you gave me life. And I'm going to spend the rest of it with my heart right here," he gestured their hands gently. "In your hands, where it belongs. It belongs to you. My dearest Cassandra."

It was happiness—pure and unbridled—that flooded her chest with relief and endearment, and the smallest of laughs escaped her. She pulled her hands free and instead threw her arms around his neck and shoulders, leaning forward to hold onto him, and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her torso. Even though they meant something a little different now, tears still followed a line down her cheeks. There was too much whirling around within her to stop it.

"I love you," she blubbered out the words, holding on a little tighter.

As he nuzzled her neck, breathing in the familiarity of her scent, he said, "I love you."

The bedroom door opened with a soft but sudden whine of its hinges. Movement in the corner of her eye lifted Cassandra's head, eyes searching for an explanation, only to find the frazzled appearances of her brothers—and, most surprisingly, Logan. She stared at him, muscles stiffened once more as a pang of shock struck her. "Logan?" her eyes widened. It was enough to have exposed Clint's family to a god. But to bring her father into it? And her older brother that didn't even get along with Clint? "Barney? What- why are you here?"

"It's alright, Cass. I invited them," Clint was quick to assure her.

Cassandra sat back an inch, hands absentmindedly reaching for Loki's again as her gaze remained on the others. "Why?"

"They're your family and they wanted to be here," he explained. "And I wasn't about to leave you to recover in some bald guy's basement."

"I was at the school?" her eyes rounded further, eyebrows lifting in confusion and surprise. There was clearly a lot she had missed, but every new detail only added to the heightened anxiety of not knowing. What else had she missed? Who else had been here? Where else had she been?

Barney took a step toward the bed, volunteering to be the one to diffuse the bomb they'd suddenly wired, softening his posture to appear nonthreatening. "Hey, this is a lot to talk about right now. You should shower, stretch your legs, eat something. We can explain everything to you once you've gotten around, alright? Give yourself time to wake up."

"We'll wait downstairs, and we'll talk when you're ready," Logan added. Barney's eyes shifted toward his shoulder, Logan not quite in his peripheral but the knowledge being enough, and his lips curled to the right in a barely noticeable snarl. I don't need your help, he wanted to spit the words. But he kept his mouth shut. His sister's well being was enough to keep quiet—for now.

Though, he had no plans to stay quiet once she was well or, at the very least, out of the room. Cassandra was hesitant to give up her quest for answers so easily. She needed to know what happened and how long she'd been asleep almost as much as she had needed to know if this was even real. But Clint moved to hold the door, a gesture to prompt the others to file out of the room and go downstairs, and they started moving before she could formulate a coherent thought on the subject.

Her mind was still a fog of racing thoughts, blurring one into the next, but now her head ached and her stomach mourned its emptiness and she felt weakened at the edges. As if her very soul had crumpled like paper from the jarring experience she barely remembered. The ailments came to her slowly, washing over her one-by-one as the seconds ticked on. Clint pulled the door closed behind them as he, Barney, and Logan exited to the hall, careful to turn to the knob gently so as to avoid a thud.

"Would you like me to draw you a bath?" Loki's voice pulled her gaze from the closed door in a slow shift.

Cassandra paused. A bath might be nice. The overall ache her body harbored could use the heat, the forced calm. Everything else could wait just another hour. A bit numbly, she nodded, before blinking a bit more focus into her eyes. "Okay. Yeah. Sorry, I feel really weird."

"Don't apologize. Whatever you're feeling is certainly more than understandable," he assured her as he stood from the bed, his hand hanging between them where hers remained attached. "Give yourself time. For now, why don't I help you up?"

Again, she nodded—jostling the contents of her skull. Cassandra did her best to move at a normal pace with her usual level of fluidity. However, her muscles were stiff as her legs dipped off the edge of the bed, shuddering as her full weight came to rest on her heels. It was then that she wondered, however brief the fleeting thought, was this truly better than death? Loki wound an arm around her waist to ease her away from the bed. She took slow steps, rounding the end of the frame at a tortoise pace, and she couldn't help but feel an ounce of frustration.

This was never something she had found herself struggling with. She'd never needed a cane, or crutches, or an arm to steady her balance. There had been times when she'd felt incredibly weak and yet she'd always found the strength to push forward. Now, it was as though there was no will left. No stubbornness. In truth, there was no anxious need to survive. Not here. She didn't need to get right back up—it was safe to stay on the ground and feel the hurt.

She could rest and recover and treat herself as she would treat anyone else in her condition. As it was, there was no reason to get up so quickly. There was no war to fight, no one to save. The work was done. And she could rest.


Every bone felt a dull ebb of pain, forced to feel the weight of her body against a solid surface, with no give to her pleading muscles. Still, she grasped the mug before her with both hands, elbows dug into the wood surface of the table to help steady the gentle sway of dizziness. She could stomach this. She had to. Her ankles crossed against a chair leg, her bare feet touched the rough flooring beneath, and she held onto the texture as she lifted her eyes to see her brother.

Clint sat across the table from her, Laura in the chair to his left. With Barney on the far left, Logan on the far right, and Loki beside her, everyone was present—even Natasha stood in the kitchen, leaned against the counter. "How long was I out?" Cassandra asked, her voice nearly as weak as she felt.

"Just about five days," Barney answered, over the edge of his mug.

"So…how did I get here?" Cassandra blinked.

"One of your old professors—Scott, I think—called me in the middle of the night. Laura conveyed the message. But, he said you were pretty bad off, so I went to the school. You were unconscious and had been for a while. The bald guy said you would be okay, but you just needed time," Clint recalled the events as precisely as he could. Although, he hadn't been in the headspace to remember much later. There'd been too much adrenaline. Too much fear. "So, I brought you here."

Cassandra glanced between Clint and Loki. "How did I get to the school?"

"I didn't know where else to take you," Loki admitted, a bit apologetic.

"Where's Thor and Jane?" she asked him.

"Once it was settled that you would make a full recovery, Thor took Jane home," he explained. "It sounded like there were some things they needed to take care of with a friend of hers."

Darcy. The last time Cassandra had seen her, she and her intern, Ian, were about to be arrested for trespassing at the warehouse where Jane went missing. It hadn't crossed her mind while on Asgard, how they'd left her. Cassandra's eyes lingered on the table's surface as she slipped into thought. Remembering the steps, retracing them back to the warehouse, wondering if she'd even considered anything else after Thor arrived. Admittedly, she hadn't.

It was then that hinges wined, the click of the screen door opening, followed by shoes scuffling on the wood floor. The thud of the door falling shut pulled Cassandra from her thoughts, turning her torso in her seat to see instinctively. Lila trotted into the house, coming to stop at the wide opening to the kitchen, and she looked around at the eyes that faced her curiously. "What do you need, honey?" Laura asked her, quickly, in an attempt to hasten the interruption. Though, a part of her wanted to keep the children out of the house as long as possible for other reasons.

While Logan may very well be a decent man in total control, Laura didn't know him. And she didn't know Barney either. It was safer to keep the most vulnerable at a safe distance for the time being. "I wanted to check on Aunty Cassie," Lila answered, twirling the strings from her hoodie around her fingers in front of her.

The corner of her mouth easing its way up, Cassandra pulled her hands free from the mug on the table and turned in her chair. "Well, come on then," she tipped her head briefly in a gesture, ushering Lila toward her, and the girl came forward. "How do I look, doc?"

Cassandra outstretched her hands and Lila walked into them, turning before Cassandra hoisted her up, pulling the child onto her lap. The expended effort left a vibrant tremble in the muscles of her arms she hoped no one would notice. Lila reached up and placed a hand on Cassandra's forehead, checking her temperature. "You feel cold. And you look like you didn't sleep," she announced, retracting her hand.

The girl wasn't wrong. Cassandra may have been unconscious for several days, but she didn't sleep. She didn't rest. Her body simply waited in a kind of pause, consciousness suspended somewhere in the depths of her mind, and she didn't sleep. There was nothing to be gained from it. So, Cassandra nodded in agreement. "I feel like I didn't sleep."

"You should take a nap," Lila told her. "I take naps all the time."

"I'll tell you what—we'll finish up here and then I promise I'll rest, okay?"

"Okay."

Lila nodded once before pushing herself off of Cassandra's lap. The second her feet hit the floorboards, she was trotting back to the screen door. Its hinges wailed and another thud sounded as it fell closed unattended—and Cassandra couldn't help but chuckle. She eased herself back into a position facing the table. As her eyes lifted, sweeping to the right, they caught something. An expression, a second before it disappeared. There was fondness on Loki's features, lips upturned in a soft, closed-mouth smile until his eyes returned to the table.

Something about it pulled at a string in her chest. It was old, brittle, and covered in dust, but the tug was strong. She took a deep breath and averted her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nostrils. "She sure does like you a lot," Laura commented, smiling warmly at Cassandra. "She asks me all the time when you're going to visit."

Cassandra felt a small pang of guilt, reaching for the mug. "I'm sorry I haven't been around in a while."

"Oh, don't apologize. You've been understandably busy," Laura was quick to reassure Cassandra, her eyes widening momentarily in an expression.

Still, she felt guilty. There had been too many lives she exited abruptly, only to never return. No matter how much she cared, she couldn't seem to bring herself to re-enter those spaces, despite the wide open and unlocked doors. Cassandra lifted her mug to take a sip of the still-warm tea inside, the soft steam a welcome warmth against the skin of her face, before placing it carefully back in its place on the tabletop.

"So, where do you two go after this?" Natasha spoke up then, finally joining the conversation from her place against the counter, and Cassandra's eyes shifted to meet hers. "Not a lot of places out there you can hide an alien fugitive."

The comments were made with her usual level of subtle sarcasm, a lightheartedness behind the serious subject. Regardless, Cassandra didn't hesitate to answer, "Home." There was a sense of finality to it. Acceptance. Relief. Though there was a period of her life when she couldn't imagine ever being happy to see that house again, her perception of the location had shifted.

There were many nightmares inside it, but her mother was there. In the garden, the kitchen, even the wallpaper. That was where she would find her. And it was where she intended to find herself.