Chapter Three: Midgard

Loki sucked in foreign, tainted air with a haggard breath. Ow. He had landed on his back, the Bifrost unexpectedly being much harder to navigate without magic or strength. The granules of sand burned at his skin as much as the sunlight that streamed relentlessly into his eyes even while closed.

He released the breath, nearly choking on the pain it caused in his chest. His entire body protested the absence of his magic, so unused to having to function without its support. Now that the shock of its retreat had passed, all that was left was the sense of only being half of himself.

With a groan, Loki pushed himself to sit up, brushing the sand from his hair. Already, his skin felt like it was drying out, and the air smelt of fish and brine. By the Norns, Midgard was an awful place.

He looked over to where Thor had landed just as gracelessly, though the sight brought little comfort. Why had he ever let Thor drag him into this mess in the first place?

He breathed out again slowly. Calm. He could be calm. Berating Thor would resolve nothing, especially when the idiot never listened. Getting them home would be his job, and one that he would likely be doing without much help.

Barely refraining from cursing, Loki got to his feet. He would need a plan. Unfortunately, he had no idea where to start. How could he possibly even try to think when the mere air hurt his lungs? He longed to shed his layers, but without magic, he would have to carry them anyway or else lose them forever, and his coat was practically brand new.

Shaking his head to banish the irrelevant thought, Loki turned to scan his surroundings. They had landed on a sandy beach. The sea stretched out into the horizon only steps from where he stood, a vivid blue that matched the cloudless sky. All around him, the white sand spread along the coast, but it would only take a few dozen paces to reach the greenery leading into the unfamiliar jungle behind him. So, not only did he not have a plan, he did not have a single clue as to where they were.

Fantastic.

With some agitated grumbling, Thor finally regained his feet, spinning around slowly to evaluate their location as well. "Where the Hel are we?"

Did Thor always have to ask such asinine questions? "I have no idea," Loki bit back, trying to reign in his annoyance. He needed to come up with something to get them started, and he already could not think; tempers would not help the situation.

Seeming not to hear him, Thor added just as inanely, "Is this the right place?"

Pressing his palms into his eyelids, Loki tugged back his irritation, holding it in to grind out, "I'm not sure."

"Can't you just sense it?"

Not one, not two, but three idiotic questions in a row? Loki's head pounded again at the assault. "No, I can't just sense if this is the right place," he snapped bitterly, his anger finally spilling over. And oh, did it feel good to let it flow. "Father suppressed our magic, and I doubt I'd be able to sense even the Tesseract, let alone something as nonreactive as an apple!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Thor's temper rose to meet Loki's. "Well, Heimdall could see it, so maybe you should have done a better job of concealing it in the first place!"

Did he just…? Oh, Hel no, there was no way Thor would saddle him with the blame for this mess. He glared, jabbing a finger at Thor's chest. "And maybe you should have stuck to killing and maiming everything in your path instead of investing so much of your limited brainpower into that moronic dare, because that's all you're good for!"

Without any warning, Thor's fist smashed into the side of his face. Loki staggered to the side from the impact, and he reached a hand up to massage his jaw. Holy Hel, that had hurt, even more than usual.

Not thinking any further than the desire to repay that pain, Loki launched himself at Thor's middle, tackling him to the ground. The surprise of it stunned Thor long enough for Loki to get in a shot of his own at Thor's ribs, but a foot quickly knocked him onto his side as Thor grappled for his wrists.

Roar.

Loki froze at the not-too-distant howl, Thor similarly pausing above him at the distraction. Their heads turned at the same time to seek out the source of the feline sound. A moment later, Loki saw it: a large, black cat racing toward them from across the beach. Or, rather, toward the young boy who was also running in their direction, the perfect image of complete terror.

Loki looked back up to Thor, whose face had lost all traces of anger already. With an awkward shrug, Thor released his hold, and they both got up. Pulling out one of his daggers that he kept tucked into his boot, Loki eyed up the cat and whipped the blade at it.

There was a yelp of pain before the cat thudded to the ground. Even from several dozen strides away, he could see the hilt sticking out from its throat. Not precisely where he had been aiming, but still, it was not a bad throw for such a small and distant target.

The boy stumbled to a stop as he realized that the cat had ceased its pursuit. He glanced at them, then back at the cat, and then back at them. His jaw dropped in awe. "How… how did you do that?"

Loki shot the boy a withering look. "Skill."

The boy continued to stare at him, apparently completely confounded by the idea of wielding a weapon or something – Loki was not sure. But at least the language was recognizable as one he and Thor had learned in lessons only a bit over a century ago.

Thanking the Norns that they would not have to deal with communication barriers – at least, not yet – Loki focused his attention back on the boy. The pathetic child was still gaping. Perhaps he was merely an imbecile. He certainly looked like he could be; light brown hair hung over his eyes, probably blocking his ability to see, and his tunic and trousers were tattered beyond what reasonably could be considered decent. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say that the boy was in the very early stages of becoming a man, though it was always so hard to tell with mortals.

As Loki made his examination of the adolescent, Thor wandered over to the cat and yanked out the blade. He wiped the blood off on the cat's coat and returned to Loki's side, handing him the dagger. Surprised, Loki accepted it with a nod of truce. Whether they liked it or not, they were in this together. They could always kill each other later once they were back home.

Returning to the more pressing situation, Thor addressed the boy. "What's your name?"

"My name?" The boy asked, finally snapping free from his amazement. "I'm Peter, sir; Peter Parker."

Thor dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Greetings, Peter Parker. I am Thor, and this is my brother Loki."

"Really?" Peter asked quizzically, looking confused. "Those are weird names." Evidently realizing his rudeness, he quickly added, "Not that they're bad or anything; I mean, I have a friend named Pietro, which is weird too, and makes things really confusing when we're together and someone is looking for just one of us, but I've never heard names like yours before."

Loki blinked at the rapid spewing of words. The possibility of imbecility just ratcheted up a notch.

Thor recovered more quickly, asking with some befuddlement, "Could you tell us where we are, Peter?"

The boy thought for a moment. "I think we're on one of the Inagua islands. I know we definitely passed Crooked Island a few days before… um, well, before the jaguars ate the rest of the crew."

Neither name meant anything to Loki – not that he knew the name of the island that they had used for their challenge. It might not even have had a name for all he knew. This whole situation was starting to feel rather hopeless, if not outright impossible.

But the boy seemed oblivious to Loki's distraction, gushing with the rest of his story. "We had stopped here for fresh water, but the jaguars were everywhere. I am – was? – am the fastest, so I made it back to the ship, but they got everyone else."

The boy trailed off, lost in what were likely some gruesome memories. But really, Loki wondered if the whole crew had been a collection of imbeciles. What sort of men could be caught and killed by cats and still call themselves men?

But a ship meant transport in this realm, and since all of the crew were dead, that meant it was free for the taking. "Where is this ship you speak of?"

Gesturing vaguely back the way he had come, the boy answered, "It's about a half hour's walk from here."

Thor frowned. "Then why have you not left this place yourself?"

The boy snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Me? Sail a ship by myself? I'm only a cabin boy, sir, and I'd rather be killed quickly by the jaguars than get stuck out on the open sea and die slowly."

"Then let's go see it and see if we can help you get out of this place safely."

The boy's demeanor shifted instantly, his jaw dropping yet again. "Really? Let's go now!"

Loki grabbed the boy's shoulder to prevent him from taking off like the flighty creature he was. "Wait a moment." He jerked his head at the cat. "Thor, if you would?"

Thor huffed and went back over to the animal. With a heave, he slung the beast over his shoulder. After all, there was no sense in wasting fresh meat when who knew what sort of things the mortals considered food these days.

Thor grunted as he stumbled over a piece of driftwood, tightening his grip on the cat's body to keep it from slipping off his shoulder. The mortal boy was scrawny, but it gave him the advantage of speed and nimbleness. It was surprisingly difficult to keep pace, and Loki had to keep telling the boy to slow down.

A glance behind him revealed Loki wiping a hand across his brow as he kept a lookout for more of the jaguars. Thor almost pitied him. As much as he himself did not care for the humidity that made his clothing cling in a most uncomfortable way, he knew Loki detested this sort of environment. It was why he never bothered to invite Loki on his adventures to Muspelheim; Loki always became positively insufferable in the realm's unrelenting heat.

But he was still too irritated with his brother to truly pity him. Loki was just as much to blame for this situation as he was, if not more so. It was such a long time ago, but Thor could still remember how excited he had been with his plan. He and Loki had spent weeks setting it all up. It was not often that he used his own magic, given how difficult it was to wield with any measure of control, but that deserted forest had been the perfect place to unleash it and help Loki carry out their vision. But the more delicate touches – like making sure Heimdall could not see it – had all been Loki's responsibility, so if Loki had not failed in his task, they could have been at home right now, preparing to decimate another tavern or embarking on a noble quest.

Instead, Thor felt… off. There was no better way that he could put it. No matter how rarely he consciously used it, the absence of magic dulled his senses, and his limbs felt loose and weary. His hip felt naked without Mjolnir resting against it; he had not been without his hammer in over a century. Everything felt vaguely wrong, and he hoped that Loki would scheme a way out of this place before long.

At last, Peter called out, "It's just over this ridge!"

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Thor forced his tired legs to move faster, mounting the small incline with difficulty. As he reached the top, he scanned the horizon. His eyes widened.

The ship was nothing like what he had pictured in his mind. Unlike the raftlike boats he had recalled from his lessons, this ship was enormous. The body of it was at least as large as a base model space cruiser, but there were beams that stretched high into the sky with dark lines that crisscrossed them all over. With shock, he realized they were ropes. How could such a large vessel be seaworthy when it relied upon something as basic as rope to stay together?

Strange. Only yesterday, he might have found the idea to be novel, but now… Now, he really hoped they were not about to drown.

Loki's reaction mirrored his own as he crested the top of the ridge beside him. "That's the ship?" he questioned incredulously. He shot Thor an alarmed look.

Peter did not notice their hesitance. "Yeah, that's her." He started to scramble down the ridge onto the beach below. "She's called the Black Raven. And she's wicked fast; last summer, we outran a whole naval convoy off the coast of Portugal."

Unsure of how impressed he ought to be by that statement, Thor shook his head and made his way down the ridge. The boy was already running over to a much smaller boat that had been dragged upon the sand. Following him, Thor dropped the cat unceremoniously into the boat and helped pull it back into the water.

As Loki finally made his way over, Thor plopped heavily onto one of the bench seats, his muscles aching. Was this what it was like to be mortal? Was every task going to be this physically exhausting? How did any of these lower beings stand it?

Cursing life, the universe, and everything, Loki leaned back wearily against the ship's railing. He, Thor, and Peter had just secured what Peter had termed the longboat to the deck, and already he was too sore to even want to think about navigating the ship into open waters. No wonder the boy had never left on his own; despite its primitive nature, the ship looked far too complex for one man to control.

For the first time, the boy appeared to share their exhaustion. Peter sank down onto the deck beside Thor, resting his back against the stairs that led to highest level at the back of the ship. Out of breath, the boy asked, "So, where are we going to go?"

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, the question bringing on another headache. Where could they even go? It was impossible to know how far away Heimdall had put them from their goal. And Midgard was massive; he and Thor could not search its entire surface aimlessly. They would need a strategy.

First things first: they needed mobility. Loki looked around at the ship. The general purpose of everything was understandable; though the design was more complicated, the ship was not entirely dissimilar to the ones he had learned about in his youth. If they wanted to use this vessel as a way to traverse the realm, they would need more manpower.

Feeling Thor's curious gaze upon him, Loki came to a decision. "Where can we acquire a crew for this ship?"

"Tortuga," the boy replied without needing to ponder it, his energy rapidly returning. "If we are where I think we are, it's only a few days' journey. And we can sell the cargo there without any problems."

"What cargo?"

The boy's grin disappeared, as if realizing he had said too much. "Um, well, the cargo in the hold. It's… well, it's stolen cargo, and since this is the Black Raven, we can't take it to a controlled port." The boy leapt to his feet, shifting his weight nervously. "Can you read maps? I can't really, but let me see if I can find one in the captain's quarters and let you two decide."

With that, the boy dashed off through the doors next to the stairs. Thor shot him a look, the first look of excitement crossing his face since they had arrived. Loki almost groaned; he knew exactly what Thor was thinking. This was not just a ship; this was a pirate ship.

Oh, dear Norns above. They were going to die on this adventure.

A/N: I should probably mention that the geography in this story is not going to be completely accurate. We're going with a rather Hollywoodized version of the Caribbean and piracy in general, partially because otherwise Thor and Loki could sail to every island in the region within about 3 weeks, which wouldn't be quite as much fun. But who would have guessed that it would be sweet little Peter Parker who leads them into such an irreputable lifestyle?