When he'd finally convinced his limbs to move, Loki had bolted from the confining walls of the house. They pressed down, suffocating, balling his thoughts into a knotted tangle crawling over the same bitter recriminations over and over again. As nausea set in he'd torn at the unending cycle of thoughts, grabbing it between his teeth and ripping through its chains. The burst of viciousness lasted only long enough for him to gain the roof, wedging himself next to the chimney at the highest point.

Then he'd been grateful for the sturdy stone at his back and the bracing convergence of rooflines. His energy flowed away as surely as if a vein had been opened. This was the same as before—after the Casket tore away the life he had known and his terror burned like anger, his father at his feet—his doing. He'd disappeared to the highest, loneliest peak of the towers, fleeing recklessly, sliding, dangling over a height that promised death with a nearly seductive purr. There he'd huddled against the emptiness, unaware of the abrasions and cuts from his flight until he scraped the dried blood from his palms before going to seek the woman he'd always thought was his mother.

It was worse then, being unmade. And in the terror of the unmaking he'd caught at anything to make him whole—any way to fit back together the Loki he had known. In his delusion he'd tried to prove himself a true son of Odin. He saw now the bitter madness of it.

He'd been shattered and pieced back together so many times now that this new fracturing hardly surprised him. Pain was routine.

"Delusional child!" he spat, drawing one knee to his chest. To think that you would be allowed to keep this fruitless fantasy? His gaze flicked to the side, turning back on himself, what was the boy to you? An amusement—a toy, used and broken and then discarded.

The dew settled on his arms and shoulders, slicking his hair against his head, the chill of early morning burrowing into his marrow. The wooly mists of these mountains rose up from between the trunks and flowed down into the valleys, threading through the stands of pine and tumbling over the darkness-muted mountainsides.

Loki perched above the sea of mists that glinted silver under the starlight, broad white stretches cradled between the swelling blue ridges. Everything beneath lay hidden and silent, shivering with the bite of coming winter. The hard, shiv-bright prick of stars faded as the sky grayed. Darkness leeched away long before the sun ever slid over the farthest ridge. Finally, a lance of sunshine broke free of the ridge's confines and burst across the mountains. The mists flashed into pools of gold. A lake of molten light lapped against the mountain top shores, gold against the blue deepening to purple in the distance.

Loki turned his back on it.

He didn't come down from his perch until the sun had long since peaked and begun to sink toward an ever earlier nightfall. He wasn't surprised no one had looked for him—in the past he'd made himself scarce for long stretches at a time for precisely this reason. Though he had rather imagined his unnoticed absence would have been put toward a head start in an escape attempt. He slid back down the drainpipe and slipped through the window he'd exited by in the first place. It was nice to know he could get places without magic.

"Master Loki?" J.A.R.V.I.S.'s metallic voice chimed.

He considered letting the AI try and puzzle it out himself, but he wasn't up to it. "Are any others likely to be climbing in and out of windows?" he said irritably.

"Agents Romanov and Barton seem to have made a sport of it," said the voice.

If he had been in a better mood, Loki might have smiled at that. He wasn't and he didn't. The thought of raiding the fridge and sequestering himself once more with his thoughts nearly distracted him from the slight hitch in the silence after J.A.R.V.I.S.'s words. It almost felt like a pause, or a hesitation.

"Could there be something else you wanted, House?" he asked. Loki marveled—it almost seemed the voice was shifting in discomfort.

"Is young Book with you perhaps?"

"You are privy to every conversation in this prison—what logic algorithm would make you think he'd be anywhere near me?" Loki spat. Unease brushed against his spine as his thoughts raced ahead. There were so many dangers in what J.A.R.V.I.S. asked. There could be innocent reasons, but the hesitant nature of the question made Loki doubt that this conversation would end well.

The speakers clicked on again, but J.A.R.V.I.S. waited a moment to speak, as if choosing his words. "He rose earlier than was his habit. As you know, I am not fully integrated into this house, and am blind in many places."

"The point."

"Book mentioned that he needed some time to think and would be down by the pond if anyone asked for him. He has not yet returned. I thought his actions a natural human response to the altercation yesterday evening." The AI paused. "His continued absence has prompted reevaluation of what I heard of his movements this morning. He might have been preparing to make himself comfortable for a few hours, or…"

"Or he might have been packing to run away," Loki finished.

"Precisely." J.A.R.V.I.S. almost sounded worried.

"Anyone without a circuit board for a brain could have told you that was exactly what he was doing," said Loki coldly. Book was running. Beyond the spike of hurt, unease prickled his scalp. The magic in the boy's veins hadn't yet settled, and even Loki couldn't guess what consequences may come from it. There was still too much of his blood in the boy's body to simply let him loose in the world.

"I am aware."

Loki decided that he didn't care if he could interpret that as hurt in the bodiless voice. "Gather the Avengers—have them meet in the great room. We have the makings of a problem."

Loki knew that Book was gone—and if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own pain, he'd have known from the start this is exactly what the boy would do. A visit to the infirmary confirmed what he already knew. It wasn't that items were missing from what had effectively become the boy's quarters, it was that one item was missing. His street bag.

When Loki stepped into the great room the others were there—except for Thor and Natasha. They must have already been gathering for dinner to have beaten him there. Barton perched on the back of the sofa, feet resting on the armrest while Stark and Banner sat opposite one another over the coffee table. A game of glass pebbles sat between them suggesting they had already been in the room when J.A.R.V.I.S.'s call went out. Steve stood by the mantel, eyeing Loki expectantly.

"Since when were you giving orders around here?" drawled Clint as he toyed with the strap of his finger guard—the bow and quiver at his feet were hopefully there for target practice and not brought specifically for Loki.

"As if you were of any concern just now," Loki said, his words laced with venom.

"Chitauri?" asked Captain Rogers, cutting Clint off before he could spit something back.

Loki shook his head. "A problem of a different sort—though possibly much worse."

Bruce glanced up from his game. "Worse?" He swatted Stark's hand away without looking at it as the other man tried to slip one of his pieces into the next slot. "Just how many people are after you?"

Still refusing to leave the shadow of the doorway, Loki shook his head again. "Have any of you seen Book today?"

Everyone's expressions sharpened as they turned over their memories. Heads began to shake. "I gave him a once over early this morning, but since then…" Bruce trailed off into a shrug.

"I have not seen him since last evening," rumbled Thor, appearing beside Loki.

Natasha slipped from behind them, giving Loki a swift shake of the head to say she hadn't seen him either. She settled on the sofa where Clint perched, briefly touching his shoulder as she came around.

Loki turned slightly in toward Thor, his voice dropping. "We have a problem."

Thor frowned—it seemed he remembered this version of Loki—far too serious and without enough art. The last time Loki had come to him in such a manner their cousin Freya was in danger of being married off to a disguised Jotun due to a foolish bet. That time Loki had likewise sidled up behind him, voice lowered for his ears only.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Tony asked.

"Book left the house at 7:45 this morning, saying he wished to spend the day by the pond." J.A.R.V.I.S. hesitated. "I fear now that may have been a fabrication."

"He's running away," said Natasha simply.

"It's what he always does when things become too much," said Loki as he and Thor fully entered the room.

"It won't take that long to find him," said Clint, unperturbed.

"It's miles and miles of forest out there," said Steve as he pushed away from the mantle.

At the same time Bruce spoke up, "he's still just a kid."

"Why would he decide to go all My Side of the Mountain on us now?" asked Stark, peering at Loki as if he already knew exactly what the answer was.

A little too sweetly, Loki replied, "Ask your hawk."

Barton shrugged away everyone's gaze. "Kid had a right to know."

Bruce closed his eyes and Steve ran his hand through his hair. "You didn't."

Natasha looked up at him with a decidedly neutral expression.

"Be happy that your petty revenge may bring a great deal of sorrow down on that boy," said Loki. He held himself at his height—like a king.

Barton waved it all away. "Kids are running off all the time—no big deal. Stark's probably got some kind of bloodhound armor and we'll just go bring the kid back. A night in the woods won't hurt him—it's not that cold yet." He glanced down at Natasha's hand on his leg.

"Not everyone's you, Clint," she said.

"He's managed this far on his lonesome, though," said Stark as he scratched at his beard. Half his thoughts were clearly occupied with considering Clint's suggestion of bloodhound armor.

Loki found it odd that Rogers was watching Thor through all of this. No one else—except perhaps Romanov—had noticed that Thor was being strangely quiet. But Rogers had a gift for people, not for manipulating or reading every subtle cue like Clint or Natasha, but for considering them important enough to notice their shifts in mood.

"What do you two know that we don't?" asked Steve.

Bravo, Captain, Loki thought. Could it be you're the only one that remembers the manner in which Book was resurrected?

"My brother fears that there is some danger to the boy," said Thor—clearly not having made the mental leap to what troubled Loki. Still, it wasn't likely that he'd have enough experience with magic to even know of the danger.

Silence filled the room as everyone looked to Loki.

"It's the magic." He paused, how was he to explain this to those who barely accepted that magic existed? "Think of it as a kind of power source that must be guided and channeled to be of any use. I flooded Book's body with my blood, and in doing so, with magic. As a human he is not meant to hold such power," he glanced at Bruce, "we know the consequences of too much power for the human form."

Stark, of course, interrupted. "So what, he's going to hulk out on us? Like—a mini-Hulk?"

"I don't think that's what he's saying…" said Bruce as he pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I can't imagine that would be the exact outcome unless Dr. Banner has been dosing him with gamma radiation behind our backs. What may happen is that in an agitated state the magic might…react. Right now it is a foreign presence, slowly filtering away as his body flushes it with the boy's own blood." Here Loki paused. His own fears were so amorphous he wasn't sure what exactly would happen or how to express his anxieties. Given the vague aura of confusion, he'd have to try regardless. "If he becomes highly agitated or finds himself in a fight or flight situation, the magic may very well respond and in doing so bond with his system. If he survived it, and that is very unlikely, his body would try to remake itself from the inside out."

"His eyes," said Thor quietly.

"We see a mild example already—but we cannot have Aesir blood," he looked meaningfully at Thor, "especially mine, running rampant in his body." Loki had no idea exactly what would happen if the magic tried to conform Book's body to the blueprint of a Jotun runt in the skin of an Aesir. It may eat him up from the inside out. It may simply expel itself from his body—effectively draining him and likely leveling anything around him. Loki could imagine a dozen possibilities—he feared his imagination didn't stretch to the actual outcome—and none of them ended with Book hale and hearty.

A sound like someone sucking on their teeth brought his attention back around. Stark. The man leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "So, short answer—we need the kid back. J.A.R.V.I.S.—what do you figure the average walking speed for a kid his height is with this terrain? I'm gonna need a probable search radius."

"Calculating now, sir."

He stood up, stooping briefly to move one of his game pieces. "And while I don't have a bloodhound armor—good idea there Katniss—I do have infrared and a suit that can break the sound barrier."

Steve waylaid Stark as the other man was clearly headed for wherever he kept his armor. "You're not going alone."

The billionaire gave a grin and a mock salute, "sir, no, sir!"

"I'm serious, Tony."

"Well, unless you've developed the ability to fly in addition to being a near mystical pillar of righteousness—you're not coming. I'll take Goldilocks," he thumped Thor on the arm. "Though seriously I have no idea how you manage against wind resistance."

"I will come as well," said Loki calmly.

Stark cocked is head in thought, "how about no."

Loki thought he'd have to waste time arguing with that big-headed egotist, but help came from an unexpected quarter.

"When did you become an expert on magic?" asked Natasha, curling in her seat so that her legs laid across Clint's ankles. "He is the only one of us that has any clue about how it works—and any hope of controlling it if things get unpleasant. Am I right, Thor?"

"Aye." He placed a hand on Stark's shoulder, practically encasing his whole upper arm in the process. "I will be of little help with magic."

"I do not require your permission," said Loki as he made his way to the porch.

"So…the flightless among us just wait here?" said Bruce.

Natasha smiled, "tell the kid we're having lasagna when you find him."

Loki paused at the door and gave a curt nod before stepping into the night. Thor followed, shutting the door behind him. Clouds had descended over the tree line, lying thick against the mountains. The last crimson rush of sunset reflected along their dark underbellies like a field of dying coals.

"Your doing?" Loki asked as he gestured at the sky.

Thor shook his head. "It grieves me, though, that Book has had to face this truth—I know it to be a heavy burden."

Loki rolled his eyes in an attempt at eloquent sarcasm. "Yes, thank you, Thor. I had nearly forgotten how very far I fall short in your eyes."

Anger clamped down on Thor, drawing his mouth into a hard line as he glowered at Loki. "They have a saying here—that one sows what one reaps. Yours is a justly bitter harvest, brother."

The sound of firing repulsors ended the conversation as Stark settled onto the stone patio with a metal thud. The pavers groaned in protest. Stark's faceplate slid back to reveal the grinning billionaire. "All right, adventure scouts, let's earn us a Book-tracking patch. J.A.R.V.I.S. figures—and I agree—that we've got about a fifteen mile radius to cover. Probably less given the terrain and the fact that the kid was dead just a few weeks ago."

"Which way would he be likely to go?" asked Thor as he turned to Loki, hundreds of years of habit overriding his burst of anger. Thor was a skilled hunter, but it had always been Loki that could anticipate and track their prey.

Focus turned inward, Loki didn't even acknowledge the question, Thor's previous statement about reaping what he had sown irritated him. It dug its way in, just out of reach. His actions were so much more than mere cause and effect—how could they be with Norns behind them? He was being paid in full for his actions, for his crimes. This entire episode had the flush of drama.

Absently he answered Thor's question, thoughts churning over the implications that this was merely the next act in Skuld's narrative for his life. "His woodcraft is limited—and he's cunning enough to realize we'd go after him. He'd head toward town in the hopes of disappearing. Not by the road, however."

He braced against the stone half wall that circled the patio. The cool of the stones seeped up through his fingers trying to douse the flush of worry that sparked within him. He'd been blind. This wasn't his tale to tell, this was the Scrivner's work—her craft. He knew enough of tale-weaving to know there were no accidents, no characters included without purpose. All this while he thought he had been defying her will by remaining on Midgard, by staying with Book—before he had known her for what she was.

"And that was exactly where she wished me to be," he muttered to himself. The pressure of lips on his forehead faded through his foggy memories of the day Book died. He had been justly rewarded for his efforts. He had even known his voice had been a reward, but he had allowed himself to be distracted by other things before he had truly had time to think on it—or he had been deliberately led away from such concerns.

Still hunched over the wall, he spoke quietly. "What is your purpose for Book?"

"Come again there?" asked Stark.

Loki could feel both their gazes on him, but he didn't turn around. "What is your purpose for Book?" he asked again. He didn't need Stark's startled yelp to know that Skuld had appeared behind him. The ancientness drifted about her like cold creeping from the depths of a cave. If she had been less primal, he would have thought her presence hallowed.

"What is it to you?" she asked.

"What is a human child to the Norns? You suffocate stars and raise empires." He gave a wry smile, "and you try to turn monsters into men. This child has no part in such things."

"Who are you to say what use he may be. Even the sages of Earth know that the beat of a butterfly's wings might stir a tempest."

"Always riddles!" Loki whirled on the Norn. "Why send me to Earth, dumping me on the boy's doorstep?"

Skuld considered him for a moment and laced her long fingers as she tilted her head to the side. "There was another story in you to be told. If only someone would listen to it. A better story—a more satisfying one."

"That tells me nothing of the boy."

Narrowing her eyes, Skuld spread her lips thin. "You are a stubborn creature, Loki Son-of-None." She paused to trace letters in the air, not bothering to meet anyone's gaze. Suddenly she spoke. "Do you remember when you were a child and trespassed into Idunn's garden?"

Loki's fingers twitched to brush along his upper arm. "I broke it."

Skuld smiled a sad, knowing smile as she drifted toward Loki. "And then?"

Loki stiffened.

"Yes. You see it now." With those words Skuld vanished in a shred of mist.

Stark gaped at the spot where she had been. "Well that was cryptic. What did she mean by all of that? Loki, hey, Loki what did she mean?" He called after Loki as the taller man stepped up onto the half wall—and then off into empty air. The dark shape of an owl spiraled up where he had been.

"Do you guys come with decoder rings?" he asked as he gazed after the retreating form.

Thor too watched his brother. "We weren't meant to be in Idunn's orchard. When Loki fell, he couldn't go to the healers without giving himself away. So he hid it."

"And?"

"Eventually mother found out, but by that time the bone had already started to knit back together. His arm was twisted and it was too late to set it correctly." Thor clenched his jaw as he began whirling Mjolnir by his side. "They had to break the arm anew."

A/N: I am ridiculously fond of the end of this chapter and I've been dying to share it with you since we started this journey! The incident with Idunn's orchard has been vaguely referenced before—most notably in the very first chapter. Now of course we know what happened after Loki made that grab for a branch too far beyond his reach.

Next Week: The hunt is on to try and track down Book before something catastrophic happens—the odds don't seem to be in their favor.

QuiltedRose49: It is a complex situation. Skuld is well…Skuld. As to Clint, try and imagine it from his perspective. In addition to an obvious grudge, his actions in a way make sense. He didn't see Loki's actions to save Book firsthand and he well knows that Loki uses people for his own ends. It makes sense that he would—when finally pushed too far—decide that it is dangerous to let the kid go on not knowing about Loki's past. He also hasn't had the benefit of being inside Loki's head for the past twenty-nine chapters to understand that Loki's motives toward Book are pure—well, they are now at least.

RedHood001: That was something I struggled with actually…do I include the word or not? Y'all are pretty sharp so I figured most of you would know exactly what word he was searching for and that it might be more artistic to leave it out. And you know, literarily, there is Ernest Hemmingway and his whole iceberg theory that you shouldn't spell everything out in the story. Obviously I ultimately decided to go for it anyways because I'd rather sacrifice a little art in order to not lose clarity.

As to worrying….that may not be a bad thing. We shall see what may come of your predictions.