"How did you get here?" Thor bursts out once Bruce is back in the palace.

"We'll keep looking for him. You talk to your friend," Voltstagg had grumbled, before Heimdall sent him, Hogun, and Fandral to Vanaheim.

They need to find Loki to find Odin. You didn't kill him, Loki, did you? Thor wonders. He doesn't want to believe Loki's capable of that.

Why? Why not? He's betrayed you in every way. Of course, that's what you thought before, and as it turns out there were new ways to betray you.

"Your brother," Bruce says. "He—"

"But how did you get to Vanaheim?"

Bruce explains about flying in the plane, about suddenly being whipped into the air—not the air, but in-between time and space and who knows what—and encountering the Vanir.

"That's terrible," Sif says with a scowl. She offers Bruce a cup of mead. He accepts with a shrug and a sad, dazed smile.

"Don't think we've met," Bruce manages after swallowing three gulps of mead. "I'm Bruce. Banner. I'm a doctor from earth."

"Midgard," Thor translates. "He's the Hulk."

"I'm Sif," she says. "You are the one who defeated Loki, aren't you?"

"Well, the Hulk did." Bruce shrugs.

Sif frowns. Her dark tresses spill over her shoulders. "You're the same person, yes?"

"I don't know if I would quite call the Hulk a person." Bruce laughs, but there's no joy in it. It reminds Thor of Loki's laughs after he was captured in New York—or maybe his laughs for years before that. Thor wonders what his brother's laugh—his real laugh, unscratched by bitterness, sounds like.

"The Hulk saved New York," Thor says. "You saved New York."

"And I killed how many people when we were fighting Ultron?" Bruce drinks more of the mead. "I can't face them. Natasha keeps hoping—she hoped so much, and it was impossible. I can't be a hero no matter how hard I try."

"Heroes make mistakes," Sif says. "Thor use to be a bit of a boorish brute. He's started wars over petty things. And yet he was always a hero."

"That's admirable you think that, Sif, but I wasn't," Thor says. If I'd been less of a boorish brute, maybe Loki… no. He won't tread that road tonight.

You did this, Loki. His fist tightens around the golden goblet in his hands. A fire crackles in the fireplace.

"Yeah, but when I go to earth people are afraid of me. For good reason, and yet it's also for something I can't control," Bruce mutters. "Like, Thor, no offense, but when you were starting wars, you had control of yourself. You could choose. When you can't choose when you're going to be yourself and when you're going to be a green rampaging monster, when it's been—embedded into you, and you can't get it out because it is a part of who you are even if you like to pretend it's not so you can have one moment of happiness, but you can never really forget—it's like torture. There are people screaming at you constantly and the loudest one screaming is yourself." Bruce drinks more. "Natasha was the only one who thought there was a chance—but even then, I can't—I could have hurt her."

When I'm king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!

The mead sloshes around in Thor's stomach, stinging and burning. What have I done?

Why didn't you say anything, Father? Why did you let me grow up that way?

"Thor, I can tell you're thinking—" Sif starts.

"Would we have accepted him?" Thor wonders aloud. "As a Frost Giant?"

"Loki's a terrible person. Being. Not just because of his heritage," Bruce says. He pauses and glances around the room, the towering ceilings and glow of the golden city below as if reconsidering. After all, Loki sent him here, when he could have sent him anywhere. To Thanos, even.

"You're not a monster," Thor says. "I know you won't listen to me, or believe me. But you're not."


"Look who's here," Natasha says as Loki trudges through the dust—sand?—to them.

"You succeeded," Loki states, staring at the weapon next to Bucky. "How?"

"It doesn't matter," Bucky says quickly, getting to his feet.

"I ran into a friend of yours," Loki says to Natasha.

Her pulse spikes. "Who?"

"A green monster." Loki's lips curve as he watches Natasha's nostrils flare.

"Bruce is here?"

"I sent him to Asgard," Loki tells her. "I offered to let him come with us, but he refused."

"Wonder why," Natasha snaps.

"Don't blame me for that." Loki crosses his arms. "He doesn't seem particularly eager to return to Earth."

Bruce, why? Natasha turns away from Loki's smirk and Bucky quizzical look. "Was he okay?"

"Some Vanirs had found him and it seems were making a spectacle of him."

Natasha whirls around. "What?"

"They won't be bothering him again, let's put it like that." Loki leans back.

You helped him. Why? What do you want? Natasha wonders.

"He still seemed to think it a better option than Earth," Loki adds.

I'm a monster. She'd said it, and he believed it more than she did. Every second, every breath, every step he took he took believing that he was a monster, afraid of what he could do. And nothing can convince him otherwise. Natasha could scream.

"Natasha?" prompts Loki.

"He thinks he's a monster." Funny how the ones who actually are monsters don't recognize it.

Bucky studies his feet. He lifts his head and meets her eyes with sympathy.

"All of us are," Loki says.

Natasha isn't often surprised, but now her jaw drops. "Did I just hear you admit that you're a monster?" she asks.

"Have you heard of Jutunheim?"

"No," Bucky says.

Natasha swallows. "Thor may have mentioned it. You're from there."

Loki laughs, a sharp sound that lacerates the air. He closes his eyes and his pale skin melts away, replaced with blue. His eyes glow red, and when he reaches to touch the dust, ice coats it.

And then it's gone, and he's back to being the monster she recognizes.

"Most Jutuns are tall. Frost Giants, the Aesir call them," Loki says. "Odin found me cast out upon a rock to die, because I was a runt. He took me in to use me as a pawn to broker peace. I have no desire to be a pawn in his game, though. I never have." He looks at Bucky, at Natasha. "You were made into monsters, but I was born one."

"Bullshit," says Natasha.

Bucky's eyebrows fly up.

"Bullshit," she says again. "You have choices, don't you?"

"I do. Which is why I'm not Odin's pawn of a son anymore. Not that he ever truly considered me his," Loki grumbles.

Daddy issues? Natasha wants to scream. "Bucky and I had no choice. When we tried to make different ones, we were punished."

Loki cocks his head, studying her with his green eyes and with no smirk, no one raised eyebrow. Natasha flinches.

"I thought Bruce and I could help heal each other," Natasha says aloud. "That was all bullshit, too. He doesn't want to get better. Neither do you," she adds to Loki. "But I do. And he does." She points to Bucky. "So since he's upheld his end of the bargain, you better heal his mind."

"We might need to break into Asgard to do it," Loki admits in a small voice. "I lost Gungnir. The staff," he clarifies.

"Thor found you out," Natasha states.

"Well, yes."

"You son of a—" Bucky lunges at him, but he swipes through a mirage. Loki appears next to Natasha. She jumps.

"I'm not breaking my word!" Loki shouts at him. "Not this time. I will break into Asgard and I will fix your mind. Okay?"

"How long is this going to take?" Natasha asks.


"I believe I know where the Allfather is," Heimdall informs them, the door closing behind him with an ominous clash.

"What?" Sif leaps to her feet immediately, despite the fact that she was just dozing on the chaise. Thor's afraid to get his hopes up.

"Alive," Heimdall adds. "If what I'm seeing is correct." He looks towards the windows, shining with the brightness of day.

We all doubt ourselves, Thor knows. He studies his hammer—he can lift it, can't he? He's worthy.

Of what? What kind of worthiness involves being tricked multiple times by a deceptive brother, leaving his father to the mercy of an evil man. Because that's what Loki is.

He is your brother!

Not now, Mother. Thor squeezes his eyes shut.

"Is it ever wrong?" quips Voltstagg.

"It was wrong for years," Heimdall retorts, his words an arrow he's shooting into his own flesh.

"Your father?" Bruce inquires.

Thor nods. The embers still glow from the fire last night, but a chill permeates the room. The sun shines, but its light is empty.

"He's in New York," Heimdall adds.

Of course he is. "I can't picture Father content to—"

"He's not in his right mind, I don't think," Heimdall adds.

Thor's face burns. Bruce tenses and Thor reminds himself to bloody relax. He doesn't want to jump-start the Hulk.

"Thor," Sif says. "We'll find your father. He'll be all right."

"And we'll find Loki," Fandral says cheerfully, perching himself on the edge of Sif's red lounge. "And by the time we're done, he won't be all right."

"He already left Vanaheim and hides well," grunts Hogun, leaning against a pillar.

"Thanks for the positivity," grumbles Fandral.

"If we find him," Voltstagg says. "You do want us to kill him, don't you?"

No.

No, Thor's never wanted his brother dead. But he is king now, acting as king at least, even without a coronation, without any glory. He's king because no one else can be, king because his brother betrayed their father a second time.

Mother would weep if she could see this.

What would your father do?

Sif looks expectantly at him, and Bruce rubs his chin, refusing to meet Thor's eyes. It was your world he attacked; don't you at least owe me your opinion? Does Thor want his opinion?

"Yes," he says. "Kill him."

Heimdall looks at him with golden eyes, unreadable.

We are all dead because of you.

This time, it's Loki's voice rasping in Thor's mind. He starts.

"Are you okay?" Sif asks in alarm.

"I am fine." Thor calls Mjonir to his fist. "We need to go." He looks to Sif.

"You want me to come with you?"

"Of course," Thor says, his stomach tingling. Of course he does. He needs her steady presence.

"I'll just stay here?" Bruce says, grimacing as if he expects Thor to contradict him.

Which he does. "No. You need to come, too."

"There's no way I'm walking around a city right now." Bruce's face tightens.

"We'll protect you," Sif assures him.

"If you're just coming back here—"

"I don't know that we are," Thor says. "At least not right away. Heimdall, in that case, I place you in temporary charge of Asgard."

"My prince—"

"Thanos is coming," Thor says. "Banner, you need to come with us."

"Does he collect pet monsters?" Bruce snaps.

"I'm afraid it's not a joke. Especially with Loki on the loose—we don't know what defensive secrets he may have given the mad Titan. But if I had to bet on anything, Thanos would be afraid of you. If you come with us, you might be able to help keep us safe."

"It might help to visit your friends," Sif suggests. "The Avengers."

I thought you didn't think much of mortal fighters. "We shall see."

"If I go with you," Bruce says, voice trembling. "You can't let me hulk out, and you can't guarantee—"

"You won't," Sif tells him, clenching her double-edged sword.

"I'll hit you with Mjolnir and send you out of the city," Thor informs him.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "And what if you can't—"

"Bruce," Thor says, using his friend's given name. "You are in my kingdom, and I am—" He swallows, catching Sif's glowing eyes and nod, Heimdall's stoic respect. "I am the king of Asgard. You are coming with me."

"Hear, hear," Fandral cheers. Voltstagg laughs, a joyful sound. Thor still feels weights latched to his neck.

"Are you for real pulling rank right now?" Bruce asks, agape.

"I suppose so." Thor shrugs. He tightens his grip on Mjolnir. I'll prove myself worthy, Father—of the kingdom, of you. I'll find you. "Let's go."


"You," snaps Natasha as Loki uses his illusions to create the appearance of some kind of rose-gold currency. The dwarf running the inn accepts it without a second thought. "Are—"

"What, shameless?" Loki retorts. "I got us a room at this inn. "We can plan how to get into Asgard from here."

"You're actually asking me to fight my friend," Natasha states, her voice strained. Bucky glances at her and sees her worrying her lip between her teeth. She, the only friend he ever had when he was the Winter Soldier—she still thinks she deserves friends. Or at least she accepts them. Bucky admires that, because the only friend he can accept is Steve. Natasha's only helping him for Steve. He knows it, and his fingertips twinge.

"You've already done that, haven't you?" Loki answers as he unlocks a small room with a damp odor. Bucky wrinkles his nose. "Over him?" He nods at Bucky,

Over me and my screwed up mind. Bucky studies his hands and wonders why they aren't painted red, a permanent stain.

"Only when necessary," Natasha says, crossing her arms. She kicks the door shut behind her. One small window lets in a gray light.

"How is this not necessary?" Loki questions.

"Because you do have other options. You can go to Thor and confess to him what you've done. He'll let you heal—"

"He won't let me touch Gungnir again, and for good reason," Loki snaps, dropping onto the filthy looking bed.

Natahs'a eyebrows rise. "First time I ever heard you admit you may deserve some of your fate."

"Deserving doesn't equal wanting, spider. I don't want to die. And Thor will kill me on the spot. There won't be time to hear me out."

Natasha shakes her head, meeting Bucky's eyes. "Thor is like Steve. He'll never give up on you, for better or for worse."

"I killed our mother and sent our father to a miserable existence on your planet," Loki replies. "And I don't even have brainwashing to blame for it. Unless you want to blame the Allfather's lying to me about my birth for years, using me as a tool."

Natasha's face pales. You've killed friends, Bucky thinks. He knows she has.

"Oh yes," Loki says. Bucky jerks when he realizes Loki's addressing him. "I know what it's like to be a tool, too."

"Poor you," Bucky spits. You don't know, you don't know.

"Don't compare yourself to him," Natasha says, stepping forward. Bucky hears Steve's confidence, Steve's idealism, in her voice and doesn't understand how it's there, how it's growing, when he's done nothing but trample on it. "You don't even have the decency to feel any regret."

Bucky tenses, anticipating Loki lashing out. Instead, the man studies his fingers. "What good has your regret ever done you?"

"It's kept me from becoming you," Bucky says, watching as Loki still refuses to meet his eyes. Blood floods his cheeks as he takes in Loki's hunched shoulders, hears hi arrogant declarations reverberating in his mind. "I don't want to be you."

"And what am I, exactly?" Loki asks, looking at him now. And something glints in his eyes—eagerness, fury, and terror. Bucky's seen terror in so many faces, and they're all flashing before him right now, one after another, the blond woman, the man choking on his favorite dinner—

No. He inhales, the air scraping against the back of his throat. "Not a hero."

"A monster?" Loki prompts. Natasha smirks.

"It's eating you up. You feel it," Bucky says. "Don't you? Or maybe not. You don't see their faces. For me, it was up close most of the time. You… you let the Chitauri handle it."

Loki's already pallid face grows ashen.

"It doesn't matter that they tore up their mind and put whatever they wanted in it. All that matters to their families is that I did it, and they can't ever—they couldn't—and I can't."

"Then why not offer yourself up for justice?" Loki queries. "Like she suggests I do."

Bucky feels Natasha's gaze boring into him. Your hero was a monster. "Because I want to live."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Try."

"I don't know!" Bucky yells. "Maybe because—because—I want to be something—I want—I don't want Steve to think—" He grapples and he can't nail it down. Maybe he's afraid to.

"You want to be something different," Natasha says quietly. "Someone better. You want to atone."

"But you can't go back, or erase anything," Loki counters. "So what's the point?"

"I don't know," Bucky tells him. "I just—I hope there is one. In the end."

"You have hope," Loki says. "There's no hope for me."


"People are looking at me strangely," Sif says, her eyes wide. "Thor, the last time we were here, I never envisioned—"

"New York's quite majestic, isn't it?" Thor says as he strolls through the streets. Bruce keeps his head down, his body wrapped in a cloak Volstagg leant him. He could never pass for an Asgardian in Asgard, but these earthlings don't know the difference.

"What's that?" Sif asks in awe as they pass a pretzel vendor. The scent of buttery and salted goodness hits Thor's nose.

"First we find my father," Thor says. "Then we get pretzels."

"You know how many millions of people there are in this city?" Bruce grumbles.

"Heimdall said he'd be in the garden," Thor says, peering at each and every face that passes—or at least as many as he can see.

"Park," Bruce corrects.

Thor remembers the last time he was here, when he and Loki went home, how Loki refused to look their father in the eye even as Father peered at his son with fury and with fear. Father ordered the Einharjar to keep his muzzle in place until they reached the cells, and Thor remembers seeing Loki flinch ever so slightly.

His fingers find the place in his side that Loki had stabbed. And still, Thor believed in him, gave him another chance. For nothing.

"We could split up," Sif suggests as she passes under the shade of a tree. Three children skip along the path, giggling. Pigeons peck at the ground near a puddle. A street preacher rants and raves. Thor remembers the times he hunted in his youth, when Loki insisted they shouldn't hurt the birds and everyone laughed at him. "That one's strange, that's for sure," Fandral's father had said.

Now, you've killed worse than birds. Children.

"What kind of message are you sending?" Thor recalls Mother scolding Father as he and Loki eavesdropped on their parents from behind a tapestry, Loki hiding his face. Thor, who laughed earlier, clutched his brother's shoulder.

He shudders.

"Or not," says Bruce, drawing up. Thor stops and follows the doctor's gaze.

The street preacher, dressed in bedraggled, filth-slimed clothing, rants at the sky. "He's coming!" His white hair explodes from his head, wiry and frazzled, and his arms, visible through torn sleeves, hang flabby and weak.

No. There's nothing in Thor's stomach, but it lurches and bile claws at his throat, tearing it raw.

"My king," Sif whispers. There's no disgust, no condemnation in her eyes. Bruce's jaw hangs in utter shock.

"Father!" Thor races towards him.

"Get away from me!" Odin bats his son away. "The apocalypse will come for us all; devour—"

"Can you stop!" snaps a middle-aged woman, clutching her daughter's hand. "You're frightening my child. Especially after the attack—"

"My apologies," Thor stammers. If the woman recognizes him, she doesn't show it. She hmphs and stalks off. "Father," he hisses, grabbing the man again. "Odin—"

"What are you doing here? You're a traitor! You're all traitors!" Odin bellows.

"I'm not! I'm you son!" Thor tries to keep his volume to a minimum, but he wants to scream, rave at the skies, send Mjolnir through Loki's face.

"Odin, my king," Sif says, reaching for him.

"I thought you were king," Bruce comments.

"Not helping!" Sif hisses.

"Get away from me!" Odin howls as Thor tries to wrangle his father.

"Can't we talk?" Thor shouts.

"Liars! Traitors! You're the cause of all this!" Odin's eyes flash towards the sky, roll around and swing back towards Thor. They're unhinged. They're not the eyes of the man he admires.

"Father!"

"Go to hell!" Odin pushes him and staggers off, tripping over a stone and plummeting towards the ground. A group of teenagers laugh as they ride their skateboards by. Thor's face burns.

Rage leaves him as quickly as it enters him. He drops to his knees, reaching out to help his father up. "Father, it's me," he pleads. "It's your son. It's Thor."

Odin squints at him.

"Thor," Sif says. "I don't think these people are friendly."

Sirens scream around them as police roar up in black SUVs and squad cars.


Loki disguises himself as a woman with gray hair as he retrieves some bread, dried meat, and ale for them. Hiding out in Nornheim. Thor will be here, him and his friends, Loki's old friends, soon enough. Loki hopes to be gone by then.

He could just abandon the spider woman and the soldier. But no. He promised.

Loki's always dealt in lies, but he's seen too much in Bucky's eyes. Regret. The ghosts that whisper with every step he takes. The difference is, Loki blocks them out.

The Winter Soldier would certainly be a decent ally in the war to come, but without his mind, Loki's not sure he could trust Bucky.

He pauses outside the inn's door, hearing murmuring voices. He can see them through the crack.

"I can't go back to earth without my mind. I couldn't face Steve."

"He wouldn't judge—"

Natasha. Doesn't she know better? Loki wonders. Why try to hope? Although she might be right. He scowls. That soldier, like his brother, is a fool. A kind fool.

If we meet again, Thor, don't be kind, Loki thinks. But don't be cruel, either. He can handle a quick killing blow. He cannot handle another trial, followed by the axe. He still remembers his mother when Thor dragged him back in chains. She ran to him, calling out his name, and he couldn't look at her as Odin ordered him thrown in prison.

You will never see her again.

Loki believed Odin for that hour, like the fool he is, so gullible. Until Mother showed up in his cell, and he knew it was her but couldn't look at her. Not until he could be angry, could lash out with his tongue.

All she said was "I love you."

He waited until she left to cry. And even then, he illusioned his tears, in case Heimdall was watching. Now, he wonders if she knew he cried.

Bucky snorts. "Maybe that's why they picked me. My brain's easily misled. I don't—"

"You don't know that that's true."

"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But I don't want anyone thinking it."

That, Loki relates to. He might be weak, but he'll keep running and fighting until he dies. He will not give in. I didn't deserve to be cast out on the rocks, Laufey.

"People don't think much of me."

"It bothers you, though," Bucky says. The woman's red hair whips around as she turns to stare at him.

Does it? Loki wonders.

"I can tell," Bucky mutters. Their shoulders touch, hers connected to an arm, his devoid of one.

"Do you remember what made them discipline us?" Natasha asks. "When they—"

Bucky laughs. "We were becoming friends. They couldn't have that. Attachments—"

"Not quite." Natasha leans closer. Loki's eyebrows clamp together. "Let me show you." Her hand cups the back of his head, and Loki can only imagine that they're kissing.

What in the Norns—

"What are you doing?" Bucky gasps, jerking away from her. "I'm—"

To go in or not to go in? Loki wonders.

"Not to me," Natasha says quietly.

Loki smiles, and for the first time since he was a child laughing with his mother, enthralled by watching her perform some magic—he didn't even have to learn it; he was content to merely sit in awe, there isn't something cynical lurking beneath the surface.