Don't Leave Me the Way I Am
Chapter Seven
"I cannot believe it. I won't."
"Pray your eyesight is well, dear Fandral." Hogun intones, "But I don't see Thor here. Do you?"
"Oh shut up," Fandral replies, shifting and gently kneading his newly healed flesh. "You know what I mean. And stop that infernal chewing, Volstagg, I could hear your gluttony from Valhalla's doorstep!"
Volstagg growls and tosses an empty platter to the floor.
There is a silence following the hollow metallic crash. A silence which is laden with desolate thoughts, hanging overtop the hall as thick clouds, the impending downpour punctuated only by the heavy gnawing of Volstagg's mighty jaws against a haunch of meat.
The Warriors Three and Lady Sif each claim a space of their own in the deserted hall, wandering in small circles, looking lost.
It's pathetic.
"Asgard is well aware of the fragile peace with Jotunheim," Hogun mutters. "All it takes is one small tremble, a crack in the ice, and an avalanche can come crashing down upon us."
Not so stupid, but in essence, wrong.
Fandral slaps his bare chest in resolve. "If it's war they want, then I am ready to fight!"
So self-adsorbed.
Hogun hisses, eyes darting to the side. "But Thor is the Crown Prince, and he charged into enemy territory..."
Fandral sputters, whirling on his heel, "Are you saying this was all Thor's fault?"
That is the question, isn't it?
"It is unthinkable," Sif fills the void, sounding contrite. "To us, at least. I do not understand the Allfather's intentions."
Loki smirks behind his veil of magic. Were punishment the Allfather's intention, he'd have banished the proper son.
He sighs, gliding across the stone floor with silent long steps. That is the problem with Thor's little friends. That has always been the problem, with everyone.
No one ever bothers to look farther than Thor.
They never once take notice of the one who stands behind. Loki, the crack in the ice.
It was never his intention for Thor to be banished. That was not his aim at all, when he'd snuck the Frost Giants into the palace. Coronation ceremonies were just so much more fun with a bit of mayhem.
But perhaps it's better this way, with Thor out of the picture.
His absence will bore a hole in the heart of Asgard. They will miss him, and he will be called back. Loki can see this so plainly, as sure as the thunder which follows the lightning. It's funny, in a knife-sharp way.
Loki threads lazily between the arguing warriors, mouth twitching in amusement as he cleverly sleuths out a path. Oh, but so many wrongs have sprung up, like disgusting weeds underfoot. He has a lot of tending to do, to make things right.
"I won't discuss Thor's merits. I won't hear it." Fandral spurns, face turning a slow red in denial.
"You ought to be the last to suggest that," Sif spits, eyes narrowed.
"How dare you—" The blond sucks in a quick angry breath, averting his defiant gaze. His next words come low and aggrieved, with a sort of pain that clearly stems from guilt. "I'm not... I'm not close-minded anymore. Sif."
Sif stops short, blinking wildly, mouth twisted.
Such an ugly creature, really, Loki thinks as he tilts his head, watching.
"Leave it," Hogun instructs.
"No," Sif shoots back, "I want to hear this. I want to hear it from his very lips."
"Now is not the time." Fandral rolls his eyes, clawing at the air with both hands and a loud groan of exasperation. His hand whips out, "Volstagg would you be quiet!"
"You dare knock the meal from my hand?" Volstagg snarls, getting into Fandral's face. "This is how I think!"
"Say then what you think! For you've thought five boars worth!"
The two sneer at each other, muscles tensed and toe to toe. The four warriors stand in a tight circle, all braced in the heat of the argument, the tense moment, the teetering edge of a fierce conflict. They are not above fighting each other, after all. They are simple people, beneath the weapons and armor. They are an optical illusion, appearing great only because they group together around a shining star. Thor.
Loki watches all this with a detached sort of anger, perched atop a dais in the corner. It makes no difference to him, how they fall apart. He's just curious, in truth, what faults they could find in his brother. It's a sort of double-edged sword, really, he thinks as he runs a gentle thumb down the raised scar on his palm.
He's always been curious of his brother.
"Which one of you told?" Volstagg asks in one guttural breath.
"What are you talking about?" Fandral retorts, confusion washing through his features.
Volstagg wipes his mouth on the back of one sleeve with a rough swipe, brows pinched together in a scowl. "You know of what I speak."
Sif gasps, "Impossible. I would never... You don't think the Allfather has cast Thor from Asgard for that? It was ages ago. We took care of it."
Volstagg swallows.
"It is the only reason I can surmise."
Oh. Loki licks his upper lip, cocking his head. There's a stab of disgust and anger deep in his gut. That was curious too.
Fandral lets out a stale bark of laughter and picks up a discarded plate. "Then eat some more, because your thinking has not yet seen completion. It is as Sif says, impossible. I've not told a soul."
"Nor I," Hogun grumbles, pensive. "But there was one other."
Loki's mouth twitches.
Fandral snorts. "What a jest. You didn't see his face, that night— at the tavern when he saw Thor—..."
"I did," Hogun says. "I did. It was—"
"It doesn't matter," Volstagg interrupts. "Thor wouldn't... He would not hear of it if we accused his brother."
The hall slams into a deathly silence at this, the weight of the words crushing down.
"Heimdall will hear us," Sif whispers.
"Then you should go."
The warriors freeze, seizing up to look wildly at the entranceway. Loki smiles, drawing a finger down the spiral of a golden column as he walks in, visible to them. "You should go to a place where Heimdall is wont to ignore."
"Loki," Sif is obviously seething, her contempt barely held back. "You've been slinking about, I see."
"Only coming to have consoling words with Thor's quaint friends," Loki replies, tipping his chin. "But I see you've consoled yourselves enough, with your traitorous talk."
The fear that flashes across their faces is breathtaking. Loki relishes in it, just for a moment, before sliding closer. "You should go to Midgard. That's where he is, after all."
"Midgard?" Fandral scoffs, appalled.
Sif's eyes widen. "It is forbidden by the King."
"Is it?" Loki smiles, amused at the way these simpletons think. "All the more reason, for I cannot go myself."
"So you'd let us do your dirty work?" Volstagg infers.
Loki must pause here. He must, lest he start laughing. What would they think of him then? He presses his lips together, corners of his mouth tugging. Eyebrows raising once, twice.
He's the one who has done the dirty work. How filthy he is, from what he's done for Thor.
They have no idea.
"You know what my brother is," Loki says and lets it hang in the air, lets it sink into their thick skulls. If he's lucky, maybe the sentiment will even take. "Does it truly bother you, after all this time?"
Their silent stupidity greets the question, though Loki did not expect much else. He doubts they've given it the thought it truly deserves. What Thor deserves, is someone who can understand. Someone who can answer that question, with the only answer that matters.
"It doesn't," Loki spurs on, hating the way his voice becomes just a bit lower, more rough. But it works all the same, makes Thor's friends take heed. "It doesn't matter. It shouldn't bother. It's not a bother, to be burdened with knowledge that has no bearing on your own small, miserable lives."
Is that too much?
Sif is glaring once more, the Warriors Three squirming with defiance. Loki closes his eyes, smiling as he places a hand upon his chest. Over his heart, clutching.
"Thor is Thor. He is banished for his recklessness, his rash assumption, and failure to keep the peace. Not for some silly facet of his design, of which none are worthy to see its shine. I love him more dearly than any of you. I have gone to him where you have not, and I would go now, except for one fact."
Loki opens his eyes, smile pulling up into a proud smirk.
"The Allfather sleeps. Until his slumber wanes, you are mine to command. I am your King."
The water is hot as it sprays down in tiny pinprick jets against his skin.
Mortal skin.
It doesn't feel real, in a way.
Thor lets out a soft groan, scratching blunt fingertips deep into his scalp.
The oddly fragrant liquid soaps run down his chest in thick frothy streams. The fresh scent and suds rid him of the dirt amongst his long hair. Hair which sticks to his face in curled tendrils and tangles between his eyelashes. He blinks against the ticklish dripping strands and then closes his eyes, mouth tightening and hands dropping to lean heavily against the cool tiles.
Midgard is known for being a place where you could easily lose your way.
And this banishment to such a dusty desert makes the sentiment seem simpler yet.
After being stung, smashed, restrained and injected with poison, Thor finally lets himself think of it. In this welcomed moment of respite. Despite the fact that he is now in the company of three mortals.
Midgard is a strange place. An aberration to all the realms Thor has seen. The people here are weak, small things, confused and denying of all Thor knows as true. They see things as so much bigger than what they really are.
Thor views this world's nature as a coin-realm, tipped on its side and spinning to create multiple images, the illusion of a globe.
A perpetual state of chance.
He needs a second chance.
The last of the soap suds froth and pop as they disintegrate down the drain in between his bare feet. Thor stares, rivulets of water as thick as fingers curling down from his chin and elbows and the backs of his thighs. He licks his lips, long parched from the crackling heat of the outside world, turned supple in the humidity of this exotic bath.
He's used to languishing, sitting lazily in the hot pools of the palace, steam rising up until everything cooled. Thor has bathed standing up before, of course, under waterfalls and trickling streams in the midst of adventures. The steady heat of this is something different though. As the poisonous smells of the mortal's healing center wash away, Thor is left under the warm beat, pulse thumping wildly.
He's afraid, in a way.
And of course, that's when the anger floods in.
What is to come to pass? What of his coronation?
Thor is a King. He's fairly certain that the Allfather would not send him away forever; otherwise he would not have thrown Mjölnir through the Bifrost as well.
And it mattered little if Odin thought him vain or cruel... Thor knew he was those things, in some regard. No warrior went without some selfishness. It was inevitable, really, for such things to be born in the wake of violence. Besides, if Asgard was to face against Jotunheim... It would be laughable to even think of fighting without him!
Thor is strongest in all of Asgard. Odin needs him.
Doesn't he?
Thor shudders at the chill of the thought. Living as a mortal, untold and unknowing of the battles his Aesir brethren would rush into, find victory, and conquer. It's a heady feeling, winning. Thor has not been able to envision life without the fantasy of conquest, of making himself better, and now, it's been so easily stripped away. How could he ever do that on Midgard? He imagines living here, a human, a short boring life until he's to be smoked down by a long boring death.
The water feels scalding on his suddenly shivering body.
Thor only hopes that he can find Mjölnir soon and go home. He's determined. Until then, he's stuck here, he knows that. But it does nothing to squelch the listlessness in him, the lost feeling he gets, without the hammer. Loki always said he relied on it too much.
Loki.
Thor inhales sharply, sucking in a deep drag of humid air. Loki would know what to do. He would stay here with Thor, help get Mjölnir back.
How dare his Father punish him, all for some wretched Frost Giants? What did Odin care of them, more than his own son?
Thor bites his bottom lip sharply, squeezing eyes shut. Wouldn't it be so much better, to be punished for something more deserving punishment? Unbidden, the image of his brother flashes behind Thor's closed eyes.
This is something he only does when he is alone, and oh, how alone he is now.
"Mhng," Thor softly catches a grunt in his throat as he takes himself in hand.
It's not that he's aroused, only the need for comfort blazes forth so strong, he can't help but give in. No one but Thor knows what he thinks about, when he strokes himself, wet fingers curled in a firm squeeze. No one knows the raised scar on his palm brings about more pleasure, a promise. No one knows how much he loves his brother.
I will never love another as I do you.
No one can ever know.
It's painful, this love. It tears him up inside, a jagged bolt of lightning, hot and dangerous, dancing up and down his spine. In the back of his mind. Thor licks then bites at his lower lip, plump from the steam. He needs to touch it, that feeling. Because he's not allowed to have it, not in the way he wants. He's got to make sure it's real. It doesn't feel real, in this mortal body.
But there must be some reason out there, somewhere, to explain the way he is.
He groans unabashedly, stroking harder, slower, his wrist moving in deep rolls as he jerks himself. It's hot, so hot, the water pouring over and sluicing down his curved back to spill off his hips.
"Hngff," Thor gasps across the back of his forearm, braced against the wall. Oh, but it's this water. This rainfall, that reminds him the most.
Of Loki's face, drenched from a storm, dark hair plastered to his forehead. Water-logged clothes, wrinkled and translucent, clinging to Loki's shoulders and chest. The squelch of thick leathers, rubbing together as Loki walks to hold Thor's face with wet palms.
Thor groans and smashes his mouth against his arm to drown out the sound. Imagines it's Loki's mouth, hard against his own. Tries to remember the feel of Loki's tongue. His strokes quicken.
It had only been the one time, the only time, and it seems like a dream. The memory is long stretched thin, pulled in all directions by Thor's conflicted emotions. He only truly remembers being angry, jealous all night, and then angry again. And then—
"Ohh—nnngh," Thor bites his arm, fist clenching. He's close, so close. His cock, throbbing with a pulse that gallops through his veins. He has to let go, only to slick through the water, reach behind and—
Slide one finger deep inside.
Thor gasps loudly at the burn, the stretch. He thrusts in and out, toes curling and his fist slams against the wall which cracks, power spidering out in strange designs. He presses his forehead against the tiles, letting harsh gusts of breath wash over their cool plain surfaces, fogging up and fading away.
Banishment.
Thor knows he's had this coming.
It doesn't stop him from coming.
"Oh, Jaaaane!" Lilts a young female voice, "He's walking into oncoming traffic again!"
Thor pauses at this comment, ignoring the loud blaring of a metallic beast grumbling at his right to contemplate the trio of small mortals. His forehead crinkles in confusion as the tiny woman named Jane captures him by the arm with two frenetic hands.
"Okay, uh, that's a car, Thor," Jane says this chidingly, "Try not to step in front of them. We're just..." She tugs his arm and seems flustered when he does not so much as budge from her effort, "Just, let's go over here now."
Thor does not fuss and follows.
The smooth black roads are a contrast to the gold gleam of Asgard, the dust and heat dropping down on him like a scratchy blanket. There's the trickster glint of mirages in the distance and the ground grumbles under his feet each moment the mortals ride by on their noisy contraptions. Thor squints, looking upwards at the smooth curling blue sky that hugs the low-level buildings breaking up the horizon in a dull blocky scatter.
"Are you sure you didn't give him a concussion?" The old man asks, peering anxiously and Jane swats him in the shoulder with a hiss.
"Erik!"
Thor chuckles at this display, strongly reminded of Sif, "I am fine."
"Yes, you are," The one named Darcy murmurs under her breath.
Jane rolls her eyes and marches forward, ranting about something or other. Thor doesn't quite listen as she herds them all down a pathway. The tallest of totems sprouting from the paved grounds do not resemble any deity's likeness he knows but travelling in a group on this strange new world, burdened with a quest, it sends a pang of familiarity into his chest.
Somewhere, Mjölnir is waiting for him.
The village is small and quiet, not bustling with activity like the many foreign cities Thor has been. It is a very peaceful seeming place. Boring. Strange looking shops or homes (it is hard to tell at first glance) swing their doors open from time to time, letting mortals in and out. Jane leads them into one such establishment not unlike a tavern, smiling brightly at the keeper.
Jane's breathless with exasperation as they take seats at the too-small dining table. Thor's knees knock the edge when he sits down.
"Alright! Okay. Breakfast is on me, but immediately after he's done," She hikes a thumb in Thor's direction, "We're going up to the lab."
"Ooh, human trials," Darcy says, mesmerized. "Finally, physics is getting physical."
Thor pauses at this, glancing at the young maiden. The way she speaks is a funny thing, almost like good Fandral, a coy smile curling her lips with some message Thor is just shy of understanding.
But there is the fact that both she and Jane have already attacked him. Could it be some Midgardian custom? Some mortal coil. Or perhaps it is his mere appearance which makes them wary.
Thor scratches the back of his head, chagrined. Purses his lips and smiles sheepishly.
"I come in peace."
She stares.
Thor purses his lips and supposes they expect more gratitude. "I wish to express my thanks for the garments, bath and sustenance. Once I find Mjölnir, the Allfather will most likely allow me to return home."
They all stare.
So Thor stares back, tilting his head. It goes on long and silent until Jane slants back into her chair, a desperate little laugh on her lips.
"That's... you're welcome, Thor, but can we just get back to the program here?" Jane offers mildly.
"Yeah, it's called E.T." Darcy utters.
"Darcy! Stop! Jane whispers, not quite as quiet as one would think a whisper should be. "Um, Thor..."
They do say his name with a funny sort of reverence on Midgard.
Thor chews on the gift of hearty food, feeling much like Volstagg must if his rotund homage was any stronger evidence. A jolt of satisfaction spreads warmly in Thor's stomach after every bite.
Erik looks on disapprovingly at Jane, a flat-eyed glare that speaks volumes of Hogun's own steely look. Jane mirrors the look of reproach on her delicate features, though it does not have the same effect.
Jane opens her mouth then shuts it, seemingly at a loss.
"You may speak," Thor encourages with a smile which sends poor Jane into a flustered laugh.
"It's just— I have so many questions. What—How," She has to visibly stop herself and then looks up, warm eyes so full of curiosity for knowledge, Thor is hit with another pang of familiarity. "What happened out there, in that storm?"
"It is as I said before," Thor swallows thick, quick to scoop up more sustenance and have his fill.
"Right. The Rainbow Bridge," Jane quotes, tone strangely flat.
"And Mewmew," Darcy adds.
Erik snorts, "It's the stuff of fairytales. You can't expect us to believe that."
Thor smiles, a rueful thing pulling at the corner of his mouth.
It's unusual, to be made to explain one of the fundamental truths Thor has thought all realms held true. That it is possible to move between worlds, that there is something bigger out there, always something bigger, forcing each being of the universe to swell themselves up.
They truly don't know. Truly think they are alone.
Maybe that is why the Humans are so small.
"It matters not. I must still retrieve Mjölnir, and I plan to do so with great haste," And make haste he does, upon seeing Jane open her mouth, eager to speak, "After whichI will answer your questions, of course."
She settles down, looking unsure at having the unspoken request stolen from her.
"That's... good. That's nice, but this hammer isn't going anywhere, and my lab's just five minutes away. Let's just do it the way I suggested instead, okay?"
"Do you always ask so many questions?" Thor lifts his brows in mirth and a delightful embarrassment crosses Jane's features.
"I... can get pretty intense," She agrees, dismissing the thought with a wave of the salt shaker.
Darcy leans closer to Thor and smiles, as if telling a secret, "She's obsessed."
"I'm detail-oriented."
"Wait, just a minute," Erik chastises through the banter, concern deepening the wrinkles upon his forehead, "Thor, you're not from around here. You're all alone. Doesn't it make sense to stay in one place and figure things out? Aren't you the least bit worried?"
The sentiment touches Thor, "Not when I am in kind company."
Erik scowls, as if this encourages a growing ire. "But you call us Mortals and then walk off in the middle of the street! Not to mention you don't have any way of knowing where to look for—for Mjölnir."
"I knew it. He's brain damaged," Darcy mutters.
"From electrocution," Jane shoots back, heaves a deep breath, and slumps. A second later she jolts in her chair, grabbing a spoon and stirring a steaming drink in a ceramic cup. Thor is a little charmed by her utter madness. "He's right though, at this rate, you're going to get yourself killed. So why not just skip the treasure hunt altogether?"
Thor presses his lips together, growing tense.
"Okay?" Jane continues, hands restlessly turning around a little jar of salt. "That's safer. I can show you some data—"
The rickety front door swings shut with a jangle of bells, interrupting Jane only for the fact that the idle chatter of other patrons goes dead silent.
"Hi everyone. I apology for interrupting your breakfasts. Please remain in your seats."
The calmly voiced command comes from a nondescript man standing in the front. He is short in height, hair cropped close and dressed in dark lines of a stiff garment that shifts crisply as he marches further along the aisle. There's another jangle and chime as five more men in similar dress file in behind.
Thor slowly puts down his fork, recognizing a strategic ambush when he sees one. There would be no quest without obstacles and enemies. Thor's heart slams in sudden anticipation, an excitement threading through his limbs at the thought of confrontation. At the same time, an uncertainty wells up, at the remembrance of his fresh mortality.
It is seeing the confused looks gracing his companions' faces which stop him from standing.
"Oh, good." The man comes to a halt, looking directly at Thor, "You're here."
Thor finishes chewing the soft morsel of food that has come to be tasteless, slowly, "Greetings."
"Uh, Thor," Erik sputters and leans out into the aisle, chair scraping, "Do you know him...?"
"Oh, no." The man tilts his head a fraction. "We've just met. But please, forgive the interruption and finish your meals. Thor, is it? I'd like you to come with us."
"Uh, excuse me!" Jane is a blur of affront, her thin arm sweeping out to gesture towards the similar dressed men, prowling by the exits. The few patrons lining the tables are watching with wide, suspicious eyes.
"What is it? Are you arresting him? Because you can't just barge in here, and escort—"
"Jane!" Darcy squeaks, pointing, "They've got guns."
Jane's mouth snaps shut, falls open in indignation, then snaps shut again.
Thor frowns, "You are agitating my friends."
"Apologies, again. We just want to talk."
Thor obstinately nods once and stands, takes a step away from the table and its fragrant food towards the man. He feels a steely hand on his arm belonging to Erik and turns to look over his shoulder, at the old man's concerned eyes. Jane and Darcy look flustered with outrage on his behalf.
There is a sweetness, to these Midgardians. That they could feel concern, even in the face of the unknown. That they would not want him to get hurt.
Thor would not see them come to harm as well.
"Peace, remember?" Thor says simply, and Erik reluctantly lets go.
The chimes tinkle once more as the door is held open for Thor and he follows the man out, his companions remaining inside the establishment. They step into the harshness of the late morning sun. There is a large black metal chariot waiting in the road, purring low and kicking up a bit of dust that skirts across Thor's shins as he's led close by a soft touch on his shoulder blade.
"Thank you for your co-operation, Thor."
The side of the man's mouth twitches, a shadow of a soft sort of smile that does not appear.
"My name is Phil Coulson, an agent with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division."
And this Son of Coul pauses for a moment before a slight crease between his brows draws in.
"We have something that might belong to you."
Flameless torches chase away the shadows of the darkened room and Loki lifts his head, eyes drawing a slow line towards the two agents of Midgardian law who enter.
"He's not quite what I was expecting."
"What were you expecting?"
Loki is coloured somewhat impressed. The mortals have built up a large compound, stretching to and fro across the desert landscape. The halls are stark and white, long and hollow enough to hear the perfunctory footfalls of the uniformed men and women who are stationed here. But for all they've done, it is just a simple maze.
There are multiple rooms, many with blinking machinery of the like Loki has never seen, many with people flitting about like insects, weapons in hand. However, Loki's chosen this particular room for the view.
The two men stride quickly towards the large window on the adjacent wall.
Through the glass Thor is visible, sitting on a lone chair, unaware anyone watches.
"Oh," Says the one with a large quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He leans close, nose nearly touching the glass, "That's him?"
"He's been giving off the same readings as the meteorite," The other says, staring intently at Thor, arms crossed.
"Now I know why you've kept him under wraps," The archer gives a sudden laugh, eyes dancing as he spares the other a glance, "Handsome, huh?"
Loki cocks his head.
It's intriguing to see the stern-faced agent crack a snort of laughter, a sort of rosiness blooming upon his otherwise boring face.
"I know what you're doing, Barton. Now's not the time."
Agent Barton shrugs and turns back to the glass, "You gonna give the word or not, Coulson? We really want to risk big guy getting near it?
"Well, that depends. We've got a weapon from outer space stuck in the dirt. And he's the only one around scanning with contact residue. He hasn't been in contact with the site. Not one of the civilians we cleared. I want to know why that thing is here, why he's here, and if we should expect explosions."
"That'd be fun."
"You do like to watch."
Barton clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a small smile creeping up. "Pot, Kettle."
"For entirely different reasons," Coulson taps his chest, revealing some sort of weapon underneath the lapel of his garment. "Now put those eyes to good use, I'm going in for the interrogation."
"Errck, sure." Barton slaps a hand against Coulson's shoulder. "Just go easy on the private show."
Loki allows himself a single moment of throbbing anger, allows for his smirk to curl gleefully, before he swiftly glide forward. He appears visible at the last second, wanting to laugh at the mortals' shocked faces, as he smashes their heads together with his bare hands.
They crumple to a heap at his feet.
Loki toes the Agent named Coulson in the ear, letting the unconscious man's face fall into the light.
Let another man capture Thor?
No, he can't have that.
Across town, a storm swirls into life in the smalls of the desert. The dust and dirt picks up, scattering the skyline into a show of static, and when the gusts of wind die away—
The Warriors Three and Lady Sif land on Midgard.