After his particularly eventful day at school, Steve took to his front porch to cleanse his mind and take a moment to reflect.
It only helped that the weather decided to start storming.
Steve sighed in contentment as a gentle breeze rattled the leaves of the surrounding aspen trees, creating an ambiance that was simply relaxing. He closed his eyes, and crossed his legs under him, putting his hands on his lap and focusing on the sounds of nature. It almost felt like he had transported to a forest and was sitting next to a stream.
He sighed again, trying to embrace all of his surroundings, when a crack of thunder made him jump. Granted, he may have been the super soldier of the century, but the thunder did indeed make him jolt. His eyes flew open to witness the dark thunderclouds rushing in to crowd in his perfect blue sky. Yet Steve couldn't be more grateful.
A bright flash of lightning lit the distant sky. And the thunder boomed.
The temperature dropped, the wind picked up, the clouds moved faster. The lightning flashed. The thunder cracked. The only thing that could make this reflection time better for Steve would be...
"Ahh, finally," Steve breathed, and closed his eyes again to inhale the scent of the fresh rain on the earth. The rain started to pitter-patter on the sidewalk, gently falling off of the leaves of the trees. The raindrops took a few of the orange and yellow aspen leaves with them as they wet the fresh autumn ground.
But the gentle fall of rain couldn't have possibly lasted; no, there was a wall of grey clouds following behind the first lightning strike. More had to follow.
And Steve wasn't wrong. The pitter-patter turned into a shower, like when the knob is first turned in the bathtub to heat up the water type of shower. And then into a downpour. All he could do was sit and bask in the majesty of such a powerful rainstorm. The lighting was purple now, beaming across the sky in branches like a tree planted into the sky by the gods.
"Wow..." and then the thunder stole Steve's breath again.
These were the perfect conditions for Steve to find his center. As the wind picked up and the trees started to bend over from all the wind force, the rain started coming down diagonally, in sheets and buckets. Steve could barely see past the first two aspen trees, and then there was total darkness. It was funny to think that only a few minutes ago he could see across the street and into the depths of the blue sky. Now there was an eerie darkness, like a fog had settled over a silvery grey backdrop of dew.
Yet suddenly, in a split second, a strike of lightning struck not ten yards away from where Steve was sitting. The thunder following was monstrous, seeming like it was so much longer than it should have been.
It was like rage and fury and determination were all combined into one sound.
It sounded like the most powerful strike of a hammer against the strongest metal to ever be struck.
After calming his heart rate to a relatively normal pace, Steve opened his eyes, and stared out into the thick cloud of rain and fog again.
For some reason, though, this time it wasn't quite as therapeutic as before, like something was actually out there. He squinted his eyes.
He knew something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't exactly put his finger on it.
Steve had this gut feeling that, just maybe, there was an extra figure that wasn't there before. Something-
Only one way to find out.
"H-" Steve flinched back for a second, silently telling himself how stupid this was. "Hello? Is anyone-"
But he couldn't finish. The figure he knew was there stirred, and grunted a muffled tone.
"Hello?" Steve asked again.
The figure pushed through the sheet of rain to the porch, coming underneath the cover. Steve could see now that it was a man. But not like any guy he'd seen before: he was wearing clothes that belonged elsewhere. Not here. Not in the twenty-first century.
"Tell me," the man boomed, looking at Steve and grabbing him by his collar, "where am I, small Midgardian?" His voice was deep, and heavily laden with something much older than the average British accent. It was... ancient almost. Like out of a mythology book.
"I-" Steve started, struggling to get down from the man's grip. "I have no idea what you mean... Brooklyn? Just outside of it?"
The man held his gaze, and his grip.
"Look, buddy," Steve said, finally catching his breath as he worked his way out of the man's grip, "I don't know who you are, or where you came from. But you're in Brooklyn." The man showed no sign of recognizing what Steve meant. "New York?" Still no reaction. "America." An air of confusion crossed the newcomer's face. "...Earth?"
For some reason, actually saying the name of the planet made the man drop his jaw. Now that Steve could back away from him, he could see almost every detail.
"Midgard..." the stranger muttered to himself, but Steve was still trying to grasp what was happening. His new houseguest had donned something that looked like armor for a king. His chest piece was made of a platinum type of metal, discs adorning it like jewels. The sleeves were like chain mail, but somehow more intricate: each piece was a tiny rhombus that interlocked down to his wrists. The rest from the hips down was a simple leather set of pants and boots suited for a warrior.
The kicker, though, was that the stranger was wearing a red cape that started at his shoulders and flowed down to his heels. And on his head, he donned a silver helmet that had what looked like the wings sculpted into the side. The helmet wrapped around the stranger's head perfectly.
"Who the hell are you?" Steve said, his breath taken away. It was not every day that Steve cursed, but today, in this particular situation, Steve felt like it was necessary.
"I am Thor," The man said, his hands dropping to his side as he stepped forward, "King of Asgard." In his right hand, Thor held an ornate hammer, with a handle intricately weaved with small strips of leather.
"Right then," Steve ran his hand through his hair, "Thor, what's Asgard?"
Thor turned, and pointed his hammer to the sky.
"So... the sky. You came from..." Steve took a second, closed his eyes, breathed. "The sky."
"Not only the sky, small Midgardian," Thor responded, turning back around to Steve. "I come from a realm far beyond yours, by way of the bifrost."
"Riiight." Steve made a small, sarcastic salute in the way of the 'God of Asgard.' "Anything else I should be aware of? Like, why did you just show up in a strike of lightning and a roll of thunder?"
"I am the God of Thunder," Thor said, holding up his hammer like a trophy. "This is Mjolnir, my hammer that brings upon you the power which I hold." He placed it on the ground, handle-side up.
"Let he who holds this hammer, if he be worthy, possess the power of Thor," he murmured as he invited Steve to pick it up with a nod.
So Steve did. And he couldn't lift it. "Right," Steve closed his eyes and let the serum take over. His muscles were rippling by the time he had readied himself to lift the hammer again.
Nothing.
Steve sighed and looked at "Thor," if that even was his real name, directly in the eyes. "Is this some sort of joke to you?"
Thor chuckled a deep and regal snicker as he lifted the hammer as though it were a paperclip. "No, no, small Midgardian, not a joke."
Steve lifted one of his eyebrows and crossed his arms.
"'Tis proof of the gods. I can lift my hammer," he swung it around, creating a burst of wind and another lightning strike, "but you cannot."
"This must be some sort of party trick," Steve said, and grabbed the now hanging hammer. Thor dropped it, and it smashed down on Steve's fingers. He hollered in pain until Thor picked up the hammer again.
"I do not understand... a party trick?" Thor looked confused.
"It's nothing... really." Steve stood for a moment, dumbfounded, until he realized that Thor, whoever he was, had fallen from the sky. And he was drenched. "C'mon, Thor, I should get you inside. You look like you're chilled to the bone."
"My bones are quite warm-" Thor started.
"No no, it's an expression. Come on," Steve grabbed Thor's wrist and dragged him inside. He hollered for Coulson, and as soon as he showed his face from upstairs, Coulson's jaw dropped.
"Steve," Coulson managed to squeak out as he grasped the handrail and walked himself down the stairs, "what the fuck is this?"
"Well..." Steve rubbed the back of his neck.
But before he could continue on with his sentence, Thor strode past him, pushing Steve to the side. He held out his massive hand that wasn't holding the hammer.
"Hello," he boomed, "I am Thor, son of Odin, of Asgard."
Coulson stood for a second, mouth hanging slightly open. He quickly snapped his jaw shut, shook himself to attention, and held out his hand in return. "My name is Phil Coulson. I'm Steve's, well, uncle, if you will."
"'Tis good to meet you, Son of Coul," Thor replied, smiling widely as he shook Coulson's hand. "I am very sorry to intrude on you at this hour of the night..."
Steve glanced down at his watch and muttered, "It's only, like, seven, but ok..."
Coulson shot Steve a look that said "we have a (random and unexpected) guest (from god-only-knows where), so shut up." He turned to Thor and returned the smile. "It's nothing, really. We can provide you with a room for the night, if you'll be needing it..."
Thor humbly took his hand from Coulson's and looked down, holding his hammer with both hands. "I'm afraid," he began, muttering down to the floor, "that I will be here on Midgard for quite some time longer than the night, Son of Coul. I was sent down here by the great Odin," he looked up, suddenly empowered, "to protect the fragile mortal lives that inhabit Midgard."
"Fragile?" Steve almost shouted, snapping into a defensive position. Coulson ran over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"You gotta remember, kid," Coulson muttered into Steve's ear, "that he probably doesn't know about super soldiers or hulks."
"Right," Steve whispered back.
"So," Coulson started again, addressing Thor, "you'll be needing to stay longer than just a night, I take it?"
Thor shook his head in a terse nod. "Aye, Son of Coul. I-"
"Please," Coulson interrupted, holding up one hand and smiling, "call me Coulson."
"Aye, Sir Coulson. I will be needing shelter for longer than just a night."
"Right," Coulson clasped his hands together. "I'll have Steve help set up a room for you."
"Awesome," Steve muttered sarcastically, and started up the stairs. Thor followed closely behind like a golden retriever. Steve could have sworn that if Thor had a tail, it would have been wagging.
