A/N: This could also be named That Gory Chapter With All the Hugs, but that doesn't have the same kick.

Disclaimer: Yes, there is gore but it's more implied than graphic.

As always, thank you for reading. 3

The afternoon tumbled into evening as Thor stood on the balcony, ignoring the magnificent pinks and oranges of sunset sweeping over his kingdom. His mind was a jumble. He had so many issues to address. First of all, there was the giant wolf with the monstrous appetite parked outside the healing chamber. He kept sending Olllerus on kitchen raiding errands while he sat in furry vigilance awaiting updates from either Odin or Eir as they prepared Sif's cure. Her health was Thor's most worrisome thought. There was also the unexpected recruitment call from Tony Stark, which reminded Thor of his Midgardian commitments he had been neglecting, not only to the Avengers but to Jane. She was always present in his mind. How was he ever going to make her happy if he was bound to Asgard through birthright?

And then there was Loki, who has been absent since this morning.

Father had been avoidant on the issue all day, locking himself in his private chamber until called upon to assist Eir. This frustrated Thor. A couple of guards had reported seeing Loki and Odin on the Bifrost but no one, not even Heimdall has seen Loki since. What had Father said to him to drive him from Sif's side, and why in the nine realms had he chosen to say it now? Was he blind to Loki's volatility? The two should have, Thor reasoned, avoided each other's company wherever possible. Father's judgement was dwindling more by the day.

As reluctant as he was to admit it, Thor needed Loki present, in mind and body, not only to be there for Sif but for counsel. He was floundering as King.

He didn't want the title nor was he suited for it. As a boy, Thor saw only the King's commanding placement on the frontline, a spotlight to swagger and exercise his military expertise. He never considered the day-to-day pressures of the throne, the politics of pleasing the masses with delicate balance, the monetary puzzles, and the theater of diplomacy with the other realms, which he never realized until lately was nothing but ram dung wrapped in pretty words. This was a skill his brother excelled in, which was why Thor needed him here!

"Uncle Thor?" Ollerus peeped his head around the threshold. "May we join you?"

'We.' He meant the wolf too. "Of course." Thor gestured toward the railing, his eyes glued to the furry black mound stepping onto the balcony. Fenrir's talon-like toenails clicked loudly against the marble, and his cast shadow eclipsed half of the balcony. He nodded civilly and Thor, claiming a small relief, returned the greeting. It was a peace offering of sorts. "Any updates on your mother?"

"She's not my mother," Fenrir murmured, backhandedly, his hind legs folding beneath his dense coat. Even seated, the animal overtook Thor in height.

"He knows that, dummy." Ollerus hoisted himself to sit on the railing, swinging his skinny legs around to dangle over the kingdom. "He was taking to me." He turned to Thor. "No updates yet, but Fenrir did overhear Odin talking about Father and why no one can find him, something about a conversation they had this morning."

"Nothing escapes my hearing," Fenrir added, surprisingly dismissive of being called 'dummy.' How quickly these two have adapted as brothers. "Our king's bumbling father seems to have driven mine off."

Any other being would have to answer for disrespecting the All-Father, yet when it came to family his father had wronged, Thor often made exceptions.

"He'll be back," Ollerus assured. "He's going to be there when Mother awakens." Thor wished he had the boy's confidence. "Hey maybe, we could ask Heimdall what happened."

"It will do you no good," Thor said. "My father restricts Heimdall's reach into family matters, which includes conversations." Although Thor had still asked Heimdall about it this morning, hoping the watcher had broken the rules. Just because Heimdall was restricted from eavesdropping didn't mean he always abstained.

"Bummer," Fenrir sighed. "I was looking forward to seeing my father today.

Ollerus gave Fenrir a reassuring scratch being the ear, pulling a deep appreciative noise from him. It reminded Thor of the rare and cherished moments he used to share with his own brother, not so much a scratch behind the ear, but a rub to the shoulders or a strong hug.

"Tell me about your journey to Midgard," Thor asked.

Ollerus swiveled to sit sideways, crossing his legs in front of him the way Loki always did. He continued scratching various spots on the wolf's mane. "It was unreal."

Thor smiled. "What was the name of the region you visited?"

"The Himalayas," Ollerus said, half illuminated by the sun's descending rays. They muted blues of his skin but lit his golden hair to a color Thor hadn't seen since before Sif went black. "Which is a really weird name since the only people we saw were women. It should be Heralayas."

Fenrir groaned, face-pawing. "I told you to leave that joke on Midgard."

"And I told you to leave the ladies' baskets alone," Ollerus said. "We weren't supposed to get seen by the locals. Every village in that valley probably heard their screams." He turned to Thor. "I hope we didn't make trouble for you, Uncle."

"Worth the risk," said the wolf in a grinning voice. "Those fish were delicious. And if you'd let me eaten the ladies, we wouldn't have had to worry about them reporting anything."

Ollerus shook his head while Thor laughed, saying "No trouble at all." He now understood how the pair appeared on the human's radar. "I've dealt with far greater mischief than that."

That comment brought a wave of silence and exchanged, awkward glances. The subject of Loki was a sensitive one, they could all sense it without fully understanding why.

The three were distracted by the approaching swish of a woman's skirt.

"Elder," Thor said as Eir emerged onto the balcony. "What news of Sif?"

Her fingers were stained with chlorophyll, her dress blotted with chemical splashes, and her typically neat hair a nest of loose curls. She swept her gaze across the three, clearly formulating her words to suit the audience, which wasn't something people did before delivering good news.

"Elder, what is it?" Ollerus slide down from the railing, hesitation in his voice as if he wasn't ready to accept anything he didn't want to hear.

Eir cast her gaze down, ashamed. "She isn't waking up." Her voice was a cracked whisper. "I don't know what else to do. It is in the hands of dark magic now."

Thor's heart split. Was that it? Had he lost his dearest friend to darkness? Eir's crumbling composure was saying he had.

"Elder..." Was all he could say. What does a king do in these situations? He could only think to wrap Eir in a hug.

Ollerus fought back his own tears. He refused to lose hope. "My father will know what to do," he stated, moving for the exit. "I'm going to find him. Come on, Fenrir."

"No, Ollerus." Eir pulled away, her voice restoring some weight. "You need stay here with your mother. She needs you."

Ollerus paused, narrowing his eyes. "You mean...because it is in the hands of dark magic? And I have that in me?"

"How–" Eir cut herself off, gaze shifting up to Fenrir. "You told him."

"It seems someone had to," said the wolf.

Thor was now thoroughly perplexed. "Can someone explain to me what this is about?"

Eir took a deep breath, drying her eyes, lifting her chin. "I will," she said. "Later," she then added. "Sif is our priority." She turned to Ollerus, placing her hands on his chest. They were the same height yet her restored composure made her towering. "Go the healing chamber. Talk to Odin. See if he can help you use your dark magic to break whatever spell Sif is under."

"Can Fenrir come with me?" Ollerus asked. "He knows dark magic too."

"I require him for another task," Eir said. "Go now. Time is of the essence." The boy nodded, glancing at his brother with a shrug before darting off to do as told.

Eir then turned to the wolf, fearless. "Fenrir. Only you can track your father down in a timely manner. We need his dark mastery more than anyone's."

"What's in it for me?" Fenrir played at resistance.

"Desist the futile arguments." Eir was not amused. "You know what you need to do." With a delicate dance of her hands, the healer enchanted Fenrir with an empowering spell, a puff of platinum dust similar to the spells Thor would receive pre-battle. "When you find him," Eir continued, "use your piercing howl to break his invisibility from Heimdall, then you will be transported here."

The spell caused Fenrir's fur to stand on end. He seemed to enjoy it. "And if he refuses?" he asked, rising to stand on all fours.

"Then he is truly lost to us," Eir said darkly. "If the direness of Sif's condition does not spurn his aid then nothing will."

Thor felt a tightening in his chest, one he was regrettably familiar with. "How can I help?" he said, approaching the two.

"Go with Fenrir," she said, imbuing Thor with a different enhancing spell. It made Mjölnir glow. He liked this spell. "See that he stays on task."

She then left the balcony, presumably returning to the healing chamber. Thor couldn't help but admire the sudden shift, and her commandeering of a seemingly hopeless situation. Here was a solid example of why the All-Father had elected her chief physician of the many Valkyrie contenders.

He turned to Fenrir who was doing the canine equivalent of an eye roll. "I do not need a babysitter."

"Forgive us that we are not acquainted enough yet to believe that. We mustn't take any chances when Sif's health is at stake."

The wolf sighed, moving for the exit. "Understandable."

"Then let us commence our mission at once." Thor was trying to make this sound kingly. "I guess I'll just..." And he was failing miserably at it. "...follow behind while you..." Really, what part of this mission was even remotely regal? Or even mighty? "...pick up my brother's scent?"

Fenrir shrugged as they journeyed down the hallway. "Sounds about right."

"Do you need a scrap of his clothing? Perhaps one of his favorite books?"

"We share the same blood. I know what to look for." Fenrir shook his head. "Duh."

"Very well." Thor was impervious to sass. "Let's quicken our pace that we waste no time."

"Just one thing before we go." Fenrir stopped.

Thor was growing impatient. "And what might that be?"

"I'm hungry."

"How did you find me?"

Twigs and broken glass crunched beneath Loki's boots as he entered Angrboda's dwelling. It was nothing more than a shack, buried deep in troll-occupied forests, a pitiful downgrade from the quaint and decorated cottage he used to visit her in.

"I never lost you," he said.

She narrowed her dulled orange eyes. Naturally, she didn't trust his intentions. However, she couldn't tear her eyes away as she inspected every battered detail of him. The forest had not been kind to his leathers.

"Have you come to avenge your whore?" she growled.

How petty, Loki snorted. He turned to inspect a trinket dangling from the scrap metal she called a roof. It was merely a painted rock strung up by fraying rope, blindly assumed a religious artifact. She had truly reduced herself to the gypsy witch her reputation painted her as. Was it the effect of public opinion or her mishandling of dark magic? Either way her condition was tragic.

"What good would it do?" Loki turned the trinket over in his fingers, pretending to admire it. "Sif is lost to me." He allowed sorrow to darken his tone. "As is all of Asgard. Ollerus, Thor. They've become...irrelevant." He met her eyes. "But you are not."

Angrboda tilted her head, crossing her arms across the flimsy patch of mammal skin she called a shirt. It barely covered what was left of her breasts. Through a nest of strung beads, he could make out rib bones shaping her gray-blue skin. Her exoticism used to be so alluring. She must be blind to the degradation of her physicality given the seductive sway she was now attempting in her approach. He had to admit, though, the evening sun that broke through the splits in the ceiling was striping across her Jotun tattoos, creating attractive patterns.

"How stupid do you think I am?" she said. The years of dark abuse had filed her voice down to a sultry purr. It was actually quite pleasing. She took the trinket from him, pulling the rope slowly from his fingers. Her stance curved into an S like it always did, compensating for their height difference. She too was small for a giant but still had a foot on him. He remembered that once being a turn-on.

Her barb-like fingernails fondled the trinket. "How long before the soldiers barge in here and arrest me?"

Loki smirked, impressed by her suspicions. "I have come alone," he said. Slowly, he pulled a small shank from a hidden sheath, turning it over to catch the light. It was the one she had crafted for him years ago. He kept it in immaculate condition, the blade's fine edge able to slice his palm with a mere afterthought. He made a fist until blood dripped, coating his fingers in binding paint. He then drew a line down her ridged forehead and smeared his thumb across her cheek. "I swear by our Jotun blood." He painted the same pattern on his own face. "By our entwined destiny."

The witch's breath caught when he touched her and she watched in awe as he performed this sacred ritual of their people. Closing their distance, she blanketed his face with her palms, careful not to smear the blood. Her hands were dry, cracked, feeling like troll instead of Jotun, yet still swollen with magic. When she pushed her fingers into his hair line, he could tell by the feel of the damp forest air that she'd removed his Aesir guise, temporarily. He closed his eyes, soothed.

"I can't believe he hid this from you." Her hands lingered in his hair. "Hid it from us. It's his fault our offspring are monsters."

Loki opened his eyes, resisting a wince. How dare she speak so heartlessly of their children. "We all could have been so much more." He snaked his bloodied hand around her long fingers, bringing her hand to his chest. "And we still can."

A single eye twitched, one in need of makeup to mask the dark circle beneath. "What do you mean, entwined destiny?" Her distrust leaned toward curiosity, as he hoped it would.

"I have seen our future." He squeezed her hand." The prophecies are finally clear to me." Hope spilled into his voice. "Ragnarok is ours if we desire it."

Her eyes fluttered, skeptical. She clearly wasn't as enthused about the end times as he was. However, he still had her intrigued.

"Do you," she ventured, cautiously, "desire me?"

He breathed deeply before responding. "I have seen us both in my dreams, commanding a great ship, our children reunited." Her other hand retreated but he caught it before she could take it back, entwining their fingers. "We're all spearheading the rebirth of our realms. A purpose as inevitable as it is glorious."

Her eyes softened. "You have...seen us together?"

He saw an opportunity and claimed it, roughly pulling her to his lips. She resisted at first, making a small noise of protest, but as his hands found her hips and he inched up on his toes to harden the kiss, her muscles relaxed and her lips parted.

She tasted nothing like he remembered. Her flesh that once was a winter's mist was dried by dark obsession. A tongue that used to be decadent and massaging had become rancid and graceless. This was not the woman of his youthful desires but a carcass of memories trapped forever in their past. His heart sank but he did not pull away, simple clung to minute familiarities to keep the moment genuine.

After a satiated, resonating hum, she was the one to break the kiss. "I was wrong," she whispered. "You're the true reason our children are monsters." Her words flagged all the warning signs but he didn't react quickly enough. She had already pulled the shank from his belt and plunged it into his side before he could shove her away.

"You're disgusting," she growled as he staggered back. "How dare you come to me and insult me like this. Seduce and lie to me."

Teeth gnashing, he wrapped his fingers around the knife's handle and pulled, quickly and cleanly. It stung like a... "Bitch!" he said aloud.

"What do you want?" She snatched a rusted, ornamental spear from the wall. It was pathetically dull. "I know you don't love me. You never did!"

He pressed his hand to the wound, groaning. It wasn't fatal but it would hinder his movements, meaning knife play was no longer an option. He needed to rely on his tongue now. Always a dependable back-up plan.

"How could I love you?" he spat. "I never even saw you through the foul exhaust of darkness that shrouds your heart."

She winced, her twitching chin dragging down the edges of her mouth, reflecting the harshness of his words.

"Forgive me," she began with a snarl, "if I'm not the genius with the dark arts that you are." She then forced an unamused, manic cackling. "I'm sorry that I wasn't raised by an Aesir witch who taught me how to control it, that I was exiled from my own people because of my size, forced to live among trolls, to feed, cloth, and teach myself the ways of magic." The laughter had died. "Not every bastard Jotun baby spared their life gets to grow up in luxury."

"Desist your woeful anecdotes." Loki rolled his eyes and cleaned his dagger with the corner of a haggard tapestry posing as decoration. "I stopped pitying you the moment you neglected our children for your own selfish desires." He filtered not an ounce of cruelty, despite the ease of his tone. "Blame me all you like but it was you that damned them. You abandoned them for your petty ambitions." And now he let the accusation bleed in. "They only wanted your love and protection and you denied them that, the simplest, most instinctual of parental duties." Add a rougher edge. "Even I am capable of that. We are not the monsters, Angrboda." The killing blow: "You are."

Her chest pumped, fanning the fire behind her eyes. Any moment now...

"Your hypocrisy will be your demise." She roared as she lunged for him, clutching the spear with white knuckles. She never could conjure a magical attack while enraged, always relied on untrained, emotionally driven physicality. He was relieved to see that hadn't changed.

He was also dreading what came next.

Even while wounded, it was hardly a challenge to get the upper hand, disarm her of the spear, and ready his dagger at her throat. The most difficult action was the final slice. This was, after all, the mother of his children. He closed his eyes and recalled the foulest Chitauri warrior from his memory.

Gurgling and grasping at her gushing neck, Angrboda dropped to her knees, choked gasps desperate to fuel her retching sobs. Loki slide the dagger into his belt and knelt by her, easing her body to lay comfortably on the ground. Her home didn't even have flooring. She was to die in the dirt and pine needles. His heart sunk deeper and he allowed a tear to fall, openly for her to see.

"This is merely steel rending my flesh." The deathly rasp was her final defense. "There is nothing more you can inflict upon my heart."

"Forgive me, my enchantress, but you are wrong." He pushed the matted locks from her face, stroking her hollow, dry cheek. She held her tears in. He didn't deserve them, not yet at least. "You will see in time that I am setting you free, and you will thank me."

Musical break: Born to Die by Lana Del Rey

(Earlier that day)

Loki hadn't the will to leave Asgard. Not yet. He knew he could find sanctuary in the wilds, bury himself deep among sheltering pines that bolstered the magic required to keep invisible from Heimdall. He needed time to think, to process a truth he had long denied. Part of him wished Odin had lied to him on the bridge, at least until Ollerus and Fenrir had returned. It would have been nice to embrace them one last time while under the assumption he belonged with them, and with Sif, but he was hardly going to nitpick the timing of a truth he'd long desired confirmation of.

How freeing it was to embrace a true identity, even with the heartache and isolation it brought. He finally understood his purpose. Too long had it lingered just out of reach, taunting and allusive, intimidating with its taboo nature. No longer would Loki hesitate to accept the calling, to become what he has spent his life unknowingly training for, guided by secretive instincts and comfortable inclinations. Gone were the days he would harbor guilt for doing what he did best. It was time to pursue his destiny.

He was, the Harbinger of—

"Why are you out here playing Davy Crockett?"

His glorious inner-monologuing was rudely shut down by his daughter's sudden emergence. He wasn't surprised to see her. Annoyed, but not surprised.

"Hela," he sighed.

"Shouldn't you..." she drawled, her projected presence perching on a low branch like that smugly grinning cat of Midgardian literature, "...oh, I don't know, be with the woman you claim to love while she's dying?"

What did surprise him was the absence of her grin. She was actually conveying more sympathy than sass.

"They don't need me to awaken her." He took a seat at the base of her tree, leaning his back into the bark, knees pulled to his chest. With Hela he could speak openly. He had nothing to hide from her. "They're better off without me."

"Hmm," Hel studied his behavior. "Defeatism doesn't suit you." She shrugged it off. "Oh, hey, newsflash: your lady's not waking up."

Loki's breath caught. "What?"

"Remedy was useless," she explained casually. "Dark magic is keeping her under. Odin can't crack it. Eir is fumbling through old spell books wishing she studied more of the dark side. Your dolly here is pretty much doomed."

He sat up on his knees, peering up at her. "What makes you so certain?"

"Because she's still here." She spoke as if it were common knowledge. "Donning the threads of the dead. The dark magic is neither killing her or awakening her. She's just stuck, suspended."

Why was she telling him this? Wouldn't sharing this vital information work against her? "Who's magic?" he demanded. "If it is your mother's I will—"

"Her own," she cut in, muting his threat with disinterest. "That secret little reservoir I took the liberties of telling her about since no one else bothered." She shook her head. "Asgardians. I tell you what."

Loki's mind began racing. What else had she told Sif? More importantly, how could he use this new information to save her? "You must help her," he ordered. "Show her its workings. Send her back."

"Why would I do that?" she laughed. "She's mine. You gave her to me."

"Hela, this is not a game!"

"No, Father, it's not a game." She met his adamant stare with her own. "Just like allowing your passage into my kingdom, or staging a resurrection, or honoring my end of the bargain, wasn't a game. You don't get to pick and choose from the rules of my realm just to suit your needs." She then leaned back, restoring her sass, crossing her wretched legs in front of her. "We made a deal."

"She does not belong with you," he argued. "You know that."

She raised her brow. "Well she certainly doesn't belong with you, but the whims of love won't have it any other way." That comment made them both back down, Loki out of surprise and Hel out of confession. "You should be with my mother." Her attitude was now weighted in sadness. "Mother shouldn't be sick. Our family shouldn't have been split up, exiled, imprisoned..." She paused, fidgeting with the lacy trim of her skirt, chin dropping with her volume. "And Isolated. But fate likes to play twisted games."

Her theatrics were born of reality, a display tugging hard at Loki's chest. "I thought you liked ruling. No one is better suited for the title than you." Had he deluded himself to her happiness all these years to ease his own conscious? He always assumed the throne contented her, that her gifts as a prodigious ruler were enough. She was so advanced with her magic and her knack for governing that Mephisto entrusted the title to her at the age of twelve, ending his mentoring role a decade earlier than planned. It never occurred to him, or to Loki until now, that teenagers, no matter how adept, still needed familiar company. Mentors, peers...family. Anything besides the damned.

"My daughter... I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't." She tried to laugh off her tears. "Like Mother, you were too involved in your own shit."

"I tried, Hela," he pleaded. "You must believe that. I begged Odin to spare you, to let me raise you."

"I believe you," she admitted, her tone lightening. "But I'm glad Odin didn't listen to you, otherwise I'd be nothing but a freak. I wouldn't have my crown." Swinging her legs to dangle down, she floated to the ground, skirt puffing out like an umbrella. She had lost all transparency and her mismatched feet actually flattened the grass beneath them.

She approached him. He remained on his knees, putting him a head shorter than her. She was royalty after all. Petite, cursed, ridiculously dressed, but impressive all the same.

"Don't tell anyone," she said, wiping a tear from his cheek. "I'm not supposed to fully materialize in the living world."

The thin white flesh of her skeletal hand was unexpectedly warm. He smiled. "Wherever did you inherit such adherence to the rules?"

"It's my job," she said proudly, moving her hand to toy with the hair at his shoulder. "Look, there's nothing I can do for your maiden. She won't listen to me. Doesn't trust me." She had never spoken so civilly to him before. "However if you can find one versed in dark magic, able to teach her what she needs to learn, I will grant them passage into my realm."

"I can teach her," Loki suggested. "Unless..." He had a nagging suspicion.

Hel blinked. She then burst with laughter, throwing her head back. So much for civility.

"You told her about our deal, didn't you." That wasn't a quesiton. His suspicion was confirmed. He now understood the pain he'd studied on Sif's serene features while he sat sleeplessly with her.

"How could I resist?" Hel shrugged innocently, descending from the giggle fit. "Anyhow, find someone who's NOT YOU, and send them my way. Preferably someone she will trust."

"What must I do for this favor?"

"I want you to slay Mother and consume her heart."

Loki raised a single brow. "What?"

"That is the only way I'll ever see her again." Her tone hardened. She was serious. "Any other form of slaughter will damn her to a depth even I can't reach. Her heart has become too blackened, even more since we made our bargain. It's a good thing neither you or Sif slaughtered her during the attack. My miscalculation of her condition could have separated us forever... And that would have sucked major bilgesnipe balls."

It was Angraboda she wanted all along, not revenge, at least not solely revenge. He should have seen this coming. It seemed everyone had a hidden agenda.

Tears welled in the girl's eyes as she continued. "I want to help her. I need her. And she needs me. Please, Father, tell me you'll do it. It's a fair trade, the woman you love for the one I love. I bend the rules of my realm and you compromise whatever convictions might otherwise stop you from brutally murdering the mother of your—"

"Hela," Loki pressed a finger in her lips. "I get it. Your loyalty to your mother is...admirable." It truly was.

"Does that mean you'll do it?" She brightened.

He nodded, reluctantly.

With a squeal, she threw her arms around his neck. "I knew you'd agree, you demented sicko."

Still processing what he just agreed to, it took him a moment before he could return the affection. He wrapped his arms around her frail form, quickly warmed by a resurrected sentiment, relishing the moment that only a pair like them could share. "Anything for my favorite daughter."

She broke the hug with a shove and a chuckle. "I'm your only daughter, jerk." Loki shrugged and she smirked. "Right then, enough of this or you'll think I've gone soft. Can't have that rumor flying around." Her body began dematerializing, growing transparent. "Don't forget, you need to send me someone who knows their dark magic inside out, like we do. Not some nickel-licker looking for a quick buck. Otherwise, they won't have the skill to help your lady. Got it?"

"Got it." He already had someone in mind.

"First things first, though," she added. "Go to Mother. You'll find her in the ravine beyond the swamplands. Hidden away in acamouflaged shack, invisible to the passer-by but detectable by magic. She hasn't masked her magic for years. She's become sloppy, all the more reason to put her out of her misery."

"The ravine is only a half day's journey by foot," Loki said. "You shall have her by sundown."

"I better." She was levitating now, enveloping herself in swirling dust. Her tangibility had departed. He already missed it.

"Goodbye, Hela." He smiled, genuinely.

"See ya wouldn't wanna be ya!" She was gone with an anticlimactic puff.

His smiled vanished and he sighed. "She really needs to work on her exits."

Rising to his feet, he moved onto the inevitable, retrieving a small device from his back pocket. He had acquired it on Knowhere for a very specific purpose.

"This should prove interesting." He pressed what Carina had called the "talk button" and brought the device to his mouth.

"Are you there?" He released the button, waiting. A few moments passed. He tried again: "Carina, it is Loki. I was led to believe this would work." He had no patience in situations like these, the momentum of his agenda at the mercy of someone else's availability.

Finally, the device replied. The voice crackled and distorted, and clearly wasn't Carina's.

"Tivan?" Loki answered.

A pause. Then static. Then, /You have the Tessaract?\\

It was most certainly Tivan. "I need your help."

/So...this is in exchange for the Tessaract?\\

"It is not." This could prove difficult.

/That device...was only to be used when you acquired the Tess—\\

"Stop saying Tessaract!" Loki interrupted. He then sighed. "Tivan, I'm...I'm desperate. There's no one else I can turn to." Tivan was the only other dark magic artisan Loki could depend on. The being had eons of practice, techniques learned from cultures Loki never knew existed. He had to admit he was jealous.

"Someone very dear to me," Loki explained, "is going to die. You can stop it."

/Why should I care?\\

The ancient was being more stubborn than Loki expected, not the pliable old charmer he was used to. Tivan's voice droned instead of sang. What had happened to him since their last encounter?

/What's in it for me?\\

"Me." He put all his cards on the table. There wasn't time for anything else. "You can have me."

There was an unnerving stretch of silence before the response came.

/Very well.\\

Loki's shoulders sank. It seemed his shiny new glorious purpose would be put on hold while he devised an escape clause from this deal. But at least Sif would be saved.

/Your timing is serendipitous. I've lost Carina to a most...unfortunate accident and have need for a new assistant.\\

"You wish me to be your slave?" He supposed that was better than a trophy. "So be it."

/Excellent.\\ His voice pulled up a notch. /So, my lovely Laufeyson, how may I be of service?\\

(Present time)

"Father, what have you done?" Fenrir said upon finding his quarry. The wolf had dashed ahead the instant he picked up Loki's scent and Thor had followed, shoving through a mess of shrubbery and finally finding the front door of a dilapidated shack. As he joined Fenrir inside, fearing what his nephew's overheard words were implying, he was actually relieved when he first saw Loki. His brother was slumped on his knees, coated in blood and in a state of shock, but he was alive.

"She wasn't World's Greatest Mom, I realize," Fenrir said, baffled. "But why?"

As Thor got closer and met Loki's haggard eyes, he was unnerved to see the blood was concentrated on his hands and mouth, a scene from one of Mother's taboo books on the dark, cannibalistic practices of the occult. What had Loki done? Was this his method of vengeance? Is this why he disappeared from Gladsheim?

"I had to." Loki spoke with a sickened whisper, shuddering and weak.

Fenrir sniffed the ground, dirt and pine needles stained crimson. He moved to Loki, inspecting the stab wound that Thor was now noticing. Some of the gore was Loki's blood after all, further perplexing Thor to what exactly had happened here.

"Her blood, it's..." Fenrir lifted his eyes level with his father's. He was unable to finish his thought.

"She was already dead, my son." Loki reached up to stroke the wolf's mane then stopped himself. His hands were coated in Angrboda's blood, so he returned them to his lap. "I've done her a favor," he said, stricken.

Fenrir closed his eyes, bowing his head. His tail disappeared between the tall hind legs.

Thor knelt down by the pair, putting his questions on hold, offering the corner of his cloak that Loki might clean his hands. He felt no remorse for Angrboda's death given what she did to Sif, but his heart tugged for his kin. Fenrir's grief was freshly familiar. The witch was still a mother to be mourned, even though her crimes had warranted this execution. Perhaps not an execution of this degree of horror, but punishment nonetheless.

Loki didn't accept Thor's offering but willed the blood away with his magic, dispersing it up, through the gaps in the ceiling and into the tree canopy, a final resting place.

"Why have you done this?" Thor asked his brother, softly. "Consuming a heart is not a ritual one does in vengeance." And consuming a heart as blackened as hers would have detrimental effects on a soul already wounded.

Loki didn't respond immediately. He simply raked his fingers into thick fur, scratching Fenrir's neck and shoulder, offering a rare but genuine consolation. The wolf was rigid at first but ultimately accepted the affection, dropping his head until his nose grazed Loki's lap. It was a warming sight, one Thor was grateful he could witness.

Loki then turned and looked at Thor with reddened eyes, not a redness of tears or exhaustion, but something else. Thor couldn't place it, and he didn't like it.

"I made a deal," Loki said. "To undo the first one."

He had no idea what Loki meant. He probably didn't want to know.

Fenrir lifted his head, his eyes glinting the earthy and peaceful hues of their surroundings. He seemed to understand what Loki was saying, having the advantage of a sixth sense and actual blood ties. "It all happened for a reason. If Mother had never poisoned your maiden, Odin would not have set me free, and I never would have met Ollie."

Loki brightened upon hearing the boy's nickname, touched by his sons' camaraderie. He smiled, bittersweetly, and clenched a patch of fur at Fenrir's neck. "Once Sif has awakened," he said with conviction, "all will be as it should."

Thor hated to be the downer here, but... "Lady Sif is not responding to the remedy."

Loki glanced at him, unaffected. "I have taken care of it."

Thor narrowed his eyes. "Tell me."

A buzzing came from Loki's pocket, a cursed distraction. Loki retrieved the glowing device responsible paying it his full attention. It was technology not of Asgard or Earth. Tony would be jealous.

"It is done," Loki whispered, the blue light illuminating the contours of his face intermittently. Thor watched in flashes the hopeful expression shifted back to uncertainty. "Sif has awakened."

"What is that thing?" Thor asked, skeptical.

"It is our guarantee." Loki's sureness was chilling. "Sif has been cured."

"Loki, please," Thor was starting to believe him regarding Sif, but he could tell something was wrong. Loki never solved their problems without harming himself in the process. "Tell me what you have done. What price did you pay to save her?"

Loki shrugged, stowing the device as a corner of his bloodied mouth curled. "Nothing I can't afford."

"What does that mean, Brother?"

He didn't answer but instead clutched Fenrir by his mane, a hug of sorts. "Promise me you and Ollerus will look after each other."

Thor knew a goodbye when he heard one. "Loki..."

"And remind Ollie," Loki continued, "that no matter how far you both travel, no matter the reach of your exploration, that he needs to frequently check in with his mother."

"Right," Fenrir smiled. "Because that's what teenage boys love to hear." His smile then faded with their embrace. "Where are you going, Father? Will I be able to visit you?"

"Not for a while." Loki didn't answer Fenrir's first question.

Thor was fed up with his dodging of the issue.

"Loki," he said again, grabbing him by the upper arms. He studied the glistening, red-veined emeralds of his eyes, opening his mouth to interrogate, but then falling silent. Suddenly, all the questions that had built up became unimportant. The details he sought weren't a priority. Thor knew, deep down, he would never get the real answers, and nor did he want them. What he wanted instead, that he knew he could get, was readily tangible.

He pulled Loki into an embrace, perhaps the last one for a long while. He clutched the back of his neck, hand full of stringy hair, while his other hand flattened the green cloak beneath it. He tried not to squeeze what with Loki's stab wound, but he cared more for imprinting a new memory of his brother than of the pain he might be inflicting. Affection should never be shown without the full strength of one's arms.

Loki winced and his muscles tightened, but he did not refuse the hug. Rather, he returned it, partially, on arm sliding over Thor's cape. It was better than nothing.

"You really are a sentimental fool," he said.

Thor chuckled, giving one final squeeze. He then broke the hug but kept them close.

"Is that all you got?"

Loki was quick with an excuse. "I wouldn't want to set a bad example in front of my son."

"Pfff." Fenrir rolled his eyes. "Too late for that, Father. You murdered Mother and ate her heart."

"Well it's never too late to start being a good influence," Loki quipped. Then his pocket buzzed again. "Oh my." He winced, placing his hand over it. "I wish he'd let up. That vibration is dreadful on a stab wound."

"Loki." Thor pulled him closer, snaring his attention back, clutching the sides of his head. He had one last shot at this. "Brother. Promise me you will keep out of trouble."

Loki stared blankly for a moment, disbelieving, his hair a stringy jumble under Thor's grip. His face then split with laughter, a grin ear to ear, baring all of his teeth.

Thor sighed in frustration. He geared up to make some defensive remark but didn't get the chance. With a flash of the alien device, Loki was gone.

Again. Just like that.

Thor would allow his nephew a few minutes of mourning before calling Heimdall for transport. And who was he kidding, he needed these minutes as well. He thought he had used up the ability to miss Loki, spent it all after his fall, but the blood that now stained the leather at his torso told him otherwise. It was blood not of his family line but connected to him through infinite veins of memory. It was the blood of a frost giant, the blood of his enemy, and come what may, it would always be the blood of his brother.