Never doubt that I love you, Brother.
It's raining. Heavily. And Thor is loathe to admit that it is not his doing, for once.
If only it was.
Though he still somehow appears to be stronger than those mortals-Midgardians, his mind corrects, for he, too, is mortal-he is still not the Thor, God of Thunder he was just last week. Nowhere near.
Fat droplets splatter against his face like bullets, and he is no more impervious to the elements than those which surround him.
His muscles strain and ache, and his fingers itch around it, and still it will not answer his call.
Mjolnir will not even budge.
It is so very apt that it is only rain, and not lightning or thunder. Thor tenses his muscles again and pulls, grunting with effort, though he has already given up. Mjolnir does not greet him like an old friend, but leaves him stranded like a stranger.
He doesn't realise he is screaming until something picks his side and he stops.
His head suddenly feels intoxicated and numb, and his vision has become muted and hazy. But there's no time for this, he mustn't give up. He must forge on, even if it is as if he is swimming in marshy bog with one foot tied to an anchor.
He blinks hard and tries to shake himself out of it. Tightens his hold on his hammer.
Tries to pull.
The rain is like a billion glass beads shattering all at once and continuously. Over and over again, pounding against him. It's so very cold. His skin feels like ice and his clothes feel colder, it would be better if his blood did not feel like fire.
The water keeps making his hands slip and when he tries to look around it appears as though the ground and the sky have switched places.
Another prick, this time his thigh. Thor's mind feels vaguely hazy and diluted, his brain weighted like lead and tipping over like it cannot balance. It feels as though he is drowning. Suddenly everything is dark, and when he wakes up again, he is surrounded by light. And it is too bright.
He blinks hard. And again. This is… disorienting.
It is a small, simple, brightly lit room, and almost aggressively silver and white. The walls are white. The ceiling is white. The door is white. Norns, even the floor is white-quite impractical. The only other things in the room are a steel table and chair, and another one which Thor is currently bound to.
Great.
He tugs at the restraints. They tug back, biting into his wrists a little. He curses. Why is he never strong enough when it actually seems to matter?
"Yes, that is the question, isn't it?"
Thor jerks up and looks at his brother. Loki is standing there watching him with his arms folded and a frown on his face-so the usual then.
"I didn't have to read your mind, it's written all over your face." He continues, shrugging. "Why couldn't I lift Mjolnir? Why am I still such a pathetically weak mortal? Et cetera, et cetera."
Well, he isn't wrong. Truth be told, he had expected to just have to find Mjolnir and then everything would be fine. The Midgardians summoned to guard it proved no challenge, but challenge enough that he thought it was his test which might deem him worthy again. Apparently not.
"By the way, where are we?" Pausing, Loki looks around, taking in their surrounding. He sniffs. "Wow. Almost obnoxiously plain. I did not think that was something one could do on purpose. And yet-" he spreads his hands. "-Here we are. Remarkable."
Thor is about to, unwisely, dignify that with a response when the door opens.
A small man, who Thor recognises as the one who took Lady Jane's research, steps through mildly. The door clicks shut behind him, undoubtedly locking them inside.
Loki accesses him with his gaze, taking in the perfectly pressed suit and the mild mannered gaze. Mild. The only remarkable thing about this man is how unremarkable he is. It's an art.
"Hello again," he says, taking the seat on the other side of the table and quite literally stepping through his brother. "I don't know if you remember me, Agent Phil Coulson? I'm with SHIELD."
Agent Phil son of Coul, allegedly, sits relaxed, at perfect ease, leaning back with his arms folded against his chest and his legs crossed. For some inexplicable reason, Thor wants to trust him.
"I don't trust him," scoffs Loki, looking back and forth between them, pursing his lips. "What's SHIELD?"
Thor gives Loki what is hopefully a swift yet subtle glance, but catches the agent's eyes following his. Oh, well. He won't see anything anyway.
"What is SHIELD?" asks Thor, partly for his brother and partly because he should probably know, sitting up and trying his best to tower over the man, despite his disadvantaged position. What? Intimidation has always worked well before.
From the corner he hears Loki smack his head with his palm, groaning with exasperation. "You need to make him trust you, Thor, not fear you. Trust."
And though it is not the Aesir way, deception, he remembers the last time he did not listen to his brother and how it landed him here. So he forces himself to shrink back into his seat, and tilt his chin, and blink as though he is bewildered-which in a way, he is.
For half a second he thinks he sees a confused expression flit across Phil Cousin's face, but it's wiped away just as quickly.
"Thank you," grumbles Loki, perhaps a little sulkily, "I told you we can't trust him."
Agent Coulson smiles, open and friendly. "I'm surprised you don't know," he replies, We're an agency designed to protect people." It sounds like an oversimplification, but Thor does not question it. The man sits up and leans across the table, as though he is entrusting Thor with a secret. "My people are some of the most highly trained professionals in the world. And you made them look like a bunch of minimum wage mall cops."
And Thor does not know what a "mall cop" is, but it sounds weak, and Thor tries not to look triumphant at the compliment. Midgard's best cannot even touch him at his worst. Ha!
"Don't look so smug," chides Loki, and there is a smirk on his face. "Clearly, they managed to get you here, didn't they?"
He sobers at the reminder, feeling the tug of the cuffs on his wrists again. Of course.
"That's hurtful," continues Agent Coulson, none the wiser. "In my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. Why don't you tell me where you received your training."
Oh where indeed? Asgard is bound from him and he does not even have his strength. Why, he might be dead by the time the Allfather deems him worthy! Aged to death on this Mortal timeline!
For the first time since he arrived here, he feels a wave of resignation wash over him. What's the point? There is no anger left in him-because they were right. He is not a king. He cannot be.
Thor does not respond, only stares blankly at the white wall behind the agent.
"Pakistan? Chechnya? Afghanistan?"
The jumble of words floats past his ears and behind him. Thor isn't listening, too busy biting the inside of his cheek to distract from the way his eyes are stinging.
The air is much to hot and thick and loud. It feels as though he is heaving in cotton.
Agent Coulson shrugs, leaning back again. "You strike me more as the soldier of fortune type-where was it? South Africa?"
A cool hand settles on his shoulder and he feels himself flinch. Loki's fingers dig into his shoulders hard, the pressure grounding him. Unconsciously, he relaxes into it.
He had decided a while ago, It doesn't matter if Loki isn't real, or if Thor has made him up. He helps, sometimes. And Thor is allowed to pretend he has a brother if he damn well wants to. Nobody else needs to know.
"Certain groups pay very well for a good mercenary like you." Agent Coulson inclines his head, openly assessing him now. "Who are you?"
Thor meets his eyes but does not answer. Who is he? He is not Thor, God of Thunder anymore. Hardly even Odinson. Who is he, really?
The agent returns his state steadily unfazed, not challenging but somewhat bemused. As though he already knows the outcome and it will be inevitably in his favour.
"One way or another, we find our what we need to know. We're good at that."
Something on his wrist starts to bleep, and Agent Coulson turns to look at it. Then, he smooths his tie out, nonplussed, before standing up and tucking the chair into the table, turning his back on him and casually making his way to the door. He turns for a second, regarding him cooly.
"Don't go anywhere."
And then the door opens with a hiss, and clicks shut behind him.
Loki turns to him then, with his eyes dark and expression wary. Moves to sit on the table and leans down to bring his face level with Thor's. "Stay calm, Brother." He says. "Breathe."
Thor does. Takes a sharp, sudden gasp in and lets it out with a huff. Tries to relax his muscles and the jaw he did not realise has been clenched.
"I think-" begins Loki, looking thoughtful, and doesn't finish.
Because the space is empty. Thor is alone.
He always has been.
It's probably for the best that we never see each other again.
That's what you always wanted.
"You know what doesn't make sense to me?" Loki says, not taking his eyes off of the screen. They are watching the moving pictures on the telly-vision, something about children and magic and pigs. It does really make sense. Still, it's amusing, and Loki seems to find it entertaining.
The other humans are not around; Lady Jane is in her lab, Lord Erik has gone away to someplace called Eng-Land, and Lady Darcy apparently has a hot date? Why she feels the need to disclaim the temperature of her date is unknown to Thor, though he has grown familiar and perhaps a little fond of their oddities. Anyway, because Thor is alone, he responds.
"Not really, but you are about to tell me anyway, I presume," he says and chucks another handful of the delightful popped-corn into his mouth.
"Well." His brother pauses in contemplation. "For starters, that. Since I'm just a figment of your overly imaginative mind, how come I don't know your thoughts, and you don't know mine?"
Thor shrugs, not really too bothered. It's a conversation they are both well familiar with and have had many times. Each time the outcome is that they just don't know.
"And the other thing?" He asks, not taking his eyes off of the screen.
The children, Harry and Hermione, are in the middle of running from this man-wolf creature and Thor does not want to miss a moment of it. Midgardians, though they do not have the means to use it, are surprisingly creative with magic.
"Riddle me this, Thor." It's a phrase Loki has caught onto using recently-probably from the Midgardians. "Why were you were apparently worthy of Mjolnir three months ago, whilst you were attacking Jotunheim, mind you. The very thing which made you unworthy in the first place." He adds, dismissing Thor's wince at the subject, "Yet now, having harmed nobody except those silly little SHIELD agents, you are unworthy? Why, just last week you helped Lady Darcy out, taking care of those orphans she sometimes visits! Surely you are a better man than before, when you were worthy."
Thor frowns, pausing the moving pictures just as Harry is about to cast a spell.
He's… never thought about it that way before. Huh?
(Well, he supposes he's thought about it now given that he brought it up… to himself. Yeah, this whole deal is confusing.)
"Go on," he prompts, interested now, turning his body to face his brother.
Loki chews his lip, a rare display of openness. "Well, for starters, what does a hammer know of worthiness? No matter how powerful it is, Mjolnir is not sentient and has nothing to measure your worthiness. The only thing I can think of is some enchantment the maker must have put on it. And-let's be real Thor-an old dwarf, no matter how skilled, is never going to have a have some high moral ground, not a set way to measure your morality. And, not to bring us back to the previous point of how you were worthy one second and unworthy the next. All because the Allfather said so." He lets the statement hang, rather deliberately.
Thor winces, swallows and find that he cannot.
"What do you- What are you saying?" he asks, unsure. There's a prickling feeling of dread starting to culminate, and he struggles to force it back.
"I'm saying that you will only get Mjolnir back when Father deems you worthy, not when you have ascended into this fixed plane of worthiness that we once thought. Somehow, it must be him that is in control of the wielder of the weapon."
His brother, though he is the who worked all this out, looks rather at a loss of what to do. Which makes sense, seeing as Thor does not quite know himself.
Thor takes the remote and presses the triangular button: play (according to Lady Darcy, though he is sure none of the characters are playing.) A bitter taste rises in his throat and he doesn't know why.
Perhaps it's because that means you were never truly worthy. Not really, except in your father's eye; which was blinded by his love for his son. Until you restarted a war, his mind so helpfully adds.
Perhaps it is because he knows now that Father does not truly see him as worthy. He had already known before, but now the confirmation of it is… that Father chooses not to see him as worthy.
"What are you going to do, Thor?" Loki says, quietly.
It's moments like this which remind Thor that he imagined a younger brother, not a twin or an elder. Someone, that despite their intellect, looks to Thor for answers.
"I don't know, Loki," he replies, numbly.
And maybe it's that. That Thor does not know. He has no idea of how to get back his father's favour. He's never had to before. He has no idea on how he can get them home. No idea if what will make him worthy.
He's never had to know before.
Midgard is nice, but it is not home. It does not have his friends, or his room, or his mother. It does not have the people adoring him at every turn. Don't get him wrong, he loves Midgard now and all its weird quirks and delicious food. Loves Lady Jane and Lady Darcy and Lord Erik.
But they are not home. He thinks perhaps, it might be, but then he'd have to let go.
Thor doesn't want to let go.
Beside him, Loki shifts on the couch, fluffing up his cushion as though he needs the comfort, and wrinkles his nose at something on the screen, like he often does when he finds something distasteful. He almosts laughs a how real it all makes him seem.
He squints his eyes a little, blinks a few times.
Loki is still there.
And for now, at least, Thor has his brother.
The story is a little different than what Thor is used to, but he finds himself liking it more because of that. Apparently, in this tale, the dragon is the hero. It protects the treasure, a small but powerful babe, from those that wish to harm it.
Thor is absolutely enraptured by it, and Loki tells it so very well.
"Thor?" He hears his mother calling from the other side of the door, "Who are you talking to?"
Loki's eyes meet his, wide and panicked and pushes Thor to his feet, scrambling.
"Nobody, Mother." He hears a dubious sigh, and adds an, "Honest."
From where he stands, Loki rolls his eyes and Thor knows it means he has not gotten any better at lying.
The door pushes open and Mother pokes her head through the slit. She gives him a once over, taking in the scene. Loki is there snickering in the corner, but he supposes to her, it must just look like Thor is sitting on the bed, staring at the wall, talking to himself.
(Which he supposes is true.)
"Are you okay, my darling?" she says, coming to sit beside him on the bed. And Loki has to shift away, because apparently he doesn't like when people move through him. He keeps flashing furtive glances to Thor and his mother.
"I'm okay, Mother. Why?"
Frigga purses her lips and twists her hands together. He sees Loki do the same behind them. After a second, her arm goes to rest on his shoulders and she kisses the top of his head lightly.
She shakes her head. "No, it's nothing. You know I like to worry. I'm your mother, Thor."
"I know. It's your job."
He smiles, indulging her and himself for awhile in just the silence of each other's company.
"I love you, my son. See you at dinner."
"And I love you, Mother," he replies, as custom.
Then she stands. A softness gracing her features, making her look younger. The door closes behind her softly, leaving him alone again, and he breathes a sigh of slight relief.
"I love you, my son," croons Loki mockingly, as he crawls back to his position on the bed.
Thor shoves him lightly, "Shut up, Loki. You aren't even real."
Loki pauses, then grins back widely, sharp teeth glinting off the light. "Oh, I know," he replies.
The rest if the evening is spent with little further incident. When prompted, Loki continues with his tale about the dragon, though Thor thinks that it perhaps does not seem as animated as it did before, or, when he inquires about it, almost too much. Subdued and tense in most moments; wild and over exaggerated the next.
But it's fine. Loki often gets days like this. These off days.
And Thor does not bother to ask why-it's all in his head, anyway.
The light is too bright and too yellow when his eyelids finally flutter open. There is the distinct, medicinal, herb-y smell which comes whenever he visits the healing rooms, so that is where he must be.
...why?
Mother is beside his bed, talking urgently to Healer Eir in hushed tones, but Thor cannot really hear because there is a high pitched whine flooding his ears, a long whistle emanating from background wavelength.
He tries to remember the last things that happened. He was, he was playing something. With Balder. His cousin. Something… something… and Thor was hiding. Hide and seek! Yes, that was it.
It had been a warm, sunny day, because it's almost spring, and they had been playing hide and seek in the gardens.
Mother's eyes drifts towards him and she lets out a startled gasp when she sees he has woken, instantly at his side. Her hands clutch his tightly, and she kisses it gently, tenderly, with all her love as a mother. The skin around her eyes, which seem to glitter, are smudged red. She lets out a wet sort of sigh. Has she been crying?
"Thor? How do you feel, my darling?" she asks intently, eyes running over him anxiously.
"My head hurts," Thor replies honestly, "And my hand. It feels… cold."
Mother smiles at him tearily and kisses his hand again. "Do you remember what happened?"
He nods slowly-his neck is stiff as well- and says, "Yeah, I think so. Me and Balder-Balder and I," he corrects quickly, "Were playing hide and seek in the gardens, near where the biggest apple tree is, and Balder was the seeker so I was hiding. So I thought, because it was very sunny, that the last place he'd think to look for me was inside, which is very clever, so I sneaked inside the palace through the lower, back entrance and…" he trails off. Mother's smile has slipped off her face and faded into a frown. "What?"
"No." she says firmly, "No, you weren't. You were playing Tig with Balder by the fountains, remember? And then you collapsed. That's how we found you, Balder ran to get help."
Thor shakes his head. That never happened. Sure, they were going to, but it had been too wet to run without slipping. They were definitely playing hide and seek, because Thor remembers sneaking down and into some passageways he had never been before, right?
"No, I'm sure that it was-"
Mother strokes the top of his head, hand carding through his hair softly. It tingles a bit, as though magic, before coming to rest on his forehead warmly.
"What are you sure of, my dear?"
And… oh. Oh yeah! Thor blinks in realisation. He must have been thinking of the day before. Now he remembers. Yes, they'd been playing Tig… because they'd wanted to the day before but couldn't... by the fountains. With Balder. Of course, they had. And it had been too hot, so he'd been feeling a little faint, and then…
"Right. That's right. Sorry, I must have gotten muddled up. Yes, we were playing Tig. I remember now."
Mother gives a sigh of relief, relaxing in her seat. "That's all right, Thor. You hit your head. It's perfectly normal. I'm glad," she gives another kiss to his hand and then on his cheek. "I'm glad you're all right."
Thor is still tired, so mother sits back and allows him to rest. His head hurts and his hand is cold.
Thor has been on Midgard for just over a year now, and he has aged something akin to fifty. At least on Aesir terms-everyone else seems to think he looks fine. (Or fiiine, as Lady Darcy would say.)
As now, he is working with SHIELD and Erik Selvig on the Tesseract. How they came to possess it he does not know, since it rightfully belongs to Asgard. And well, actually it's more like Loki is working with SHIELD and Erik Selvig on the Tesseract. Thor is just there to relay what Loki says and to take the credit.
Though, technically it is him that is thinking up all of these clever possibilities. Just- he isn't going to go down that path again. It's a train of thoughts that never seem to cease and will probably be forever unanswered.
Dr Jane Foster (as he knows to call her now) and Lady Darcy (who says she likes the title) are still in New Mexico. SHIELD had reached out to them too, but Jane had said she wanted to continue her work there, on the Einstein-Rosen Bridges. But that's okay. Sometimes they can communicate by doing this thing called Skype calling, so it's not so bad.
SHIELD remains convinced that the Tesseract is just some energy source, which makes Loki splutter and roll his eyes.
"Energy source." He scoffs. "It is not something so… simplistic. It's a door. A way to open pathways, an infinite amount of pathways to anywhere, and SHIELD wants to use it to create guns. Primitive, close-minded creatures."
Yeah, Loki gets quite a bit more aggressive than he has any right being, but he seems more engaged now. And though, for some reason, Thor does not understand a word of what he says, it pleases him to see him that way.
However, at the moment Loki is not here and Thor really needs him.
"Hey," says Erik, nudging him with a pad of paper, "Can you look over these equations for me?"
"Uh," Thor replies intelligently,"I, uh-sure." He takes the paper from him, fumbling, and stares blankly at the page, willing some of Loki's smarts to come. They don't. "It, um, looks fine. But I shall hold onto them, for now, so I can look over them again later. I'm just a little busy right now."
Erik gives him an assessing look and narrows his eyes. "You're literally playing Candy Crush on your phone, Thor."
Ah. Yes.
Though Erik is, like, half the size of Thor, and does not have nearly as many years, Thor feels rather like a small child being scolded. His mouth gapes open like a fish and no words come out.
So it is rather lucky timing when the Tesseract seems to… spark. And then glows sharply, burning painfully bright into his retinas, roaring. He stumbles back at the force of it.
For a moment, he cannot see. Everything looks as though it has been swallowed by the sun and ascended heavenward. He can hear noise, clatters of instruments and metallic screeching against the floor. Panicked shouts from the others and harsh curses.
Thor just lays there, squeezing his eyes shut, and waits for it to subside.
"Thor." He hears a voice, and a hand pulling uselessly at his shoulder, "Thor. Get up. Thor, get up!"
"Mmm" he mumbles, dazed and slurring. He looks around blearily. "Loki?"
"Yes, you fool. It's me." his brother replies. "Now come on, get up! We're being attacked."
It takes a moment for the words to register in his mind, but he's on his feet as soon as they do.
On the other side of the room, a lone being stands, cloaked in armour and hiding his face. He holds a spear-no a sceptre-in one hand and the Tesseract in the other. Thor ducks behind one of the bigger machines, and observes silent as he can.
His heart is beating heavily in his chest, the familiar feeling of stepping into battle takes over his veins.
Outside, he can hear the beginnings of a storm starting to simmer.
"You," rasps the being, pointing his finger. His voice seems to be echoing from every corner, a hissing whisper. Thor follows the finger, and it leads him to the direction of Erik, standing there wide-eyes and quivering, mouth slack. "Come here."
Erik does not move, just stares and grows paler and paler.
"I said come here, mortal."
When Erik begins to stumble forward, Thor feels Loki grip his wrist, pulling him back harshly. He had not even realized his feet have moved.
Thor tries to yank it back, but Loki's grip is a clamped tight and strong on his wrist. He looks desperate, more panicked than perhaps he's ever seen him.
Perhaps it is transferable because Thor feels the air around him crackle like static.
"Thor, don't," he pleads, holding tighter.
But Erik is Thor's friend and he must do something. There must be something he can do.
He hears a crash, and he tears his attention away from his brother and back to their attacker. Out of nowhere a bullet strikes through the air around the being. It hits some sort of barrier and falls limp with a flash.
The being smiles, inclines it's head a little.
"I," it speaks again, "am the Other. And you will kneel."
The sceptre in its hand rises slowly, emanating a soft blue glow, which grows sharper and brighter. The air inside the room seems to weigh on him like a heavy blanket, sizzling.
The Other slams the sceptre to the ground and a wave of energy floods the space. A force, flowing and fluid and but unyielding.
Unnatural and cutting.
Overhead, a clap of thunder permeates the building, reaching Thor's ears, accented by crackling lightning.
Somehow, the familiarity of it fuels him. His hand wrenches away from Loki's, snatched back towards him.
"Thor." says Loki again, and there's something different in his voice this time, "Thor, your hammer. Mjolnir, call it!"
It's been over a year since Thor arrived in Midgard, and Thor has lost count of the number of times he has called Mjolnir and received no answer, so really, why would it be any different now? He has not done anything that might be considered particularly worthy, not in the eyes of his father.
But he focuses, reaches inwards, within him. Energy is zipping through his blood and dancing off his skin, wild and frenzied. His fingers itch and tremble.
Mjolnir is in New Mexico, hundreds of miles away. He holds out his hand and is there, with it, the path it takes across the land, arcing over everything. Feels it pulling back, responding. Tugging back gently on the tether they share together.
He hears it wrecking, smashing and crashing through everything. Loud and brash and announcing its own presence with as much fanfare as it likes.
As it should be.
And then it's within his hands, held snugly and perfectly in his grip. Its song, singing sweetly to him. Humming and thrumming excitedly.
He smiles grimly, turning it slowly with practiced ease. It's been over a year.
Alas.
Now you see me, Brother.
Thor has not seen Loki in two weeks. Not since he realised he had never seen Loki at all. Not really.
So when, two weeks later, he wakes up and catches sight of Loki again, sitting at his desk, head bent over a book like always, he ignores him. Gets up out of his bed, washes and changes into his clothes for breakfast with Mother and Father and for any activities that might take place over the course of the day. His lightweight trousers, dress shirts, his dark red vest. He does not offer even a glance when he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps following him.
It will pass, he tells himself. This will pass.
Eventually, if he ignores it enough, Loki will go away, his own mind will cease haunting him, everything will be fine again. He ignored the way that makes makes something in his heart freeze at the prospect, and his mind reminds him that he's been seeing Loki for longer than he can even remember.
"Good morning, Thor," he hears it say, and forces his eyes to merely shift over it. To stop to acknowledging it. "Good morning, Thor," the voice repeats, more loudly and forceful this time.
Perhaps Father is right and he should go visit Healer Eir again.
He leaves the room quickly, but is careful not to make it seem as though he is running from someone-something, he corrects. The doors slam shut behind him heavily, and he hurries onwards.
As ever, as it has for almost all his life, it persists.
No. No more of this please, he thinks.
"Thor?" And oh, clever that. It has such a confused tone, and the way it cracks slightly at the end… "Thor?"
Perhaps Thor has been cursed. He's been told many a tale of princes being curse, so perhaps this is his one to conquer. He almost smiles at that; a real quest for Thor and his friends! Brilliant!
Though he can still hear the footsteps behind him, there is no more talking, only the occasional sigh. Satisfied, Thor forces himself to think of other things, in the hope that this will cease haunting him.
His parents greet him lightly when he enters the room, though he is not blind to the ever present concern on their faces which has been a constant lately. And it reminds him if the looks they shared still, when he thought he did have a brother.
Thor clenches his jaw and smiles widely.
"Good morning," he calls, keeping his voice bright.
"Good morning, Son." Replies Father.
Mother beams, ever radiant from where she sits at his side. "Good morning, Thor."
"Good morning." He hears a whisper prickling his neck.
They ignore it as, Thor supposes, they must always have done. Come to think if it, he has never heard Mother or Father utter a single good morning to Loki, and why would they? There is nobody for them to even say it to. Following their lead, he continues on to the table without another pause.
"It is a bright day today, is it not, Thor?" says Mother, looking outside.
"You should go out," adds Father, "Play with your friends."
To be perfectly honest, Thor doesn't really feel like playing with his friends. He feels like staying here, with Mother and Father, or going on long strolls to the Bifrost to visit Heimdall. But Thor's friends, he remembers, are the only thing Thor can think of that seems to make Loki go away. Loki, who seems to twist in and out of his mind like a snake, but always slither away when they get here. Besides, he always finds himself having the most fun with them. So Thor nods and agrees and does his best not to note the way Loki stands behind him like a shadow, instead of sitting next to him like usual.
"I hear your cousin Balder is in the city, Thor, with your Uncle Vili. Perhaps you could introduce them to your friends," suggests Father, though it is not really a suggestion and more a command.
"Of course," Thor replies. He has grown tired of this conversation already, but he dreads being alone, so he continues to eat slowly, picking at his food piece by piece.
There are pastries laid out on the table, both sweet and savoury. Jams, cold meats, oats. All in all, a great and very full selection. Thor deems to sample at least one of each. (He does not pay any mind that he already knows how each of them taste, having eaten this exact meal once a day.)
Thor has not seen Balder in quite some time, but he is nice. They talk and catch up a little before meeting with the others. He is a little older than Thor, by only a decade perhaps, and he is at a higher level of training than Thor is, though he claims that he does not want to be a warrior, and instead a teacher. A master of his very own training guild.
Not the slightest bit jealous, he nods along and encourages him.
A little further up ahead, the ghost haunting Thor's mind walks backwards facing them. A longing stare pierces Thor's vision like a thorn he cannot get rid of.
"You will like my friends," says Thor, eager to move along.
Balder smiles, gently. He is a very gentle person. Very pure and good, no doubt. "Tell me about them."
Thor shrugs, kicking his heels out in front of him with every step. "Well," he begins, "there's Fandral. He's very good with swords. He's all right."
Briefly, he allows his eyes to flick up from where they're fixed at the ground. Still there. But Loki is just looking at the ground too, fists clenched, though his eyes sometimes slip to their direction.
He pulls his eyes back to Balder, "Then there's Sif, a surprisingly fearsome opponent for a girl," He pulls a face. "Very good with-well, just about everything so far. And then Hogun, excels at hand to hand combat and shields." He pauses to take in Balder's assessment. "All in all, a very good bunch, I should think."
Balder frowns, silent for a moment. "Yes but… what about them, though? What are they like… what are their characters like? Surely they do not exist only in the way they fight."
That takes Thor aback. He… hasn't thought about it. In fact, most of the time, if they are not fighting each other or their imagined beasts, everything else they do is just in wait of that.
Up ahead Loki snorts. "Ah, yes," Thor hears, "What other redeeming qualities do they have, hmm?"
He stops short, and Balder almost trips at the suddenness of it.
That isn't like him, is it? He likes his friends. They are funny and loyal and they make Thor happy. He has such good memories with them. So why is his mind spewing such things, even in some projected perverse vessel?
"Um," he replies, "They're very nice, yes. Good, good friends. And…" for some reason his mind seems to be lagging behind, "Fandral, Sif and Hogun are very good, nice friends."
"I see."
Frustratingly, by the time they reach the others near the gates of the training guild, Thor still has not shaken his shadow. It's like a limpet, he thinks almost viciously, clinging onto a rock and leeching on.
Perhaps he should have known it would not be so easy. After all, apart those two weeks of respite, and an occasional few days before that, it's been a constant for almost all of Thor's life. A droning dialogue of straying conscience that has followed Thor everywhere.
The mind is a curious and complex thing, Healer Eir had said, and sometimes we do not always have the means to explain it.
Of course, she had also told him not to worry about it.
"My friends!" he calls, by way of greeting, and runs up ahead forgetting momentarily his other companion. Balder, that is.
Thor's friends welcome Balder with enthusiasm, all under the impression that the more the merrier. And, as what Balder seems to do most, he smiles radiantly, filling the room with light. It's almost a little irritating. His friends all seem charmed though.
The plan today is to do a little bit of light training, head back to the palace for a small lunch, show Balder around the grounds, and then prepare for the feast in celebration of Prince Vili and his son visiting the city. It's supposed to be a nice day.
The training grounds are open plan, and its a hot day. The sun is shining bright on his skin. Usually, this would serve to energize him, soaking it up and making him more alert. But instead, it makes him feel strangely more lethargic. His hands grip the heavy hilt of his sword and it seems to weigh him down. His arms feel like the bones have been hollowed, flimsy and weak.
Hogun, his opponent for the day, watches him. He sees him frown and his eyes following the sweat that drips off Thor's face. When Hogun finally strikes, he sees him pulling back too early.
Thor grits his teeth.
"Why are you holding back, friend?" He manages to get out.
Hogun does not answer, just shrugs and gives a him another assessing look.
On the other side of the arena, Sif is fighting Balder. She looks like she always does. Fierce, striking. But the smirk that is usually on her face is gone. There is an intense look of concentration on her face. As though, finally, she has a worthy opponent.
As usual, Fandral is up near the water stand, talking about himself, probably. Or about his father.
The shadow whelps just as the sword hits his face and Thor goes flying. Later, Thor will blame it on the sun being in his eyes, and not his undisciplined mind.
As now, though, his eyes focus on Hogun, crouching over him, a concerned expression on his face. Except they focus on Loki first.
"You're distracted, Thor. Let's take a break," says Hogun, taking his hand and offering him up.
He accepts, nodding gratefully.
Hogun is the sort of friend, Thor thinks, who never truly has to ask, but always will. And who always seems to know what's best. It's part of the reason why he likes him so much. The others are more outgoing, more loud in their loyalty-like himself probably-but Hogun is quiet and measured. The one you can always, always rely on, for what you need anyways, not always what you want.
They turn back to the rest of their friends, Fandral is waving at them from afar, and they spot Sif and Balder, both on their backsides, laughing and struggling to get up.
Hogun drags him off to one of the stands to grab them some water.
The sun still feels too warm on his skin. But somehow, it's okay.
The palace has not changed in centuries. Thor doubts it has changed in many millennia. And Balder has been before, so it's not really that exciting, more like a little refresher. It's afternoon and they're headed to the kitchens so they can all eat and walk at the same time, and despite how achy Thor feels, he quickened his pace, just a little.
Something is nipping at his heels.
He walks a little faster.
Later that night at the feast, the shadow is still following him. Though at least, with so much noise and so many people about to talk to, Thor feels sufficiently distracted from it's gaze.
Balder is seated beside him, talking animatedly to Mother about the things they've done today. One of Father's friends, Lord-something-or-other, is trying to make conversation with Thor, whilst Thor himself is just trying to eat his turkey leg in peace, thank you very much. He's prattling in his ear about something military and promotions that Thor can say he doesn't really understand, but a disturbing amount of food is flying from his mouth, and quite frankly it is gross.
"Excuse me," he says, trying to stare anywhere but the chunks of meat stuck between his teeth and the hairs in his beard, "I have to go find my friends."
He stands up, ignoring Mother's disapproving stare and footsteps that trail after him.
He's had, overall, not a great day.
1. Stupid Loki and his stupid, stupid mind-and why can't Thor be normal?
2. He likes Balder but why does he have to be better than Thor at almost everything, it seems. It's not envy, probably, but Norns, they might as well make Balder Crown Prince!
3. Training today just… really sucked.
4. Whoever that man was. Honestly, Thor is candid enough to admit he is a child. So why do the boring adults insist on speak with him instead of Father, as though Thor cares?
Okay, so, well it's not an extensive list. He's sure there are others who must have had a worse day, but he's definitely not had a good day.
A few tables away, Thor thinks he spies Fandral and Hogun talking to a rather large bearded man, and he does his best to wade through the masses.
Upon spotting him, they wave him over and greet him eagerly.
"This is Volstagg," says Fandral eagerly, "He came of age not too long ago."
"Oh? When?"
Volstagg shrugs, but smiles heartily, "About half a decade ago," and takes a large gulp of the mead in his cup.
It takes only a few minutes of conversation for Thor to decide that, like his friends-even Hogun, it seems-he rather likes Volstagg. Unlike the other adults Thor has talked to, Volstagg does not talk down at them, he listens and responds to everything Thor says, and shares similar interests with them. Namely, fighting, food, and good times.
And the adult stuff he talks about is not the boring adult stuff. Which is nice.
They talk for a very long time, and Thor thinks they have made a new friend. There is a large clock in the banquet hall, with ornate gold hands, and by the time Thor's attention has strayed enough to glance at it, over two hours have passed since they have been talking. For once, Thor finds he does not mind it. Not at all. It seems like even too little a time to have passed.
"The secret?" chuckles Volstagg, "I guess it's just an acquired taste. Maybe try it again when you're older." He gestures at his drink and takes another pointed sip.
"Hmm," he continues, "Maybe you'd try some cider instead, if you are so intent."
"I've never tried that before," replies Thor keenly.
"Nor I," says Fandral.
"Nor I," says Hogun.
So, Volstagg motions a nearby servant to fetch them three small cups of fruit cider for them, and one large for himself, of course.
"I feel as though I should ask your mothers for permission first," he remarks wryly, turning his head to his side, as though he is telling a secret. Then he throws his head back and lets out a peal of laughter, clapping Thor hard on the back. "Now imagine that: me asking the AllMother permission to give her son cider!"
Admittedly, it is quite an amusing thought, and even Hogun lets slip a smile.
Volstagg is right, of course. The cider is much more bearable than the mead, though still not great. But Thor can't quite let go of the first time he tried to drink something grown up-Father's mead.
"Delicious," Thor hears himself say, and he can't quite tell if the reason his mouth feels so very bitter and dry is the taste, or that he can hear another voice repeating the exact same.
After another while, though, Thor finds himself turning around-his side feeling oddly empty. It might be because it is.
There is no relief in this, only a hollow feeling left behind. Numb and dull. A shallow ache.
Loki is gone.
Again.
Finally.
There's something under the bed.
He's sure of it.
Father always tells Thor not to pay attention to the fairy tales except from the lessons they teach him, but Thor's nursemaids all tell him that if he does not eat his vegetables the Frost Giants will get him.
...And Thor has not eaten his vegetables today.
He holds his breath. Something sounds like it's scratching on the spruce wood of his bed frame.
Thor squeezes his eyes shut, and pulls the covers tighter over his head, as though this will shield him from whatever beasts might lurk beneath.
There's his wooden sword, not too far from the bed, maybe about four steps away. Perhaps he can…
Another noise echoes beneath him. And this time, Thor does not block it out, but tries to listen intently as he can. If he is to defeat the monster, he must remain vigilant.
He lays as still as he can, and prepares himself to leap out of bed to find his weapon, adrenaline pulsing.
Shhh… he tells himself, Listen.
He doesn't breathe.
Something soft whimpers beneath him. Small and broken and weak. Faint cries and tiny gurgles.
Thor frowns. That sounds… wrong.
His arms move to shift open the covers to check, before his brain catches up.
A trick. It must be a trick.
In almost all the stories, the villains try to trick the heroes. Foul play for the cowards they are.
But he will not be bested.
Another little cry. Or a yawn, perhaps?
To distract him whilst the beast is preparing to strike?
Thor tenses, and readies himself. And then he flings back the blankets and makes a break towards his sword. One foot behind the other.
It's unfortunate when his tangled sheets catch his left foot, and his hold on the floor slips. He land with a heavy thump.
The room is almost completely dark, save a tinge of silver, escaping from through window. From under his bed, the cries seem to get louder, mewling and keening wetly, the sounds echoing off the wall of his room.
Thor's heart is thudding in his ears. He can't-he cannot breathe.
Around him, everything seems so still, too still, and the air feels too thick, like swimming in clear honey.
Slowly, he allows his head to turn to the direction under the bed, a shadowy landscape where may hide any sort of loathsome creature.
Its pitiful wails grow.
He squints as his vision adjusts to the darkness. It seems to tug him in. Somewhere amidst the darkness, his eyes catch on something glinting.
Bright red eyes stare back, blinking widely, innocently, and flash green.
Something is under Thor's bed.
It might not be a monster.
Are you ever going to not fall for that, Brother?
Thor wakes up, still feeling stuffed and drained from the feast yesterday. He looks around.
The sun is already streaming bright into the room, warm and gold. It must be late morning already. Someone has taken to laying out clean clothes for today-a servant, probably.
And Loki is there, sat at his desk.
This time, he is not reading. He is watching Thor intently.
Briefly, their eyes meet.
Thor winces, and both of them look away just as quickly.
He hears a quiet sigh.
It's too late for Thor to close his eyes, roll over and feign sleep, so he just lays there, eyes turned away, still facing him, unsure what to do.
It is just, he reminds himself once more, a product of an overactive brain. Something which he has created in his mindscape and should be able to control. If he wills it hard enough, it should disappear.
His eyes flicker back for a second, just to check.
Nope, still there.
Loki, however, has taken to looking at his hands, so he does not acknowledge it.
The problem is, probably, that he can't quite bring himself to. He could force it, of course, but somehow that feels wrong, he doesn't really want to.
Perhaps that is a whole other issue.
There's a sudden knock on the door, and Thor flinches back.
"Come in?" He calls, his gaze avoiding Loki like what seems to have become the norm.
Balder peeks his head through the door, smiling. "Good morning, Cousin."
"Good morning, Balder," he replies, rubbing his eyes, "Tell Father I shall be down for breakfast shortly?"
He chuckles a little, "Of course, although you may want to hurry. I have a large appetite, and my father even more!"
When the door shuts again, and he is alone (again) he sits up.
He begins to pull on his clothes, leather hunting gear-perhaps they have plans to go out today? Usually he has his lessons with his tutors. He shrugs. A little deviation from routine will be nice. Especially since arithmetic is a particular brand of mind-numbingly dull. Worse than Father's lectures, even.
He hears a cough behind him. A clearing of throats, perhaps. Light. Unnecessary.
This time, Thor sighs.
Despite all his earlier efforts, this morning and yesterday, and despite his resistance, or perhaps in spite of it, Thor finds himself swiveling around on his feet. It's almost like the snapping of a rubber band.
Or-no… that's not quite right.
More like the breaking of a dam.
Yes, much better.
So it's like the breaking of a dam, spilling over and flooding the delicate ecosystem beneath.
"You're not real," he says, and it sounds weak to his own ears. "You're not real," he says, again. With conviction. "You're not real."
It takes a while to realise it is not the ground that is shaking, not the walls, but himself.
Loki, for all his clever words and silver tongue, just shrugs. Despondent.
"So you do see me."
The words bubble up out of Thor's lips before he can even register them, much less catch them. And they keep flowing.
"Of course I see you!" And there is a white noise rushing through his head. "I've always seen you, and nobody else! Nobody else because, you know, I've finally figured it out. You aren't real. You're not here. You don't matter."
For some inexplicable reason, Thor feels a familiar burn of irritation. Anger.
At himself.
Ridiculous, isn't it?
Loki does not even look at him, does not even spare him a glance. His eyelids are closed, he has his arms folded, and he's swaying, like he's in some sort of trance.
Which he isn't. Loki isn't anything.
It isn't anything.
Which is quite the point.
"Why are you still here? Why don't you leave? Why do I still see you?!"
Loki-it-inclines its head, and smiles wryly. When it opens its eyes, they look so very bitter.
"Why should I know? Surely I should be asking you that." replies Loki pointedly.
"Shut up! Leave me alone. Shut up! You know I had to speak to the healers because of you! Father half thinks I have mind-sickness; and maybe I do. Talking to myself, seeing things which are not there, actually believing-for years- that you do. I don't know why you exist; you don't, and I don't know why it feels like you do."
He's breathing heavily, raggedly. Blood rushing to the front of his face.
Loki spreads its hands, and it looks so natural-so true, so casual yet tense. Thor wants to throw up.
"Does it matter? You are the one who can control me, after all. Though, I admit it was nice pretending I was real-if I can admit to experiencing nice."
"Were you ever going to tell me?" he demands roughly.
"Were you ever going to tell yourself?" Loki fires back.
And Thor pauses, the heat in his brain halting momentarily, as he tries to think past these last few weeks, from before, any memory, any recollection of thoughts, unconsciousness, even just a feeling, which hinted the true nature of Loki's continued presence in his life or lack thereof. He can think of none.
All this time, he truly believed Loki was real, and Loki-a part of his mind-had known it was not.
Slowly, he shakes his head. Even though he's just overslept his recommended hours of sleep, he feels himself limp, and strangely dizzy. Like his skin is buzzing yet asleep, and his face and tongue feel like rubber and lead and cotton, simultaneously. His stomach churns uncomfortably.
"Just," he hears himself say faintly, barely within hearing and yet too loud,"-Just go 'way."
"I can try."
The loose floor beneath his feet tilts, shifting and unbalanced like a rolling dice. Everything around him is suddenly sideways. The ground is kissing his chin. His face is on the floor and even though he is conscious, he cannot see.
It's like a black, static veil, is pervading his eyesight and smothering him.
His head hurts, dull yet cracking, and something wet dribbles down the back of his neck.
He just lies there. In probably some curled pile on floor. A smudge of limbs. His body feels like a swarm of flies buzzing and stinging at each other.
He should probably get help.
A weak sort of whining sound is forced from his throat, and he pushes it out as loud as he can. Which is not very loud, to be honest, but loud enough to make his head feel even lighter.
The floor beneath him pounds, and briefly, somehow, he manages to acknowledge the doors slamming open. A shadow falls over the static, and Thor can barely make out the fuzzy outline of whichever servant has been fortunate enough to find him.
Norns, he must look like a right mess. Some crown prince of Asgard he is. Briefly, Thor wonders if his vision will ever return, or if he will lose his sight forever, but he pushes the thought forcefully away.
Worrying, Fandral had once told him, only meant you suffered twice.
If only he could force some other parts of his mind away this easily.
By the time his sight has (thankfully) returned, he is no longer in his room, but in the healing wards. The sun is passed it's halfway point in the sky. How long has he been there?
Mother sits at his side, holding his hand, dozing gently, but there are clear frown lines drawn onto her face.
And, funnily enough, Loki is gone.
Thor rubs at his temples. He's been in this meeting for far too long, and he probably doesn't have to pay much attention anyway.
Tony Stark, is still going on about things they can do with the sceptre-as though the mortals haven't already learnt their lesson about meddling from the Tesseract. Besides, they shouldn't be doing this now. They should be coming up with a plan to rescue Erik (and the missing agents, of course), not discussing some glowy pebble! Which, most likely will go back with him when he returns to Asgard.
The agents around him shift as he tightens his grip on his hammer. They'd tried to make him leave it behind, which was laughable. Fat chance there. They'd have to pry them from his cold, dead hands, and the Midgardians were capable of a lot, but not this.
From across the table, Thor meets the eyes of Captain Rogers, and they share a look of what he interprets as shared annoyance and understanding. Which is nice.
He likes this team-the Avengers, Director Fury calls them-well enough. At least none of them have made bad first impressions. They have weird armour though. Personally, Thor finds it a little lacking. No capes.
"Okay so," interrupts Agent Romanoff, chin tucked into her hand, "I get that, but we need to focus on our priorities, which at the moment all seem to be different."
Unphased, Stark shrugs. "All right, Rushman, so here's the deal, we scrape every bit of science off of that staff, I tinker around a bit with my toys, you all get out of my way so I can do my thing. Problem solved, home in time for dinner. Or maybe drinks, or whatever."
"So how long will that be?" she asks, voice hard.
Her face is blank and flat, and Loki's always told him that people like that are the ones about to explode. Unpredictable. A ticking bomb.
"Yes," agrees Thor quickly, "We must get my friend Erik back, I'm sure he will prove most useful in your endeavour too, Stark. He is an expert in the Tesseract."
Thor hears Tony mutter something about not needing any help, but minutely, Agent Romanoff relaxes. The others, Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner second his agreement, too. There are lives at stake here, and that's what their mission is.
It's like back in Asgard and the missions he'd prepare for then, but it's also very different. Somehow, his perspective has changed.
Before, they'd only concerned themselves with military tactics of where to position their troops in order to secure a victory, slaughter those of the other side, annihilate their enemies. He hadn't needed to worry about the risk of civilian lives-they had never fought their battles on Asgard, only on those other realms where the people somehow did not feel so important.
He thinks about Asgard and their King and all their mighty warriors, unbeaten in arms, and of their AllSeeing gatekeeper. He imagines them sitting all high and mighty in their golden courts with their harps playing in the background. Probably drinking mead and telling battle tales. And he grits his teeth.
He's on one of those other realms now, and the people here do not seem so insignificant. Rather, every single one, upon looking back, even if he did not realise it at the time, seems really very important.
Last night, Midgard was attacked by a force from beyond the Nine Realms, wishing to invade. Their attacker is sitting in a container in this very vessel now, pleased and halfway successful. An ancient Asgardian artifact of tremendous power has been stolen, to be used for nefarious purposes. Over sixty Midgardians are dead and several of them have become reduced puppets to this sceptre of unknown power and origin. One of those Midgardians is Thor's friend.
And there's an army coming, apparently.
Isn't Asgard supposed to be the great protector of the Nine Realms? Because right now, it seems rather complacent.
"I can't read your mind, you know?" says Loki, suddenly.
Thor snorts.
"Hey, so I'm pretty sure that once you mentioned a brother?" says Lady Darcy, looking impish on the screen. Jane has just excused herself to go to the restroom, leaving only them to talk.
"Hm, yes," he replies hesitantly, regretting, as per usual, that he ever mentioned it. Him. It. (Thor stops himself because it's a never ending circle at this rate.) "How fares that stray feline you found last fortnight?" He asks, trying unsubtly to change the subject.
"Oh, the kitten? Yeah, still around. They're good, her name's the Great Dane, if you were wondering. Anyway, don't change the subject-tell me about your brother."
He shrugs, "There's not much to tell. Besides, that is a rather strange name to give a cat. Is that not the same name as a Midgardian dog breed?"
Lady Darcy bats her hand dismissively. "Dane is mine and Jane's 'ship name and Dane is our love-child, also it's the irony of it. Just deal with it. Dane likes it."
In the background, Thor can hear the sound of the toilet flushing and the running tap water, and silently urges Jane to hurry up.
"Why are we talking about sea vessels?" He asks, fixing a befuddled expression onto his face, even though really, Thor's been on Midgard for nine months, he's well aware what a ship means in this context.
Still, it's amusing to watch Lady Darcy's bewildered and slightly enraged expressions she makes as she explains it to him, getting increasingly frustrated.
"But why is it a ship and not a plane?"
She's just started on NOTPs when Jane settles back next to Lady Darcy in her seat, waving at Thor through the camera. Thor waves back, grateful for her return. He can't really explain it; there's just something about Jane that makes him feel at ease. It's very easy to trust her, and she's very kind and nice and just lovely, so really there's no reason not to.
Lady Darcy looks across at Jane, and then in the direction if the camera, and gags dramatically. "Okay, lovebirds. Forget I'm here, will you."
"Sorry," mumbles Jane, ducking her head, and through the screen, he can see a flush of rosy pink colour her cheeks. "What were you guys talking about?"
"Thor doesn't know what a ship is," scoffs Lady Darcy, and then she pauses, frowning a little. "Actually, Thor was about to tell me about his brother. Weren't you, Thor?"
Thor gulps.
"Oh yeah!" says Jane, sitting up straighter, her eyes brightening, "Tell us about him. Apparently, he's an intellectual."
See, Thor's long gotten used to Loki by now. His existence and lack thereof is just something he accepts as part of his life now. Like, it's been years. Literally centuries. And he's even more used to lying about Loki. Yet, for some reason, he's found it fitting to confide in these mortals. He hadn't even known Jane for a week, when he first told her about his imaginary brother! It's no wonder he wasn't fit to be regent when he was making mistakes like that!
Norns help him.
"Well," he begins, throat dry. Perhaps this isn't such a terrible idea. There's no harm in it, really. It's not as though they can ever disprove his existence, if they believe the rest of his family are in Asgard. So it's fine. This is fine. "His name is Loki, he's younger than me."
"Okay, but what does he look like?" interrupts Lady Darcy, ignoring the way Jane elbows her lightly and gives her a reprimanding stare. "What? I'm allowed to ask."
"It's all right. He doesn't really look like me. Or the rest of my family, actually. He has long black hair, green eyes and pale skin, he's a little skinnier than me. Would it, er, help if I drew a picture?"
"If you want," Lady Darcy replies, deflating for a moment but looking no less interested.
So Thor pulls up a pad of blank paper from the stack next to his computer monitor, and pen and begins to draw.
"I didn't know you could draw, Thor." Jane watches him curiously.
"Ah well, not many people do," he admits, doing first a rough sketch of the face shape. He's made the chin too pointy. Ugh. "I started because of Loki, actually. He always spent too long in the library reading, and I had to stay with him because, well... anyway, it got very boring. So after a while, I just started drawing. At first, Loki suggested I sketch the pictures in his texts, help him make notes." He starts on the swoop of Loki's nose now, straight but with a slight curve near the end. "but I preferred drawing the people. Things going on in real life."
"There's nothing wrong with that," says Jane encouragingly.
Thor feels his face fall a little, "Yes, but, I've never told anyone about drawing, you know. It's not a very Prince-like thing to do, is it. And I always made fun of Loki because if his love of learning. I suppose I thought if I wasn't interested in it, then I wasn't interesting at all."
Jane nods sympathetically. "Hey, most kids think that way, probably. He probably felt the same way back, you know. I mean, it doesn't make it right, picking on someone for their interests, but you were a kid."
"Not really," he sighs. The crinkle of the left eyelid is wrong, but he hasn't started it in pencil but pen-as always, he'd not been thinking ahead. It's too late now, so he moves onto the brows, taking his time for each hair. "If anything, growing up made it worse. And," he squints at the paper a little, trying to see it from a different angle, "it was… it's not fair. I'm all he's got, really. He didn't really… have anyone else."
The truth in it is almost ironic, but as it is, it just strikes him as sad.
It's strange, talking about Loki as though he's a real person. Logically, he knows Loki is just another part of his consciousness, but it's never really felt that way. He's always felt… separate, even when Thor had known none of it was true. The way Loki's responses seem uniquely his, not Thor's, and how they can genuinely disagree with each other, or how sometimes Loki will sneak up on Thor and actually frighten him to Hel and back. He just seems so... tangible.
So yeah, it feels nice to finally talk about Loki, even if it's not the full truth. It feels good to let it out.
"I'm sure he had others he could talk to."
With a light hand, he starts to gently shadow the contours of the cheekbones, using his fingertips to smudge them out a little.
She's trying to be comforting, he knows, but it only makes him feel a little silly. Well, it is, he supposes. After all, what is he even doing?
"Maybe," he replies instead. He starts on Loki's hair, varying between long brushing strokes and much shorter ones, trying to get the texture of the waves at the top and then the falling ringlets at the bottom just right. It's a quick sketch, very light. But he's drawn the very same face thousands of times before, and this time he does not have to throw it into the hearth to burn. "Nobody else really saw him."
"What do you mean 'Nobody else really saw him'?" Asks Lady Darcy, speaking up suddenly for the first time in a while, he eyes narrowed.
Thor blanches, and his own skids too far right and it's not a tragic mistake but it's still a mistake. "He, uh… he was just unviable to them, you know? Just a silhouette. In the metaphorical sense. Purely figuratively speaking."
Oh dear, he can feel his fingers getting clammy.
"Hmm… okay." She relaxes back into the couch and Thor relaxes his grip on his pen. "Nah, I was just messing with you. Y'all sounded so serious. Are you almost done with the drawing?"
"Almost," he replies, a cool tide of relief washing over him. He adds a few baby hairs to frame Loki's face, a little more shading to the nose and lips and Loki's ridiculously long eyelashes, just a hint of the shallows of his collarbone.
"Okay," he says slowly, leaning back on his desk chair and holding the paper away from his face so he can assess it from afar. It's good, he thinks, not his best but good enough. "I think it's done."
"Well, show us then!"
Thor's eyes sweep over it dubiously. He's just showing them a drawing after all, so why does it feel as though he is walking along the edge of a precipice unsure of what lies below or how deep it goes? His hands shake.
With a jolt he realises, this is the first time he's ever shown Loki to someone. The first time anyone has even seen Loki, his little brother who doesn't exist.
He stares down at the drawing again.
Someone will actually have some idea of what Loki looks like, the way his eyes smile and crease at the edges, the mischievous glint in his eyes that somehow always look a little sad. It's only a drawing, a mere ghost of the real thing (not a real thing, though), but it's something… physical.
"Come on, Thor," whines Lady Darcy impatiently.
"I, ah- okay."
He holds it up to the camera on the monitor. He's nervous. Righteously so, he assures himself. It's like he is baring to them a piece of his soul which he has never shown anyone else, not even spoken of.
Through the connection he hears Lady Darcy whistle and Jane gasp. They sound impressed, and something inside Thor warms.
"Whoa," says Jane, charmed. "That's really amazing Thor."
"Yeah. Like, damn boi! You got some skeelz."
It's perhaps the first time, someone has complimented Thor on something other than just being big and strong and good with his fighting. Something other than being his father's son.
"Thanks." He chuckles, his cheeks filling with warmth. "I've never shown anyone else my drawings before."
"Really?" Jane asks, stunned. "Not that you have to if you don't want to, but you're really good, Thor. Like that's amazing and it only took like, what, twenty minutes?"
"Yeah, if this SHIELD thing doesn't work out, then you should go to art school or something. People pay for commissions like that," agrees Lady Darcy, nodding to herself.
Thor rubs the back of his neck, feeling bashful. He feels light and happy, a different happy from the type he's used to of the aftermath of a victory, and he's not quite sure what to do with it, but he feels content to bask. "Really?"
"Really."
It kind of feels like he's floating.
They both agree that, no, Loki does not look at all like Thor, and Darcy licks her lips dramatically and says she still thirsts, to which he suggests getting herself some water, even if there is a lack of it in the desert. Jane asks Thor a little more about Loki's hobbies, and her interest piques when he mentions seidr like it always does, before souring.
"Magic is just science we don't understand yet." She scowls, looking petulant. And, to be honest, Thor doesn't know nearly enough about science to discredit that, so he just smiles and says nothing.
By the time Thor checks the timer on the Skype call, he finds they've been talking for over two and a half hours, and it feels simultaneously like it's been forever and they've only just begun.
"It's getting late," he says reluctantly, yawning and stretching. He rolls his shoulders a few times so the stiffened joints crack, massaging the knots in his neck a little.
"Yeah," replies Jane. Neither of them want to end the call.
Seemingly forgotten, Darcy rolls her eyes and huffs, standing up. "Okay. Well, I'm going to bed. You two be good. No video sex please. The walls are thin, and we live in a caravan. Jane, remember to turn the lights off when you're done," and stalks away.
Jane blushes, embarrassed, and Thor can feel himself doing the same. Neither of them say anything for a while, content to just let the silence linger.
It's still good though. The general mood of it. It's a nice atmosphere. Still and soft and calm.
"So um-" starts Jane at the same time as Thor says, "You should-"
"You first!" they both say, again at the same time.
They both cough awkwardly a little and Jane lets out a little laugh, a tinkering giggle, which makes Thor smile.
"Go on," he prompts.
She shakes her head, "No, it's nothing. Just, how are things?"
"Good. They're good. What about for you?"
"Yeah, things are fine over here, too. Slow work and all."
"Mmm." Thor swallows. His eyes feel tired from staring at the bright screen for so long, but he doesn't want to look away. "You should come visit, even just for a little while. Both of you." He adds on quickly.
"Yeah, that'd be nice."
When Thor finally settles into bed for the night he feels tired, and happy and… content. Things feel all right.
It's different here on Earth-of course it is, but that's okay.
And it might not be home but it feels like maybe he can make something here.
A/N- final instalment will be up Sunday!