"I, um, oh my gosh Mr. Thor, uh, your royal highness? You probably don't go by that unless you do then, uh, wow. I'm a big fan!" Peter squeaked and really, under the circumstances, he'd like to see someone who didn't squeak after lighting came down from a clear sky to try and turn him into a fish stick like that messed up Spongebob episode with the fry cook games.

The God of Thunder smiled down at him, friendly and open, and this was simultaneously one of the best and worst days of his life.

"A lively lad you are! Thank you!" He spun his hammer with a quick flourish. "But 'Thor' alone is of appropriate address. It is the norm in Midgard's Northern Americas, is it not?" He shifted a foot and looked down when it nudged against singed papers and an ash-covered backpack. "Ah... I must apologize once more. I promise to offer recompense."

"Nah it's okay, I can take an L."

"Like the letter?"

"Yeah, kinda! But also it means no biggie, I only had half a rough draft and the papers I keep in my folder still look intact." Peter crouched down to shuffle what he could back into the bag, and did a double take when Thor knelt to help him out. "Oh, uh, thanks for the help, Mr. Thor. You don't have to worry about it."

"'Twas a mess of my own doing as my poor landing disturbed your belongings."

"But—"

Thor dropped a handful of stationery and a scorched pair of jeans into Peter's arms, and he fumbled them into his backpack. His sweatshirt was still balled at the bottom of the bag right on top of a scarf and beanie and the hidden pocket he made to keep his dagger. He hadn't needed to use it and he hoped he never had to, but it was a lot better than actively carrying a weapon on his person and no, his webshooters didn't count, but his mom could bypass his spidey-sense no problem now and if he didn't take the dagger himself, he'd find them on the inside of jacket sleeves or tucked in the waistband of his pants. The whole warrior thing was probably the usual, but he was pretty sure Asgard had actual sword classes.

Peter had PE. Those two were not interchangeable.

"Uh, is it okay if we talk in the stairwell?" He asked. The building was too high up for anyone to see, but they were in a residential area and the skies overhead only had a couple burnt orange splotches left in the growing dark. That lightning bolt would've been clear as day to anyone in the area, and #Thor would be trending if it wasn't already.

"Of course," Thor easily agreed. "Though we would have to take many of those stairs to reach the bottom."

"I think it'll be fine if we use their elevator? But we need to, I mean, I..." He sighed. "I'm way too bad at this, man."

Peter held open the door to the stairway for a bemused god and glanced around the rooftop one last time. Charred backpack straps and torn paper scraps on their way to ruin from old snow were all they were leaving, but it was his spidey-sense that eased his nerves as he shut the door behind him.

"I'm so sorry, but real quick let me just—" He pulled out the sweatshirt and held it between his teeth as he tapped along the thick black lines high up on the forearm of the suit, detaching them so he could peel off the material from there to his fingers like a glove. He dropped them in his backpack and yanked the sweatshirt over his head. It fell a bit loosely around the neck and his sleeves covered his hands completely—dang, did he take Ned's? "Is the red noticeable?"

Thor didn't hesitate in nodding from his spot a few steps down. "Red is quite a bright hue."

Peter dragged the scarf out and wrapped it twice around his shoulders, its lopsided snowman smiling at one end. "How about now?"

"Now it is well obscured!" Exclaimed Thor. He tipped his head. "Though I am compelled to admit my confusion— are you... concealing your identity, Spider-Man? Whatever for?"

"Well, my identity's always been a secret. You really weren't supposed to see me without the mask." He winced and tugged on his jeans. The holes were goners even to his newly improved sewing skills, but at least his suit pants could easily pass a pair of leggings. "In the suit I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who usually sticks to Queens, and out of it I'm—I'm Peter Parker, by the way—" and incidentally one of the worst secret identity keepers in the world— "and, uh, it would really mean a lot if you didn't tell anyone about it. Spider-Man can get into a lot of dangerous things, and a lot of people in my life would be better off not getting involved, you know?"

The god looked thoughtful, and it was a little funny to see this otherworldly hero in a grand cape and legitimate shining armor having this conversation in a four foot wide corridor.

"So you don a moniker to protect those you care for," he considered. "Perhaps I myself would have never thought to veil my face and uphold my mystery, but your cause is noble and true." He strode up to clap a large hand on the teen's shoulder, barely holding back a surprised laugh when the force didn't send Peter stumbling. "You are sturdier than you appear!" A short pause. "And you say you know Queens?"

"Born and raised, and if you're looking for something, I can point you in the right direction!" Peter replied. Like the best Thai place was hidden behind a corner, never ask the cashier at the bodega with the Fran Drescher poster in the window why there was a Fran Drescher poster in the window, and Delmar's had the best sandwiches in the borough, just ask Mr. Delmar himself. But if there was more of an interest in the alien kind of thing, he still has a map of every location Chitauri tech had been found or activated. Ned and Karen were the best for helping him maintain it.

Thor wasn't at the airport back in Germany, and Peter honestly couldn't say whose side he would've been on, or if he even would've picked. And maybe he was a little grateful for that. Before the bite—before Ben—he knew the Avengers were always going to be larger than life when they used to live at the tower like a bygone modern Mt. Olympus.

On TV, they were heroes someone like Peter Parker was never going to meet.

Then Mr. Stark came. Then he fought the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Then he fought Captain America. Then he fought a guy who could go ant-sized.

Then he fought the Vulture, alone.

Then he realized that "hero" was a more complicated word than he first thought.

So he knew he should've been holding out for disappointment the moment the sky crackled because the only Thor he knew was from newsreels and shaky phone clips and merch that clogged every souvenir shop on the block. And regardless of the keychain Ned jokingly got him when they killed some time in the neighborhood one day, he couldn't use that to get a read on the guy. Hero. His Majesty.

"I am here more to search than to visit, though I admit I am at a loss at what exactly it is that needs to be found," he said. For a brief moment something in his face changed, dulled and humorless as he asked, "Do you have any grand centers of knowledge in this locality? Those aligned with the sciences or the fine arts? Midgardian histories, perhaps?"

Peter blinked. "Like museums and libraries? Yeah, I can take you to some!" Not what he was expecting, but he wasn't complaining. "A lot of them might already be closed or close around now or in an hour or two, but narrowing down what you're looking for could help if you can think of anything." Thor frowned again, and he waved his hands in front of him. "Not that I'm rushing you! I mean, science, art, and history are super broad subjects and your best bets would be college libraries like Butler or Bobst. Both are in Manhattan, but if you really want to stay in Queens, you'll want to head to the public library at Elmhurst. I don't know if they'll have what you're looking for, but we can try!" He checked his phone. "Sweet! You're lucky, Mr. Thor, Elmhurst closes at eight on Thursdays."

When he looked back up, the god's expression changed again. Something wistful twinkled in his eyes as that charming smile bounced back onto his face. "Then Gefjon must have allowed me some of her good luck to be aided by Queens' defender!" He scratched his chin. "And I suppose I shall also attribute this encounter to Heimdall as well. If I do not, perhaps he would leave me stranded on your planet lest I beg!"

He laughed. Peter was pretty sure he missed the joke.

"Let us make haste, lad!" Thor made a move to spin on his heel and stride down the stairs, but at the last moment whipped back around. "Ah! One last matter!"

The hammer sparked.

And Peter only had half a second to shield his face with his arms before the stairwell enveloped in bright light and his nose filled with the scent of dripping ozone. It dizzied him for a beat, pure energy skimming his skin and rustling his clothes, and when everything evened out another second later and the bulbs above them flickered then steadied, he peeked out.

Gone was the armor and cape and everything else remotely archaic, replaced by a black hoodie under a gray jean jacket and a Spider-Man-red scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. There was even a plain black umbrella in his hand instead of the hammer.

"Dude," Peter gasped. "You can do that kind of magic too?!"

"There were quite numerous opportunities to learn in my fifteen hundred or so years," Thor beamed, and the teen couldn't stop his rising excitement. "My mother is a practitioner of many fine, intricate magicks, and even if it was my brother who had grown with her talent..."

He trailed off, again dulling, again humorless, and suddenly it was like there was permafrost along every one of Peter's bones.

Right. His brother.

Thor cleared his throat and forced a smile. "But yes, your library! If you could lead me there, I would owe you a great debt."

"I got you, Mr. Thor. And really, it's no biggie."

Maybe a little more of a biggie than he was letting himself believe, but he could have a crisis about it later if everything went back to his sort-of normal. Right now they had to make the thirty-ish minute commute to Elmhurst without getting found out and the sun down was a huge help, but as he looked at Thor he noticed the neat braids in his pulled back hair and the colored strips of leather woven through them.

Peter tugged out his beanie. It had a black pom pom on top and a couple fuzzy threads sticking out, and the words 'cool guy' in block letters ran across the cuff.

"Do you want to use a hat?"

::

Loki reclined in his armchair as he read the next book in his list of popular Midgardian literatures, fiction and non-fiction alike. Stephen Hawking, Anne Frank, Zhu Xi, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Victor Hugo, Zora Neale—just to name a few of the hundreds he hungrily dove through. He always made a point to pick up a novel or two with every visit and when Peter was but a babe and found his toes more fascinating than the the Goodnight Moon he had been assured was age-appropriate listening. As he was taking a more... lasting stay in this realm, there was certainly enough time to enjoy what he could.

He sipped his wine.

There were also other writers Peter said were quite popular, though sensational in a different way. John Green, Lemony Snicket, Neil Gaiman. He added those ones closer to the top of the list.

Bzzt.

Peter: don't panic [6:34pm]

Peter: bc i totally have this under contrl [6:34pm]

Peter: nd i don't want u to get in trouble and i promise i'll be a-ok [6:34pm]

Peter: so will u please please plaese stay at home or work or wherevr u r? [6:34pm]

Peter: please [6:35pm]

Loki peered at the succession of bubbles lighting up his phone and the Spider-Man insignia picture he set up as his 'lock screen.' That was the first time he watched his son grow so red and flail with his most adoring embarrassment, and his fondest memory to date had been when the boy swung through his window solely to accuse him of getting May to change her lock screen to match.

Which he had, of course. There was nothing wrong with being proud.

Though it did nothing to settle the disquieting feeling each new text bubbles granted.

Me: I will if you promise me that you are alright. [6:35pm]

Peter: yea! i swear! [6:35pm]

Peter: so [6:36pm]

With the long stretch that came with the three small dots at the bottom of his and Peter's correspondence, he took a moment to slide his bookmark in place. Unfortunately, his confidence was too high in that whatever would come would not allow him peace of mind to read for the remainder of the night.

Peter: thor appeared on the roof where i was doing my hw and now i'm helping him look for something but i don't kno what it is? he asked for museums and libraries in queens specificaly so it doesn't sound like sumthing big and he doesn't kno about u either i don't think so u should be safe but i'll make sure we don't go near ur place. like he doesn't look angyr or anything and he's dressed n normal human clothes and looks pretty unrecognizable so ther won't be any news from that i think [6:38pm]

Peter: oh and he saw me w out my mask [6:38pm]

Peter: but he promised not to tell [6:39pm]

Loki stared at the block of text before imbibing the rest of his wine in a single gulp.

Me: If I do not see you physically alive and well by midnight tonight, I will look for you myself. [6:41pm]

::

A comical appearance of alarm took hold of the lad's face when he looked down at his rectangular device as they both slid out the yellow car, but before he could put forth an inquiry, the driver lowered his window and poked out his head.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Ferret! Mr. Ferret's friend!" He smiled. "And your rides are still under Mr. Pool's name, so you don't need to worry."

"Wait, still?" Peter questioned. "Come on, can't you just let me pay and not tell Wade?"

"No can do, I appreciate my kneecaps exactly where they are."

"I'll try to talk to him. Again. And withhold nacho privileges if I have to," he added in a grumble. He sighed and pocketed the device before a grin overtook his young features and he held out his fist towards the driver. The other man made a fist of his own and their knuckles tapped—though neither of them had mustered any strength for sound impact. "Thanks for the ride, Dopinder."

"Anytime. Take care!"

As the car rumbled down the street, Thor fell into step with the boy beside him. And boy was not a stretch nor offense—his youth was not well hidden and his mannerisms reflected the kind of naivete born from only adolescence. He had yet to be well read on Midgardian cultures and customs, so he was sure to make up for his lack of quick cleverness with simple observation. Peter was young by his own homeworld's standards, and with the way humans treated their children, there was no doubt his age must be in contention with the mask called Spider-Man. He wondered if Stark knew of him.

The lad was hopeful, voluble, spirited about the eyes.

... Much like how his brother had been so long ago.

His scarf slipped a bit off the bottom of his face, and he watched his breath pool into small clouds.

Asgard did not have a changing season like Midgard. Their realm did not curve and he needed to mind his strength due to the change of gravity, durability, density, interdimensional cosmology—but that was something Loki would take any joy and interest in explaining, and Thor wished he could stand here and feign boredom while he listened to his brother tangle himself up in his lively ramblings. Unburdened. Happy.

He... could not recall the exact moment things went wrong. Perhaps it had been when Father praised him for his kills on hunts instead of Loki's gift of form changing, or perhaps when the appearance of elegantly crafted daggers could no longer be found on the grounds Thor tended to frequent, or it could have been when his beloved little brother expended long bouts of absence only to finally return home angry and bitter (and heartsick). He did not know what he should have done but he knew he should have done more of it—too late a realization. He knew that too.

And yet, Thor ached.

It had been three long years since Loki died in his arms, and he was still haunted.

"Aaaaand this looks like the history section," Peter displayed with a wave. It seemed to have been out of his attention that there was no longer a glance of the chill along his cheekbones. The lad somehow contained the same level of enthusiasm in his whispers as his exclamations, and as they stood next to one of the tall shelves, there were little patrons left in the building. He expected the library's daily closure to be soon. "Uh, I don't mind helping you look for whatever you need, but I don't really know what you're looking for?"

Thor blinked. What he was looking for. Right, he had been looking...

Walls of books stared him down, and he was surprised that this realization accosted him faster than they usually do.

"... Ah," he breathed. "Please excuse me, Peter. I believe that I have wasted your time."

Peter frowned, and that too reminded him of his most persistent ghost.

Norns, he's getting worse.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

A broken laugh spilled past his lips and the hand not tightly gripped around Mjolnir's guise tucked deep into his jacket pocket. A fool—it had been one of Loki's favorite insults that often led to arguments and horseplay and a ruckus about the palace. Before he thought all that in jest, because how could Loki take all that seriously? How could he, after all those years growing up together, believe that his own brother did not care?

Thor's shoulders dropped. And how could he let Loki think it?

"Peter, " he murmured. "We've not known each other long, but I find myself asking something of you once more. Since you have allowed your trust in me in keeping your secret, will you keep this one of mine?"

Peter nodded quickly. "Yeah, Mr. Thor, of course."

"My brother perished on Svartalfheim a year after he reigned terror in this city. He had been imprisoned in the dungeons for the entirety of that year, yet he saved my life as well as Jane's by way of sacrifice. His own." He shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I left his body in that wasteland corroded by the dark matter in its own star system and I... It was too late when I went back for him. There was no trace, most likely led to ruin by the caustic atmosphere."

He'd searched. By the endless cosmos had he searched, scouring the remains of that battlefield and everywhere encircling it. And nothing.

"I was lost for longer than I care to admit. I could not go to my father, for he would have little to say, and I could not go to my mother, for I had known that she would have smiled, and held me, and told me to mourn as I took all the time I needed to let go. But I could not let go, so I could not let her see me make what she thinks is one more wrong decision."

Peter wrung his hands as he listened.

"My warrior brethren and Loki had little amiable interactions and with how many secrets he kept close to his chest, he had no true companions I knew of. So I wandered for another long while, lost in musings and memories that I often brought up with my dear friend Heimdall. It was only recently that he spoke of something I had never heard." Thor's expression twisted, brows pulling down and lips pressed flat. "There was a period, it must have been fifteen or sixteen years ago now, in which my brother disappeared for months at a time. About nine to ten full cycles of your moon, at the longest. No one knew where he had gone and I suspect Heimdall had a hand in the ploy, but he informed me that it was to Midgard to which Loki traveled—North America, New York, New York City, Queens. He would not say more."

There were even fewer people here now. A person was at a far table and a couple others were squished into a corner at the other side of the room, and no one cared to cast them a glance.

"I do not know if there is anything left of him here, and if there was, where it would be. And by my own irrational thoughts, I believed some miraculous force would present me with what—who—I search for; that if I went anywhere Loki would love or have any interest, I would find him." He swallowed down a twinge, and his lips quivered. "But a library is just a library, and I will not find any of my answers here." He rubbed the back of his neck and forced a wide grin. "Foolish, am I not?"

Peter's face, honestly expressive in the couple hours he had come to know him, filled with sincerity. "I don't think you're foolish at all. You miss him, and you shouldn't blame yourself for that."

Thor's face didn't crumple, but it was a near thing.

"An-And I don't know how much it means coming from me but, uh, if Loki were here, I think he'd be touched that you've been looking for him for so long." The lad offered a small smile, accentuating the boyish rounds of his face. "You're a good brother, Mr. Thor."

If only he had been.

But when Peter gazed at him with those budding brown eyes, good and true and kind, he almost believed it. And peculiarly, he found those eyes awash with the most minute speckles of green.

::

Peter jumped when the door opened before he could even dig out his spare key and let himself get tugged inside of the apartment.

"Of all the beings you could have crossed paths with, it of course needs to be Thor," Loki hissed as he shut the front door with a wave of his hand. He held either side of the teen's face as he turned it this way and that, trying to spay any bruise or injury he might be hiding. Man, he didn't say anything about some cracked ribs one time— "What did he do? What did he say?" Loki brushed his fingers through unkempt curls, searching for any bumps or blood spots along the way. "And what problem could he possibly bother you with that he could not figure out on his own—"

He flung his arms around Loki and squeezed, his burnt and torn backpack still dangling from one hand.

"—oh." A pair of arms wrapped around him in return and held onto him just as tightly. "So something did happen? If he dragged you into one of his messes—"

"No it's just," Peter's voice muffled against the shoulder his face was smushed against. Since coming to Earth he hasn't seen Loki in anything Asgard-esque, sticking to suits, button-ups, and everything business-like and wrinkle-free. But tonight he was dressed in a green tunic and a simple leather vest that reached down to his knees; it was a far cry from the fancy armor he wore during his first real introduction, but he didn't doubt he was any less ready to fight, "I'm glad I got to meet you and that we get along."

Loki pulled away, worry in every inch of his face as he held his shoulders steady. "Now you have my utmost concern."

"I... Do you hate Mr. Thor? No-Not that it was any of my business! He's just really torn up about you, um." He glanced down. "Dying."

"What?"

Two heavy knocks sounded at the door.

"Peter!" A terribly familiar voice boomed. Peter dropped his backpack. "I am remiss to have forgotten to return your 'cool guy' headwear, though it does look quite dashing on myself, and Heimdall was kind enough to direct me to your current whereabouts—"

"Oh my god I swear I didn't tell him anything I made sure he went up in that rainbow beam-me-up light before I swung all the way here!" Peter whisper-shouted.

"Heimdall."

The name seethed like acid, and Peter clamped his mouth shut as a spark of something vicious flashed across Loki's face as he glanced toward the door. He was mad when he met Dr. Strange, but he was furious now, sharp energy pulsing along his skin and dark shadows lurking in his gaze. This was the person who led an invasion over the city, and could've had every capability of succeeding.

But then he looked back at Peter, and it was gone.

"You need not convince me that this was not your doing," he assured quietly. "Heimdall is all-seeing. Though I have discovered a way to cloak myself from his gaze, he has known of you since your birth. I should have hidden you from him as soon as you summoned me." He paused, then cursed in a language Peter didn't recognize. "So now you choose to have an inkling of a brain."

"I need no brain to know your magic."

Loki's eyes fell shut, shifting from pained to resigned to haughty, almost as if he was an actor preparing for a role. Peter wondered if being the God of Lies also meant being the God of Pretending.

"Two runes etched in the bottom corner by the hinge of any door you currently stand behind—one to help keep noise from leaking, the other to warn of presence," Thor said, suddenly at the entryway of the living room. His tone loosened and faltered near the end, and the tiniest crackle of electricity slithered along his umbrella handle. "How did you think I always found where you were in the palace?"

"The runes are hidden."

"The runes are yours."

Loki turned and moved Peter behind him.

"I cannot believe you are alive, after all this time," Thor said as his face screwed up. "I mourned you." His throat strained, each word fractured as they fought to push past his mouth without drawing his tears. "And here you are after all this time living among the people you once almost destroyed!"

Peter tensed. Uh-oh.

He couldn't see Loki's face, but he watched his back straighten just so as a dagger slipped out from somewhere and into his waiting hand. "Ah, you have only just arrived in my home to preach my sins as if I am not aware of them myself. Are you done, or will you leave?"

"If you think I will leave of my own volition, you are sorely mistaken."

Thor took a step forward. Peter stumbled when Loki took a step back and brandished his blade.

"Brother, please. I can't lose you agai—"

spike

The dagger was halfway across the room when Peter darted in front of his mom, hand stretching out as the umbrella rippled and shimmered back into the hammer as it was thrown back in response.

It probably wouldn't have hit—Loki was too quick and too magic-y and Thor clearly loved his sibling too much—but he couldn't let two gods duke it out in the middle of a high-rise in the middle of Queens. That was exactly the type of thing that would hit news stations for the whole week; an Avengers-level shebang that could hurt a lot of people and put May and his friends in danger and bring Mr. Stark down on his head and get Dr. Strange after Loki who'd been arrested for all the things he did before and—and he wasn't equipped to break into a wizard dungeon—

He caught the hammer by its silver head before flipping it to grasp it by its handle.

"If there's going to be a fight, it has to be outside!" He exclaimed, gesturing vaguely with the newly-acquired weapon. It was way lighter than he thought it'd be. "Where there's no people, and no cameras, and far enough for no one to hear. Or see. Or, actually, that might be pretty far and, uh..."

He trailed off when his only reply was silence and two sets of incredulous eyes locked on him.

Loki stared with a bright mix of wonderment and pride. Thor, on the other hand, stood with his jaw dropped and stance frozen, his eyes drifting from his hammer to Peter to his hammer once more. Oh man, he hoped he hadn't committed a cardinal offense on Asgard for bad weapon etiquette or anything like that, he hadn't heard any stories about that yet.

For another few beats a heavy silence sat in the midst of the dark living room.

Then Thor's expression morphed, all previous traces of severity gone in a flash of lightning.

"Peter," he said. "How do you know my brother?"

He felt one of Loki's hands curling protectively over his shoulder.

Loki probably wouldn't get mad at him for telling the truth. God of Lies and Mischief was one of the more universal titles attached to his lore, especially in all the old books and online encyclopedias Peter knew not to trust ever since whole pantheons turned out to be real and alien and if he'd gotten the memo that one of them was his mother, maybe he would've learned to get better at lying on the spot.

But trying to lie to Thor? The guy who spent three years looking for someone he thought was dead because it was something he just could never let go?

He squared his posture and kept his bearings. "I'm his son."

"Son?"

And suddenly the biggest, most genuine grin Peter had ever seen stretched across his face. His spidey-sense stayed traitorously silent when Thor bolted across the room in a flash and hefted him into his arms, hammer and all, and swung him in circles.

"A nephew! Brother, you're alive and you've given me a nephew!"

Peter let himself get rag-dolled, or at least he didn't mind it too much because it wasn't like he could toe-to-toe with a literal myth. That, and his feet were about a foot off the ground and he was getting carried by the coolest Avenger—

"Thor, don't you DARE—"

Thor picked up Loki and smooshed against his son, his unnecessarily muscled arms locked around them like a vice.

"Put me down, you brainless oaf!"

"So you can abscond yourself and fake your death another time? I think not!" He squeezed tighter, and Peter blinked. What. The heck. Was happening. "This calls for a celebration! Drinks, all around!"

"Absolutely not!"

"I'm not old enough to dr-drink?"

::

After Peter turned in for the night at Loki's gentle request, a quiet settled over the apartment and Thor's mighty grin mellowed into a smile. Really, what fate to meet such a pleasant lad only to discover he was family! The spirals in his chest and the exhaustion of three years worn of grief and sorrow were mere rumbles at the back of his head as he took it all in—his brother healthy, his nephew lively, the two of them in obvious care for one another on a planet the former had before been so adamant in proclaiming in his hate for.

It incited a warmth in his chest he thought he'd forgotten.

"Peter is yours by blood?" He asked.

Loki scoffed. "Do you find that hard to believe? You cannot fathom how someone worthy could come from someone so poisonous?"

"Brother," he frowned. Ah, and there it was. This distance. This abyss between their feet. It felt like eons since the last time he had even been called 'brother' in genuine return. "You know very well my words held no such ill-intent."

Loki turned with a furrow in his brow, arms crossing his chest as he looked away.

"... I bore him here on Midgard, fifteen years ago," he said. "It was summer, nearly mid-August."

"Alone?"

"How else was I supposed to be?"

"On Asgard! In the palace!" Thor exclaimed. He had witnessed a birth once in the midst of battle on a realm he could not currently recall. It had been loud and bloody and the soon-to-be-mother wept in tears of pain and fear, and he loathed to imagine his brother in such a state without a sliver of comfort. "You would have been safe and Peter would have been raised a prince—"

Loki chuckled under his breath, a hollow sound.

"Yes, why did I never think of that? I should have strode in through golden doors with my announcement in the wind. 'Mother! Father! You will be pleased to know I'm with child out of wedlock, his father a human with no knowledge of my true kind! Let us host a celebration!'" He gritted his teeth. "You idiotic, thick-headed fool. Do you really believe they would have let Peter roam the halls with such blood in his veins? Mortal and Jötunn—" he spat the name like a slur, and on Asgard, it might as well have been— "I did not know I was a monster then, but Odin did, and he would have slain him in his first sleep."

He heaved a heavy breath and massaged his fingers across the space above his eyes.

"And now a criminal in addition to it all," he muttered. "It will take more to survive this time."

"I..."

And Thor stopped.

Before, he would have protested, defended their father who had raised them both to be kings. But then why raise them with resentment for the frost giants when it was who Loki was, why promise them both the same world when there was only one not to share, why favor, and favor so obviously that now the damage could not be undone?

"Your birthright was to die as a child!" Father's voice reverberates in the throne room, echoing down and around his youngest wrought in chains. "Cast out on a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me."

"I do not know if he would have, but I understand why it is something you fear," he said. "I am sorry I was not there for you then, but... This life you have now is quiet. Free of the complications of home." He lightened his air. "And perhaps it would be to your benefit if Father continues to think your death on Svartalfheim was your last."

Loki stilled and slowly turned his gaze back on him.

"You will not force me back?"

"Never. You have my word."

"And when has any word of yours been good to me?"

The distrust stung like a Fossegrim drawing one's hand across fiddle strings until it bled, but he should know better. But even with the anger, grief, exhaustion that already rattled in his ribs and held hostage his heart, he meant what Loki would not allow him to speak.

"Then it is my hope that one day soon you will consider them so," Thor said. "No matter how long it will take or how much blood I will shed, I will be here for you as your brother and for Peter as his uncle. Asgard will not harm either of you as long as I am here and I promise you, I will stay."

There was an openness to Loki's expression, displaying the cumbersome weight of fatigue that seemed to ease in Peter's presence. He looked to have a million things to say and a million more to snap, but green eyes flickered towards the direction of Peter's door and sighed.

"He has lessons early in the morning. I do not want him to wake if our talk escalates."

"Brother—"

"Go," Loki told him, holding no room for argument. He spun around and faced some of the hundreds of books he kept on these shelves. "Is it not as you said? You already know where to find me."

It was not a final dismissal nor a promise to disappear the very next day, and that warmth in Thor's chest stoked and burned brighter.

"Sleep well, Brother," he bid softly. "I will see you soon." Because I do not know what I would do if I had to watch myself lose you again.

::

The sheets were more expensive than he'd ever pay for and the bed would've taken up half his whole room back at May's, and he wished he could just bury himself in it and sleep. It was one of the rare days he could get more than six hours before school the next day, especially since Loki's apartment was farther than May's and he needed to get up earlier for the commute.

Peter shut his eyes and tried not to feel like the worst for not saying anything about his enhanced hearing.

(He doesn't think it's working.)