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Chapter Text

We begin our story in the Kingdom of Asgard. It was plagued with a depression; one brought about the new Queen’s infertility. The royal couple’s sadness had radiated throughout the land, seemingly making everything darker. No light shone through the endless shade until one early autumn morning, as the leaves fell from the trees in a rain of golden brown and rusty red, when the King and Queen stepped out onto the balcony, hand entwined. The couple’s excitement was almost palpable as the public waited for whatever announcement they were about to make. The King’s familiars, two ravens of the names Huginn and Muninn, were also visibly excited – or as excited as ravens could get; they kept shifting their weight as they stayed close to their master, the intimacy calming them. The Queen’s own familiar was in a similar state. The hare, dubbed Sigyn, nuzzled her ankle, grounding the both of them. The crowd itself bustled with activity, only quieting when the King opened his mouth to speak.

            “People of Asgard,” he began, his voice layered with emotion, “you have remained loyal to the throne for many years, and, yet, you have managed to maintain an inspirational optimism as we experienced the worst hurdle of my rule, beginning almost five years ago.” The King took a deep breath and stood a little taller. “My wife and I have gathered you all here today to announce that the Gods have blessed us for our patience and resilience.” The crowd began to murmur as the King once again paused. “My wife is with child!” He said it with such a pride that the people below cheered instantly, sharing the emotions of their monarchs. They would soon have a prince or princess! It was a blessing. The fates surely looked upon them.

            Sure enough, in the middle of the summer season, the Queen gave birth to a boy with blue eyes that contained the spirit of the storm. It was because of this, that his parents gave him the name Thor.

            However, the birthing process had been taxing on the Queen’s strength. Her health waned and it seemed that her life began to fade; she became pale, and sweat lined her body like a second skin. The King wept by her bedside at night after he tended to their son. Everyone who knew of her ailment prayed for her health.

            It was fortunate, perhaps, when a man by the name of Alexander Pierce approached the Palace, claiming to be a special healer. He was an unassuming man, with fair hair and blue eyes and a sympathetic smile. In his desperate state, the King accepted the help of this stranger, unwittingly giving the man access to every corner of the Palace. If the King was in his right mind, he would have been wary of the stranger’s familiar – a golden lion tamarin with cruel eyes and a tight grip.

            Pierce seemed to do as he promised. Less than a week after he used his foreign medicine to heal the Queen, she was all but perfectly healthy again. As a reward, the King appointed Pierce a place on his council. In time, he became the Royal Advisor and the King’s most trusted ally. By the time the second prince was born he had fully integrated himself into the lives of the Royal Family, becoming so important to them that he was entrusted with the education of Prince Thor, (despite how disillusioned the three-year old had become with the written word).

            When the youngest prince, and the hero of our story, Steven, had begun his own learning, the differences between the two boys had become more apparent. Whilst they shared the same fair hair and blue eyes as their sire, Prince Thor was more physically inclined than Prince Steven, for the birth of the young royal had been even more difficult for the Queen than the first. She had gone into premature labour, causing hysteria amongst the servants and creating complications for her child. The excruciating birth almost destroyed her womb, leaving her without the ability to carry a child. This early birth also spawned a weakness in the baby; he had bones so brittle, many speculated that they were as hollow as the bones of a bird. The physical contrast between the boys bled out into their interests, plainly seen in the progress of their education. Prince Thor focused his efforts into emulating his father, who he admired as a great warrior. His younger brother compensated for his lack of physical strength by excelling in his studies and, though he enjoyed learning, he devoted much of his energy to his art. The King and Queen, despite these differences, loved them both equally.

            However, on the eve of Prince Steven’s second name day. A dishevelled Alexander Pierce sought the help of the Queen. He rushed to her for aid, a small bundle cradled in his arms, darting through the corridors of the Palace soundlessly in an attempt to remain unnoticed. His familiar clutched onto his shoulder, peering down at the object with an expression of distain. Pierce hurried his footstep. The golden lion tamarin jumped suddenly from his shoulder and contorted in the air, its body shifted and twisting until its form was no longer that of an animal, but of a human. He was a short person, his fairly stumpy legs trying hard to keep up with his master. He had a round face and a pointed nose and looked every bit as malicious as his animal form.

            “Why are we letting the creature live, master?” He asked, his voice accented and nasally. “It should have died with its mother. It would be a blessing to cut its throat.”

            “Be quiet, Zola.” Pierce looked at the short man with disgust gleaming in his eyes. It is clear that he would have struck him if not for the object in his arms. “We need him. He is our opportunity to control the throne.” He replied coldly. “You know as well as I that the Queen wishes dearly to have another child. She will not object to the inclusion of this one into her family. Even if she would hold reservations, she will not be able to deny the child’s right to a family once she looks at him.”

            “I just don’t understand how this little swine can ensure our ascension to sovereignty. He will be the youngest of them all; he would not be equal in neither responsibility nor power. We should have just killed him when we had the chance.” Pierce stopped instantly. He turned to face Zola with an expression that promised pain. The familiar squawked in fear and jumped back, his mode of protection being to shift back into his red-haired simian form.

            “Le Fay knew what she was doing when she kept the child. We must trust in the fate she had chosen for him. She meant for the boy to be the foot hold into controlling the throne.” The foreigner said menacingly. “The boy is also of my blood. That, in itself, makes him capable of anything. As long as we maintain control of him.”

            Pierce’s predictions were correct; the Queen had taken a single look at the baby’s emerald eyes and she saw in him what she could no longer have – another child. The baby had soft, cold skin that was as pale as the snow that fell upon Asgard every winter, his hair was as black as obsidian and was both smooth and soft, like the feathers of a groomed raven, and his eyes were like green crystals and they seemed to light up in joy when the Queen took hold of his tiny fist that he offered up to her. He squealed happily, causing the mother to smile down at him. Her husband, also, appeared to find the small child endearing and agreed to house the child.

            “We shall take him in and raise him as an Odinson.” The King declared to his wife and friend. “He shall have all that he desires and his brothers shall love him as they do each other.” And they smiled.

            The Royal Couple waited almost a month after their second son’s name-day to announce the arrival of their new family member. They wished for their people to believe that their youngest son, named Loki, to be of their blood. They blamed the inheritance of his dark hair and eyes on Odin’s mother, Bestla and the people did not question it for they remembered the old Queen’s strength and beauty. The two Princes’ were also excited about the arrival of their new brother; for Thor, he was different. Since Loki was seemingly the opposite to his brothers in terms of his appearance, Thor became curious as to why he was different to Steven and himself. For Steven, he was someone to play with. The two year old may have enjoyed being read to, however, he was excited for the day he, himself, would be able to read to his new little brother.

The three boys became close within a few years. Prince Steven loved to spend time with his baby brother and play with him when their parents were busy and the elder was not occupied with his studies. Prince Thor would love to show his growing skill in combat to his brothers. Steven would praise him, though he was slightly jealous of him due to his small stature and the fact that he could barely lift a sword above his skinny waist. Loki would clap his chubby hands when Thor would turn and smile at him when he defeated an opponent. The small child loved the attention they gave him and became lonely quickly.

            However, this began to change when the youngest prince began ‘specialised’ studies with Alexander Pierce. When the child was six years old, he started to show signs of magical ability. He was watching Thor and his friends spar when of them, the daughter of Captain Tyr, Sif, approached him, harbouring hostility in her eyes.

            “Loki.” She called to him. “Why do you never join in?” To Thor and his companions it seemed like a harmless question, but to the young boy who had developed an affinity for reading people and sensing emotion, the mocking intention was written all over her face and body. She cocked her hip to the side, the movement too sharp to be a curious shift.

            The dark haired boy looked at the girl, a frown on his face. “Whilst you may enjoy the senseless brutality of war, I prefer to spend my time immersed in my studies. It would not do well for Asgard if all of her inhabitants were morons.” He replied. However small his voice was, his point was clear and loud to Sif who immediately took offence.

            “Morons?!”She shrieked. She took a threatening step towards him and he looked her right in her eyes. She gritted her teeth together and struck out suddenly.

            Loki yelped as he fell back and he threw his arms out behind him to catch himself. Green smoke erupted from his fallen body and Sif was thrown from her place. She landed on her back, dazed and confused. What had happened? Sif was much stronger than Loki, so how had he managed to throw her back? The young boy was staring at his own hands, wandering about the very same thing.

            The green smoke had dissipated only a little and had gathered around his legs to remain like a cloud. “W-what’s happening?” He stuttered, bewildered and a little afraid by the mist.

            “Loki?” Thor had run up to his brother and friend once he had looked over to see Sif on her back and his brother with an expression of fear on his face. He tried to approach his brother who stepped back quickly in an attempt to keep him safe.

            “Don’t come near me!” He said in a panicked tone. The smoke reacted to his emotions and struck out a little, as if trying to poke something that was in front of him. “It’ll hurt you.” He backed away even more, the smoke continuing to follow him.

            “Loki, let me help you.” Thor asked gently, trying to convince his brother to accept his help in vain. The younger boy shook his head roughly and retracted his arms into his chest.

            Thor was startled when something touched his shoulder softly, and he whipped his head round to see what it was; Alexander Pierce stood behind him, looking upon the scene with concern in his eyes. Thor wondered why he was there, when he saw the sheepish expression that his friend, Fandral wore. “Please, Sir Pierce, he didn’t mean to hurt Sif.” The prince pleaded.

            Pierce smiled at Thor reassuringly. “Don’t worry, son. He’s not in trouble. In fact, he’s very special.” Loki, having heard his words, stared at him, hope causing his emerald eyes to glitter with a different kind of tear. “Come, Loki. We’ll get you sorted out.” He held his hand out to him.

            “What if it hurts you?” His small voice asked.

            “You know I’m not going to hurt you. This mist is a part of you, Loki. If you know I’m not a threat, your magic won’t harm me, or anyone else.” Hesitantly, Loki took the offered hand, his fingertips tingling when they made contact with the cold skin of his teacher.

            Magic. Loki thought joyously. A jolt of excitement ran through him as he followed Pierce. The green mist trailed behind them, twisting and turning in the air as if dancing.

            It was from that moment that Loki knew he was different to his brothers. Pierce helped him nurture and grow his magic until it was something powerful. When the youngest prince turned eleven, his magic became tangible, as it did for all warlocks of his age. In the shape of a magpie, with feathers that were so black they were envied by the darkness and contrasting white ones that made the sun weep in shame because they were so bright, Ikol was born. He became a precious friend to Loki, who had difficulty creating bonds with other people. These social skills had seemingly been divided between his brothers, who were adept at making people think that they were ‘so nice’ or ‘charming little things’.

            That is not to say they were neither nice nor charming. Prince Thor always smiled at guests and servants, and Prince Steven always asked about the families of guests and thanked the servant with sincere concern and gratefulness. Everyone enjoyed spending time with the two elder princes because of their friendly and optimistic demeanours. In fact, on one day out to the market with their mother, the Princes Steven and Loki met a group of orphan boys that were instantly charmed by the elder’s soft smiles and curiosity. It had taken them a little longer to warm up to the younger boy, finding his more silent approach to be a little strange.

            The group of boys that the two princes had met were very welcoming, if not for a little hesitance which was expected. They had taken Prince Steven’s bony arm and led him to their home; it was small and quaint and perfect in all the ways a home needed to be. It was too small for all of them to have a room each, but none of them seem to have cared. The walls had paintings on - though rudimentary since they were obviously painted by an amateur artist. There was a lovely couple who looked after the children. One was an older man, Chester Phillips, with a seemingly gruff exterior; however, he was a rather kind man once you peeled away the tough outside. The woman he worked with – his wife, who insisted on being called Maggie – was as sweet as cake. She loved to lather the boys with affection, making sure that all of their achievements were praised, no matter how small.

            The boys themselves were full of smiles and cheer. Their group consisted of six boys, all between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. The eldest was James Dugan, who the other boys referred to as ‘Dum Dum’. He reminded Steven of his own elder brother, Thor, because of his teasing personality. He often made jokes at the expense of the other children, but it was never meant maliciously, which was easily recognised by the other boys who gave as good as they got. The second eldest was a boy named Montgomery Falsworth. He was the newest to the orphanage and was the most educated of the group. This meant he would help the other children with their studies and he did it well; he encouraged them with large smiles and tight hugs and he never lost his patience when one of the boys could not understand. He was helped by Gabriel Jones. This young boy of only fifteen had lived most of his life on the streets, his darker skin meaning that he had to survive much abuse from the less accepting of the kingdom. Eventually, he found a home with the Phillips’ and realised he had a gift for languages and he would spend much of his time speaking with another boy, Jacques Dernier, in the latter’s native language. Dernier was from a neighbouring kingdom and was adopted by the Phillips after his parents were killed in a random attack in an alleyway close-by. There was another boy with foreign heritage; Jim Morita. His parents were hunted down for being spies and their son was subsequently left behind.

            However, none of the boys were as close to the princes as the orphan named James Barnes. He insisted on being called ‘Bucky’ since the only thing he could recall were his parents affectionately calling him that as a young child. These six orphaned children had become very dear to the second prince in the following years, and to Prince Loki, they were the only ones to give him a chance to be genuinely liked for who he was.

            Too bad it wouldn't last.

Chapter Text

“C’mon, Stevie!” Bucky laughed one day, pulling the second prince along by his sleeve. Several years had passed since they had met and they were as inseparable as prince and a poor orphan could be, not to mention the solid friendship that had formed when Bucky’s own familiar, Natasha, a chameleon, had materialised. Everyone was surprised when Natasha formed; the boy had shown no signs of magical ability at all.

The skinny blonde followed his friend without question, faking an expression of seriousness as a mockery of hesitance and caution for he knew that he would follow Bucky wherever he went. The larger boy, whose blue eyes were alight with excitement and mischief, jerked his friend forward until they reached the main road.

“Bucky, what are you doing? I have to go back to the palace soon, the parade is about to start.” The prince whined.

“I know, that’s why we are here.” He pushed through the crowd that had gathered around the roadside until he reached the other side. “Here we are, Stevie. Bet you ain’t seen the parade like this.” Steven, who had followed Bucky through the gathering of people, stopped in confusion. Natasha was set onto Steve’s shoulder gently and she nuzzled his ear affectionately.

“No, but, Buck…”

“No ‘buts’, Steve. Stay for a little while longer. You’ll love it. Promise.” Bucky chewed on his thumbnail as he always did when his doubts and worries began to take a hold of his mind. “Then you can go. I don’t wanna get you into trouble.”

Steve smiled at his friend comfortingly. “It’s okay. I’m sure my mother will forgive me if I’m a little late. Anyway, it’s not my parade, is it?”

Before long, said parade began and a procession of knights made their way down the road, leading towards the castle. It was awe-inspiring. The knights were upon their horses, their backs straight and powerful as their chests jutted out in pride. They moved forward in a coordinated formation, making sure their Generals were in the middle, close to what was essentially the main attraction of the event; Crown Prince Thor Odinson. It was the Nmae-Day Ceremony for the eldest prince who was now old enough to join battles and lead his own quests as a commander of the Royal Army. Steve and Bucky stood close together, staring up at the knights who seemed like they were from another world entirely.

Suddenly, Steve felt something nudge his ribs lightly. He looked up, startled, at Bucky who pointed to the furthest part of the parade that was visible to them. The small prince strained his eyes, but he could just make out a flash of red, a burst of colour in the golden river of soldiers, and as it got closer, he realised it was his brother. Natasha changed her skin to match that of the royal blue shirt that Steve wore. He looked so regal on his horse, like a proper prince. He made Steve envious of his ability to be what his parents desired in a son. Not that he doubted his parents’ love for him; it was simply easier for them to care for the son with the most hope of living past his twentieth name day.

Unfortunately, Steve was too far into his own thoughts that he didn’t attempt to hide when Thor rode past him, the elder’s eyes widening in panic as he saw his younger brother in the crowd. Bucky pushed Steve lightly, shaking him from his stupor and watched the strange facial expressions that the brothers seemed to try and communicate through.

“We should leave, Bucky.” Steve said in a rush, not giving his friend time to respond as he began to walk back through the crowd the way they came. “I wasn’t supposed to stay for long.” Natasha scuttled from his shoulder and shifted as she jumped to the ground.

She appeared as a young, teenage girl, around the same age as Bucky and Steve. She had fiery red hair that was short and wild, and green eyes that seemed just as fierce. She stood in front of Steve, blocking his way out, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Stop, Steve.” She said, authority seeping from her words. “It’s too late to get back unnoticed now.” She commented. Steve simply looked at her as if to say, ‘so?’. She sighed and explained; “Your parents already know you’ve gone. Thor finding you here simply means that they will know that you are safe.”

Steve still looked unconvinced. He shifted for a moment, his eyes large and thoughtful. “Fine. I won’t panic about this, but I will go home. You two should return, too. You know you weren’t supposed to be out today, either.”

Bucky smirked in reply. “Whatever.” He waved his friend off and patted his back gently, though even that was enough to put the smaller boy off balance. “C’mon, Stevie,” he said jovially, “let’s get you home.”

It took them a little longer to get back to the palace since there were so many people trying to see the eldest Prince. It was lucky that nobody recognised the young boy, though he didn’t leave the palace often due to his poor health. The boys, and Natasha who had returned to her chameleon form, pushed their way through the crowd. When they returned, sneaking through a secret route that Loki had found for them when they were younger, they rushed to Steve’s chambers where he proceeded to change quickly into more formal clothes.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry.” Bucky whispered, making a gesturing with his hand to emphasise his point. “I can hear footsteps, Steve.”

“Would you shut up?” The other boy countered, scowling at his friend. His back was turned to the taller boy, who yelped as the door opened slowly. Steve turned so fast that his head hurt.

“Well, well,” came a smooth voice. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Steve groaned internally. Great, he thought. Loki will never let me live this down. “Hiiii, Loki.” He smiled sweetly as his little brother who simply raised an eyebrow.

“Mother is throwing a fit looking for you.” He stepped further into the room, ignoring Bucky who was stood behind the door, watching the two with an expression that screamed ‘I told you so.’ “Thor has almost reached the Palace and if you are not there to wish him a happy name day, then….” He left the statement open for Steve to imagine his father’s wrath.

“Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be on the balcony with Mother and Father?” He crossed his arms and looked up at his brother. It was irritating to be the unhealthy one; Steve, despite being two years older than the fifteen year old Loki, was inches shorter, which amused Loki to no end.

“I was searching for you, of course. Now, come.” He said, turning to leave, a pale hand trailing behind him to further indicate that Steve should follow him. “You may as well come too, Barnes. You’ve already angered Phillips, so there’s no real point going back just yet.”

Steve trailed behind, shooting Bucky a helpless look, but the other boy merely shrugged in reply. They travelled through the palace, familiarity being the only reason they didn’t lose themselves in the maze-like corridors. Steve couldn’t help but think about how angry his father would be. He always seemed to be angry, recently. Well, in the time that Steve had actually seen him; it seemed like most of the young prince’s time was spent at the orphanage, at his lessons, (i.e. boring meetings with arrogant nobles who were fighting over who trespassed on who’s land- or woman.), or in Eir’s care. It didn’t really leave much spare time to socialise with family members who were intent on staying in a foul mood constantly.

“Steven Odinson!” The Queen Frigga exclaimed, her concern and relief masked by anger. “How dare you run off like that? You scared me and your father.” She rushed up to him and hugged him tightly, his head reaching only her chest.

“I’m sorry, mother.” He apologised sincerely, sinking into the warm embrace. He really did hate making his mother worry. Reluctantly, he let his mother go and face his father whose stoic expression made Steve swallow hard in anticipation.

“You should have been here, Steven.”

“I know, Father.”

“It is not becoming of a Prince of Asgard.”

“I know, Father.”

“…”

“Father?”

To his surprise, his father smiled gently at him and shook his head fondly. “Stubborn as ever, I see.” Steve smiled tentatively back, nodding in agreement. “Mr. Barnes.” Odin addressed Bucky. “You are still distracting my son from his duties?”

Bucky, however, did not seem to have the same shy nature as his friend and grinned at the King. “That’s right, your Highness.” He stepped forward, his shoulders brushing Steve’s. “I can’t have him being bored all the time, sir.”

“Well then,” The King took a deep breath and looked down at the seventeen year old. “I suppose I’ll just have to let you keep distracting my son. You make sure he doesn’t wear himself out. You hear me, boy?”

“Loud and clear, your Highness.” Bucky straightened his back in the style of the soldiers of the Royal Guard.

“Good man.”

“This is all good and well, but you realise that this is Thor’s name day, not ‘friendship celebration day’.” Loki reminded them, a hint of malice behind the words.

“Of course we realise that, darling.” Frigga reassured, a little confused by her youngest son’s tone.

“Then, you also realise he is just there and expecting you to - oh, I don’t know - say something.”

Sure enough, there Thor was, squinting up at the balcony, waiting for his parents to finish the Ceremony with the traditional speech that would bring him the Gods’ favour and aid him in battle. Frigga and Odin linked hands and proceeded with the Ceremony.

Steve’s attention, however, seemed to drift away as he stared at his younger brother. He barely knew him anymore. Steve had always thought he was different to Thor and himself due to the way he shied away from most forms of socialisation. This trait had gotten worse as he grew older, making him seem unsociable which attracted unfavourable attention. He was often approached by bullies, but, instead of backing down, or fighting them off, he simply baited them. He would make hurtful comments that were just as hard hitting as a punch and then use his magic to humiliate them further.

Steve used to enjoy spending time with Loki. He would help him play such amusing pranks on some the servants, or other nobles. After some time, though, the pranks became malicious and fairly evil. Once, the boy went into Sif’s room whilst she slept, only to tie her golden locks to the headboard of her bed. They had to cut off her hair to release her, but the girl had felt she had lost the last piece of her femininity. Loki claimed he didn’t do it, but couldn’t stop laughing at her uneven haircut, which was admission enough. He enjoyed taunting her with comments of how his hair was fairer that hers – because she barely had any.

Eventually, people learnt to ignore the youngest Prince. His pranks were not spoken of, unless it landed someone in Eir’s care, in which case, the latest gossip would be of the boy’s punishment.

Loud cheers shook Steve from his thoughts, and he quickly saw that the Ceremony was over. He and his family entered the Palace and made their way down to meet Thor.

When they met halfway, Thor picked his brother up in a bone-crushing hug. Steve laughed as he was put down. If he was small next to Loki, he was but a child next to Thor. “Hello, Thor.” He welcomed, panting heavily after having his breath quite literally knocked out of him.

“Hello, brothers.” The tall blonde replied as he went to hug Loki. However, the younger held out a hand as an offering instead of hug.

“I’d rather keep my mobility.”

Instead of taking offense, Thor gave a booming laugh, much to the exasperation of the green-eyed boy. He took the offered hand and shook it vigorously, almost making Loki regret doing it.

“Congratulations, my son.” Odin said, pride seeping from the words.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear Thor. Well done for living for 20 cycles of the sun.”

“Shut up, Loki.”

Chapter Text

It was late at night when Bucky returned to the orphanage. The air was cold and brisk, so Natasha hid in the pocket of the tattered old blue coat that the boy so loved to wear. It was too dark to see the way home despite the natural light of the moon, so Bucky conjured a flame; small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, yet large enough to light the path. He would occasionally pull it close to his face to draw heat from its warmth.

He entered the orphanage via the backdoor in an attempt to avoid running into Phillips, who Bucky was sure he’d angered enough to warrant murder.

However, as he began to creep round the rooms, snuffing out the flame to prevent detection, he heard faint whispering. Being the curious person he was, Bucky snuck closer to the source.

“It’s all well and good that you want to take him in, Sir, but you have not shown any interest in him before, and you certainly ‘ain’t giving me a reason to trust you now.” The voice was easily recognised as Chester Phillips.

“I don’t care if you don’t trust me. I just want the boy.” This one was harder to identify. “It’s obvious that he would be better with me He’s only squandering his potential by being here.” The need to know was too great for Bucky to resist as he peered round the corner he was hiding behind to take a look. Unfortunately it was in vain since the man – determined by the deep pitch of the voice – was covered entirely by a dark cloak. What little light that illuminated the room did nothing to reveal the visitor’s identity

Bucky, let’s go. Natasha thought to him. Bucky ignored her.

“How dare you.” The warning was clear in Phillips’ tone. “We do the best we can for these boys – for him especially. Your skills do not make you better equipped at helping him than us.”

“But, you see, it does. Untamed magic is the most dangerous kind, and he is so very powerful; third only to the youngest Prince and the King himself.” At this, Bucky turned back round the corner and lent against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor as the realisation sank in. They were talking about him. This dark anonymous man wanted to take him, James Barnes, away!?

“Then they should be the ones helping him, not you.”

“They do not have the time or the experience with another untamed magic user as I.” Determined to know who it was that wished to take him away from his home, Bucky looked back round the corner.

“No. If he is as dangerous as you say, then I want a letter from the King or his Captain of the Guard.” Bucky smirked, as Phillips would almost undoubtedly be doing now. This man was nobody, he was a fraud, simply a –

“But he’s mine!” The force of the words made the man take a step forward, unwittingly stepping into the vicinity of the light. A gasp escaped Bucky as he recognised the face of Alexander Pierce, the King’s own advisor and best friend, the god-father of the youngest Prince, the man who wanted Bucky for his own.

“I think it’s time you left.” Phillips said tightly, his own rage barely contained. He had come to care for the children as if they were his own and this man was clearly dangerous.

Despite the outburst, Pierce left without another word, slamming the door behind him. Phillips visibly deflated, stress weighing his shoulders down. His chin dropped to his chest as he sighed audibly and reached out to the chair behind him, steadying himself. The silence was deafening and his blood pounded in his ears as he sat down. “I know you’re there, Barnes.” He said tiredly. His exhaustion was palpable.

Bucky slowly entered the room fully. His steps were practically a tiptoe; he was afraid that even a footstep would break the fragile atmosphere. “How long?” He asked, his voice quiet, scared.

“Only a few weeks.” Bucky let out a shocked laugh as knelt next to Phillips’ legs. “Don’t look at me like that. I was gonna tell you. Eventually.” He sighed again. Bucky studied his face in the dim light. His light brown eyes were strained and the large circles under them indicated a particular stress. His face was pinched from worry. It was like he’d aged years in a matter of days.

“Don’t get all worked up now, sir.” Bucky rested his chin on Phillips’ knee and smiled tentatively. “Lord knows I’m enough trouble on my own.” Phillips smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately.

“You’re a good kid.” There was a comfortable silence between the two before Phillips remembered the hour. “Good God, Barnes. You should be in bed. Off with you.” He swatted the air around the boy and Bucky laughed as he got up quickly.

“Good night, sir.” He was almost out the room when he looked over his shoulder and said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Regardless of his statement, Bucky’s dreams were filled with tension and fear;

Red. Red, why is everything red? What happened to the brown of the wooden floors? The dirtied white of the walls, so used up as time passed. What of the blue skies that were so filled with birds that sung even in the coldest of silences? Instead, everything was coated in crimson, sullying the harmony of the daylight. It was too hot. Red is warm, red is heat, red is fire. Why does the red hurt? Make it brown, make it white, make it blue, green, gold, black, just take the red away.

“You’re MINE.” It burned, it hurt, and it blistered. It stung and it ached and it bled. It was dragging him down, down, down into the deep, hungry eyes that stared and wanted. He couldn’t get away. The red followed and – oh gods – a gasp. Horror. Wake up, wake up, wake up. Why are you asleep, why are you dead?

Red. Fire. Blood. It was his blood. It was Phillips’ blood. It was Steve’s blood. No! Horror. Tragedy. Disgust. Beauty. Am I disgusting? Am I beautiful? Spinning thoughts turning red. Only red…

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bu-”

The boy was breathless as he woke, his stomach feeling compressed and heavy. At first, he thought it a result of the dream, but as he felt the pressure ease briefly before returning with a vengeance, he saw a cheeky grin flash at him. “Gods, Becca. You sure like to make sure a guy’s awake, don’t ya?” His voice was strained as his muscles tensed when the little girl jumped on him again.

“Don’t sleep so long.” She pouted.

He laughed at her in reply and she only frowned further. He could hear Natasha in his mind. Make her smile. “C’mon, little sister. Smile a little.” He moved quickly, his fingers brushing her ribs as he began to tickle her.

“No! Bucky, stop! Aargh! Off, off, off!” She screamed, her legs kicking out. Despite her words, she started to giggle uncontrollably, the stimulation too much for her to resist.

Now, Rebecca Barnes was not Bucky’s sister by blood. Her mother had grown up in the orphanage, not really amounting to much unfortunately, but such was the life of a poor, unwanted child. She grew into a young woman, with high ambitions, but little opportunity. She left at sixteen, hoping to find a job somewhere respectable, finding nothing but a charming young man offering security and happiness.

He lied.

Rebecca was born eight years later, the illegitimate daughter of a duke; Stephen Strange. The poor woman was forced to give up her child and made to continue in her trade of sex. It had become too much for her who, soon after handing the child to Phillips without a trace of emotion in her eyes, took the knife the man had given her to protect herself with when she was younger and embedded the knife into her stomach, bleeding all over the bed sheets she was made to spread herself on daily.

Rebecca herself had been instantly accepted, the boys being enamoured by her wide blue eyes and brown curls. Bucky even offered to share his room with her. In four years she grew into an energetic and cheerful child, having each of the boys – and the adults – wrapped around her little finger. She was made to adopt Bucky’s surname after the eight time of her being mistaken for Bucky’s sister; They had similar blue eyes and their hair was the same shade of brown. Though Becca’s skin was more sun-kissed, her lips were just as full. Her nose was also dotted with the most adorable freckles.

“Get off, Bucky!” She squealed.

Bucky finally complied, scooping her up in his embrace as he got out of bed. “Breakfast for the little princess?” He asked, a fake upper-class accent put on for her benefit that he learned from Prince Loki.

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”

The boy laughed again. “You’re always hungry, Becca.” He carried her to the kitchen, cringing as he saw all of their other brothers crowding the small room. “Well. This may be a little difficult.”

“Becca!” One of the boys said, grinning as he took the girl from Bucky’s arms. Natasha scurried from Bucky’s arm across Gabe’s to rest on his shoulder by Becca’s head.

“Am I invisible?” He complained, holding his arms out in mock offense. “Morning, Gabe.” In an immature act, he stuck his tongue out.

“Good morning to you too.” Gabe rolled his eyes and turned away. Bucky sniggered and started to get his breakfast

“How have half of you not gone yet? You’re old enough.” Phillips audibly questioned them from the door that led to the vegetable garden, a little horrified of the sheer amount of people that managed to fit into the room.

“You’d miss us too much, sir. We’re the light of your life.” Dum Dum replied, stuffing his face with bread.

“Ew.”

A wave of grief overcame Bucky and he dropped the cup he was holding. He was paralysed with anguish that had no cause to be there. He could feel and see everyone around him asking him if he was in health, but he couldn’t hear them. All he could look at was Phillips’ shirt; it was red.

Noise flooded back like a tidal waved breaking through the walls of a building; powerful and unrestrained. He brushed off the comments and questions, preferring instead to ignore the problem, if there even was one. He continued getting his breakfast, thought it became a more automatic procedure. Conversation became dull and forced as the sorrow lingered in his bones.

This was how the rest of the day dragged on; weighed down by the despondency that took control of his soul. He did his chores as he normally did, though with less motivation than usual. Natasha was much the same. She remained in her chameleon form, keeping herself camouflaged from everything. It was as if all hope had drained from their spirits and had been replaced with a dejected anticipation.

But anticipation for what?

It wouldn’t be until the middle of the night for them to get their answers.

Bucky couldn’t sleep. The grief had built up throughout the day, building up, waiting. Natasha slept beside him, her human head resting on his shoulder. He kept his face turned away from her. As much as he loved her, as much as she was a part of him, her red hair brought too much anguish to look at.

There was a flickering light in the corridor and slow footsteps heading towards the room. Bucky held his breath as the came to stop outside the door. Slowly, so very slowly, it creaked open. Maybe it was quiet since no one else was waking up, but to Bucky, it was the loudest noise he’d ever heard. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, in case it was only Phillips. He hoped it was Phillips.

“C’mon, boy. Wake up.” Bucky wanted to cry at the voice. “I said, wake up.” Pierce took a fistful of the boy’s hair and tugged harshly.

“Bucky, what’s-” Natasha groggily said, her eyes blinking open. “No.” She breathed. Her face was close to Pierce’s. “What do you want?” She asked her voice so quiet that it was only just a whisper.

“We’re leaving.”

“No.” She defiantly said. Bucky wished he had her courage in that moment, but the grip on his hair was so tight and painful.

Pierce pulled more violently, making Bucky fall out of the bed entirely. “Shut up, boy! Do you want to wake everyone?” Though he wished that someone would come, he was grateful for Becca’s ability to sleep through anything. He didn’t want her to see this.

“You can’t get away with this.” The teen said through clenched teeth.

A cold laugh was his reply.

She took Pierce’s momentary distraction to reach out at him and use her sharp nails to scratch at him. She was too far to get a good grip around his throat, but she could try and do some damage to perhaps deter him. Her nails caught his neck, slicing through several layers of skin and she took great satisfaction at seeing the blood well up. However, the backhand she got from his familiar was less pleasing. She hadn’t even seen him come in the room and she berated herself for not noticing.

“Step away from them.” Phillips’ voice was like a symphony to the ears of Bucky and Natasha. The elder man stepped closer to Pierce. Bucky could see the glint of a blade and realised that the man was willing to risk his life for them. “I told you he was not yours to take.”

“But he is mine, though, isn’t he? I told you that I would have him. You cannot stop me.”

“I will if I have to.”

Pierce held out his hand. The sword in Phillips’ grip shook and trembled. “What are you doing?”

“Doing what I have to do. This is for the greater good. I’m sorry that you do not understand that.” For a moment, Pierce looked genuinely upset, but he roughly brought his extended arm up, the sword finally releasing itself from Phillips’ hand.

“Please. Please, stop.” Bucky cried. Natasha stared at the scene in front of her. “I’ll go with you. Just… just let him go. Leave him be!”

“Shut your mouth, boy! I’m doing what needs to be done.”

It was over so quickly. As Pierce dropped his arm, the steel also fell. “Nonono. No!” Bucky screamed as it stabbed through Phillips’ stomach, the man’s eyes simply widening as he let out a pained gasp. As soon as he fell to the ground like a puppet with its wires cut, Pierce dragged the boy out, rushing. “You should not have shouted. It is only going to make this all the more difficult.”

Bucky’s eyes met with Phillips’ fading brown ones. “I’m sorry.” The man whispered, red blood spurting from his mouth as he coughed the words out. The sounds of the other boys bustling at Bucky’s scream could be heard.

“Come, boy.” He let go of Bucky’s hair to pull him by his left arm. As they were leaving the room, Bucky slipped on some of the blood. The crimson liquid coated his hand. Zola was pulling Natasha behind him, whom he had backhanded again. The pudgy man had pulled some of the furniture into the corridor, knowing it would hinder those that followed them.

The two were dragged outside into the dark street and practically thrown into a carriage. “Sitwell,” he heard him say, “Take them to the Tower.” The carriage had barred windows, as if it were a prison cell and as he stared out of it, all he could think of was the red.

Red.

Red.

Chapter Text

Dear Bucky and Tasha

Mother suggested that I write to you for ‘closure’. I don’t really understand how it will work, but she worries so I’ll give it a shot.

It’s been 3 weeks since you’ve gone. 3 weeks since Chester Mr. Phillips was murdered. I don’t know where you are, and I don’t know if you’ll ever come back. My father had someone investigate what happened and Thor has his men keeping their ears and eyes open for any information, but so far nothing has been found. Even Loki is helping. He says that he can try to track the energy signature, but I know he hasn’t found anything. I’ve never seen him so defeated. You know how he is; he never usually lets his emotions show on his face. I feel so helpless. I can’t do anything. I don’t have people to keep a look out, I don’t have magic to help me find you, and I don’t have anything!

A few days ago, Alex tried to “help” me. I understood most of what he was saying (mostly that I should talk to someone) and I knew, logically, that it would help. But then he said you were dead. I know that you’re not dead. I would have felt it. You’re my best friend and I would feel it if you died and I would have died inside with you.

If you don’t come back soon I’ll never forgive you let Loki cut off all of your hair.

Steve .

  To Bucky and Tasha

 It’s been over a month, jerks. I really do hope that you are lying face down in some filthy, rotten hole, you stupid idiots. Why have you just gone? I miss you so much and I know that you’d know that, Buck; you know me. Which is why I don’t understand why you haven’t left some clue as to your whereabouts. Did you hate me? Was it something I did? Or maybe it was my family. I know you hated my wealth, did it make you feel inadequate? Was it Loki? He’s played so many cruel pranks, perhaps he hurt you. Why wouldn’t you tell me, though?

 If you do still care, if maybe someone took you, then I’d think you would be proud of me; I have not been sick for almost three months. Remember the last time I was ill? You panicked so much, Bucky, and both Tasha and I thought you were being stupid! But you wouldn’t listen to our reassurances.

You better come home soon, though. I don’t care if you are gone because you hate me. I don’t care if you never want to step foot in this city ever again, or this castle, or even your own home, but…. I just want to know you’re alive.

Please. Just come back.

Steve.

Where are you?

To my dear James,

I often find myself wondering how you fare wherever you are. Are you well? Do you think of us? We are thinking of you, always, my son. For you were – are – our son. You were a brother to Steven, a friend to Thor and you meant more to Loki than he would have you believe. I do hope that you are merely lost, that you are not in pain. I wish that you could see how much we suffer without your presence. I know that Steven oft writes to you, but I fear that may be doing more harm than good;

He locks himself in his room, you see. He buries himself away, trying to perfect his letters. He only wants you to see the best of them, to try and put his feelings into the necessary words to bring you back. I hope that you would be proud of him for clinging to the hope that seems to be sparse in recent days.

He is ill again. I can imagine you laughing bitterly, of course. That was your way. You loved Steven, but you hated the way he ran himself down until there was nothing left but a thin blanket of skin stretched too far over weak bones. However, I fear in my heart that this illness cannot be so easily fought off as the others we have witnessed. His cough is so terribly painful sounding, and his chest rattles with every breath. Thor sits with him every day and sleeps beside him. I have also seen Loki sit outside his door with Ikol, surrounded by his books, searching for a way to make him well again.

I wanted to write this now, today, because if there is a chance that this could get to you, if you could somehow see these words I would want you to read them and know that they part of our own souls gifted to you. My dear James. How we pray for your safety and wish dearly that you would return to us soon.

All my love,

Your mother, Frigga.

To James,

I do hope that you do not expect me to pour my heart out to you like my ridiculous brother. Especially in a letter. I know full well that you can’t read this; you’re very likely dead and even Thor knows that the dead cannot read. I am only writing this now on behalf of Steven;

I am aware that my mother has written a letter containing the information that my brother was fatally ill. He was fighting a very serious case of the influenza. I swear that I did everything I could to help him fight the virus, but I checked every book, consulted with every doctor and sorcerer, and even tried sending letters to other kingdoms for help, all to no avail. There was no cure for him as the virus had taken hold of his lungs and had developed far too much.

So I may have taken drastic measures to ensure his survival. There was one spell I’d remembered learning about during lessons with Alex. I looked all over for the spell, and found it in a small, leather-bound journal, handwritten in the most beautiful of ways; it would have been a pleasure to read even recreationally. The journal contained the entries of one Johann Schmidt and some, also, from his familiar, Abraham Erskine. They created this spell together which is capable of enhancing one’s abilities. I am sure that Johann was using it to give himself a boost to his magic, (the man was brilliant, yes, though he seemed incredibly unhinged), but I have managed to adapt it to enhance one’s physical abilities.

I want to use this spell to make my brother strong.

I don’t really care for your opinion – not that you have one now, corpse-boy – but my brother seems to find some sort of comfort in this, so I have informed you. For him, of course.

Loki.

James,

I fear I’ve made a terrible miscalculation. I have spent my life reading books, studying history and magic and science and yet, I made a gross error when casting the spell; I didn’t factor in the ego boost the results would give my brother. I can practically hear you laughing at me now, Barnes! I am deadly serious. Where he used to be the sibling I relied on for a relative amount of common sense and self-preservation, now he has seemed to have thrown away that level of maturity that expected from him. Almost as soon as he realised he was stronger, he practically got down to his knees in front of Father just to beg him to let him join the army. Needless to say, Father was furious with him.

He was also quite enraged at myself. Why, I can’t fathom, really, though he claims it was because I was reckless. Apparently, I put my brother’s life in danger. As if it wasn’t already slipping from his own bony grasp. I didn’t even get thanked for making him better. I healed my brother, made him stronger, faster, healthier, and I was barely even acknowledged. So much for family.

He’s so much more arrogant, too. Your presence would likely humble him; you would not be ashamed to bring him down the few pegs necessary for him to truly appreciate what he has been given. You would have helped him see this as another chance, not an opportunity for him to throw away because he has a hero-complex the size of Thor’s biceps.

In any case, I’m beginning to regret saving my brother’s life.

Loki

  To Jerkface 1 and Jerkface 2

Happy birthday. You’d be eighteen today. Though I guess you already know that.

I think you would be happy for me to know that I’m much better. As in, I’m never going to be ill again. Loki cast a spell on me that has made me almost as strong as Thor – without Mjolnir that is. Do you know what that means, Buck? It means that I can join the Royal Army. I could even be Thor’s Second now that I can almost best him – you would have loved to have seen his face when I managed to get a few hits in. Mother, however, was quite beside herself with worry. She thought that I should have stayed with the healers longer. They still don’t understand what Loki did to me. They said that he shouldn’t have had the power to complete a spell like it. That the last man who tried the spell – Johann Schmidt, or something – went mad and peeled his own skin off and killed his familiar. Loki seems okay, though. He’s still as insane as he was before!

Anyway. You’re both stupid for not coming home to see me punch Thor without breaking my entire arm. You better be here for my birthday, though, or I’ll use my new strength to kill you both with my bare hands.

Steve.

The second prince flexed his new muscles, his expression frozen in wondrous amazement. He was in awe of his new body and excited to find out its limits and capabilities. Steve looked at his thickened wrists, leading upwards to a stronger arm, and well-built shoulder. He felt more secure; his neck was no longer supporting something that was far too heavy and his legs were more toned and structured to carry his weight than before. He was better now – more proficient in the things he always wished he could do. He could hold a sword properly and he could punch with enough force for it to hurt. His senses were much clearer, also. He could hear his parents talking about his situation in another room, he could smell the roses at the end of the garden, and he could even see colours as much more vibrant shades than they were before.. He now had the potential to save people and that was the one thing that mattered most to the young man.

Someone rapped on his door twice and broke Steve from his reverie. He opened the door a little too hard, straining the hinges that held it to the wall. His little brother looked at him, an eyebrow raised judgingly. Steve rolled his eyes and stepped aside, allowing Loki inside.

“What do you want?” He asked, a hint of petulance staining the words.

“Aren’t I allowed to see how my own brother fares after performing a complex spell on him?” The reply came, indignant and offended.

Steve, however, knew this tone to be false and mocking. “Other brothers, yes. You, no.” His expression conveyed his suspicion to Loki even before he said the words.

“What a thanks I get.” The younger sighed before changing his demeanour from the affronted tone to a more concerned attitude. “How have you been? It’s only your third week with this new body; I’d like to know if there are any…side effects.”

“Nope. It’s strange, actually. People keep acting as if something is wrong, as if I have been transformed into this fragile creature, when, in reality, I am stronger than I have ever been.” He huffed, the emotion beginning to build up inside him. “I can help people now, Loki. I am able to do things now that I never could in my old body.” His voice rose in volume, a breathless sort of exhilaration sweeping through his body.

Loki could see that his brother was getting worked up in the excitement of his new body, and was starting to believe that perhaps the spell did cause other changes in his sibling. “Steven, I think that the spell has enhanced your emotions as well. Maybe you should calm down.”

“What? No. This is me; this is all I was meant to become.”

“…I think that casting the spell on you was a mistake, brother.”

“No, Loki. The mistake was not casting it sooner.” Steve laughed bitterly as he took a step away from the now smaller sixteen year old. Maybe it was the spell affecting his mind, or perhaps these really were Steve’s genuine opinions. Either way, it was a betrayal that cut deep into Loki’s heart as if trying to carve out his soul. “Everything that happened a year ago was your fault, Loki.” The words were poison and Steve knew it, he just didn’t care. “You could have done this earlier; you could have made me better before Bucky disappeared! I could have saved him.” He gripped his younger brother’s arms and dug his fingers in tightly. “We could have saved him. But you didn’t.”

With that statement, Steve deflated. His hold on Loki slackened and he sighed deeply, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. “And we couldn’t.” He continued, his tone now more despondent than its previous bitter tenor.

“Get. Off. Me.” Loki’s face was devoid of any emotion, except for the malice that was brewing in his emerald eyes and the anger that laced his words. Steve complied, shocked at the level of hatred that his brother had begun to exude. “Don’t ever expect my help again. Whether it’s to save your life or another’s, I shall never come to your aid. You have hurt me time and time again, but this I will not stand. James was my friend also, Steven. I will not have you blame me for a failure that is not of my own making.”

The warlock left the room, his green magic floating around the weakened hinges of the door, fixing the metal so that he could slam it with the desired effect.

Steve stood in a dazed silence, thinking back on what had just transpired. Regret seeped its way into his heart, resting heavy in his chest and leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

What has he done?