Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

AVALT VID (ALWAYS BESIDE)

“There are few who know those paths of the worlds, my Prince,” Heimdal warned.

“One, actually.” Thor’s blue eyes clouded. 

Good, Sif sneered, at least he was nervous about this plan. It was poorly conceived and relied on the god of lies telling them the absolute truth all the time . She ground her teeth hard and glared across the table at him, fingering her empty ale glass as threateningly as she could.

 Thor was purposefully avoiding looking at her. Purposefully. Her glass cracked. She let go to avoid making a scene. 

“How do you know we can trust him?!” Volstagg exclaimed. 

“We don’t,” Sif snapped, answering for the crown prince who was still avoiding looking at her like a coward. She shook her head and clenched her teeth. 

“Sif,” Thor started in his most patient voice. “I’m sorry, but I see no other way. I will kill him myself, if he betrays us. I promise. But he is the only one who can get us there, save Heimdal, and Heimdal has been removed from duty for now. We must get to the Dark World and Loki is the only one who has ever been there.”

Sif grit her teeth as the image of Loki’s pale face, drained of blood, flashed through her memory. He was so young. So innocent once. So terrified of that place. Of what he had seen that he never could bring himself to say. She still had no idea what it was. He never told her. 

“Loki said that it was a place of evil and black magic. He never returned for a reason. Thor, he warned us never to venture there back when we still could trust him! He was afraid of that world. He said it was a place fit only for monsters.”

“Well, I’m sure he felt right at home, then,” Volstagg snorted. Sif clenched her jaw again but didn't correct him. He was right.  

Fandral joined. “And who's to say we ever could trust him? He was a liar straight from the womb-- and we know that’s not an insult to you now, Thor.” He held up a hand to stop Thor’s protest. “Anyone who ever trusted him--save you Thor, brother’s are exempt-- was a fool and is one still.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled. 

Hogun and Volstagg stiffened. Thor’s blue gaze finally met hers and even the GateKeeper coughed uncomfortably. Sif slapped her hands down on the table and rose slowly, watching Fandral’s expression go from smug to mortified as he realized what he just implied. 

“Sif, you know I didn’t mean you--!” he started and Sif pursed her lips before snapping,

“Don’t take back the things you say, Fandral, it shows how little spine you possess.”

“Sif--” Thor started, his eyes softened. Her stomach clenched. He thought she still felt for Loki. She glanced around at them all. They all did. 

“But- But I didn’t mean you were foolish enough now, Sif! I- I know you don’t trust him per say… but I was just saying that anyone who did --” He cut himself off, red tipping his ears as he realized he just managed to dig his grave even deeper. 

“I’m going to pick up Ivailo from training,” Sif growled. “ My opinion, if anyone wanted it, is that trusting Loki is the stupidest thing your battle-drunk brain has ever come up with, majesty. I am no fool, and I do not trust him as far as I could throw him, despite our history, thank you all-seeing Fandral,” she sneered and stalked from the bar, black tail snapping angrily behind her. 

Still care about Loki? She scoffed as she swung her cape over her shoulders. Ridiculous. It was true that Loki and she were childhood sweethearts. The moment they both reached the age, they began courting. He was already her best friend, her confidant, the one who battled similar foes as her--societal expectations, fear of rejection, being smaller, thinner than the others. Loki was the only one she hadn't had to earn the approval of. He assumed she was worthy of it until he was proven otherwise. Innocent until proven guilty… at least he was then. His curious green eyes were one of the only ones not condemning and scorning when she was first introduced to them.

Then they grew to be best friends, then courting… he was the only man she’d ever really seen herself marrying… but then her Aunt had put the foolish idea in her head to be ambitious. Why take the second Prince, when she could have the first? The life of a warrior without restrictions, the respect, the power, the crown.

And Loki, her friend who could smell a lie or a plot from a mile away, had figured out what she had been considering. Considering was all it took. Being naive and foolish she had defended herself and lost the only person she might have grown old with. It took all of five minutes to realize her and Thor didn’t work. She’d have grey hair by a thousand and die of sheer frustration before the second. But she’d lost Loki’s respect. She’d lost his trust. Lost his love. And she deserved to at the time. She knew when to accept defeat at her own hand.

That was over a hundred years before Thor met Jane and Loki lost his mind. They were children. They had never had anything more than a few days of trying courting again and had to finally resolve their once trusting and precious relationship to cold and polite from the safety of a distance. 

When Loki tried to kill himself, Sif had grieved, but by that point she was already expecting her son and had moved on from the prospect of marriage anyways. After mothering an illegitimate child, not many would take her, and Sif didn’t need anyone, so she wouldn’t settle for a drunk or an addict who would take her because she was young or beautiful. She was content to live as a warrior and a mother.

For three years she tried to forget Loki. The could-have-been's, the should-have-done's and said's. She tried to ignore the guilt that gnawed at her insides that wondered if she had been a part of Loki’s madness… his sudden and unexpected loss of control. What could she have done differently? If she had never been a foolish girl would he ever have let go? If he had one person left to love, would he have killed himself? 

Frigga told her she couldn’t put that kind of blame on herself… Frigga with her tired eyes and small tragic smile. Her sorrow-stained face said she had always feared this, that someday this would be the fate of her youngest. Frigga was gifted in the foresights… had she known from the moment she held him for the first time, that this child would decide that falling to certain death in the vacuum of space was better than taking another breath of Asgardian air? 

A pang lanced through Sif’s chest at the thought of the Queen-Mother who was in so many ways, Sif’s mother. It still seemed unreal that Frigga was dead. Murdered. Slain on the battlefield, her blue gown stained red to match the trail down her cheek. And no one had been there to save her. 

All for one mortal. 

Sif hoped, with all her heart, that that sacrifice was not a waste. Thor had been set on women before. Finding a woman that could be set on him was harder. Sif prayed to the fates that the Queen mother had not been murdered for nothing. Her fist ached for vengeance against the creature that killed Frigga… but she would give Thor-- fates she’d even give Loki-- that right over her. Sif would never forgive or trust Loki, but she did know she could trust his thirst for vengeance. She trusted his love for his mother. 

When Sif’s son was three, she received word that Loki was suddenly alive again. But it was not the Loki she had known, loved, and eventually betrayed. This Loki was cruel and sadistic, killing mortals like little helpless children. Children! And her brother’s-in-arms believed she still cared for him?! The thought made her sick. How could she care for someone who held no care for the lives of those weaker and smaller than he? 

She’d thrown his love aside like trash when he was still kind and sensitive and curious and vulnerable. They thought she might still love the outer shell of the man that had a monster living in his soul now? All his bitter, broken face was, was a reminder that he would never be the same. He’d killed off the man she loved, let him drop into the void. He tried to kill himself. He murdered innocents. He had tried to kill his own brother… three times. Did they truly think her so foolish? So naive? So desperate? That she should still care for what was left of him? When she had her own child to consider?

She stomped down the hallways on her mission toward the children’s training grounds. Her rage and fury dissipated instantly at the shrill call,

“Mother!” 

She spun around just in time to have a small frame launch into her legs. A pair of wiry arms wrapped as far around her torso as they could reach. A head of the same straight jet black hair as hers, was pressed against her belly and she laughed as she clutched him closer. 

“Ivailo!” She leaned down to press a kiss to her son’s hair. She hummed as she breathed his scent, cinnamon and black tea. “What are they doing to you at training that has you so excited to see me ?” 

“It’s more what he’s doing to his trainers ,” Uloff, the swordmaster, chuckled coming over. “He’s whip smart and fast as a comet.” The old instructor, who had taught her to wield her first sword, ruffled her son’s hair affectionately. Her heart swelled with pride. 

“He takes after you well.” 

Sif’s smile faltered.

“Why thank you, Sir Uloff.”

The swordsman clapped her on the shoulder with another chuckle and said. “I wanted to be the one to tell you that we’ll be moving him up earlier than the others. He’s to be promoted next week. Big honor. Special ceremony and everything. Besides, I think the training grounds will do well with something after this...tragedy.” Uloff added quietly.  

Sif’s smile dropped. While she was supposed to be on mission with Thor?

“Mama?” 

She glanced down at the round little tear drop face. So perfect, so precious. And those golden eyes, so curious, so intelligent. 

“Well, I’ll have to make sure I’m there, won’t I?” She plastered the smile back on her face and kissed his forehead. “I’m so proud of you!”

She meant it with all her heart. 

A pair of gold irises, too wise for his mere six years of age, gave her a knowing look. 

“Do you have a mission?”

“I’ll be here.” She nodded firmly. “This is important. And so exciting!” She added with another smile. Ivailo did not return the grin. Her heart ached. Was he so accustomed to her being too busy, with missions, for him?

Uloff gave her a sympathetic smile and clapped her on the shoulder again. “I’m very proud of the boy myself. He has great potential.” He glanced down to wink fondly at Ivailo, “When he’s paying attention and not dragon slaying.”

Sif frowned. “Dragon slaying?” She looked back at her boy who was turning pink and giving the swordsman a sheepish grin as the master walked away. 

“It’s my imaginations,” he grinned guiltily. 

Sif gave a huff of laughter and swung the little child up on her shoulders easily. 

“Warrior’s don’t play imaginations!” She grinned at her son’s disappointed grunt above her. She tipped her head back to look up at him, her ponytail poked his soft little tummy. “But I suppose little boys can.”

The dimpled grin on that perfect little face was worth everything. Worth the shame of having an illegitimate child. Worth the further condemnation. Worth the shunning of every respectable courter. She had her little boy, her little dragonslayer. She’d rather have him than marry anyone in the world.

Who knew that one meaningless mistake, one night, could create something so beautiful? Something completely and totally hers that she could treasure for the rest of her life? 

Mistakes could be the most beautiful thing occasionally. 

Chapter Text

One of the enemy’s ships was still crashed in the great hall and bodies were being taken away. Men, women, children, Lords, Ladies, warriors, servants, many of whom Sif knew. She started to enter the doors to the great hall and immediately spun on her heel. Her six-year-old son did not need to see such things yet. 

“Was that a Prihut Blade?!” He bounced excitedly on her shoulders when he caught sight of the enemy ship. “They are capable of needle point turns up to 400 ImG’s and have up to five revolutions in a shift! Can I fly it? Can I fly it?”

“Absolutely not,” Sif shook her head firmly. “That’s an enemy ship, Ivailo. If you flew that it would be an act of treason, not to mention much too dangerous for a child.” Besides the point that that ship was a vital piece of Thor’s plan to get out of Asgard. 

“But I’m the best pilot in my class! I--”

“Your children’s class.” She swung Ivailo over her shoulders and plunked him on the ground before her, so she could kneel down and meet him eye-to-eye. “Ivailo, I don’t want you going anywhere near that ship, do you understand?”

Ivailo gave a little frown and bit his lip in displeasure, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ivailo,” She warned. “Do you understand?”

With a huff the little boy mumbled his agreement. Sif shook her head and gave him a small smile. “When you are a big and strong warrior, you can try things like that, well, not treasonous things, but adventurous things. But not until then. Until then you are my precious little boy and I do not intend to share my boy with a prison cell.” 

She gave him a wink to show she was kidding. Asgard’s prisons were no place for children. Ivailo sighed and gave her a beautifully dimpled smile before asking,

“Can I show you Illop’s technique back at the chambers? I’ve nearly perfected it!”

“You’ve nearly perfected it?!” She grinned. “Yes, my boy, I believe you are most definitely ready to move up.” She leaned forward to smash a kiss to his little pink lips and he pulled away squealing and giggling. 

“Mama! That’s embarrassing!” He giggled again and wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to her cheek anyways. 

Sif smiled so hard tears sprouted up in her eyes. 

“Why are you crying?” Ivailo pulled back with worry, searching her face for the reason of her sudden saline. “I didn’t really mean I don’t want you to kiss me.” His gold eyes kissed her face like sunlight as they gazed at her. 

“I just love you so much,” Sif whispered through clenched teeth, blinking the tears back. “So, so much.”

Ivailo gave her a serious stare and placed a tiny hand on either shoulder. 

“I know, Mama. You love me more than anyone in all the worlds.”

Sif gave a delighted laugh, stained in a sob, and wrapped her boy up in her arms to carry him close to her chest all the way back to their chambers.

Frigga had always insisted that she have their own private chambers. Sif shared the same quarters as her son, not in the barracks with the other soldiers, not for her own sake but for the development of her child. Frigga was so wise in the ways of motherhood that, even though it worried Sif that it would be just one more thing between her and the men, she agreed and had stayed here in these small quarters on the southeastern corridor since she had carried Ivailo. 

 Ivailo squirmed out of her grasp and darted into the sitting room before her, across the red and gold woven floor rug, spinning on his heel with a wooden training sword in hand and raised. 

“Ready!” he challenged. 

Sif lunged for her own training sword and took up a defensive stance. “Ready!”

The training swords had been a gift from Hogunn, a little piece from his home world he’d shared with her and her son. Sif watched little feet slide gracefully into place with precision not often seen in one so young. Gold eyes flickered over her form carefully, already assessing instead of just lunging. A Rendi’s grip was exchanged for a Halter grip as he circled her and then he lunged, quick, graceful and flexible. She grinned and blocked and they battled on. 

Back and forth across the red and gold carpet occasionally hiding behind the sheer curtains that flickered like the color of her son’s eyes in the golden evening light. She lept nimbly over the red velvet couch and landed safely on the other side earning a frustrated huff from her pursuer as she escaped his grasp. 

Little feet flew up on the couch’s back and little knees shook, spindly arms flailed and dark lashes blew wide around golden eyes as he lost his balance. Sif lunged and caught him in the air, spinning him around and kissing him everywhere she could as his fright turned to giggles and he squirmed in her arms. 

Finally she set him down and said, “Alright, I think that’s enough for one day.” 

“What did you think of my application of Illop’s technique?” He asked as she took his measuring stick. 

She rolled her eyes. What kind of child spoke like that? “ ...my application of this technique…” She shook her head in amusement and then said in all seriousness, 

“It’s coming along, that’s for sure. Your left side is still weak and you need to work on a few specific parries, but I was impressed.”

A little chest puffed up like a bird’s and he gave her a triumphant dimpled grin. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, walking into the dining room which was already set for dinner. A whole roasted chicken was surrounded by bread and cheese slices and there were several bowls of assorted fruits and a salad there as well. A wine glass sat by her seat and a little mug of sweet cider by his. 

“Soooooo hungry,” there came the pattering little footsteps. “Being a warrior is hard work.” He said definitively. She smothered another smile. 

He clambered up into his chair and gave a sudden yelp.

“What?” Sif’s hand was immediately on her sword hilt but her son was laughing again and sliding under the table,

“Fenrys is down here Mama!” 

She heard a wet tongue smacking against her son’s face and sighed letting her sword slide back into its sheath. She rolled the tension from her shoulders… or tried to. Fenrys was the wolf that Loki had rescued and raised as a youth. She had shamelessly taken him after Loki’s apparent suicide and had spent many a hormonal night crying into his thick black fur, while she was pregnant with Ivailo.

Her son had grown up with the now ancient wolf in the house and loved him like a best friend. Even if Loki was ever released from prison-- which she hoped never happened-- he was not getting Fenrys back. The wolf was a part of her family now. Part of Ivailo’s childhood. 

“Alright, alright,” Sif pulled a chair out from the table so she could see them. “Enough of the licking. Ivailo go wash up. Fenrys, come.” She snapped her fingers. 

With a huff, the little boy climbed out and trotted to the washroom, and with a sigh, the old wolf pulled himself to his feet and slowly walked over to where she was, stretching his sore and ancient joints as he went. He came and pressed his head against her thigh and let out another old, tired breath. 

She smiled and rubbed behind his ears. “Good boy, come lay down on your mat. On your mat.” She snapped again. Fenrys practically groaned. She was certain if the wolf could roll his eyes he would have. He slowly bumbled over to his mat and circled a few times before settling down on it and placing his chin on his front left paw with another dramatic breath. 

“Aw, you poor old man,” She knelt down to pat his big black head and crouched down to kiss his forehead between two tired blue eyes. She didn’t know how much time they had left with the wolf, but she treasured every moment with him. 

“All clean!” Ivailo ran over, little pink fingers spread out wide to show her just how clean they were. 

She made a show of inspecting them and then nodded approvingly walking back over to the table with him. 

“Tell me about your day.” She smiled as she took a seat and raised a glass of wine to her lips. 

After dinner she chased him into the bath and scrubbed him clean, glad that, of the two of them, he could chatter away for both. All she had to do was nod and react, otherwise her son could carry the weight of conversation for her and he carried it much better than she. Then she bundled him up and carted him off to dress him for bed and tuck him in. As she pulled the covers up under his chin he asked,

“Will the Queen mother tell me a story tonight?” 

Sif’s composure threatened to break with her heart as she had to explain to him that the Queen Mother was gone, she’d passed away and had to fly on to Valhalla. That it was her funeral Sif had attended earlier that week.

“Why?” enormous gold eyes welled with tears. “Was she too old?”

“Oh no,” Sif shook her head, trying to push back tears of her own. “She died protecting someone the Crown Prince cares for very much.”

“Jane Foster.” The little boy nodded seriously. “Queen Mother told me stories about her. The mortal woman who can read the stars like a scroll.”

Sif sighed and tucked a strand of inky black hair behind the boy's ears. “Yes, she died protecting Jane Foster.”

“Mama?” Ivailo touched her hand. Tears dribbled down his cheeks and he whispered, “You are very sad… and angry. Why are you angry?”

Sif sighed and pulled her hand out of her empath son’s hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. 

“It’s… it’s very complicated.” She filtered through everything in her head before starting to paraphrase for her son. 

“When people lose someone they love very much, sometimes they are so desperate to hurt the people that took them away that they trust bad people.” She sighed. “And I am afraid for my friends. Because they want to ask a bad person for help.”

A little hand found hers again and she resisted the urge to pull away. 

“You don’t think he’s all bad though. This person.” Ivailo’s head cocked to the side curiously. 

Sif sighed. “Just… bad enough.”

Ivailo gave her a serious look and said, “I will pray for you, Mama, and for your friends.”

Sif smiled at the child’s young and refreshing faith. “Thank you, my boy. I’d appreciate that.” She leaned down to kiss him and breathe in that black tea and cinnamon smell. 

“Goodnight, my little one.”

“Goodnight, Mother.” His hands latched behind her neck and he pulled her as tight to him as his little frame could muster before planting a wet kiss to her mouth. “I love you more than anything in all the worlds too.”

She smiled softly and blew out the lantern. 

Fenrys followed her into her chambers and curled up on her bed as she undressed. 

“Making yourself right at home there, are you?” She asked with a reproachful lift of one brow. But as she slipped under the covers and ran her fingers through the wolf’s thick fur, she was grateful for the warmth and comfort of him. 

“Let Loki out?” she whispered to him. “Why not just send an invitation for Ragnarok to come for a visit?” 

Fenrys blinked sleepily at her. She huffed, “Let Loki out. Right. Great idea.”

She’d have to ask Thor if they could move the mission up a week and leave tomorrow morning so she could be free for Ivailo’s promotion. She didn’t care if it seemed like a petty reason to do something like that. He was her son and this was important. It didn’t matter that the world was ending around them and they’d just suffered an attack. She was going to stay as normal a mother as she could muster.

She groaned and pressed her face into the Wolf’s side. He gave an exasperated huff and she chuckled.

“My thoughts exactly, old man.” 

And with a heavy sigh herself she tried to muster up the ability to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

He was thirsty. He hadn’t eaten in about three months. Hadn’t slept in longer than that. His heart felt like it’d been ripped from his ribcage and crushed underfoot. Yet the only thing his mind kept coming back to was that he was thirsty. Desperately thirsty. 

His face was swollen and tear stained and his voice was hoarse from crying. His fists ached and the assortment of bruises left by the guards pounded with every beat of his heart. But worst, his mother was dead. 

Dead.

He didn’t care what religion said, or the customs of Asgard, he wished his mother could have gone peacefully, gently, serenely into eternity. He didn’t want this for her, the one person left he knew held some love for him. 

Oh! He was pathetic, scrambling for any scrap he could get like a rabid dog. 

Fates, he was thirsty… so thirsty. 

Frigga was a skilled warrior, he knew that well. But even the idea of her bleeding to death in one of her soft pastel colored gowns… alone… a dark elf blade shoved up under her ribcage…dropped on the floor like a discarded doll. He shuddered and curled a bit farther in on himself. The guards had been very, very descriptive. They enjoyed every second of it.

One of the kinder guards-- Liam, he believed the name was-- had told him calmly and simply that the Queen Mother was dead and to expect the others to use it against him before they came at him with it. He was grateful. He’d been able to hold an illusion while they mocked Frigga’s death so they didn’t appear to get much reaction out of him at all. 

His magic-- already suppressed and tightly harnessed by the Alfather-- was shrieking in his chest, skinning his ribs. He’d used much more than he had available, to wreak havoc on his cell and then cover everything up. Still he held the illusion. When he dropped it the guards pounced like hyenas, knowing he was at his weakest and wouldn’t be able to hold them off long. He sighed and tilted his head back against the wall. He was so, so very thirsty. 

Why his mother? Why the Queen? Why couldn’t it have been Odin, with all his power and protection? Why did they go after the Queen? What was strategic about killing her in cold blood? He didn’t know. It only made his aching head pound harder. He just felt empty. Empty and full of pain. 

He felt like screaming again, but he didn’t think his parched vocal cords could handle it, and he knew he didn’t have enough magical energy to cover the sound. He didn’t particularly like hyenas-- being a caged animal as he was-- and so he held his thinning illusion and held his tongue. His dry, swollen tongue hadn’t had water in a month… should he try threatening again? Begging? Bargaining? What was the point? 

Nothing worked. 

Besides, death by dehydration wasn’t such a bad way to go, was it? Didn’t one lose their mind? That sounded lovely. 

He gave a parched sigh and unfurled his legs to stretch them out in front of him, accidentally slicing a foot as he brushed up against some glass. The cell had already been in smithereens when he turned his grief on it. Frigga kept bringing him things. Things that were then used to beat him or cut him or pin him down. He couldn’t exactly ask her to stop though, could he? 

He watched as a thick drop of blood slowly rolled down his left big toe. It was already the consistency of warm honey… too thick. Too dehydrated. His heart was working overtime just trying to pump the molasses-like fluid. He licked his lips and only managed to make them sting. Fates, he was thirsty, why couldn’t he just die? 

He let his hands fall to his sides and stared up at the ceiling dully. The light scraped at the back of his eye sockets and he cringed away from it. His eyes crushed shut. His head felt like it was going to explode.

He just wanted a drink. No. He wanted to die. No, he wanted a drink and then he wanted to die. He didn’t care in which order. 

“Prisoner 2,346.” He pried his salt crusted eyes open and squinted across the cell. Liam stood at the opposite end, staring at the copy of Loki currently reading a book. He hadn’t turned the page in several hours. The original was too tired. It was hard enough just holding an illusion consistently. 

He broke out into a cold sweat as he made the copy’s expression morph into one of cool interest and snap the book closed. The sound was the hardest part, honestly. 

“Yes?” The copy asked, voice still full and hydrated. That was funny. Why was that funny?

“You have a visitor.”

Loki cringed. The Allfather no doubt. Here to take out his rage on a target that couldn’t flee. Here came the verbal sparring match 1,647. He sighed and the copy gave a terse nod. Liam stalked off to retrieve the visitor while Loki thought about trying to make himself appear… not dying. 

He sighed. What was the use? The Allfather would be able to see straight through his illusions at this point, he was so weak. Besides, the Allfather was fully aware of what was going on down in the prisons and had yet to stop it. 

Loki closed his eyes and rested a few moments before he heard the sound of two sets of boots stomping toward him. 

He was shaking. Shaking and starting to get nauseous again. Maybe his head would explode on the Allfather. That would be amusing.

It wasn’t Odin though. He frowned as he listened closer to the second pair of boots. They were too solid. No limp. No hunch. Too strong. He licked his stinging lips again and strained to hear better. There was Liam’s quiet voice. Warning… something. He couldn’t hear. And there was a deep rumbling voice, still coated in the fullness of youth. He sighed and rolled his sunken eyes in his bruised sockets. Thor. 

Sure enough, around the corner came Thor, blonde hair combed and braided back, boots shining, wearing a black grieving cloak. Loki’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. For Frigga.  

His tremors worsened as he made his copy get up and begin pacing. Thor would expect that. Fates, he hated his own habits when he was this tired. What was he supposed to say? ‘Greetings brother? Good to finally see you after three years. Where in Helheim were you when our mother was gutted?’ He sighed and winced as he quickly masked the sound. 

“Loki.” His brother started. Yes, genius Thor. He was so glad he had someone as clever as Thor to remind him what his name was. 

Liam left. 

“Thor. After all this time,” The copy sneered. “And now you come to visit me.” He made the copy lean forward and snarl. “Why?” 

When Thor’s expression didn’t shift Loki grudgingly kept the copy talking. It was exhausting. He hoped that what he said made logical sense. He really wasn’t sure anymore. 

“Have you come to gloat?” The copy sneered. “To mock?” He honestly didn’t know how much he’d be able to handle before he had to drop the illusion. He was already draining vital magics. 

“Loki, enough,” Thor growelled, expression impressively blank. “No more illusions.”

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

But that solved one problem. At least he wouldn’t have to strain to hold it anymore. The copy bowed its head and he let the illusion fade. Just him in his cell of broken furniture and bloody handprints. At least Thor couldn’t smell it. The sight was probably bad enough. 

“Now you see me brother.” He said, still coating his voice a bit to hide just how hoarse it was. Old habits die hard. Besides, there was no need to coax Thor to enter the cell. He was very happy staying right here on the ground and not being touched. A shudder ran down his spine. He definitely appreciated not being touched. Therefore, Thor must remain outside the cell. 

Thor’s expression finally flickered a bit. A frown tugged at his brow but it quickly flew away. It probably just looked like Loki had thrown a fit. A very destructive fit. And then proceeded to nearly kill himself of starvation and dehydration in all of four hours. Thor probably wouldn’t be able to put two and two together that it took a lot longer than that to waste even a frost giant runt away to this point. He’d been spending time with mortals after all. 

Thor talked for a while and Loki was having a hard time following. Concentrating. Maybe he would ask Thor for a glass of water? Or a gallon? No, the guards would punish him for it later. He didn’t want to think what they’d do. 

He wondered if Thor knew what was going on in the prisons beneath the palace floor? Probably not. Thor probably couldn’t stomach it.  

“... I know you seek vengeance as much as I do--” Vengeance? For what? The guards abuse? He just wanted to get the Helheim away from them, he wasn’t particularly interested in… Frigga. 

Thor was offering him a chance to avenge their mother. Something raw and red and angry flared in his chest and he was thirsty for vengeance now as well. 

“You help me escape Asgard--” escape? What had Odin done? “-- and I will grant it to you. Vengeance. And afterward this cell.” He gestured to the cell with his chin. 

Loki frowned and glanced away. If he left the prisons and was returned, the guards' torments would be increased by tenfold because, of course, Thor would not cover the missing time for him. It was so tempting to say no… to wait it out… he was probably only a week out from death now, if he waited a week… yes, lovely; slow death by dehydration and mental deterioration. He’d probably drive a stake of furniture through either wrist first. He chuckled. 

Listen to him! If only Thor could hear his thoughts.

“You must be truly desperate.” He smirked, “To come to me for help.” Maybe he could get himself killed while fighting with Thor… or get Thor to kill him in a fit of rage. He knew the Thunderer was capable of it. He’d watched him do it before.

Thor rolled his eyes and paced a few steps. 

“What makes you think you can trust me?” Loki asked curiously. Death by enemy or death by Thor? 

“I don’t,” Thor growled and turned again. “And you should know that when we fought each other in the past, I did so with a glimmer of hope that my brother was still in there somewhere.” Loki clenched his hands to disguise a tremor that ran up his arms. Fates, he hated this slow death. “That hope no longer exists to protect you.” Loki bit back a sneer. Oh, yes, what a marvelous protector Thor had been over the past few years. “You betray me and I will kill you.”

The bitter smirk slipped free and worked its way across his face. “Hmm.” 

Death by Thor it was. At least that, of all deaths, would be quick. He tilted his head forward and smirked.

“When do we start?”

Hopefully the first thing on the list would be a drink of water.

Chapter Text

The first thing on the list ended up being a bath. Loki failed to warn Thor of the smell, as the Thunderer activated the cell grid. He was too focused on how easy it was for Thor to open the cell. Thor put his hand to the glass and rumbled out a series of numbers then the walls fell down and Loki was free. That simple. 

Loki just sat there on the floor for a few moments staring bitterly at the grooves in the floor that pulled the walls down. So easy. A handprint and a series of numbers and Loki could have escaped this prison. This chamber of nightmares and unspeakable things. A handprint and a handful of numbers and the guards never would have touched him. There was true irony. Freedom, life’s greatest lie, proven unfaithful yet again. 

Thor frowned as Loki failed to get up and tensed as though he expected Loki to have already cloaked himself and have a copy in place. Loki gave a tired sneer. He had no energy left. He wouldn’t have been able to create a copy to save his life. He was wondering if he could stand up at all. 

But the cell walls were down, and their interference of his magic was gone. His power was beginning to slowly crawl back into his chest like a beaten prisoner crawling back to the “safety” of a corner in his cell. Loki closed his eyes and sighed, even just having a little bit of magic made him feel more like himself. 

“You know usually this escape thing happens at a quicker pace.” 

Loki started to find Thor entering his cell with a frown, knuckles whitening on Mjolnr’s hilt. Then the scent hit Thor and the thunderer actually took a step back. Tears stung blue eyes as he tried to smother a cough. 

Loki smirked. “What ever is the matter, Prince ?”

Thor muffled his next cough with a fist and squinted trying to hold back the tears. He was trying not to react, but the Prince was unaccustomed to such unpleasantness; vomit, excrement, urine, sweat, lots of blood. He hadn’t been taken to relieve or bathe himself, after all, in several months at least. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t needed after they stopped feeding and watering him, it still stank from before. 

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor’s failed cover and shifted to pull himself to his feet slowly. His bruises begged him to stay where he was and he swayed as his head split with the sudden blood flow. Molasses-thick-blood tore down his scalp and blinded him for a good thirty seconds until his overworked heart managed a better attempt at circulation. 

Thankfully, it appeared Thor was too distracted by the smell to notice. 

“C-” Thor gagged and beckoned Loki over. “Come here. Let’s hurry up.”

“Of course,” Loki said to stall enough to gain his balance again. “I’d hate to offend your senses anymore than I already have, Crownling.” 

He was practically spitting with rage and shame and frustration by the end but he found his balance and made his stride appear as natural as possible as he made his way across the shattered furniture to his once-brother. 

Thor grabbed his arm just above the elbow and began to pull him down the hallway still trying to mask little coughs and gags as he plowed away from the cell. 

“Did you bring my armor?” Loki asked as Thor towed him along. 

Thor glanced back with that new blank look that Loki didn’t like at all. He honestly couldn’t read Thor when he held that face. Where in the Nine Realms had he learned it? 

“Just magic some on.” Thor gave a frilly gesture that Loki supposed was supposed to mean magic and he dug his feet into the floor to stop Thor, and glared a hole through his face. 

“I can’t just ‘magic some on.’ The cell drained my magic. It needs time to replenish, so unless your plan involves getting me somewhere where I can bathe and change into some armor, my only weapon is going to be my current stench.”

Thor frowned and opened his mouth to protest but in doing so got a full breath of said stench. Tears stung a pair of blue eyes again and he coughed,

“Okay, we’ll take a detour by my chambers.”

“Fine.” Loki ground out. 

***

Fates! His little brother smelled like he’d been marinating in the sewer for a decade! Thor was trying to hide his struggle with the stench, but by Loki’s smoldering glare he wasn’t doing a very good job. He didn’t mean to embarrass Loki but...by the Three Crone Fates, had Loki lost rights to relieve himself at all?! Could they do that? Thor didn’t know, but everytime they caught a draft of wind from a hallway Thor had to force the contents of his stomach to stay where they were. 

Loki felt thin in his grasp, he could feel the bone where bicep should cover it and his eyes were sunken back in his head behind jutting cheekbones, but otherwise he seemed fine. Save for the stench. Oh, that smell though! 

By the time they entered Thor’s chambers, Loki was panting and wheezing and looked a bit gray. Was he sick? Thor frowned and steeled his stomach to the smell so he could get close enough to slap a hand on Loki’s forehead. The trickster flinched so hard Thor had to grab him to keep him from going over backwards. Maybe the threat of killing him was too much?

 Loki felt cool and dry, he wasn’t feverish. 

“What are you doing?” Loki sneered in disdain at the Thunderer. Anger bubbled up in Thor’s bones. That’s what one got for caring about Loki. Mockery. 

He snarled at Loki and shoved him into the bathhouse. Loki stumbled dramatically and Thor scoffed before slamming the door shut. Then he froze outside. What if the stumble wasn’t an act? He really was thin… he looked positively fragile… maybe-- no. This was Loki manipulating him again. He’d decided to treat him as a reasonable threat and now Loki was pulling the ‘fragile little brother’ card, relying on centuries of Thor’s protection to kick in on instinct. Well, it wouldn’t work this time. 

Thor stalked to the door and out to find Sif to inform her of the slight delay. 

***

“Are you sure you’re going to be back in time?” Her son asked, gold eyes lit with worry and hope in tandem. 

Sif gave him a small smile. “Yes, I hope so.”

“Do you promise?” He asked, leveling her with a distrustful stare.

Sif sighed and crouched down to look at him in the eye, gently holding either little shoulder. “Ivailo, you know I can’t promise things like that. Not when I go on missions for the Prince. But yes, I hope so. They’re leaving early and if everything goes well, I should only be getting them to a ship and then I’ll stay in Asgard. I can’t exactly miss your promotion if I’m in Asgard, now can I?” She winked and kissed his little freckled nose. 

Ivailo sighed. “Nothing ever goes well.” 

Sif frowned. “Hey, where’d my little sunshine go? We can’t have two rain clouds in this family!”

Ivailo gave her a small dimpled smile that told her that he wasn’t convinced. Her heart ached. Oh, her wise little boy. 

“Alright, run along now, go play with Riyun. I’ll see you this evening or the next.” She patted his back and he spun around to dart down the hallway towards his friend’s family chambers where he would be staying until her return.

“Hi, Thor!” He called as he darted past the Crown Prince, throwing his black cape up in the air with his sprint. 

“His majesty!” Sif scolded him. 

“Majesty!” Came the shrill call already halfway down the hallway. 

Thor chuckled and shook his head. “You know it’s fine. He doesn’t need to call me Majesty. You’re both practically family.” 

Sif pursed her lips and said bluntly. “Has something gone wrong?” Her lungs curled up in worry. Had she just lied to Ivailo? What could possibly have gone wrong now? Thor was just supposed to go get Loki on board with the plan. 

Thor shook his blonde hair again. “No, no. Loki just needed to bathe first.”

Sif rolled her eyes. That vain princess. A stench hit her nostrils as Thor approached and she gagged and took a step back.

“Fates Thor! Is that what he smelt like?!” She covered her nose and mouth on instinct. 

Thor groaned and lifted a hand to smell. He coughed and shook his head as though that would free it of the stink. “Can I use your sink?” He asked and that was all the answer she needed. No wonder Loki needed to bathe. If Thor was any indication, he smelled like a rotting bilgesnipe carcass. 

Sif nodded silently and ushered him in without removing her hand from across her face. 

Fenrys opened one blue eye to glance over Thor and decided he wasn’t a threat before going back to sleep on his mat, apparently unbothered by the smell. Sif and Thor passed the ancient wolf and she showed him to the sink where he proceeded to wash his hands all the way up his forearms and smothered them in fragrant flowery soap. 

“So you left Loki, alone in your chambers ?” Sif crossed her arms and glared at him. Idiot. 

“He doesn’t have any magic, couldn’t even change his clothes.” Thor shrugged. “And I locked him in.”

Sif rolled her eyes, “He learned to pick a lock before he learned to read!”

Thor gave her an irritated look, “An enchanted lock. And it’s the only exit and entrance. He’s secure enough, besides, he wanted to bathe as well.”

Sif couldn’t help but smirk, imagining Loki’s face having to deal with his brother while smelling like a slum sewage sector. Sif’s smirk faded. Even exhausted, Loki should be able to magically smother a stench that bad. 

“Was he close to a burn out?” she asked with a frown. 

Thor mirrored her frown as he dried his hands on a grey towel. 

“He didn’t appear to be well… but I thought he was just trying to manipulate me…”

Sif sighed.

  “Well that’s the safest thing to assume. Keep an eye on him, he’s probably either plotting something wicked or is close to burnout. Otherwise he would have saved himself the shame and masked his scent from you.”

Thor’s frown deepened and he nodded. 

“Do you know where he would keep spare armor?” He asked.

She bristled. 

“You just assume I know where his clothing is?”

“That’s not what I meant Sif--!” Thor started. 

“ A hundred years ago he kept them in the oak wardrobe in his weapon room,” she snapped. “I don’t know more than that.”

“Sif, I didn’t mean to insult you,” Thor said gently.

Sif snarled at him.

 “Well, you did. Now what time are we meeting?”

Thor hesitated, searching her face with his blue gaze before deciding to move on with her. 

“I need you to grab Jane by the eleventh hour this morning.”

“In an hour. Good,” she snapped, easing back into the comfort of her soldier tone. Cool, efficient, and unbudging. “I’ll get her.”

“Thank you,” Thor said before pausing to search her face again. 

“I’ll see you then,” she said pointedly. Fenrys, seeming to sense her sudden mood shift gave a low growl and prowled over to stand between them, guarding Sif against the apparent attack. 

Thor sighed and gave the wolf and warrior each a withering look before turning and leaving their chambers with a hunter’s quiet grace. 

***

The first thing Loki did after Thor left was to drop to his knees by the faucet head and gulp down as much water as he possibly could. Straight from the faucet, lukewarm and getting hotter, yet it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. 

He loved water. Loved it more than anything in all the Nine Realms. He’d rather burn to death in frost giant form than die of thirst. He’d rather be flogged to the bone than die of thirst. He’d rather… Well, he’d probably better stop thinking about it and just keep drinking. 

A few times he went too fast and his empty stomach betrayed him and flipped so he ended up vomiting water and bile into Thor’s toilet but then he was right back to gulping water like a fish who’d been on deck too long. Water was the most glorious thing in existence. 

When he’d finally had his fill, his head still felt like it was going to split in half and his heart was still pounding, but he felt better in tentative terms. He drew the bath and salts and glanced in the mirror. He looked like… what were those mortal fantasies? Zombies. He looked like a zombie. A very, very thin one. A mummy zombie. He smirked. That would make a strange, but hilarious film. The Mummy Zombie Who Haunted the Prisons of Asgard.

He turned from the mirror to find the bath almost full, so he stripped and threw his smelly clothes in the disintegrator. Good riddance. 

He had just turned around and was about to step into the bath when the door opened and Thor strode in with a pair of green and gold leathers for traveling and a pair of boots. Thor glanced at him and then turned to set the clothing down on the bench. 

Loki threw his hands out in a frustrated gesture trying to convince his body that it didn’t need to be snapping into fight-or-flight mode. It was Thor. It was fine. Still, the hair stood up along his spine and he trembled with the force of trying to hold the allusion of pale, unblemished skin over his bruised and scar-wrecked hide. He hadn't had time to throw on an illusion of more weight or a pair of trousers. 

“You couldn’t have even knocked?” he snapped.

Thor turned around again with a bewildered look and Loki wished he hadn’t said anything at all. If he’d just kept his blasted mouth shut, Thor would have already left and that door would have been safely shut. 

“....Sorry.” Thor gave him a look like Loki had grown a third head. had never been a 

Nakedness had never been a problem in the past. It was normal for the two of them, considering the missions they went on for centuries and the closeness they’d grown up with. 

Loki’s head told him that, but his pounding heart and adrenaline-lit veins didn’t believe it for one second. 

“I didn’t think you minded?”

 Thor gave him another one of those you’re acting very strange looks before closing the door behind him.

Loki let out a massive breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and took a couple more to steady his rebellious sympathetic nervous system: repeating to himself that he wasn’t in any real danger. Yet. And even when he was, it wouldn’t be that danger. Thor would kill him but he wouldn’t--he snapped his eyes shut and clenched his teeth so hard his face ached all the way up to under his eyes.

With another deep breath he opened his eyes, dropped the illusion of wellness, and eased his battered frame into the beautiful heat of the first real bath he’d taken in almost seven years.  

Chapter Text

The interaction with Loki in the bathhouse was strange, he had never been shy or irritable about the matter in the past 1500 years. Why was he suddenly angry that Thor walked in on him while he was about to bathe? Thor frowned. 

Actually, Loki had been more than angry, he’d been livid. White with fury and actually visibly trembling with rage. He was livid that Thor had walked in on him and hadn’t knocked. It was… one of the strangest things that had happened this week, right on par with the ancient dark elves who were killed a million years ago suddenly being resurrected. 

Thor racked his brain trying to think of a reason that Loki might have suddenly become… shy? Was that the word? It was probably just that they were enemies now and Loki had decided that they could no longer be comfortable with such things as such. Thor rolled his eyes, his brother could be so ridiculous and impractical sometimes. 

There had been a flash of green though as Thor entered, so he knew Loki was hiding something. It made him nervous, but unsurprised. He figured that Loki would betray them at some point, he’d just have to watch him so Jane wasn’t injured when that happened. It made him feel a bit sick. He probably shouldn’t have sworn to kill Loki. Betrayal was inevitable with him now… Thor sat down on his bed with a sigh and set his head in his hands. It didn’t seem fair, that right after he lost his mother, he was forced to choose to save his lover and have to kill his brother, or spare his brother and abandon Jane to die. He shouldn’t have to choose between them. 

Sif’s mention of burnout worried Thor. Loki had only burnt out once. He was just into young manhood and saved their entire army from destruction by transporting them to safety through a wormhole, keeping them all alive--hundreds of thousands of them-- on his own magic. By transporting them off planet he sentenced their enemies to death by not saving them when the planet’s core overheated and burst. 

He saved so, so many lives that day.  Thor hadn’t felt so proud of his little brother in his entire life. He hadn’t felt terror like that day though either. As soon as they were safely back to the shores of Asgard Thor had checked on each of his friends, celebrating laughing in disbelieving joy at finding themselves not only alive but victors of a defeated army. They were all so very young.

Then he heard Sif’s cry and spun around just in time to see his little brother topple into Sif’s arms. Sif had been injured as well and she went down with him, screaming for the King as she held the second prince to her chest. Thor sprinted to the two of them. 

Loki was a strange grey color and his lips nearly white. His eyes were glassy and his breathing ragged as he stared up into Sif’s face trying to say something… something important. Yet no sound came, only a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. As Odin reached them Loki’s eyes rolled back in his head and with a shudder he lost all color. He nearly ceased to breathe. 

Sif screamed again, tears spilling down the warrior’s cheeks in a way that terrified Thor. In all his years, Thor had never seen Sif cry, not in pain. Not on the anniversary of her parent’s nor sister’s death. Never. Now she was sobbing-- embarrassing herself for later when the men would mock her for it, but in the moment she didn’t care-- and begging the fates not to take him yet, begging the Allfather to tell her what was wrong.

 “Do something! Please! Please! Not yet! Oh, fates! Do something! Please! Please not him too!”

Odin swung off his horse and dropped to the young man’s side a gold humm emanating from his palm as he placed it on Loki’s forehead. The old man’s face drained of blood and creased with worry. 

“He’s in burnout. He used too much magic. Sif, give him to me.”

And then, as though Loki weighed nothing at all, Odin scooped him up like he was a little child again and swung back up on his horse to ride back for the Palace as swiftly as his steed could go. 

Sif had stayed where she was on the ground, wrapping her now empty arms about her middle and hunching over to sob in terror and early grief. After a life such as hers, she’d already written him off as dead. 

Loki nearly had died. He’d stayed in the Sleep for three months. The Sleep was different than the Odinsleep--which was a natural coping to Odin’s artificial magic faucets due to his Kingship atop his own natural magic-- the Sleep was fatally dangerous. 

When a magic user fell into the Sleep from a burnout, their organs failed, their mind was temporarily lost, their soul wandered unknown paths from the body, and their magic-- in turmoil and confusion-- turned on the wielder and attacked their own body. Frigga and Sif hardly left Loki’s side even to eat or sleep… Thor and Odin could barely stand to stay there, seeing Loki like that. It had nearly destroyed all of them. 

But Loki had recovered and-- although he was different when he woke, never the same again-- he was alive. Frigga believed that it was the recovery from his burnout that sowed the first seeds of madness in his mind. 

He hadn’t had a burnout since and that was nearly a thousand years ago. Loki was so powerful, his well of magic ran so deep, that he hadn’t faced anything since that could drain him. Certainly three years of prison-- especially in the comfort Frigga had set him up with-- couldn’t drain him? Thor sighed and dragged a calloused hand down his face. He was so unsure of everything. 

If Loki was close to burnout, he most definitely shouldn’t be traveling to the Dark World on a mission. It could easily kill him. But Loki was such a master at manipulation and liesmithing that Thor didn’t know if this was in fact a near burn out or if it was, as Sif put so well, “some wicked plot.”

He shook his head. It was hard to remember sometimes that those two had loved each other so very much. And they truly had. He’d never known what it was that drove them apart; he couldn't imagine what could. They had been tethered at the hip since they met. Everyone assumed that they would marry someday… and then suddenly it was over and they regarded each other with either seething rage, or cold distrust. 

It made his heart ache just remembering. He’d found both of them, separately, weeping quietly in some corner-- alone, as both of them were prone to do-- and had tried to comfort them, knowing full well the only thing that would really heal them would be for them to forgive whatever had happened and move on, together. But they were too stubborn, the pair of them. 

A part of both of them broke after that. The next hundred years saw the light fade in Sif’s eyes, and completely go out in Loki’s. It made both of their smiles bitter like broken glass and forged them into sharper, crueler opponents. Odin had seen it as an improvement in Loki, Frigga a loss. 

“They have no idea the power they could nurture between the two of them,” she’d say, when Thor brought it up, with a sad shake of her head. “They have no idea the comfort they could bring each other in the coming days.”

But the coming days only brought more pain and sorrow. A century later, Loki tried to kill himself and Sif got herself pregnant by an unknown father, rendering herself un-courtable because she kept the child. Ivailo had brought a gentling to Sif’s broken heart and near-death had pushed Loki finally over the edge, leaving him a dark, bitter, hollowed out shell of who he used to be. It seemed they were both now alone permanently. 

Now, Sif wanted nothing to do with Loki. Loki wanted nothing to do with anyone. Frigga was dead. Jane was dying. Their father had also lost his mind and Thor very well might have to choose between the life of his precious lover and his long-ago-lost brother. Thor thought he might be sick again but screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath to steady himself. It would work itself out. What was it that his mother had always said? 

“Have faith, my boy, have a little faith.”

The bathhouse door opened and Loki stepped out, looking much healthier in his armor and after cleaning up some. His hair was wet and his face was still pale, but other than that he looked better. Maybe he just needed a bath after all. 

Thor sighed and got up to put on a pair of boots better suited for the terrain on Svartalfheim. When he turned around to sit down on the bed again and put them on, Loki had an apple from the table decoration already half devoured. He stopped wolfing down as soon as Thor caught sight of him but kept eating at a slower but efficient rate. Thor raised his eyebrows,

“Did they not feed you today or something?” He thought about mentioning how ridiculous Loki looked, gobbling down the fruit laid out for decoration, but thought better of it when Loki’s eyes flashed furiously. He grabbed another apple. 

Thor frowned as he watched Loki proceed to pull the entire fruit bowl into a pocket of space with a challenging glare in Thor’s direction. Was he really that hungry? 

“Do you want me to order a meal? We probably have fifteen minutes,” Thor offered, still trying to figure out if Loki was acting or covering. It was so hard to tell, he behaved the same either way. 

Loki shook his head and disregarding every lesson on proper etiquette ever instilled in them as children, sat down on top of the table. Thor pursed his lips in annoyance and Loki gave him an infuriating smirk. 

“So, tell me the plan. Where are we going? How are we getting there? How does it avenge the Queen? And why did you think this was a good idea?” He spread his hands wide and then took another bite of apple loudly, just to be irritating. 

Thor grit his teeth and forced himself to settle a blank expression, he’d actually learned from Loki if he were being honest, over his face as he leaned down to fasten his boots before he began to explain.

Chapter Text

Loki was pretty sure this had to be one of the stupidest plans in existence. They were escaping in a dark elf Pruiht Blade, hoping to get there before the guards stopped them. Praying to the fates that Odin would go down to the Bifrost for Heimdal’s confession/bait giving them enough time to escape without simply being disintegrated by Odin’s spear. 

Then, somehow, Loki was supposed to make the massive Pruiht blade fit through the portal and get them to Svartalfheim where they were supposed to travel not until they found Malekith--no, they didn’t know where he was-- but they hoped that he would be drawn to the Aether in Jane’s veins. 

In Jane’s veins . That was the other thing. Thor seemed to be completely unaware that the chances of his mortal lover surviving having an Infinity Stone inside her body were less than 1,000 to 1. Loki wasn’t about to tell him that though. No, he’d save that one for later. Jane was a sensitive spot for Thor. Loki could use that fact as the icing on the cake. That could be what made Thor snap and kill him. He wasn’t going to say anything yet. Not until it was useful information. 

The one thing Loki was fairly confident of about this foolish mission of Thor’s, was that it would most likely end with only Thor coming home. Jane was lucky to be still breathing anyways and Loki was fairly certain that this mission would be faithful in killing him off too. If everything went according to plan. 

Loki was tucking every fruit, vegetable and breadbasket away into one of his pockets in space as they passed them. Thor had yet to notice any of them but the first one Loki had stolen from the Thunderer’s rooms. Loki had never thought Asgard wasteful before for putting out displays… but now that he was starving, he could scarcely comprehend why they would let food sit out and stale, only to be thrown away. Unless it was there to mock the famished like himself. That sounded like Asgard. He rolled his eyes.

He wanted to eat it all at once, stuff himself to the brink. But it wouldn’t stay down, he knew that. Just keeping the two apples from Thor’s chambers down was a task enough. So he tucked it away, knowing that Thor wouldn’t think to bring food on a mission that should only take a day or two if ‘everything went according to plan.’ Loki sighed and glanced at the back of his brother’s blonde head. They had very different plans for this mission. Very different perspectives. 

Thor had never been to the Dark World. Svartalfheim terrified Loki even now. He didn’t have any desire to go back. Well, the self-reserving part of him didn’t want to go back. The suicidal part of him was grimly satisfied. 

There was black magic cursed into the very grains of sand on that forsaken planet. Sandstorms weren’t caught up by wind, they tracked living creatures and then rose up at the opportune moment to rip the travelers to shreds. All that was left of a man after a Slvartleheimiam sand storm was a skeleton looking to be aged a hundred years even though the life was taken only moments before. 

In the rare pools of brackish water, swam beasts that starved for centuries and feasted whenever some traveler was foolish enough to drink water. They were playful killers, intelligent in the dark twisted way of black magic, and took their time eating their prey alive, as long as they could keep it that way. 

The heat was unbearable in the day, usually near 48.9 degrees Celsius, and well below freezing at night as though even the atmosphere was trying to kill its inhabitants. The few intelligent creatures in humanoid form were as cruel and twisted as the world around them and Loki wished sometimes that it had been the swimming beasts that found him, instead of the sadistic people that found him the last time he was foolish enough to venture into the Dark World. 

Thor thought this would be a quick in and out. An easy op. A way to save Jane like he hadn’t been able to save his mother, and perhaps the world while he was at it. But Loki knew better. This was a suicide mission, through and through. Odin would try and stop them not only because they were committing treason, but also because he didn’t want his only heir now to be eaten alive by a sea beast, stripped of his flesh by a sandstorm, mutilated by the Slavaflheimians, or butchered by Malekith; who was called the King of the Dark World for a reason.  

Jane wouldn’t survive this planet, in all likelihood. Loki hoped he didn’t. And Thor might, but only to go back to face Odin’s wrath and deal with the trauma inflicted by a world that would not be forgotten by any of its survivors. 

With another tired look at his brother’s back Loki summoned the energy to catch up to the thunderer, plastered as irritating a grin as he could across his face and made himself annoying.

“This is so unlike you, brother!” He taunted with a smirk. “So clandestine --”

 If all else failed, at least he kept up appearances. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Jane was more of a mouse of a woman, thought Sif, than a Queen. 

“I’m not hungry,” she whined as Sif came up behind one of the last guards. Sif rolled her eyes and snapped the hilt of her sword down on the back of the man’s head and said, more gruffly than she intended, 

“Good, let’s go!” She stomped down the corridor, listening for the patter of Jane’s little heels behind her. Sif hoped Thor was practical enough to offer his lover a pair of decent boots for the journey, but she doubted he would think of such things. She threw a glance over her shoulder and found Jane huddling close behind her back. Sif sighed. She was glad that Jane was clever enough to know when she could not defend herself, but she was so tiny. So frail. So… mortal . She stood less than two feet taller than Sif’s six year old. 

What Thor saw in her that was Queenly, Sif had no idea. 

“So you’re Thor’s uh, Prince Thor’s friend?” Jane asked conversationally. 

Sif rolled her eyes. This conversation. Did it have to be now? 

“Yes,” she nodded stiffly, surveying a hallway intersection before ushering the Prince’s lover through. 

“Friend,” she said firmly. 

“Oh.” Sif could feel Jane’s eyes on her back. “I was wondering if maybe you once… um… well--”

“Spit it out, woman,” Sif said through gritted teeth. “We are in a bit of a hurry.”

“Were you ever a thing?” Jane plowed on.

Sif frowned. “I am accustomed to this term ‘thing’.”

“It’s when you’re with someone. You know like dating or um, sleeping or something?” 

Sif turned just a fraction to give Jane a raised eyebrow. “No. I was never a ‘thing’ with the Crown Prince. We are too similar… and too different.” She frowned. “But he is a good friend.”

“I’d be fine, you know, if you had… I mean he’s been alive for a really long time, I bet he’s been with lots of women…”

“He has,” Sif verified, earning a venomous glare from Jane. Sif smirked, perhaps more than a mouse after all. 

“ Anyway , I was just saying it’s alright if something happened in the past .” Emphasis on ‘the past’. Sif couldn’t help but toss the little mortal a wicked grin. 

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled. “I’m not going to be a problem for you.”

Jane cleared her throat uncomfortably and glanced around at the pillars. “So… he sent you to get me? Why didn’t he come?”

“He was freeing a prisoner.” Sif felt that unease crawl in her belly again and her wicked grin dropped. She still felt they were doing something awful by letting Loki go.

“A prisoner?” Jane asked. “Why is he freeing a criminal?”

“Oh, he’s more than just a criminal.” Sif pursed her lips and stopped Jane, as she heard footsteps approaching. Jane immediately silenced and froze as well. Good. 

Sif listened again and identified the two pairs of footsteps. Thor. Loki. She swallowed. She hadn’t heard them approaching together in several years now. 

“Come on.” She pulled Jane from the corner again and they marched out into the hallway where the brothers appeared from the opposite end. 

“Y-You’re--” Jane’s eyes widened when she saw Loki. 

“You may have heard of me, I’m--” he began. 

Sif moved to tell her it was alright, that she and Thor would protect the mortal, but Jane was already stalking forward and striking. It was as though the moment was in slow motion. Thor and Sif’s eyes flew wide, their mouths opened to warn, and their hearts stopped in their chests as Jane’s tiny hand snapped out to slap the Trickster. 

Mortals were so fragile. Hitting something like an Aesir face would be like hitting granite. The woman could sprain or even break her hand and wrist with such an act. All Loki had to do was hold still and she would shatter her hand beyond repair. 

But he didn’t. As if in reflex, the Trickster threw his head to the side, his own eyes surprised as the little hand collided with his cheek. 

“That was for New York!” she roared in her little mouse voice. 

Sif felt a bit sick. The woman had no idea of her own fragility. No idea. And they were taking this woman into the Dark World . Loki rolled his eyes. A slow, dangerous smile split the Trickster’s face and Sif felt her insides freeze. Jane had no idea what an enemy she had just made. No idea what the man was capable of doing to her.

Loki gave a dark grin to the mortal and then glanced at Thor.

“I like her.”

Not what any of them wanted to hear. Thor’s fists clenched and he moved to step forward. On instinct, Sif intersected between the two. 

“And what of the Allfather?” she asked. 

“Heimdall is distracting him,” Thor said softly, his blue eyes blazing with the desire to give Loki a blow that would hurt. The Trickster had the audacity to smirk back in his face. 

A clatter of boots and armor alerted them to the legion of Einjar storming around the corner and Thor gave her a panicked look. They were behind schedule. 

“Go,” Sif motioned with her chin. “I’ll hold them off.” 

Thor gave her a grateful look and grabbed his fragile mortal by the arm to keep her safe-- from their enemies and herself-- as he plowed down the hallway. 

Loki also turned to go. Ignoring Sif completely. 

She tried to ignore the painful twisting that tore through her stomach. She snapped her sword to the soft skin of his neck anyways and leveled him with an enemy stare. Loki’s face split again with that dark and twisted grin.

“You betray him,” she warned, motioning to her Prince with her chin. “And I will kill you.”

The smile warped into a sneer and he turned to look at her, forcing her to let the blade off a bit or slice his throat. She shifted the blade minutely. Was he mad? Did he want her to spill his blood?

“It’s good to see you too, Sif.” He smiled, but it was a snarl. Once curious green eyes were now dark and glinting and his once innocent smile was now feral. Even directly after her betrayal two-hundred years ago he hadn’t looked at her with that intensity of hatred. She ignored the clenching in her stomach at how different-- how sickeningly different--- six years had made him and pulled the blade back to let him pass. He turned his back on her and stalked down the hallway after Thor like a chained beast waiting to turn on it’s keeper and rip him to shreds, just for the fun of it. 

Chapter Text

She was the same. And yet different. But so much the same that it hurt. Her face sent an ache through his chest like hot water on a frozen rock. 

She was still Sif. Beautiful. Fierce. Defiant. Unashamed of anything, especially herself. She was like a Valkyrie carved from the finest marble, her flashing hazel eyes the most living thing about her. Goddess of War. 

She was still Sif. And oh how he missed her. Oh, how he never wanted to see her again. Oh, how he loved her. Oh, how he desperately hated her. Oh, how she made him feel alive, and oh, how she solidified his desire to die. 

Still Sif. Still as beautiful as she was hateful. Still completely and totally, not his. He sighed as he watched Thor tow Jane along behind him and picked up his pace to catch the couple. 

Honestly, he was as impressed as he was discouraged after meeting Jane. She had spirit, he’d give her that. But she could have broken her hand on his face and was up there strutting safely by Thor’s side, unaware of how close she’d just come to losing her dominant hand. Oblivious as to just how much more fragile she was compared to the beings of the other Nine Realms. 

What was Thor thinking? Loki wouldn’t let that little woman walk into Vanaheim without protection, much less Svartalfheim . She was going to get eaten by a plant, or something! Maybe decide to slap a sea monster? Or perhaps spit in Malekith's face? 

Loki could see how easily her spine would shatter, how brutally the sound would snap through the air after an attack of any of those creatures. He felt sick. Was Thor as oblivious as his mortal lover? Or was he truly this desperate? That the only way he could see to save the girl’s life was to risk it so brashly.

Well it really wasn’t his business, was it? The only death Loki should be concerning himself with was his own. Still, as he fell into step behind Thor, and watched the Thunderer protectively curl his hand completely around his lovers, Loki felt a heaviness settle in his soul. 

Thor was a warrior. Born for the shedding of blood. That’s what he loved.

And Jane… Jane’s dainty little hand in Thor’s looked wrong. Slender, weak, delicate as porcelain. Large brown eyes wide and bright and intelligent, but ignorant… and so, so young. She was lovely and brilliant. Loki could see what drew the Thunderer to her. But he could also see that the god of thunder, the lover of battle, was tucking a beautiful flower in his belt and hoping that he could manage to maintain both of his loves: a life of battle, and his little flower. The story could only end one way. He was going to get her killed. Smashed. Ripped apart. Crushed underfoot like a daisy. 

And as much as losing a lover to life hurt, losing one to death was worse. He would have killed himself much earlier in life if he lost Sif to an early death rather than life.

They strode into the great hall and there smashed into the column was an ancient Pruiht Blade. One of the best ships in all the nine realms. Not imitable due to its construction of dark magic and rare stone. And hopefully, Thor could fly it, because, as the Thunderer so wisely put it, “How hard could it be?” 

Loki rolled his eyes as they approached the dark ship and the red-bearded warrior stationed in front of it. Perhaps Thor would kindly get him killed before they even got out of Asgard.  

“I will give you as much time as I can,” Volstagg promised Thor.

“Thank you, my friend,” the Prince replied, clasping his friend by the arm. Jane was a polite little flower and bobbed her head with a sweet smile. She was still a child in the ways of the realms. 

Loki moved to follow them and Volstagg’s hand snapped out to stop him. 

“If you even think about betraying him--” Volstagg’s easy-going smile melted into a snarl. 

“You’ll… kill me?” Loki mocked. “Apparently there will be a line.” 

At least there was a backup plan. If plan I: death by Thor , and plan II: Death by whatever thing was trying to kill Thor , both failed, he’d just have to make sure he got back to Sif or Volstagg before Thor got him to the dungeons and goad them into doing the honors. They’d both gladly do the deed. 

Volstagg glared at him but let him pass. 

Loki sauntered on board still holding the character as well as he could while a dizzy spell hit him. Jane was standing by the wall and Thor was trying to figure out the center console and Loki tried to casually lean against the dash while the world spun around him and the apples in his stomach threatened to mutiny. 

“I thought you said you knew how to fly this thing,” Loki sneered as soon as the wave of nausea banked. 

“I said, ‘How hard could it be,’” Thor growled and Loki’s reproachful purse of the lips was not forced in the slightest. 

Volstagg let out a battle cry as he took on a legion of Einherjar. 

“Well, whatever you’re doing, brother, I suggest you do it faster,” Loki prodded. He would not be sent back to the dungeons before they even got out of Asgard. He fingered for a dagger in one of his pockets of space. The wrists would be too slow. He’d cut his own throat, sever both carotid arteries. That at least brought him some comfort. He’d be safely bled out before they even dragged his body back to his cell. 

“No, don’t hit it,” he tightly told Thor. “Just press it, gently.”

His jaw clenched at the thought that Thor would watch him take his own life, that Sif would watch them drag his body down the hall. But he swallowed the feeling. Whether that was difficult or enjoyable to them wasn’t his problem. He was only concerned with himself, and making sure that self didn’t get locked away to be tormented and violated for others' pleasure for the rest of his miserable life. 

It wouldn’t be necessary yet though, it appeared: Thor had the ship up in the air. Without control, the Prince smashed through ancient columns each individually engraved with the tales of his ancestors. Loki smirked. They weren’t his ancestors. 

“I think you missed a column,” he snarked. 

“Shut up, Loki,” Thor snapped as he launched them out of the great hall with more force than grace. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Sif was letting them win now. She heard the Pruiht Blade fire up and launch out of the great hall so there was no point in fighting her brothers anymore. She dropped her sword and raised her hands. One of the men socked her in the face anyway. She snarled as she tasted blood but didn’t strike back. 

“I surrender,” she spat blood on his boots. Two of them came up behind her and yanked her hands to cuff them behind her back. They were rougher than necessary, but to be fair she had just committed treason… again. She sighed. This was becoming too regular. When Thor got back she was going to have to talk to him about this commiting treason order. 

The guards from the great hall stalked in with Volstagg handcuffed as well and he gave her an audacious wink. She just gave a heavy sigh through her nose. She wasn’t enjoying herself quite as much as he was apparently. 

The legions started marching them back towards the dungeons, where she knew Fandral would eventually join them until their trial when the Allfather decided what to do with his oldest son’s friends. Again. 

They were two hall lengths away from the stairs down to the prisons when a little blonde boy raced up to the legion and began trying to shove his way into the center. Sif’s stomach dropped beneath her feet. 

“Riyun!” She asked, her voice coming out rough as her heart strangled her windpipe. “What’s wrong!? Where’s Ivailo?!”

Her son’s best friend was shaking and sobbing as he tried to reach her and the guards held him back. 

“W-we w-where just just p-playing!” He shook his head and tears sprouted from his blue eyes and bloomed down his cheeks. “I-I p-promise! W-We d-didn’t kn-know-w!”

“Riyun,” Sif felt faint. “Where is my son?”

“O-On-n the the sh-ship-p…!” Riyun’s whole frame was hiccuping in sobs. 

Sif’s blood froze. “What ship?”

“Th-the bad one!” Riyun cried. “The bad black one.” 

The ship that held the thunderer, mass murderer, and power infested mortal on its way to the Dark World of terrors and unspeakable things. 

Sif didn’t even stop to think before she threw her elbow into a guard’s face and fought for her very life. 

Chapter Text

“Congratulations. You just decapitated your grandfather.” Loki was fairly certain at this point that Thor was trying to smash everything in sight. There was no other excuse for this level of destruction, in such a fine-tuned vehicle capable of such precise maneuvering, except that the thunderer was trying to make a mess. Loki was also fairly certain that he was about to lose his first meal in a long time. The mutinous apples flipped in his stomach again and the half-digested taste of them slithered back up his esophagus. 

The Prhuit blade suddenly took a nosedive, attempting to escape their pursuers. 

“Now they’re following us.” Loki stumbled forward desperately trying to convince himself that he didn’t need to vomit.  A flurry of blasts pummeled the tail and the whole ship jerked under the blow. 

“Now they're firing at us!” He snapped.

“Yes, thank you for the commentary, Loki,” Thor snapped back sarcastically. “It’s not at all distracting.” Loki grit his teeth and clamped his eyes shut for a moment, desperately trying to pull his equilibrium back into balance. 

As he opened them, Jane’s eyes rolled back in her head and she swooned. Great. She was going to die even before they escaped and Loki was going to have to kill himself before he got chucked back in the dungeons. 

However, he only voiced a nonchalant, “Oh, dear. Is she dead?”

That, at the very least, turned Thor’s head, and instead of answering he asked, “Jane?”

A slender hand flew up in the air and she mumbled, “ ‘mmm okay…”

She was most definitely not ‘okay’ She was likely teetering on the brink of insanity, trembling between reality and what every reality the gem was weaving inside her head, but Loki kept his mouth shut. He would get a better look at her once they got out of Asgard. After all, so much of his plan relied on her at least surviving a little while longer. He sent a subtle boost of energy around her vitals to keep her alive for a bit, not really wanting to waste any more magic but realizing that if it was all that kept the little mortal alive and got him out of the realm, it was worth it. 

He made sure to keep it inconspicuous enough as to not arouse Thor’s or Jane’s suspicions, although he figured Jane was the more observant of the two anyways. Her glazed over brown gaze met his for a moment, but she didn’t appear coherent enough to realize what he was doing so he didn’t stop. He needed her to make it. 

Thor took an incredibly steep dive to avoid fire and every atom of apple bile surged up Loki’s entire esophagus to poison his mouth. He clenched his jaw and forced it back down, insisting that his body process the food.

“You know this is wonderful,” he started in on Thor, this time perhaps more serious than in act. “This is a tremendous idea. Let’s steal the biggest, most obvious ship in the universe,” He paced around to Thor’s other side, fuming on apple bile. “And escape in that! Flying around the city, smashing into everything in sight so everyone can see us, it’s brilliant Thor! It’s truly brilliant!--” 

And with that the Thunderer snapped around and shoved Loki out the open hangar door. 

The first thing Loki thought as he plunged out into open air was that it took a lot less goading than he’d originally intended to get the Thunderer to kill him. The second was that at the very least splattering across the ocean’s surface was a fairly fast way to go. The third was a worry that it wouldn’t be enough to kill him, it wasn’t too far. 

The fourth was that he was falling. 

Falling. 

He could not hold back the scream that grabbed the air from his lungs as all at once he wanted to die and yet not have to fall a second longer. Falling was weightlessness, soundlessness, colorlessness, oxygenlessness. Falling was the void and the void was the breaker of soul, body, and sanity. 

And yet, as soon as this fall started, it was over and his feet hit a hard surface. His weakened legs gave out from underneath him almost instantly and he barely had the time to scramble to the edge of the ship he'd miraculously landed on, before the contents of his stomach successfully revolted and he vomited everything. 

He was dry heaving when Thor landed on the new ship, Jane in his arms, graceful as any airborne creature. 

Fandral, at the wheel, was chuckling. “I see your time in the dungeons has made you no less graceful Loki.” 

Loki struggled to his feet, quietly gasping for air, and ignored the brainless blonde. 

“You lied to me,” Loki processed verbally, watching as Thor tucked his mortal into sleep. “I’m impressed.” Really, mostly impressed with how unaware Loki himself was becoming, but he’d feed Thor’s ego if he had the chance. Pride and rage were Thor’s weakest points. 

Thor didn’t take the bait though. He gave Loki that blank look that chilled something in the Trickster’s gut and noted. “I’m glad you’re pleased, now do as you promised.”

Loki smirked and traded places with a now glowering Fandral who had no idea that his face wasn’t good for much more than attracting brainless women with flashy smiles and winks. Loki ignored him and grinned as he ran his cuffed hands over the shift and pushed the capsule into a speed more to his liking. Fandral tried nonchalantly gripping the railing as Loki pulled a perfect ninety-degree curve and sped along across the water’s surface. 

He was aware that they had a tail almost as soon as they hit the sunlight water out of the cities’ shadow. A wicked grin split his gaunt face. He’d die, but at least he’d have a bit of fun first. 

_____________________________________________________________________

The first thing Sif had done was hijack a ship. She’d sprinted two miles to the nearest bell tower, hurtled to the top and then threw herself bodily at the nearest approaching ship. Four eignjar hadn’t been easy, but by the time they crested the city wall she’d disposed of all of them. She did not hesitate anymore knowing they were brothers when her child was hurtling through space in a ship under direct fire with several of the world's most dangerous beings inside. 

She was too late. 

She realized it almost instantaneously. She wasn’t going to catch it and her heart plummeted to the ocean floor as she watched the escape pod peel away from the now unmanned ship. Her heart shredded her ribs raw and her hands actually shook as she tried to make the most calculated decision possible with her child’s life on the line. 

The ship was now unmanned and being shot down. She was too far away to reach it. Logically she knew that. 

She glanced at the escape pod that was breaking away at a reckless pace. 

Thor could fly faster than the ships. 

In a split second that was eons long, Sif snapped the ship around so hard the hull groaned under the pressure and hurtled after the princes. 

Her heart thundered with every shot at the dark elf ship that flew farther and farther away with every passing second. Her muscles ached as she strained forward to encourage her own ship to speed up and catch her target faster. 

Loki was flying. That she knew the instant she realized she wasn’t going to catch them either. He hurtled forward, unafraid of death, taunting it even, swerving like a madman across the face of the water. But mad or not she had to catch them because her son was on that elvish ship and she was not going to lose him. That was not an option.  

So instead she decided to provoke them. Her right hand directing, her left snaked out and smashed the trigger down sending a furious flurry of bolts at the escape pod. They maneuvered out of the bolt’s paths, but it slowed their speed enough for her to gain ground. 

Loki launched up off the water and Sif nodded in grim satisfaction as she saw Fandral prepared to jump. She let the ship coast and released the trigger and wheel. 

Fandral swung down and landed in her ship just as she hurled herself off the edge groping wildly for the rope he’d released. 

“By fates above, Sif--!” she heard and assumed was followed by a stream of curses. She snapped herself hand-over-hand up the rope. 

Thor’s face peered over the edge and furious blue eyes melted in shock as he lunged forward to help her up. 

“Fates, Sif! What was that? Why are you here?! You’re supposed to be--!”

Sif gripped his arm with bruising fear and struggled to force out through breathless lungs, “I- Ivailo--! Sh-ship--! Please, Thor! My son! Ivailo!---” Her lungs were on fire but she wrung every ounce of sound she could. 

Thor’s face blanched white as he looked at the elven ship and Sif spun around just in time to watch the ship hit the mountainside and ignite into a fury of light. 

The young mother had never felt pain as in that screaming moment that dropped her to her knees and shattered her soul into a thousand sparks and ashes. 

No. Not him too. Why was she cursed to lose every person in her protection? Why was she cursed to lose them all? Everyone she loved broke or died. 

Her baby. Fates, her little boy. Her most precious. Her love above all other loves. 

Her screams died like flame without oxygen and she shuddered in a numbing freezing shock. How? Just this morning she’d kissed that dimpled face. Held that little body in her arms. Smelled that black tea and cinnamon scent

It could not be true; that her life was gone.  

Then behind her there was a flash of soft green light and the surprised yelp of a child. 

Sif snapped around. Her round-faced son was deposited safely behind her, enormous gold eyes the size of harvest moons. Ivailo. Alive. Breathing.

Loki. 

In all her panic all she could think of was that Thor, whom she trusted, could fly. She’d never thought to ask Loki to transport her child from the ship. He didn’t even know that Ivailo existed. 

She burst into tears and pulled her son into her chest to hold him as tightly as she dared. Forcibly swallowing the rest of her sobs, she let his cinnamon and black tea-scented hair serve as proof that her son was really there in her arms, against her chest, in the safety of her protection once again. She was never going to let him go again. 

“Loki?” Thor’s voice yanked Sif back to the present, but her grip did not loosen from around her son. Her gaze rose, however, just in time to meet the pine green one of the second prince, before his vivid irises rolled back in their sockets and he collapsed right as they smashed into the portal. 

Chapter Text

Loki was not fine. Even though he’d transported entire armies before, as soon as he transported Ivailo he went a terrifying shade of bone white and passed out at the wheel. Thor should have lunged for the wheel, considering all of their lives depended on them not hitting the mountain’s face. But all of his instincts hurled him forward to cover his brother. 

As soon as Thor reached Loki he realized his mistake as the belly of the cliff loomed up in front of them and the ship rocketed straight to its certain demise. His heart still refusing to beat, Thor twisted for the wheel, but Sif was already there, Ivailo wrapped securely around her leg with both arms, pulling the wheel up with that incredible strength. She was the picture of an ancient Valkyrie. Both mother and terrifying warrior. The ship was going too fast to turn so she aimed straight at the hole Loki had been going for. They weren’t going to fit.

“Sif--!” Thor started, grabbing the unconscious Loki and reaching for equally unconscious Jane, while wondering if they were all about to die.

“Just hold---!” was the partial answer before they skated into the cavern and everything was lost in shrieking metal screaming on stone. 

___________________________________________________________________________

They were in the Dark World. Not dead. 

Sif wasn’t sure if she was grateful… or not. 

Her son was trembling as he gripped her leg, face pressed tight against her thigh. She landed as safely as she could, the wings of their escape pod badly damaged in her clumsy attempt to get through Loki’s portal. How he even found those, she was never quite sure. What kind of sane man flew full-speed straight at a cliff face hoping there’s a portal? One who wasn’t sane at all, she supposed.

As soon as she landed she wrapped her shaking son up in her arms again and scooped him up off the ground. She kissed him an uncounted number of times and buried her face in his inky black hair.

Only after she was certain that he was only frightened and not hurt did she lift her attention to the Crown Prince. Thor was propping an unconscious Jane up against the side of the vessel and removing his cape to keep her warm. Then immediately he was turning away from his lover and to his unconscious brother.

Sif’s stomach was knotted in iron as Thor rolled Loki over and the latter remained motionless and pliable. She felt her pectorals slowly closing off the space in her lungs as Thor called Loki’s name and received no answer. She found herself praying before she even thought to try. By the fates she didn’t think she was this attached still and she hated herself for it. 

Why did her heart have to love only him? Why couldn’t she love someone kind, or gentle, or simply not a mass-murdering-sociopathic-madman who hated the world almost as much as he hated himself? 

Because he was kind when she loved him first, and gentle when she loved him last. And the little boy she grew up with had not resembled the monster he’d become in the slightest. Because her heart loved deeply and grieved deeper and she never let go of anyone. 

She still loved her father, even though her only memory of him was a faded and distant one of her sitting on his lap next to a fire somewhere and feeling, rather than listening to, his voice rumble around in his chest. She still loved her mother even though the few memories she had of her were mostly of her yelling or crying, over what Sif did not remember. 

And if her heart could not let go of these two people she hardly ever knew at all, it should be no wonder that it stubbornly refused to let go of her oldest friend in her entire existence. Even if that friend became someone she could not possibly love now. 

Sometimes she wished he’d died when he fell from that bridge, so she could grieve him and not feel guilty for the love her heart still harbored. 

“Mama?” Her son’s precious voice pulled her from her musings and she looked at his round little face painted in confusion. 

Her heart dropped as her brain translated his unasked question. What was she feeling? As he rested in her arms he felt every flicker of emotion she felt-- fear, anger, disgust, guilt, love, heartbreak, grief-- and he didn’t understand any of them. He could feel emotions, not read thoughts. Thank the fates for that! 

Still, Sif had to sort through each emotion and tuck it away and out of the reach of her empath son’s seidr. 

“Don’t worry about it, Ivailo.” She murmured. “Mama will figure it out.”

Then she kissed his forehead and gave him a severe look.

“Why were you on that ship?”

Enormous gold eyes flooded with tears and a chubby bottom lip quivered. “We were just playing-- I’m sorry, Mother!” He buried his face in her neck and cried. 

She hushed him and stroked his back while she swayed back and forth. She was far more terrified than angry at this point. This was the world that Loki was too terrified to return to while still sane. The world from his nightmares that he woke trembling from every time. The world that pushed him from the warmth of their bed just to avoid visiting it again in his sleep. The world that no matter her prying she could never pull a word from him about.

And now she was here with her little boy and a mortal. She clenched her jaw and clamped her eyes shut.

Not now. Not with Ivailo in her arms. Not when they were still out in the open in this world that was completely unknown. She practiced settling her mind like she had on so many missions before. Facts, not feelings. Those were for the safety of home, and she was not home. 

“Thor, I’m going to try and get the ship to some cover before the sun sets.” She said efficiently. “Will you hold Ivailo?”

Thor’s very frightened blue eyes found hers and she experienced that gut freezing fear that Loki was worse than she thought. Her terror screamed that it was burnout. He was in burnout and they were in the Dark World and he was going to die. If so, they would die with him because he was the only one who knew his way off this fates forsaken planet. But again she cooled the fear to a dull wondering in the back of her head, not letting it clutter her heart that was open to the seidr of her son. 

Besides, it probably wasn’t burnout. 

She watched Thor do the same process of cooling his emotions before he stood from his position between Jane and Loki and reached out for Ivailo. Her son didn’t hesitate as he stretched out for the Thunderer and then curled into his chest. Thor’s eyes only flickered once more before they steadied again and he cupped her son’s entire head with one massive hand. He nodded to her once to give her permission and she nodded curtly in compliance before turning her attention to the ship and coaxing it back to sputtering life.

Chapter Text

Thor held little Ivailo to himself tightly as Sif guided the ship through the cool twilight of the Dark World. He tried to mask his feelings from the tiny empath but found the task exceedingly difficult. Jane was still unconscious and so was Loki. Jane had the aether searing through her veins and Thor knew it was only a matter of time before it consumed her. Thor had been prepared to deal with that bitter truth. This whole mission was to save her. He hadn’t been prepared to deal with the bitter truth of Loki’s true state. 

Thor silently cursed himself. He should have known better. There were so many signs. How had he managed to ignore all of them? Loki had not bolted immediately after Thor opened the cell. It had taken him a full minute to stand up. He had disguised it with snark but Thor had been his brother since infancy, had he not? He should have seen through Loki’s veil of pride. The stench of the cell, the palor of Loki’s skin, the thinness of his frame; Thor should have paid closer attention. He grit his teeth as he remembered how violently Loki had flinched when he felt his forehead for a fever, the green flash of an illusion as Thor walked into the bathhouse, Loki’s rage at the surprise, the way he nearly inhaled the apple from the table decoration; he had been hiding how desperately close to the brink he was.

Thor should have ordered a meal.

The prince almost sneered at himself. Of all things, a meal was the absolute least he could have done. He felt fear shriek down his bones. Loki was not nearing burnout, he was probably teetering on the edge of it. The amount of magic required to transport little Ivailo was nothing compared to the entire armies that Loki had transported in the past. 

Ivailo. 

Fates forgive him, he was feeling again. 

The prince realized his mistake even as the little boy squirmed out of his arms and darted over to his mother. Sif started slightly as her child wrapped his arms around her thigh and pressed his head to her hip. One hand flew off the wheel and settled on his dark hair as her head snapped around to look at Thor questioningly. Thor opened his mouth to apologize, but the fear executed his words before they fell from his lips. His eyes darted to Loki’s still frame and then back up at his friend. Sif’s jaw clenched and she unconsciously held Ivailo closer to her. 

When her hazel eyes settled on Thor’s however, they did not hold the rage he expected. Usually, she tried so hard to keep others from influencing her child with their feelings, but now she only looked tired and knowing. She knew what Thor feared. She knew how fatally close Loki must be and she hadn’t even seen the full wreckage of his state.

  The image of Sif’s young face, twisted in terror and love as she cradled his brother, flashed before his eyes. 

Thor blinked and shook it from his head. That was ages ago. Still, the fear was fresh in both of their eyes. If Loki entered the Sleep while in the Dark World, they had no way of getting home. They would all perish, Loki, Jane, Ivailo… Thor swallowed as the goddess of war turned away from his fear-twisted face and settled her attention back on the horizon. Ivailo remained attached to her hip. 

Chapter Text

Loki woke to Thor’s concerned face poised inches from his. And it terrified him. His fogged brain told him that while this was a reason for annoyance, frustration, humor, or even startlement, it was not a reason for terror. Not a good one anyways. 

And yet terror is instantly what his veins lit up with as Thor’s very massive, very male, frame loomed over his. His first instinct was to fight back. 

Only when Thor was sputtering on the ground, legs efficiently kicked out from under him, and Loki’s foot was squarely positioned against his once-brother’s throat, did his brain overpower his reaction and make him freeze.

Well, that was one way to get himself killed. Just immediately go for the Crown Prince’s throat. But Thor didn’t fight back. He lay there frozen on the ground like a startled stag, blue eyes wide and confused and concerned. 

His malnourished limbs trembled as Loki considered taking it all the way and seeing if he could provoke the Thunderer into just killing him now. He was so weak now Thor could likely kill him with ease. Maybe even by accident. 

But no, Thor looked more confused than angry and he wasn’t pushing back or trying to twist free. That route would backfire and make Thor aware of how very much Loki wanted to die. 

So the trickster slowly let up the pressure on the thunderer’s throat and eased away from his once-brother. He barely pulled off the Crown Prince before he collapsed at his side, breath sharp in his chest and copper taste filling his mouth. 

He was dangerously close to burnout. He couldn’t use magic-- not even a spark-- for at least two days… unless burnout was his best option for a way out. 

He’d rather go down fighting honestly. A quick brutal death that he wouldn’t have time to wallow in. Burnout was anything but quick… but at least he could use it as a last resort. He just had to be willing to take a longer route and be willing to be trapped within the dark confines of his own soul until it fled his body. He shuddered to think of it.

Thor propped himself up on his elbows but didn’t sit up all the way and leveled Loki an equally concerned and yet distrusting frown. 

“Did I startle you?” he asked densely. 

Loki grit his teeth and watered down his eye roll just a bit. “Oh, not at all. I was just so overjoyed to see you I had to physically defend myself.”

Thor frowned and opened his mouth to verbalize something that never made it past his lips. Whatever thought miraculously sprouted in that big, blonde head was cut off by a tiny voice piping, 

“If you were overjoyed, what were you defending yourself from?” Loki’s head snapped around, startled by the tiny voice. He looked down into an upturned, tear-shaped face with the most enormous set of gold eyes he’d ever seen. “Were you afraid of the joy?” 

The little face tipped to the side curiously and recognition shot through the disgraced prince like a lance. 

That sharp chin. The upturned nose. The thick black hair. The almond-shaped eyes and the severe black brows. The way this child stood on his toes, always graceful, poised, ready. The way the boy tilted his head to the side, the pale sprinkling of freckles across his nose… The child was so like his mother, it hurt to look at him. 

Sif’s son. Sif had a son. A child. This is what he and Sif could have had, had the fates been spun a different way. Instead, this was what only she had, with whom he did not know. Part of him raged against the idea even now-- her loving another, taking another to her bed, raising a child now that he might not have ever known existed-- the rest of him did not care. The rest was numb and resigned and lost. 

“Well?” The little bird-like voice pulled him from his agonizing realizations. “Are you?”

“A-am I…?” Loki asked, not quite able to follow the conversation and the incredible reality that Sif’s son, a part of herself that he’d never met before, was looking up at him with nothing but curiosity. 

“Afraid of joy?” was the question. 

Afraid of joy. What an irony. What a truth. How undeniably accurate and shamefully so. 

“I don’t know,” was the only answer he could give the child though. Where was Sif? He looked up for her and only found Thor sitting on the ground watching them carefully. Jane slept soundly across a fire. 

Sif built the fire, he immediately noted. She still refused to stray from her tent- technique. 

“Are you afraid of Thor?” was the immediate follow-up in the conversation. 

Yes. No. Complicated. 

“Uhh…” he said intelligently. “I guess I’m afraid of things that startle me.”

“Oh! Me too! I get startled by ghosts! There’s a ghost that lives in our closet at night. Mama doesn’t believe me. She says ghosts have to stay in Valhalla or Hel and can’t escape. But I hear the ghost crying some nights. It’s a sad ghost. Do you know any ghosts?”

He was a ghost. 

“No. I can say I’ve ever had the acquaintance of one.”

“Well, I could introduce you sometime if you like. But you have to be super quiet, and of course you can’t see her. She’s invisible-- say! You can turn invisible if you want, right?! The Queen mother says--” 

Suddenly the boy’s cheer dropped, like a puppet whose strings were cut, and Loki felt his heart drop with it. Tears welled up in a pair of gold eyes and shadows lay heavy in a pair of haunted green ones. His own heart was too empty now to shed tears, but he felt the little boy’s pain as he too remembered the fact he would never hear what his mother said again. 

Sif came around the corner, a bundle of firewood in arm, the moonlight glinting on her black hair like steel. He watched her hazel eyes widen, flick first to her son and then to him. She went for her sword.

First reaction. First instinct. He was a threat. 

Her firewood clattered to the floor and Loki flinched from where he sat. She thought he’d hurt her son?

That hurt was deep. His exhaustion was too heavy to mask the pain as it worked its way out of his chest and across his face. Sif hesitated as if caught off guard. Was she startled by his shock? Did she assume he’d have no qualms about hurting her little child?

Her sword hand, calloused and strong, shifted in uncertainty in its grip.

He truly must be the vilest sort of creature, if the woman he once loved felt she needed to protect her innocent child from him. 

He kept his hands in his lap where she could see them holding her gaze heavily, honestly. The boy was glancing confusedly between his mother and Loki. Loki held her gaze a few seconds longer, wishing he could-- but knowing he couldn’t-- show her with his eyes he’d never think of harming the boy. Never in any lifetime. No matter what kind of monster he became, or what lay between them.

Not that it mattered anyway. To anyone but him.

Finally, he dropped War’s fiery gaze and glanced back to Thor, who had remained impressively silent. Probably, Loki realized again with that gut-dropping nausea, because he too was afraid that Loki might harm the boy and was waiting to defend the child. Even Thor. Even his brother thought him capable… 

At least if they both thought him that despicable, they’d have no qualms about ending him. 

At least he had that single hope to cling to. 

Chapter Text

Sif wasn’t prepared for Loki’s appearance even now. Even though she’d already seen him when Thor called her over as the Trickster’s unconscious body let go of his glamor spell that had hidden his true state from them. Hidden the way his skin was plastered to his bones. Hidden his eery grey coloring, as though already halfway to the grave. Hidden the brutal bruises that stained his skin; not days, or even weeks, but months worth of bruises, deep and dark and devastating. 

She still wasn’t prepared for it. Even though she’d already seen it. Even though she’d lost her breath the first time she saw what he’d hidden from them. That first look had propelled her out of the cave to find air. She could do anything but think of how he obtained marks like that across the pale canvass of his skin. From whom. To think of how long it must have been since he’d eaten... to make an Aesir so desperately thin. Even knowing what had driven her from the cave in the first place, couldn’t prepare her for returning and finding him the same. 

She still lost her breath when she first walked back into the entrance of the cave and beheld him. She could not remember ever seeing any Aesir so thin, so frail. She couldn’t fathom how he’d been beaten so badly under the careful watch of the guards. She didn’t want to wonder if any of those rumors about the prisons were true. She didn’t know if she could bear to have them confirmed. She didn’t want to validate the horrors she’d prayed were simply morbid fabrications, and confirm that she had been comfortably living above a Hel, all these years. 

Even with this oppressive guilt and rotting fear, her first reaction in seeing him awake was to go to her sword. She didn’t draw it, but she dropped her wood to grasp it’s hilt. 

Something raw and agonized ripped across the Tricksters face as he took in her defensive stance and a pair of emerald green eyes finally raised to hers, an emotion that didn’t have a name writhing in their murky depths. He was so hollow, so angry, so pained, so broken, that she felt her chest tighten around her ribs. 

That hollow green gaze darted to Ivailo, who was frozen between Chaos and War glancing confusedly between them. The Trickster turned to Thor who sat quietly and impassively to the side observing-- for once-- silently. Loki let out a breath that rattled his far-too-thin rib cage and leaned his head back against the cave wall. He shut his eyes; as if in defeat. Sif swallowed something that caught in her throat and brushed off the hindering emotions from her heart. Home was the place to ponder such things. And she was not home. 

She stooped down and began regathering the firewood, Ivailo leaping forward to help her. She smiled a little at that, but the smile was quick to fade. She showed her little son where to stack the wood and then took her place across the fire from the princes. She spared Jane a worried glance before meeting Thor’s tired eyes over the flames. 

“She has yet to wake,” the Thunderer murmured. 

Loki’s eyes cracked open at that and glanced Jane over. Thor bristled less than Sif thought he would. 

He still bristled. 

Sif wondered if Thor was afraid of what Loki could do to Jane. Afraid of how fraile his lover was. Afraid of all that his brother was capable of now. How many of Jane’s people had Loki slaughtered? Could they even be counted? 

“Are you going to hurt her?” Ivailo asked the Trickster baldly. “They are afraid you will hurt her. “

Sif’s eyes slammed open wide and her grip tightened on her son. Fates curse her, Ivailo was getting better at reading emotions and the thoughts that provoked them. 

The attention of both princes snapped to her little son in her arms and she felt her hair prickle along her scalp. 

“No,” was all Loki rasped. He didn’t look surprised by the question, more interested in the one who asked it. Sif grit her teeth and reminded herself that Loki was their best bet at surviving this fates-forsaken planet. She wanted to gather her son up in her arms and take him as far away from Loki as she could. But it wasn’t logical. 

“What is your name?” Loki asked her son, bruised face tilting a little to the side. 

Sif took a deep breath and forced herself to keep quiet, to let her son answer for himself. 

“Ivailo Sifson.” Ivailo’s little chest puffed out in pride that stirred a warmth in his mother’s chest. “Ivailo means--”

“Little wolf,” Loki finished for the boy, a slight smile touching his lips. 

Ivailo met the smile with a glower. “It just means wolf.”

“But you are rather little.” Loki shrugged and Sif put a hand on her son’s arm as the boy bristled. 

“Am not! I’m six years old already!” When Loki didn’t say anything, just glanced down at the flames in silent amusement Ivailo snapped,

“Yeah, well doesn’t Loki mean ‘broken’?” 

Silence settled over the cave like suffocation. Sif didn’t even know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Ivailo muttered, blush coming up in his cheeks in shame. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Sif held her breath as she watched for Loki’s reaction. To her surprise, the corner of his mouth quirked under the bruises and he shrugged. “Well I suppose we both have names that fit us, don’t we?”

Sif felt herself uncoil ever so slightly and Ivailo gave a sigh of relief. The poor boy couldn’t stand to hurt someone’s feelings. 

Ivailo settled himself into Sif’s lap and she curled a comforting arm around her little one. Everything felt better when he was secured in her protection. Everything. 

“Have you really been here before?” Ivailo pushed, and Sif bit her tongue praying to the fates that her little boy might catch a hint before his mother had to intervene. 

Loki paled under his bruises and his slightly smiling lips thinned out into a firm line. Sif’s gut clenched. The trickster didn’t respond and bless the fates, Jane finally woke up, disrupting the tension of the moment. 

“Jane!” Thor immediately turned to her, posture brightening, but face concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Uh…” the mousy woman croaked, “yeah, I think so.” 

A pair of large brown eyes blinked out at them owlishly and she tightened Thor’s cape around her when she caught Loki staring at her across the fire curiously. The mortal’s eyes narrowed at his thinner, paler, and now bruised face. 

“How long was I out for?”

“About six hours,” Thor murmured, easing himself closer and wrapping a mighty arm around her tiny frame. She was closer to Ivailo’s size than any of the rest of them. Sif wondered if she would make it out of their quest alive. The thought was ironic; Thor, the most adventurous of them all was madly in love with the most frail kind of creature in the galaxy. That could never bode well. 

“Wow,” Jane winced and rolled her shoulders, leaning into the thunderer comfortably. With another uneasy look at Loki, who still watched her with an uncomfortable intensity, she glanced around the cave and asked, “Are we still on Asgard or are we…?”

“We’re in the Dark World,” Thor confirmed solemnly. It was fascinating how mature he behaved when he was around her. It almost made Sif laugh. Maybe the real question wasn’t whether or not the woman would survive, maybe it was whether she would survive the shock of Thor’s true character when he loosened up with her. Sif was willing to bet the mortal hadn’t seen him outrageously drunk yet. 

“Mama,” Ivailo squirmed in her lap. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m sorry little one,” she pressed a kiss to his ear and held him tighter. “We didn’t bring food on this mission.”

Loki’s attention finally snapped away from Jane and leveled it directly at Sif. 

“You didn’t bring food?!” His tone was absolutely venomous. 

“The trip will be three days long, at most, Loki. It’s nothing to worry about.” Thor growled at his brother. 

“Nothing to worry about?” Loki seethed, snapping his attention over to Thor. Expression positively searing, he turned to Jane who was paling. “Lady Jane, how long have you ever gone without food before?”

Jane’s mouth opened once and then closed again. She glanced up at Thor with a torn expression and then back at Loki fearfully. 

“Well?” Sif pushed. She didn’t like how Loki bullied the little mortal, but it was a fair question and one she thought Thor must have already answered. 

“Well, um, I didn’t eat for a day before a surgery once…” She bit her lip and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

Sif and Thor both took a sharp breath.

“And did you bring water?” Loki was glaring at Thor and the thunderer looked ready to melt.

“Yes, I brought a canteen for her,” Thor tried to meagerly defend himself. 

“How long can a human last without water?” Loki’s emerald gaze bore down upon Jane now, who was shaking with the realization of her quickly approaching fate. 

“Up to about a hundred hours…” she cringed. “In ideal conditions.”

“In ideal conditions.” Loki blinked and his glare froze for a moment. Even he was surprised. “And ideal conditions would be around 50-60 degrees fahrenheit with average humidity and indirect sunlight, is that correct?” His voice had lost some of it’s acidity and now he just sounded tired. 

Loki glanced at Ivailo with an unreadable expression and Sif glared at him. If he was considering the fact that her son would need water in the next few days as well, he was right. Ivailo was a small child, a stretch like that could kill him. She would do anything it took to get water for her child. Begrudgingly she found herself telling Thor as much with her expression. 

Thor’s arm tightened around his mortal and his hand strayed to the canteen at his hip. Sif clenched her teeth.

“Well, then,” Loki said in a bright sarcastic tone. “We’ll have to figure something out, won’t we.”

They would. Or Sif very well might commit treason and rob the Crown Prince. 

“Why--? Who? Whose child is that?” Jane asked, bewildered. “Thor, why did you bring a child? Isn’t this planet dangerous?”

“Yes,” Loki muttered. “It is .”

“That is enough!” Thor suddenly growled, patience all but worn through. Even after Midgard, it did not take him long. Jane flinched and it only seemed to anger the Prince further. 

“If you didn’t want to come, you should have just said so. You wanted vengeance and I gave you a chance at it. That does not mean that you are allowed to frighten Jane, or Ivailo, or… or give us any of your snide remarks. I did not spring you from your cell for your sharp tongue. Your purpose is to be our guide and get us home, and nothing more.”

The thunderer shook with fury, but he had at least lowered his voice. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Loki tilted his head to the side, a sneer curling at the corners of his mouth. Don’t do it Loki, Sif silently warned him. But he wasn’t looking at her. “I forgot I was supposed to ask for your princely permission before fulfilling my ‘purpose.’ Would that purpose not include allowing me to question the logic in bringing one canteen of water for a mortal and a child? Would it not include reminding you that this is one of the most dangerous realms that still exist from the Dark days? That no one has come back alive since I did? ”

“I said enough!” Thor spat. 

“Wait, no one’s come back since you? How long has that been?” Jane asked, paper white.

“At least six hundered years.”

“Stop trying to scare her Loki, it gains you nothing.”

“Scare her-! You think this is all some attempt to get at you by frightening your little mortal, Thor?” Loki’s voice rose to match his brother’s. “Believe it or not your mortal does not need you to shelter her from cold hard facts. She is an adult of her species. She ought to know her chances of survival are slim! You ought to know that-!”

“Alright Loki!” Sif hissed, Ivailo trembled against her. “Not all those in our company are adults.”

Loki’s mouth snapped closed. He took a measured look at her son’s face. Something pained flashed across his expression and she bared her teeth at it. She didn’t care if she was an adult and he thought she should know the chances of her child’s survival. Ivailo would survive. Period. She didn’t care what it took. She didn’t care if Thor was the only one who walked out of this realm with her child alive. Ivailo would live. 

Loki dropped his gaze and went back to staring at the flames. He worked his jaw once and clenched his fists, but otherwise did not start up again.

“We will find water,” Thor promised Jane and then Sif. “There has to be water on this planet. We’ll find a lake, or something,” he finished lamely.

“We need to avoid large bodies of water if at all possible.” Loki murmured to the flames. “We will have to travel in the hours before and after dawn and dusk. The days will be too hot and the nights will be too cold. We will need to camp in caves and rocks or else dig out trenches to sleep in. The sand here has a magical energy and it…” Loki bit his lip and he stared at the frayed toe of her son’s boot. Sif coiled around her little one. “We can’t get caught in a sandstorm.”

Thor was paling now as well and Jane all but clung to her lover. 

“We’ll work on a solution for the water tomorrow. For now we need to rest,” Loki muttered. 

“I will take this first watch.” Thor murmured. 

Loki didn’t argue. 

“Wake us in three hours, that should be nearing dawn.”

Sif eased herself on her side, tucking Ivailo against her. She made sure to keep the entrance to the tunnel and both princes in her line of sight. Ivailo curled into her and she tried to calm her beating heart, knowing her fear scared him. But even as Loki gingerly laid down on his side and Jane curled up, her head cradled on Thor’s lap, Sif could not find sleep. She lay awake praying to the fates that her child survived this, and that, if they felt generous enough, the rest of their company might live as well. 

She wasn’t sure anyone was even listening. 

Chapter Text

Thor thought he would go mad as he waited for the dawn. He sat between Jane and the entrance trying his best to keep her warm. They were as close to the fire as they could get without fear of being scorched and still Jane shivered. She lay on her left side, her knees curled almost up to her chest and with her forehead pressed to the warmth of Thor’s hip. He dropped his hand to her head, caked with sand and sweat. Fates, she was so small, so frail. 

Why did the Aether have to choose her? 

Thor’s heavy sigh echoed through the silence of the cave. He hated taking watch. It was lonely. He might as well, though. Sif was going to need every bit of energy she could to keep her child safe for the next few days. She must be alert ceaselessly. And it wasn’t as though there was anyone else to take watch anyways; Jane was mortal, and rest was paramount for her health, especially with an infinity stone trying to eat her away. And Loki was… well, a traitor for one. Backstabbing traitors were generally not trustworthy guards. But he was also incredibly weak. Sleep would help him heal--from whatever he needed to heal from-- and it wasn’t as though a weak guard was of much use anyway. 

No, Thor was the obvious choice for watch tonight, but the fact that it was necessary didn’t make it any less lonely. 

Loki muttered something in his sleep, and to Thor’s eternal amusement, Sif glared in hers as though in response. The small smile fell from his lips as he remembered Sif’s naked fear at Loki’s state, before she managed to disguise it behind her usual stony mask. She was afraid for Loki, which meant she still cared for him. Thor didn’t know why the fact made him uneasy. He still cared for Loki despite everything. Why shouldn’t Sif? 

Thor did not pretend to think his emotions made logical sense. But he was unsettled. 

“No!” Ivailo murmured, little face twisting anxiously. “No, I’m sorry!” 

The boy’s bottom lip quivered and Thor thought it simultaneously one of the cutest and saddest things he’d ever seen. Sif coiled tighter around her son, sensing his angst in her sleep. Thor’s chest felt heavy as he watched them. It felt as though he was intruding upon them somehow, as though he shouldn’t see Sif sleeping with her son. It was one of those precious, private things that was meant for the sanctuary of home. Did Sif tell him stories at night? What did they talk about over dinner? Did Ivailo crawl into his mother’s bed when he had nightmares,  as Thor and Loki crawled into Frigga’s? 

What if the boy didn’t make it home? That was what Loki feared, was it not? That Jane and Ivailo would not survive this harsh world? Why did Loki even care? He had only ever threatened Jane once, never met her before this voyage, and he hadn’t known Ivailo even existed until this afternoon.

Something about that made Thor’s stomach twist. He couldn’t imagine how Loki must feel about traveling with them. Not only was he traveling with the brother he now hated, and his brother’s mortal lover whom he scorned so much, he was traveling with the only woman he had ever loved and her son from… well, from someone else. 

Sif didn’t know who the father was. It could be almost anyone.

Loki had coped with the severed relationship with a simple solution: never love anyone again, never sleep with anyone. Ever. He was perfectly content mocking others with his silver tongue, reading, and practicing the art of loathing the existence of everything. 

Had it really been over a century since Loki made love to anyone? The question was so foreign and odd, Thor forgot to be uncomfortable considering his brother’s sex-life. But then he remembered to be uncomfortable and physically jerked himself away from that line of thought. 

Sif had dealt with the severance in the opposite manner. It seemed she tried someone else every other day. There was no telling how many men could be Ivailo’s father. Thor had been angry with Sif for her loose standards back then. But she eventually called him out on his hypocrisy and noted he might even be worse. It was just… it felt different. For so long Thor had put her in the category of belonging to Loki. He seemed to have forgotten that Sif had never considered herself as belonging to anyone.

Regardless of who the father was, Sif was a splendid enough mother to make up for the lack of a father. Ivailo wasn’t lacking anything. It must be some sort of torture for Loki though, to know he and Sif might have been married with children of their own right now, and their lives might have gone in totally different directions. 

Thor sighed and glanced at his brother’s sleeping form. He slept with his back against the cave wall, even as far from the fire as that was, to hold the most secure position he might while he slept. Dark hair splayed across his thin, pale face. He kept one arm under his head, the other he held in a fist to his mouth, as though trying to keep himself from saying something. 

The first bit of light yawned through the entrance of the cave, pale grey and cold as a corpse. With a sigh he leaned over to shake Jane gently.

“Huh?” A pair of soft brown eyes blinked up at him in exhaustion.

“It’s time to get up,” he murmured, rubbing her shoulder gently.

“Oh.” Dark lashes dipped back down and she sighed before pulling herself upright. 

When Jane seemed to have caught her bearings Thor raised his voice. 

“Dawn is almost here,” he said. Sif snapped awake, sitting up abruptly and pulling Ivailo with her. 

“What?” Ivailo blinked and scrunched his nose in confusion. 

“It’s morning time,” Sif said with a frown, rubbing sleep from her eyes aggressively. 

“No, it’s not,” Ivailo squirmed around in his mother’s arms and latched his arms around her neck, yawning into her collarbone. Sif’s hand came up to cradle the back of her son’s head. 

Thor smiled at the interaction, but it dropped when he remembered how afraid he was that Ivailo might not survive this trip. Something heavy sunk into his gut and he promised silently to Sif he would do everything in his power to make certain her son came home. The thunderer grit his teeth, he cared for every member of this company and he was putting them all at risk. 

He glanced over to his still sleeping brother. 

“Loki.” 

The Trickster didn’t so much as twitch. Thor watched Sif frown out of the corner of his eye as he pulled himself to his feet and walked over to shake Loki awake. 

The instant his hand made contact with Loki’s shoulder, the younger prince snapped awake and he scrambled away from Thor. He moved so fast Thor jumped back as well, startled. The Trickster’s head cracked against the cavern wall and he yelped. Green eyes were bright and crazed in their sunken sockets. Loki looked half mad. 

“I’m sorry-” Thor reached forward to grip his brother’s shoulder. Loki snarled and pulled violently out from under Thor’s grip.

“Don’t touch me!” 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Thor apologized, again reaching out to comfort his brother.

Loki flinched away from Thor’s hand and the pitch of his voice rose a half-octave. 

“Don’t--!”

Genuine concern caught Thor and he reached for Loki with both hands. Panic flashed across green irises and suddenly Sif caught Thor’s wrist. 

“Thor, stop!” Sif snapped. The thunderer turned in confusion to the goddess of War and found fear, anger, and confusion swimming behind her hazel gaze. 

“But I didn’t mean to--”

“If he doesn’t want to be touched,” Sif practically snarled. “Don’t touch him.”

Thor blinked at her and turned to Loki in bewilderment. 

The disgraced prince had schooled his expression and was feeling the back of his skull, where he had smashed it into the cave wall. His expression was tight and unreadable.

As Sif released Thor’s wrist, Loki moved past him to begin putting the fire out, and Thor felt like he was freefalling. Something had just happened. Something important. And he had no idea what it was or what it meant. 

He thought of asking Frigga when they returned and bit back a sudden spark of grief. 

Perhaps the days of understanding his brother had died with her. 

Chapter Text

Sif felt sick. She had tried avoiding making skin-to-skin contact with Ivailo all morning to keep from sharing her tribulation with him. She had kept him close, of course, and still gripped the cloak around his shoulders to make certain he was safe, but she wanted to hide the trauma and terror that were throwing anchors from the recesses of her memory to tear into the grounding of the present. 

The words of her sister haunted her with every step Loki took ahead of them. Every suspicious flick of his emerald gaze was another piece to a puzzle she didn’t want to solve.

“Don’t touch me!” 

It wasn’t merely that Loki had used the same words that Odile had all those centuries ago, it was that he used the same tone. Half-strangled. Desperate. A sound that sliced through Sif’s gut like a blade. 

Sif had successfully shut out of her mind the rumors of what happened beneath the Palace for decades. She had thought it too ridiculous, too out-of-proportion, too bone-rotting evil to actually be happening. The Allfather would have put a stop to it if it was truly an issue. The tales of the illegal sex trade and abuse of prisoners were the wicked fabrications of over-creative and ill-formed minds. The execution of such a trade system was… impossible. 

And yet this is precisely what Sif feared. One night was all it took and she was half-convinced. There were too many terrifying suggestions: the bruises across Loki’s face and down his throat --just that morning she caught a glimpse of an obvious indentation of fingers, purple and blue against the pale color of Loki’s wrist. The way he had shrunk back from Thor, the wild panic in his eyes, his voice-- 

“Don’t touch me!”

Sif frowned as her little sister coiled back from her outstretched hand. 

“O,” she gave a confused smile. “I didn’t meant to--”

“I know,” Odile’s blue eyes were bright and sharp as summer steel. “Just… just… I don’t want to be touched.”

“Alright,” Sif raised her hands in defeat, her small smile turning down into a frown, “but you must tell me how you got that bruise.”  She gestured to the greenish stain across her sister’s jaw which she had been reaching for only moments before. 

“It’s nothing,” Odile snapped. 

“O, it isn’t like you to be short.” Sif’s frown deepened. 

Her sister’s sweet face warped into something vicious and she snarled, “Get out! Get out of my room!”

“O!? What is wrong?”

“I said, get out! Why won’t you listen?!” Her little sister grabbed the nearest thing to her, an ornate maplewood brush, and threw it. Sif, already a trained warrior, easily batted it out of the way, even in her shock. Her deflection only seemed to anger the usually sweet and obliging Odile more, and she grabbed the stool from her desk next. 

“Get out!” She hurled the stool at Sif who barely managed to evade it. “I hate you! Get away from me! I hate you!”

Bewildered and afraid, Sif fled to her Aunt’s sitting room for help. 

“Mama?” Ivailo stopped, fear lacing his little voice. “What’s wrong?”

The whole procession pivoted to stare.

Sif cursed her blasted memories and batted them back like wildfire. She had not given them permission to flare up, and this was the most inopportune time to deal with them. 

“Are you alright, mama?”

Sif thought of sparring with Hogun in the winter air, flashing steel and burning breath and a series of complicated parries. She recalled drinking with Volstagg on the first day of Muin month every year, the full taste of his wife’s honey mead on her tongue. She even oriented her memory on the moments when she would look over and a green-eyed boy would flash her a knowing smile, eyes dancing with light and fire and cleverness. She thought of every good memory she had in her arsenal to distract herself with and in turn lead her son off the scent of misery which lay beneath the carefully sealed tombs of her childhood. 

Odile had discovered she was pregnant four weeks later. Sif found her where she’d hung herself from the maple in their Aunt’s farthest-most courtyard.

Sif blinked and grit her teeth, pushing the memory away again violently. She smashed an image back into her head of happier times, brushing Odile’s auburn hair when they were little girls, streaks of gold swimming in her sister’s tresses. 

“Yes, I’m fine, Ivailo.” She smiled, but it was no use lying to her little empath. His magic was getting stronger.

“Were you remembering Auntie O?” Her son asked solemnly. Of course, her son didn’t know the specifics of Odile’s death, she hoped he never did, but he was already starting to recognize which fragments of memory evoked which emotional responses, at least in his mother. 

Sif’s gaze flicked up self-consciously to the rest of their company. Thor’s gaze was sickeningly sympathetic and Jane looked curiously confused. Was it weaker to admit it? Or to deny it? Loki’s gaze was sharp as summer steel.

She scolded herself, weakness was not the question at stake here. Her child had asked her a question and he deserved an answer. She picked him up and kissed his cheek. 

“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to project.”

“It’s alright,” Ivailo kissed her cheek in return. “Do you want me to sing her song? Will that make you miss her less?”

Heat stung at Sif’s cheeks and burned behind her eyes. She started forward pointedly and Loki took her hint mercifully, turning away from her and continuing to lead them through the desert as the sun worked its way up into the sky.

“Quietly,” Sif murmured into Ivailo’s hair with another kiss. “You can sing it quietly.”

Chapter Text

The episode of Sif’s memory of Odile set Loki on edge and kept him there long after Ivailo had stopped singing and drifted to sleep in his mother’s arms. Questions and suspicions tumbled dully through his skull, his mind slow from lack of food and water and the deprivation of his magic. He couldn’t decide if Sif thinking of Odile was merely the result of being in a realm she didn’t know she’d survive, or if she was already making connections he didn’t want her to make. He’d never been one to believe in coincidence, even in the naivety of his youth. But to think that it wasn’t coincidence, that Sif may know him well enough still to see through him, made him sick. 

What would she think of him if she knew how truly ruined he was?

He needed to die already. He was falling behind schedule. 

But the schedule was thrown dramatically off rails by the addition of Ivailo. If Ivailo hadn’t been here, Loki would be making vague threats at Jane and pulling his brother’s thin patience about it’s fraying edges. Thor would be nearly to a breaking point by now and all it would take was a small shove in the right direction to push him over the edge. 

But the only way Sif and Ivailo made it off this planet alive was if Loki followed them, alive, through Thor’s stupid plan and to the next portal point. If he died before they reached the portal then Ivailo would most likely die as well, and his mother would die defending him. 

That was not an option. 

Sometimes Loki really hated Thor and his half-brained ideas for victory and glory. He swallowed, his throat dry and tongue swollen with dehydration and his fury at Thor only grew. The idea that he thought he could just barrel into the Dark World without any preparation chafed at Loki’s ire. How in the name of all that was good, could Thor simply forget that his lover was a fragile mortal and needed things like sustenance, water, and sleep when he himself had been a mortal? 

A single canteen and no food. 

Thor hadn’t intended for Sif or Ivailo to come so he couldn’t exactly be blamed for not preparing for Ivailo’s needs. Still, the fact remained that he hadn’t thought of the fact that Loki might need food or water after being imprisoned for three years.  

Loki licked his cracked lips and they stung. Water. They needed water. Food, he could manage with what he’d stolen from Thor’s rooms and from the decor throughout the palace halls. He hadn’t been intending to share it, but he could manage between the three of them. He still needed to wait an hour or so before his magic would allow him to access it, but he was certain he could. Water, however, he did not have. 

“Why have we stopped?” Thor asked, turning to Loki with a frown. Jane was tucked beneath the Thunderer’s arm, pale and miserable. They’d been walking all morning without ceasing and the temperature had climbed from below-freezing to scorching hot in only a matter of hours. 

“We’re nearing the heat of the day,” Loki squinted at the horizon and then glanced to his left where they’d stopped under the shadow of the mountain range he’d been following. “I think we should take cover and wait until the temperature begins to drop before continuing.”

“We need to make good time,” Thor’s frown deepened. “Jane says the Aether is wearing her out.”

“It’s doing a little more than ‘wearing her out,’ Thor,” Loki snapped. “It is killing her. But the heat will kill her first if we don’t get your little mortal to cover. So which do you prefer? That she die sooner or a little later?” 

“You watch your tongue,” Thor hissed, taking a step forward, fists balled. Loki wanted to recoil. If he didn’t want Thor to touch him, he shouldn’t goad him like he did. But if he didn’t goad him then he wouldn’t push to the point of killing him eventually. It was an impossible loop. 

 To his surprise, Jane grabbed Thor’s arm and shook her head.

“He’s right, Thor,” she licked a pair of chapped lips and swallowed once. “I’ve been trying not to say anything, but I need rest. And water. Maybe just a sip?”

Thor’s anger drained as his lover spoke, leaving nothing but worry and despair in its wake. He nodded in resignation. 

“Ivailo needs water too,” Sif said, wincing as she shifted the sleeping child’s weight to her other arm. She’d carried him, despite the heat, for hours.

Loki nodded. “We’ll figure out what to do about resources once we have a safe location to wait out the heat. There should be a cave or ledge somewhere along this rockwall.”

He started for the looming cliff side, the others following him. When they finally found a small cave, Thor shuffled Jane inside and Sif let Ivailo slide out of her arms to trot in with them. Sif hesitated in the entrance, hazel eyes seeing straight through him. His stomach cinched. 

“Loki,” she said, everything about her posture off. Sif was usually so sure of herself, so forceful. Now she looked like she either wanted to bolt in the other direction or reach out for him. Maybe hit him. 

He didn’t respond, trying to school his features into neutrality. She knew him too well and she was ten times more observant than Thor. Lying to her would take precision and concentration. 

“What happened to your throat?” 

They wouldn’t let him breathe. There were four of them, pinning him down and taking turns. The pressure on his throat wouldn’t let up and he tried fighting back again, his panic giving him a sudden surge of strength. He grit his teeth, unable to completely mask his shudder.

“It is not your concern,” he ground out.

“And your wrist?” 

“When are you going to stop fighting it?” the dark-haired guard asked, gripping Loki around the right wrist to keep him from bolting to the corner of his cell again. The two bones in his forearm ground against each other in the guard’s merciless grip. 

“Aw, come on, Fredric!” the red-headed one grinned. “I like it when they fight back.”

Loki hissed through his teeth just to keep himself from the humiliation of screaming or crying or whimpering. 

“Stop pretending you don’t like it, Jotun,” the blonde grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at him. He grinned and ran his thumb over Loki’s mouth. The prisoner jerked back his head, trying uselessly to wrench his right hand free. A sound finally ripped from somewhere in the back of his throat. He sounded like an animal. 

Desperation sent his non-dominant, left fist flying but in the end, it was futile. Weak from the lack of food and water and without his magic to defend him, Loki was unable to fight for very long. And there were four of them and only one of him. 

“Loki? What happened to you in the prisons?” Sif had moved in closer and Loki backed away from her, heart in his bruised throat and that animal-like sound just waiting to be let loose again. 

“It is none. of. your. concern,” he ground out again, his voice too high and too tight. 

“I’ve heard rumors,” Sif’s voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes too wide, lacking their usual sharpness. “Of illegal trafficking of prisoners. Of guards selling time in prisoner’s cells...” 

He felt light-headed. He wasn’t going to be able to pull out a lie that was convincing enough. His pulse skittered through his veins. 

“Is there…? did they…?” her eyes roved over his face, scrutinizing his every twitch. He couldn’t breathe. “Tell me I’m wrong.” 

That’s all he had to do. Tell her she was wrong. Lie to her face. Laugh at her for even asking such a question. Throw her off the scent of his humiliation and pain. But his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, his pulse was thundering from his chest, his hands trembling as he balled them into fists. 

He didn’t say anything at all. 

Sif went grey. 

“Oh, Loki…” her whisper was like a punch to the gut and he bared his teeth at her, trying to convince himself that it was anger burning in his belly, not shame. 

“Sif? Loki?” Thor called from the cave. “Is everything alright?”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Sif snapped over her shoulder, her hands curling into fists. When she turned around again Loki was already stumbling away from her.

Chapter Text

Sif felt like she was experiencing her first battle all over again. The ringing between her ears and the tossing of her stomach leaving her unsteady and unsure of herself. 

You must always be sure of yourself, her training master, Tyre, said. Trust your gut, Sif. If you can’t trust yourself, you might as well walk off the battlefield. You are the only thing that’s certain in combat. If you lose trust in yourself, you lose any chance of victory, hel, you lose any chance of survival. 

Sif grit her teeth and blinked back tears as Loki’s figure disappeared on the horizon. 

“Thor,” she spun around and ducked into the cave. “I’m going to search for water with Loki. Will you take care of Ivailo?”

Thor was frowning at her and she tried to force her expression into neutrality, but she’d never been half as good at hiding what she was thinking as Loki was. 

“Is everything alright?” the Thunderer started to stand. 

“I will be back,” Sif said firmly, rather than answering. She wouldn’t lie to Thor, but she didn’t have to expose Loki’s agony to the world. She needed to talk to him and that was all Thor needed to know. “Will you keep my son safe?” 

“Yes,” Thor nodded solemnly, eyes worried. “Of course.”

“Mama?” Ivailo was seated next to Jane, pale and exhausted. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back, love,” she promised. “I need to get you water.”

“I’m so hungry,” he whimpered. 

“We’ll find something to eat too,” Sif promised, glancing out at the horizon again trying in vain to find Loki’s figure. “I love you, Ivailo.” 

“I love you too, Mama,” Ivailo’s eyes welled with tears and to Sif’s eternal gratitude, Thor scooped the boy up and settled him on his lap. 

“Would you like a drink of water?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the boy’s head. Something inside Sif was fraying away watching them. 

“I’ll be back,” she repeated again, staggering away from the cave and starting out into a run in the direction that Loki had disappeared. 

When she found him, he’d stopped running and was dry heaving behind a jagged boulder. He hadn’t made it very far. 

“Loki,” she reached for him but he jerked back, stumbling away from her again frantically wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. She glanced down. He’d had nothing but bile to throw up. When was the last time he’d eaten? 

“S-stop,” Loki stuttered. 

He was so thin, so broken and lost. Her eyes fell to the bruises at his throat. Something in Sif’s chest erupted, searing through her shock and uncertainty. Loki’s breath was coming in short gasps, hitching like he was crying but there were no tears. 

“Just give me a name,” Sif said through gritted teeth. “And I will kill him.”

No matter what lay between them, no matter what Loki had done on Earth that warranted her scorn and rage, she would not stand by idling as he was forced to endure this fate. 

Loki flinched at her anger and his brittle expression shattered. Even after so long she could still read him and her heart stuttered. 

There wasn’t a single name. There were too many. It had been three years. 

Once there had been a time that they would hold each other's hands as they tried to spy on Frigga together, neither one willing to admit they were afraid of the dark. A time when she’d grabbed either side of his face and kissed him hard, messy and inexperienced but so desperate to do it after all these years. There had been a time that she placed kisses under that jaw and trailed them down his throat as she unbuttoned his tunic. There had been a time that she knew his body as well as she knew her own. She’d trusted him with everything and he’d given her his trust in return. 

The fact that someone had hurt him in such a way was too much for her to bear. 

“If I had known-” Sif stopped, shaking her head, her stomach in knots and her hands shaking with rage and grief and her own shame. “I should have visited you but I thought…” she shook her head and gripped at her hair. “I thought they were just rumors! I never dreamed… And I thought, with Frigga visiting you so often… Why didn’t you tell her what was happening?” 

Frigga wouldn’t have rested until her son was safe. She must have never known. He must have hidden the obvious evidence of abuse from her when she visited with his illusions. He’d been wearing illusions when he escaped from Asgard. He’d been furious when Thor walked into the bathhouse. What had she told Thor? That he could be hiding “some wicked plot?”

She loathed her own assumptions. 

“And what was I supposed to tell her?!” Loki startled Sif with his sudden outburst. “That I was too weak to defend myself?! That I was-” His voice broke and he wrapped his arms around himself, anger gone, leaving nothing but misery. 

Sif’s jaw ached, she clenched it so hard. It was like going through everything with Odile all over again but instead of once, it had happened who knows how many times and instead of her little sister, it was Loki, her childhood best friend, her first lover. 

“How long has this been happening?” She took one step forward, he took one step back. “Loki, please. You must confide in someone. I won’t let Thor send you back to the dungeons until I know you will be safe-”

“I won’t go back,” he blurted, his voice tight and his eyes panicked. When was the last time she’d seen him panic? When they were adolescents? “I won’t go back. I’ll die first.”

He was telling her the truth. 

Had he been planning for this all along? 

But of course he had. 

The image of Odile’s body swinging from the maple tree flashed across her eyes and Sif flinched, hard. 

“ Death is not a solution for this, Loki.”

“Death is the only solution,” he hissed. 

“No! We will put an end to what is happening-”

“You can’t!” Loki shrieked at her. “It goes too deep! It’s been happening for too long! They make too much profit! You can not cut out an infection that’s taken over the entire body!” 

He was breathing heavily, his eyes wild and his whole frame trembling. 

“I am not asking for vengeance! I am not asking to waste any of Asgard’s precious resources,” he was practically spitting at her. “I am asking only for what I deserve: a proper execution. And since Asgard does not possess the decency to grant me that by fair trial I will have one of my own making!” 

“You were granted a life of imprisonment as a mercy !” Sif roared back. “Because there are so many people who love you! So many people who would see you redeemed before you die and are thrown straight to Hel!” She was shaking as badly as he was. “You were not sentenced there to be used like you were! Your trial-”

“You call that a trial?!” Loki shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “I was never brought before the council! No one ever asked why I did it! Odin decided what I had done and why I had done it on the word of Thor alone! And did Thor think to ask me, even once?!” Loki scoffed and Sif was sick to her stomach. Thor was known for his brashness, but surely he wouldn’t give Odin an account of Loki’s actions without even asking Loki for his testimony? 

“But even then!” Loki gestured wildly. “Even when I never had a fair trial -when he never asked even once - I said all the right things!” Loki gripped at his hair madly. “I said everything that should have warranted execution! I claimed to want to wrestle Midgard from Odin’s rule: a clear declaration of treason! I made it personal! I brought up his own crimes! I said the lives I took were meaningless ! I showed no remorse! HE SHOULD HAVE HAD ME EXECUTED!” 

Loki was screaming now, as though he’d been bottling this in his silence throughout their journey. “He knew what he was sentencing me to! He had to! He thought that I deserved worse than death! He knew-”

Loki’s voice broke off and he choked. Like a dam crumbling under too much pressure, his expression collapsed and he doubled over, clutching at his stomach. 

Sif didn’t care that they had barely tolerated each other's company for the past century. She didn’t care what lay between them, she pushed through it in a single second and reached for him. He gasped and tripped backward, too unsteady to keep his balance, and landed in the dirt. Sif crouched before him and gripped him by the shoulders. 

“You’re a fool,” she hissed through her tears. “If you think you deserved to be used as an object for others pleasure and profit.” Tears had started down his face and he was trembling violently, trying to keep them silent. “You are a fool, if you think I am going to let you go back to that. And you are a fool, if you think I am just going to let you kill yourself like Odile.”

“It’s not the same,” Loki whispered, meeting her eyes for only half a second before dropping his eyes to the dirt. “It’s not the same as with Odile.”

“Yes it is,” she said, rattling him again. “It’s the same to me.”

“Odile didn’t deserve-”

“You didn’t deserve it either!” she yelled, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to look at her. He shuddered and tried to pull away but she kept him there long enough to say,

“You did not deserve this and I won’t let it happen to you again.”

“You can’t make that kind of promise, Sif,” Loki whispered, his energy spent. 

“I can,” she insisted. “Even if it means I stay with you in those prisons, I won’t let it happen again.”

He shook his head. “You can’t-”

“I can .” Sif glared at him and his eyes fluttered shut, too tired to continue fighting her. From where she knelt before him, she pulled him in to settle his forehead against her collar and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Silence settled around them for several minutes and she waited for Loki’s trembling to subside before she asked, 

“Should we head back to camp? Or do you think there’s water nearby?” 

“No, I think we might find water this evening, but not in this area,” his voice was rough from screaming at her.

 “How long were they starving you?” She swung his arm over her shoulders and pulled him to his feet. 

“I ate an apple right before we left,” Loki muttered, swaying before finally letting himself lean on her. 

“And before that?” she started back in the direction of their camp.

“I don’t know,” he rasped. “A few months?”

Sif’s gut clenched. He was probably in worse shape than either Jane or Ivailo and they hadn’t even known. 

She tightened her grip on him and set her jaw. 

Chapter Text

Ivailo had started to cry after Sif and Loki left and Thor felt suspiciously like joining him. Instead, he seemed unable to do anything but make promises he didn’t know if he could keep and press kisses to the boy’s head. 

Eventually, Ivailo cried himself out and rested quietly in Thor’s arms as Jane took a sip of water and then brought it to the boy’s lips to give him a drink as well. She looked tempted to take another drink, but she fastened the cap and slipped it back into the satchel. 

“Thor?” Ivailo hiccuped.

“Yes, little wolf?” Thor thumbed a few tears off the boy’s round cheeks. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. The heat was nearly unbearable.

“Mama feels something funny about Loki,” Ivailo pinned the thunderer with two golden eyes and Thor froze. Oh no. 

“Does she?” Thor’s voice sounded ridiculous even to himself. “What do you mean?”

“She’s really mad at him, and maybe a little scared,” Ivailo frowned, chewing on his lip. “But she also feels something funny for him… I don’t know how to describe it,” he huffed. 

Thor prayed to the fates he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries too far as he explained,

“Loki and your mother were very dear friends as children.”

“Best friends? Like me and Riyun?” Ivailo asked.

“Yes,” Thor nodded, carefully choosing his next words. “But when they grew up their friendship became… different.” Thor was all too aware that Jane was practically gaping at him, but he was trying not to look at her.

“You mean they fell in love?” Ivailo asked, eyes round in astonishment. Fates help him, Sif was going to murder him. 

“Yes,” Thor admitted. “They fell in love.”

“What happened? Why aren’t they still in love?”

“Well,” Thor frowned. “I don’t know. Sometimes it just works like that. Two people love each other and then they hurt each other and they fall out of love, I suppose.”

“Did Loki hurt my mama?” Ivailo sat up a little straighter. 

“No,” Thor shook his head. “I think they hurt each other… but that was a long time ago now. Long before you were born.”

“And now they’re not even friends?” Ivailo looked distraught. 

“No, I don’t think they are anymore,” Thor admitted sadly. 

“But they feel the same funny thing about each other!” Ivailo frowned. “He feels it too about my Mama, I can tell. What is the feeling called when you fall out of love with somebody but you still want them?”  

“Uh, I don’t know if we have a word for that feeling,” Thor realized. 

“Misery,” Jane offered helpfully with a bitter smile. Thor eyed the woman carefully, wondering who she was thinking of at the moment. 

“But it’s special misery,” Ivailo sighed, settling his cheek on Thor’s chest again. “Because you still love them a little. You can’t stop, even though it makes you miserable. Right?”

“Right.” Thor’s throat was surprisingly tight. The poor child wasn’t even a decade old and he’d already begun to understand heartbreak. Not for the first time Thor was thankful he hadn’t been born an empath, and worried over the fact that Ivailo was. How did Sif do it?

Ivailo drifted off to sleep quickly and Jane seemed to be counting his breaths because as soon as they deepened she whispered. 

“Loki and Sif? !”

“Yes,” Thor smiled ruefully. He shuffled the little child in his arms a little so he could turn to face Jane. “Are you shocked?”

“Is there a word for beyond shocked?” Jane chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re brother never struck me as the type.”

Thor frowned. “What type?”

“The I’m-fine-dating-a-woman-as-strong-as-I-am type,” Jane shook her head again. “Most men can’t handle women like her.”

“Are you insulting him or complimenting him?” Thor wasn’t sure if he was proud or offended by Jane’s assumption. 

“I don’t know,” Jane’s smile dropped. “I’m just commenting. I guess I just figured he was a stereotypical lunatic with plans for world domination. They don’t usually like to share their glory, and women like Sif don’t like to take a back seat.”

“Loki is not a lunatic.” Thor was leaning toward the offended side. “And what do you mean ‘women like Sif?’”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I only meant that I didn’t realize Loki was the sensible type of man who could love a strong woman, Thor. I’m actually kind of paying him a compliment, but don’t tell him. He kind of scares me.”

“Oh,” Thor smiled. “Alright.” 

He studied her for a moment before saying, “Have you had problems with being too strong for men?”

Jane blushed. “Yeah, all five-foot-two of my sheer muscle and coordination really make men uneasy.” She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not that kind of strong woman. But I’m smart, and some men can’t handle smart women either.”

“I like smart women,” Thor grinned. 

Jane blushed harder and asked, “Even women who are smarter than you?”

“ You’re smarter than I am,” he replied easily.

“Everyone is smarter than you are, Thor,” Sif said, ducking into their cave with a metal bowl full of fruit and bread. 

“Where did you find the bowl?” he asked, ignoring the jab. 

“Where did you find the food?” Jane leaned forward eagerly. 

“Loki had a bowl and some food tucked into a space pocket,” Sif explained as she set the bowl down. 

“He had enough magic to retrieve them?” Thor asked, worry creasing his brow. 

“Barely,” Sif muttered. “It wasn’t my idea. I thought he should wait until morning.”

“Where is he?” Thor asked, anxiously peering over Sif’s shoulder. 

“Outside,” Sif said, mouth pulled down at the corners. “Retching. Again.”

“He’s too close to burnout,” Thor murmured to no one in particular. 

“What’s burnout?” Jane asked.

“It’s when a magic user burns through their magic,” Sif muttered. “The last scraps of magic he or she has will turn on them and attack vital organs trying to replenish itself.”

“So it’s like an autoimmune disorder?” Jane asked, chewing on her lip. 

“What’s an autoimmune disorder?” Thor asked.

“It’s where your immune response system, meant for attacking viruses, diseases and infections and such, turns instead to attack the body it was supposed to be protecting. People live their whole life chronically ill. They still don't know what causes it on Earth.”

“Yes,” Sif frowned. “It is like this. But it is most often fatal.”

“Oh,” Jane’s voice was soft.

“You left in a hurry. Is everything alright?” Thor asked, remembering how anxious Sif had been when she’d left. 

“No,” Sif snapped. Both Thor and Jane recoiled at her tone and Ivailo awoke. 

“Mama?” He reached for her and Sif moved farther into the shallow cave to pull him into her arms. Thor was guiltily relieved to have the child off his lap. It was hot as hel. 

“What happened?” Thor asked. 

Sif didn’t respond and Loki slipped into the cave, quietly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and looking like death warmed over. 

“You sleep behind me until we’re ready to venture out again,” Sif informed him, pointing to where she wanted him. Loki stared at her for a moment as though considering whether the argument was worth it or not. He must have decided against it because he complied. 

Jane gaped like a fish out of water. 

Thor was eyeing Loki suspiciously. He looked exhausted, even worse than this morning. Had they been fighting? Was Loki injured or was burnout creeping in? 

“Are you-” he started but Loki interrupted. 

“Everything is fine, Thor.” 

He did not sound fine.

“Are you sure?”

Loki leaned forward and slapped a chunk of bread and an apple into Thor’s hand. “Just shut up and feed your mortal.”

“Her name is Jane,” Thor growled. “And I will not have you speak of her like she isn’t here. She is my lover, not my pet.”

“Oh,” Loki sneered. “I’m glad you’ve finally learned the distinction between the two.”

“Loki, try to sleep,” Sif said, shooting him a look. Loki muttered something under his breath and rolled away to face the wall. Sif shifted to a defensive position at his back, Ivailo positioned in her lap, and shot Thor his own withering glare. 

You were asking for it, her look said. 

What did I do? Thor mouthed at her. She continued to glare and ignored him. 

When Thor turned to give Jane the food, she was still gaping.

Chapter Text

Sif looked so young at Odile’s funeral because she was young, Loki realized. They were barely past the age of courting by a decade. The wide eyed hurt and blanched expression didn’t look right on her face. None of it did. 

Loki tried to hold her hand, tried to offer her a scrap of comfort but she yanked her hand out of his grasp. He swallowed and tucked his hands behind his back. Of course, that was stupid of him. What had he been thinking? Her little sister was dead, she wouldn’t want to hold his hand.  

Odile’s funeral was a small one, the shame of a suicide meant even some family members had elected to stay home. It was like they could just forget that she had ever existed. Loki despised them. He’d never let Sif hear the words of course, but he hated them. Odile was everything they ever wanted, sweet, good, graceful, tender-hearted: everything Sif’s family required of her and she had been unable to produce within herself, a fact they never let Sif forget. Odile was the favored child, until she wasn’t. Her uncle hadn’t even agreed to read the Rites, wishing her Spirit safe passage to Valhalla. Some said the souls of suicides never made it.

“That is sheer idiocy,” Frigga hissed, when Loki had explained this to her, asking if she would read the Rites. For Sif’s sake. She had agreed, but he’d never seen his mother so furious. “These people barely even bother to read the Sacred Texts, but they feel perfectly comfortable damning a little child’s soul to immortal suffering, do they? They that have no sense in their heads should keep their stupidity from leaving their mouths.”

“So you think Odile will make it to Valhalla?” Loki had asked, desperate for her affirmation. 

“Yes, min kjærlighet,” Frigga pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Of course she did. The gates of Valhalla have never turned a sick child away, never.”

“But-”

“Of the two of us, my son,” she murmured, gentle amusement dancing with her grief and frustration. “Who was raised by witches and read the Sacred Texts at their site of origin?”

Loki smiled ruefully at her. “Not I.” 

“No.” She pressed another kiss to his forehead as though she couldn’t resist it. “Of course I will read the Rites. Of course I will guide her soul to Valhalla.”

But standing next to Sif at the funeral, Valhalla seemed so far away and the stars had never seemed so cold. 

All he could think about was how scared she must have been. Sweet Odile, with her dimpled smiles and her slender piano-player’s fingers. 

“I wish it had been me,” Sif whispered when he snuck into her room that night and slipped into her bed.

“Don’t say that,” Loki clenched his jaw, his stomach twisted at the thought of Sif fighting against someone as he forced himself inside her. Had Odile been able to scream? Had she cried?

“Please don’t say that, Sif,” he choked, coiling himself around her tightly. 

“But it would have been easier for everyone.” Her voice didn’t sound right and she was limp in his arms, motionless. 

“Stop!” Loki was suddenly angry at her, so furious he traded his embrace for grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “You aren’t making sense!”

She didn’t push back at him, or return his anger, she just let him shake her. It was so unlike Sif that he pulled her up so they sat facing each other and shook her harder. 

“You don’t mean it. Say you don’t mean it!” Her hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders as he rattled her. 

“But I do,” Sif said, in that eerie calm. “It only makes sense. She was perfect. She could have been perfect. She should still be here. If it had to be one of us it should have been me.”

“It shouldn’t have to be either of you!” he hissed, trying to keep himself from screaming at her and rousing her Aunt and Uncle. Tears seared at his eyes and he was pushing her dark hair from her too-pale face, grabbing either side of her head and crying,

“Don’t you see? It’s chaos. It doesn’t make any sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen. To anyone.”

“But it did happen,” Sif’s eyes were glazed. “It happened and she’s dead.”

“And if it were you?” his voice broke. “And Odile was left wishing it was her?”

  Sif’s icy composure finally cracked and she started crying. She never made sound when she cried. 

“It’s not fair,” she whispered, voice uneven. “He’s alive and she’s dead and it’s not fair.”

“No,” Loki wrapped himself around her again, wishing he could sound half as wise as his mother. But all he could think to say was, “No. It’s not fair. It’s not.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” her voice was high and she sounded like a little girl again. 

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Why did she think that was the only way?”

“I don’t know, Sif. I don’t know.”

“Loki.” 

Loki startled away to Sif’s arm on his shoulders. Norns, how long had it been since she’d woken him? He jerked away from her and shuddered, pushing himself to a sitting position.

He felt like he’d torn every muscle in his body. 

“Are you alright?” 

He glared at Sif. “What?”

“You were crying,” she said, glancing away awkwardly. 

Loki quickly swiped at his face cursing himself and stumbled to his feet. Stars swarmed his vision and he leaned back against the cave wall to support. When his vision finally cleared, Sif was watching him carefully, lips pursed. 

Norns, he was so tired. 

“Will you eat this?” Sif held a chunk of bread out and he took it from her. Moving slowly, as though he were more ancient than the nine realms themselves, he shifted from behind her to crouch beside her. Her son was sleeping next to her and she rested a hand atop his dark locks, matted with sweat and dirt. Loki tore off a small piece of bread and began slowly consuming the chunk of bread, pausing frequently to avoid vomiting. 

“Are you rested, Loki?” Thor asked, the ever present crease between his brows deepening. When had Thor begun to look so old? 

“Rested enough,” he responded curtly. 

“Thank you for the food,” Jane said quietly. He didn’t respond to her, only narrowed his eyes and analyzed her complexion. Her face was wet with sweat and her color grey. Dark half moons were developing beneath her eyes and her veins seemed to stand dark against the contrast of her pallid flesh. No wonder Thor seemed to be perpetually frowning, his little mortal flower was wilting. 

“Will you stop that?” Thor snapped. 

“Stop what?” Loki raised a sharp brown at him. 

“Stop frowning at her. She was only trying to be decent.”

“Mm,” Loki hummed noncommittally. 

“Something you might try every now and then,” Thor’s glare was only intensifying. 

Loki didn’t bother answering that barb. His days of decency were long past. He finished off the bread and informed the company, 

“It should be cooling down, we have several hours before dusk. At dusk everything will freeze again. We need to get to cover and find water before then. I will not be slowing down.”

“But if Jane or Ivailo-” Thor started, eyes flashing and electricity humming in the air. 

“They are the reason we must keep the pace, Thor.” Loki’s patience was wearing thin. He had no time for his brother’s density. “They need water in the next few hours. It has been too hot.”

He needed water in the next few hours. His desperate attack on the bath faucet had nearly worn off and his veins were screaming for water, his heart beginning to work overtime again. 

He looked at Jane, acknowledging Thor’s complaint regarding his speaking about the mortal as if she wasn't there. “Take a drink before we set out.” 

He turned to Sif and communicated the sentiment for her child with a look. 

Do you need a drink as well? She asked with her expression. He barely frowned at her before ducking out of the cave and into the seething heat of Svartalfheim. That question didn’t merit a response. 

Chapter Text

Sif had been carrying Ivailo all afternoon again and Thor eventually had to carry Jane. She’d fainted about an hour ago, and although she’d since regained consciousness she remained limp in Thor’s arms, head resting against his chest, dark gaze disturbingly absent. When he’d asked Loki to take a look at her, Sif had nearly taken his head off.

“He doesn’t have the magic to waste, Thor!” Her eyes flashed like yellow flames. 

“Jane,” Thor bit back, “is not a waste. I’m only asking him to check on her.”

“Using anything could kill him,” she seethed, Ivailo shrinking in her arms. 

Loki eyed them both with an impassive look. He seemed to be nearly as absent as Jane. 

“She needs water,” Loki rasped, licking dry lips, before staggering off in the lead again. 

Loki had become clumsier by the hour. Now, nearing dusk, his shoulders were hunched and his head hung low, his feet dragging tracks in the sand. Thor watched him with growing dread. Sif was right. A simple vital mapping spell could have killed him. 

Keep your brother safe, Thor, his mother’s voice from centuries ago echoed back through time. You know how proud he is. He won’t tell you when he needs you. 

If Thor got Loki killed, so shortly after their mother’s death, would he be able to live with himself? And yet, if Jane perished, something that could easily be prevented… Thor could not live with that either. 

Hogun would advise him with cold logic. Loki was still young by Aesir standards, he had another four thousand years or more to live. Jane was mortal, even if she lived it would only be for another sixty years at the most. Therefore Loki’s life was the obvious choice between them. 

And yet, Thor reasoned, Jane would spend her sixty years enlightening the people of Midgard. Loki would spend the next four thousand years of his life wasting away in prison, helpful to no one. As far as the greater good went, would Jane’s innocent life be a greater benefit to the universe than Loki’s ruined one? 

What kind of hateful creature was he to have such thoughts? Thor loathed that his mind could even try to pick one of them to survive. 

Sif was shooting him looks that said she loathed him as well. 

Jane shuddered and curled tighter against him. Thor glanced at the darkening sky. Dusk would be here soon and they still had not found water. 

As if on cue, Jane perked up with a quiet exclamation. “Oh, water!”

Loki had come to a stop and was staring down into a massive crater that held the expanse of a lake so deep it was nearly black in the dying light of the Svartalfheim suns. His body language was off though, and Sif mirrored him. Loki said they had to avoid large bodies of water. Did this lake constitute a large body? Or did he mean seas? 

“How much water do we have left?” Loki gave a half turn, his voice so low and dry Thor had to draw closer to hear him. Thor handed him the canteen and let Loki feel the weight, less than half. 

Loki pursed his lips and frowned back at the black expanse of the water. It was as still as glass, reflecting the dark clouds twisting across the sky. 

“There’s so much,” Jane’s whisper wavered with desperation. “It’s right there.” 

Loki seemed to be battling something silently in his head. Finally, he looked to Sif.

“My son needs water,” Sif said, eyeing the canteen in his hands with a sharpness that Thor did not like. Would Sif truly fight him for the last drink of water? But of course she would, for her son. And he would not hold back for Jane’s sake. 

Thor felt like screaming with frustration. 

Why? He silently roared at himself. Why had he not thought to bring more water? How could he have so gravely miscalculated Jane’s state? 

As Thor and Sif resignedly sized one another up, arms tightening around their charges, Loki gave a rattling sigh. 

“We must take the risk.” He squinted at the sky and licked his lips. They’d cracked and bled at some point through the afternoon. 

“Two of us will go for water,” Loki decided. “I will be one, and Thor or Sif will be the other. The one who stays will be responsible for Jane and Ivailo.” The fact that he’d finally referred to her by name was not as comforting as Thor thought it would be. 

“Why must you be one of those who approaches the water?” Sif frowned. “Thor and I are the strongest of our group. If the threat that this water poses is as great as I believe it is, the strongest should be put at risk.”

“It’s simply a better strategy,” Loki shrugged, apparently unoffended he’d been placed in the weaker group. Something was very wrong with him. “One of the strongest two should be responsible for them because it is imperative that they leave this world alive. If they are left with me, their chance is less likely than with you or Thor. Besides, I doubt either of you are comfortable with me staying with them anyway.”

Sif swallowed and Thor hated that Loki was right. He did not trust his brother with Jane’s well-being and even if he did, Loki would make a poor protector being as weak as he was if both Sif and Thor were either injured or killed by this water threat. 

“So,” Loki asked. “Who will it be that stays?”

“Thor,” Sif pinned him with an unwavering gaze. “Will you be certain my son is safe?”

“No,” Thor protested through gritted teeth. “I am the most likely to survive this threat, I should go.” Sif was a mighty warrior, but she did not have his power or Mjolnir. 

“Which is why you must be the one who stays,” Sif ground out, clearly struggling with this as much as he was. “My son must live.”

“No!” Ivailo suddenly blurted, the realization of what was happening sinking in. “No! Mama, don’t go!”

Thor put Jane down and reached for the boy who suddenly burst into frenzied cries, clinging to Sif madly. Thor’s vision blurred with tears as he pried the child off Sif and caged him in his arms. Ivailo was shrieking and writhing in Thor’s grip but to no avail. 

“I will protect him with my life,” Thor promised Sif who was whispering to Ivailo and kissing his brow. 

“Mama! No!” Ivailo’s cry was gutting. “Mama! No! Please!”

“The bowl,” Loki demanded of Jane, his voice brittle. Sif kept promising Ivailo that all would be well, they would be right back, but the tiny empath knew she was lying and did not know if she would be back or not. Jane emptied the rest of the remaining food into her skirt and tied it up in her sash as she handed Loki the now empty bowl. 

Loki gave her the canteen and said, “Drink and then let the boy finish it.”

Jane complied and Sif soothed Ivailo just enough to get the last sip down his throat. Ivailo sobbed, little body shaking with weakness from the journey and terror as Sif kissed him again before stalking off resolutely. 

“Let’s go,” she said stiffly. 

“Wait here,” Loki told Thor. “If we don’t make it back, get to cover before the temperature goes too low. There’s a portal just behind that ridge.” He pointed to the jagged edge of the mountain range they’d been traveling along. His eyes were cold as he demanded, 

“If I do not come back with Sif, you must take cover for the night and head straight to the portal at dawn. Do not go after Malekith. Do not attempt to deal with the Aether. Get off this planet and come up with a different plan. Do you understand?”

“No, Mama!” Ivailo whimpered. “Don’t go.”

“Everything will be alright, my love,” Sif lied. 

“Thor,” Loki snapped. “Do you understand?”

Thor did not, but he nodded slowly. Jane was clinging to his arm and Ivailo had given up his wailing for soft, exhausted sobs. 

“You will not make it off this planet with Jane and Ivailo alive, if you do not leave at dawn.” Loki insisted. He was right. Without Loki to warn them of the threats this world had in store, keeping Jane and Ivailo alive would be ten times as difficult. 

“I understand,” the words felt like poison on his tongue. Just come back alive, he wanted to add, but the words would not come.

“Good,” Loki turned to Sif. They exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes before Sif nodded and they turned to begin their descent into the crater. 

Chapter Text

“What are we up against?” Sif murmured as they picked their way down into the crater. A quiet trail of sand and dust skittered behind them into the fading light.

“They’re called skapningdøds ,” Loki muttered back, keeping his voice low. “They live in nearly every large body of water on the planet, hunting whatever comes to find a drink.”

“Are they intelligent?” 

“Yes, but not sentient.”

“How big?”

“I don’t know. They’re water bound. I’ve never seen the entirety of one, but I would guess somewhere around 15 to 20 strides.”

Sif’s heart skipped a beat but she kept picking her way forward. Ivailo needed water. Jane needed water. Loki needed water. 

She cast an eye over the expanse of the lake. “Are there usually more than one in a large body like this?”

“Only if they’re a mated pair,” Loki shook his head. “Otherwise they eat eachother off.”

“But you’ve survived them before?” Sif watched as Loki’s tight shoulders coiled tighter. 

“They are not the kind of thing you plan on surviving twice,” he muttered back. 

Sif recalled how bad of shape Loki had been in when he’d returned from the Dark World six hundred years ago. One injury in particular caught her memory; gashes from his left hip down to his knee, deep enough to see bone. Even after the healers spent a week on it, it still scarred. He bore that silvery scar wrapped around his thigh to the present day. 

“Your leg?” 

Loki didn't respond verbally, just nodded once. After a few more steps he stopped and whispered,

“They hunt their prey by sound, we can not speak when we reach the water’s edge. We must also avoid disturbing the water as we collect it. They’re fast, faster than Aesir, and have dragon-like teeth. We won’t see them coming.” 

“Loki,” Sif grabbed his shoulder and made him look at her. “Tell me honestly, how weakened are you?”

Loki pursed his lip and squinted out at the water for a moment before saying, “If I get pulled under the surface, I won’t have much of a chance.” Her heart was in her throat as he pinned her with a steady gaze, unnaturally calm. 

“You must not come in after me if this is the case.”

She glared back at him and unsheathed her sword silently. 

“Promise me that, Sif,” Loki insisted. “Your son needs water and he will not get it if both of us are dead.”

He was right. She hated it when he was right. 

“Then you must promise me that you will not purposefully use this as a means to escape life,” she growled back. 

Loki analyzed her carefully before murmuring, “Not here. Not yet.”

It was not a good answer, but it was one she would have to settle with for now.

--

Loki was wound tight enough to shatter as he and Sif crept up to the water’s edge. Sif had her sword drawn and was watching the water with a fierce glare, guarding Loki as he quietly undid the canteen lid and slipped it into the water. His hands were shaking and he willed them to be still, imagining the tiny vibration pulsing through the expanse of the lake, calling the resident skapningd ø d to them. 

He silently pulled the canteen back and capped it, pulling the metal bowl from behind him and slipping that into the water as well. His leg ached as though still healing. 

Wounds never forget from where they come. He could almost hear his mother reciting the witch proverb to him. Some magic is rendered not wrought. 

Was this the very lake that he had scrambled down to so many years ago? Was the creature in this crater the very one that had lunged from the water in half a blink and tried to drag him in by its teeth, anchored deep into his flesh? 

He swallowed a shudder and tried to shove the memories back. His mind was weak, but it was not that weak. He could flashback when they were safely away from the water’s edge.

Sif touched his shoulder and motioned to a tiny ripple across the surface, still sixty paces from them. Panic set into his bones and he clutched at the metal bowl, standing and backing away. It was nothing. It was the wind. It was nothing. 

Sif was backing away with him, sword braced in front of them, her right arm pushing him behind her. 

He didn’t see it coming.

Sif did. 

In one heartbeat she sent him flying back, sword flashing in the dying twilight. As his heart thundered a second time, the skapningd ø d anchored its flashing white teeth. A spurt of red, a scream shattering the silence, and the waves crashed back over the monster and warrior. 

When Loki’s heart beat a third time and he was roaring her name. 

Chapter Text

Thor was watching as Loki and Sif started backing away from the water’s edge, his heart in his throat. Sif was coiled tightly, positioning herself between Loki and the water. They sensed something.

 Thor blinked. 

In the time it took him to blink, something had flown from the glassy surface of the water, and the tense silence erupted into screams. Loki was thrown back. Sif was caught in a hel-beast’s fangs and dragged back down the shoreline and into the water. 

“No!” Thor was pressing Ivailo’s head into his shoulder so the boy could not watch as the water bloomed crimson where his mother had disappeared only fractions of a second ago. 

“Sif!” Loki screamed, dropping the water bowl and canteen and tearing out across the black sands of the beach. “Sif!”

“NO! LOKI!” Thor roared. Without taking a second to think, he was throwing Ivailo at Jane and flying down into the crater, Mjolnir singing in his grasp. 

Loki was splashing frantically through the water when Thor caught him and dragged him back to the beach. 

“No! Thor! Let go!” Loki was struggling fiercely against him, eyes wild with panic. “Sif!”

Thor cried out as a knife plunged deep into his thigh, his hand immediately going to apply pressure. Loki slammed a sharp elbow into the Thunderer’s chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. 

The churning water boiled red with Sif’s blood as Loki dove into the lake and disappeared beneath the seething waves. 

“Loki!” Thor screamed. “Sif!” 

There was so much blood. 

A second ticked by. Thor strained against the desire to plunge into the bloody water after them, Sif’s voice echoing through his skull.

You must be the one who stays. My son must live.

Thor could hear Ivailo shrieking at the top of the crater. 

Another second ticked by. Thor screamed in frustration. Had he truly lost both of them? In one sudden strike?  

One of the strongest two should be responsible for them because it is imperative that they leave this world alive. He never should have pulled Loki from his cell. He should have found another way. 

A third second. If he went in after them now, he would be sentencing Ivailo and Jane to death in this hel-world.

Will you be certain my son is safe? Sif demanded. 

Keep your brother safe, Thor, his mother implored. 

Four seconds.

I was protecting my home, Thor’s own voice mocked him from years ago. 

You cannot even protect your friends! His father had roared. What would his father say now? Now that he’d orphaned Sif’s only child and led his own brother to his death?

You are a vain, greedy, cruel boy!

Ten seconds. Thor could only pace at the red water’s edge, screaming. 

You are unworthy of these realms! 

“Loki!” Thor roared.

You are unworthy of your title!

“Sif!” The water was going still, returning to glass but holding it’s crimson hue.

You are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed!

Fifteen seconds. 

Suddenly the glassy water erupted again in black scales and flashing teeth.

“Thor!” his brother screamed. All thoughts and promises left his head at the sound of Loki’s scream. Thor began running out into the water. 

“Loki!”  He couldn't see them. The beast was writhing and roaring, deep gashes ripped along its underbelly from one of Loki’s blades. It was enormous, a mountain of black scales, muscle and teeth.“Where are you? Loki!”

The beast thrashed and Loki’s head bobbed to the surface, half his face stained with the blood tinged water, and the other half obscured by a plaster of dark hair. He choked on a mouthful of water and floundered, trying to swim toward the thunderer with Sif’s motionless body clutched in his arms, her weight dragging him down again.

The beast twisted around, teeth snapping at them and Thor forgot the promise he’d made to Sif and the logic of Loki’s plan.  With a roar, the thunderer shot forward, the weight of Mjolnir cracking the hel-beast’s skull. The beast struggled for a few seconds more until Thor brought the hammer down again and split the reptilian head open. 

The body twitched and spasmed as it sank, it’s bulk massive enough to suck water down with it in a whirl. Thor fought against the pull for a few seconds before the body sunk deep enough for the suction to relax.

Loki was on his back, arm wrapped around Sif’s chest, weakly kicking them both back to shore. 

“Thor!” Loki called. The word cost him and he dipped below the surface again before thrashing back up. Thor let Mjolnir pull him back to them. 

“She’s too heavy,” Loki panted, slipping beneath the surface again. 

Thor let Mjolnir sink to the bottom of the lake and pulled Sif’s limp body into his own arms. 

She wasn’t breathing. 

He twisted onto his back, Sif settled on his chest and grabbed at Loki’s collar. His brother clutched at his arm as he swam the three of them to shore. 

Chapter Text

Loki was coughing up water as Thor dragged the two of them to shore. Sif’s blood was coppery in his mouth. As the Thunderer hauled them into the sand and away from the shore line Loki rolled away from him to vomit. More water, more blood. 

“Come on,” Thor muttered, pumping Sif’s chest with rough compressions. She jerked with the force of each push, but otherwise remained limp, mouth open as water gushed up her throat. 

Loki crawled back over to them, shaking violently. 

“Wake up,” he demanded through gritted teeth. Taking her head in his hands he shook her, tears blurring her face. 

“Wake up.” This time he was pleading. 

“She doesn’t have a pulse,” Thor muttered. “I’m going to try something. Let go of her.”

“Wake up,” Loki whispered, shaking her again. Her head lolled loosely, as though barely attached to her body. 

“Loki,” Thor’s hand was on his shoulder. “Let go of her. I’m going to try something.”

The Thunderer pried his hands from Sif’s head and pushed him away. Electricity hummed in the air and Thor’s eyes went white, power cracking through his hands as he placed them on Sif’s chest, above her heart. Her body bucked, spine arching dramatically before she went limp again. 

Loki was shaking so hard his teeth chattered. 

Thor felt for her pulse, muttered a curse, and repeated the shock. 

Suddenly, Sif’s eyes flew wide and she gasped, only to choke and cough up more water. Loki choked on a sob. Alive. She was alive.

“We need to get to higher ground,” Thor eyed the water cautiously. He called mjolnir to his grasp from where it had settled in the depths. “In case there’s another.”

“Wait,” Loki rasped, slipping his hands behind Sif’s neck. “What’s broken? Your neck?” She shook her head. “Your back?” Again she shook her head. 

“M-my arm,” she whispered, face white with shock.

Loki glanced at the arm nearest him, then the other. His heart stopped and sound stopped and Thor stopped and everything stopped. The arm was broken completely through at the bicep, bone splintered, the flesh ripped apart. Her exposed tricep was the only thing keeping the arm attached to the rest of her body. Sif moaned in pain.

So much blood. 

“Alright,” Loki whispered, surprised at how small his own voice sounded. “I’m going to fix it. Everything is going to be fine. It’s alright. I’m going to fix this.”

He didn’t have enough magic. Desperately he scraped at his vital magic, trying to come up with enough to at least heal the bone. 

“No,” Sif gasped. “No magic.” 

She smashed her eyes shut. 

“Tie a tourniquet.” 

“Sif,” his vision blurred again. “You’ll lose the arm.”

“Do it,” she ground through clenched teeth.

“We need to get to higher ground,” Thor insisted. 

She would be dead in a matter of minutes if they didn’t stop the bleeding. 

“I’ll be quick,” Loki promised both of them, using one of his knives to saw off a leather strap from the hem of his tunic. Stepping over Sif and pushing Thor out of the way, he crouched down and tied the tourniquet tightly around her upper arm. Sif barely stifled a cry and Loki took a deep breath, willing the tremor in his hands to be calm as he clenched the dagger. 

“Sif,” Loki said, voice soft. She looked up at him, anchoring her gaze in his. While she was distracted Loki quickly sliced through her tricep, cleanly separating the ruined arm below the tourniquet. She bit back a scream. 

“I’m sorry,” he pressed his forehead to hers, his tears mingling with hers. “Sif, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She only answered with a moan, her pupils swallowing her eyes almost all the way around the iris and gaze unfocused.

“We need to move,” Thor was pushing Loki aside, hauling Sif up and throwing her over his shoulders. 

Loki stumbled after him, exhaustion heavy on his limbs and tears blinding him. He grabbed the water bowl, only half full now, and canteen as they passed them and glanced back at the beach. The sand was too dark to see Sif’s blood and the water had become deceivingly calm again. The only evidence of what had just transpired was Sif’s left arm, ruined and ripped from her body, pale fingers twisted in the black sand. 

Loki had the nonsensical urge to run back and bring the arm with them, as though they could somehow salvage it and attach it back to her body. 

It took every ounce of willpower he still had to turn his back and leave the arm to rot in the sand. Shudders wracked his frame as he gripped their water supply that had come at such an unspeakable cost and he stumbled numbly behind Thor as they picked their way back up out of the crater and into the settling night. 

Chapter Text

Jane was exhausted before she had to restrain an Aesir child. Now she felt halfway to the grave. 

She sighed. That wasn’t a fair phrase to use, considering Sif’s condition. 

Thor had limped up from the crater with Sif slung over his shoulders and Loki trailing behind him. They were all soaking wet and obviously shaken. Sif was missing an arm. 

Jane finally had to let the boy go as she turned away to vomit.

She did not sign up for this. She did not sign up for this. 

“No, Ivailo,” Loki stepped in front of the boy and blocked his path to his mother. “You can see her in a minute, but not yet, alright?” 

Jane clutched at her stomach, wiping bile from the corner of her mouth, watching as the villain put the water bowl down and knelt in front of the boy. She stood up again, nauseous and confused, but alert if only for Ivailo’s sake. How many children had Loki killed in New York? 

“I want my mama,” Ivailo whimpered. 

“I know,” Loki said, settling a shaking hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And you will have her. In a minute.”

“Why can’t I see her now?” he cried. “Is she d-dead?”

“No,” Loki shook his head, his jaw clenching. “No, she’s not dead.”

“Then why-?” 

Sif suddenly let out a guttural scream. To Jane's horror, she realized Thor was using his power to cauterize the stub of the warrior’s arm, pinning her down as she jerked beneath him. Everything smelled of burning flesh. 

Jane fought the urge to throw up again. She’d only dry heave.

Sif wouldn’t stop screaming. Ivailo matched her pitch as he begged Thor to stop, trying to push his way past Loki who gathered the child up in his arms and caged him against his chest. 

To Jane’s astonishment, she realized Thor’s brother was crushing his eyes shut as he clutched the boy, as though he was trying to block the sounds of Sif’s screams, his whole frame shaking with unspent emotion. 

If Jane had any doubts earlier about Loki and Sif ever having been lovers as Thor had claimed, they’d dissipated with sickening swiftness as she watched Loki plunge straight into the lake with the monster without a second thought. He’d been screaming her name like a madman. 

If she couldn’t see his face right now, as Thor finished cauterizing the wound and Sif’s voice went hoarse from screaming, Jane might have convinced herself he’d only plunged in after her for some sense of loyalty or duty. Not many ex-lovers would put their lives on the line for each other, but there were some. 

But seeing the way he gripped Ivailo, seeing the white terror engraved on his face, the raw panic in his eyes, Jane knew that wasn’t why he went in after her. Despite his cold facade, despite his harsh words, despite the fact that he was a mass-murdering monster: Loki still loved Sif down to his core. 

“Alright, Loki,” Thor called out, his voice rough. “I’m finished.”

In one swift motion, Loki scooped Ivailo up and jogged to Sif’s side. Jane followed, picking up the metal bowl, half full of water on her way. Sif was only half conscious, her face unnaturally grey and coated in a silver sheen of sweat. 

“Mama,” Ivailo sobbed, little hands reaching for her face. If they lived through this, Jane realized soberly, Ivailo would carry the trauma of this world with him for the rest of his life. 

“Ivailo,” Sif murmured. 

“Mama,” Ivailo lay down, half on top of her, and wrapped his arms around her neck. Sif groggily patted him with her remaining arm. Jane stared at the shorn limb numbly, not quite able to come to grips with the fact that this was real. This was not a nightmare. It was worse. She couldn’t wake up from this. 

“Get away!” Ivailo suddenly screeched at Thor, kicking his little leg uselessly at the thunderer. Sif cringed as her son screamed so close to her ear. “Don’t touch my mama again!”  

“Ivailo,” Thor started softly, his voice wobbling. “I didn’t want to hurt-”

“Get away!” Tears dribbled down the boy’s dirty face and he glared at Thor. 

“Ivailo,” Sif murmured absently. “It’s alright, love. It’s going to be alright.” 

“Jane,” Thor said quietly. “You need to drink something.”

 Jane lifted the bowl to her lips and tipped it back a bit, luke-warm water soothing her aching throat and parched tongue. She passed it to Loki who also took a drink before bringing the lip to Ivailo’s mouth and helping him as well. 

“We need to find cover for the night,” Thor said softly, his eyes heavy with grief and regret. “I will have to carry her. Loki, will you carry Ivailo?”

Loki had been silently hovering behind the boy and slowly nodded. His head pivoted and he pinned Thor with a cold, murderous stare. Still in love with his ex or not, Jane had no doubt that he was teetering dangerously on the brink of madness and was absolutely capable of commiting more atrocities upon the universe. Jane swallowed uneasily as Thor moved in to tie a bandage around Sif’s wound and hoisted her up across his shoulders. 

“No!” Ivailo clawed at Thor’s eyes, Loki barely set the bowl down to grab the child in time to keep him from gouging his intended targets. “Don’t touch her! I said, don’t touch her!” 

When he realized he couldn’t fight against Loki’s grip, his anger drained as suddenly as it had come on and he burst into tears again. 

“Jane, are you alright?” Thor asked her, when he’d finished situating Sif across his shoulders. His voice wavered slightly, but his jaw was set. 

No. No she was not alright. If she lived through this… well she didn’t know what she was going to do. Scream? Cry? Break something? Break up with him ? But it wasn’t over and it wasn’t a real question. He wasn’t asking if she was alright. He was asking if she could physically keep moving on. 

“Yeah,” she said, picking up the water bowl. “Let’s go.”

“Loki?” Thor asked but the trickster was already stalking forward across the sand, Ivailo in his arms, toward the cover of the looming mountains. 

Chapter Text

The cave they found for the night was considerably larger than the others and it set Loki’s already frayed nerves on edge. Who knew what could be living deeper in the bowels of this tunnel? Anything. 

A ghost pain clamped around his leg where the skapningd ø d had nearly ripped it off all those centuries ago. He shuddered and ducked into the cave. It was going to have to do. They had no other option. 

The child, Sif’s child, had started crying in his arms again. Loki bit back a groan as he crouched down, settling the boy against the wall. 

“You’re scared,” the child whimpered.

Loki frowned as he felt a tingle of magic spread from his chest to his gut. 

“Are you- Do you have magic, little one?” Loki asked him. When the boy nodded, bottom lip quivering, Loki sighed and realized, “You’re an empath.”

It was more of a curse than a blessing as far as magic went. The child nodded again, his gold eyes round and bloodshot from crying. 

“Ivailo,” the name was foreign on his tongue as he crouched in front of the boy and cupped his tear-shaped face with a still-trembling hand. “You need to try to avoid using your magic until you are at home. The things we are all feeling, they will only hurt you.”

“But my mama-”

“Your mother would agree with me,” Loki was certain. “You don’t need to be feeling what she’s feeling right now. She wouldn’t want that.” 

Norns only knew how much pain she was in. 

“Do you love my mama?” The child’s whisper was like a dagger to the gut. Yes. Yes, I love your mother. I always have. I always will. 

“I know your mother very well,” Loki said, rather than voicing the admission. “And I know she wouldn’t want you to use your power right now. Not if it would hurt you.”

Seeing Sif as a mother was a new kind of agony. The way she guarded this little life was almost too much for Loki to bear watching. He’d always known she’d be an excellent mother in her own way. 

Jane crept into the cave and Thor came in behind her, Sif unconscious across his shoulders. Loki stood up faster than he anticipated and was reaching for her before Thor was completely into the cave. It was as if his brain had shut off and his body responded only to his most basic instincts. 

Sif. Mine. 

But she wasn’t his, Loki reminded himself even as he helped Thor settle her down near the cave wall and tried to position her as carefully as he could. She hadn’t been his and he hadn’t been hers in a century. 

The longing pain that shot through his chest was expected but unwelcome. 

He hoped her child had heeded his warning and tried to stop using his power. 

“I’ll get something to start a fire,” Thor said, his eyes hollow and voice emotionless. Loki didn’t bother answering, he was not ready to speak to Thor. He did not trust himself for that yet. 

Thor ducked out into the night soundlessly.

Smoothing Sif’s dark hair back from her forehead, he untied the sloppy bandage Thor had made to examine the wound. There would be no fixing this wound. Her arm was gone. Some planets had cybernetic prosthetics, but it wasn’t Asgard’s way.  

“Is she left handed?” Jane asked quietly, sitting a few feet away from them. 

Tears threatened to spill over his eyelids, but Loki blinked them back. Not now. Now was not the time for tears. Now was the time for resolve. 

He nodded. Yes, Sif was left handed, but she was ambidextrous when it came to writing. Perhaps she could learn to wield a sword with her right hand as well. 

All those centuries of training. All those early-morning and late-night hours spent conditioning and sparring. All that perfect timing and athletic grace. Over in less than a minute. 

Sif was never going to be the same. 

Jane had the wisdom to remain silent after his affirmation. 

Carefully, Loki re-tied the bandage. The healers would be able to shave down the bone and repair the scorched flesh if only they could keep her alive long enough to get her to them. 

His plans for a timely death were evaporating quickly. As badly as he needed to die, he could not do so until Sif was safely returned to Asgard. He didn’t trust Thor with keeping her alive and he could not bring himself to abandon her like that. 

But neither could he go back to the prisons. Not even for Sif could he bear to go back into that hel again. He would have to find an alternative plan.

He sighed and settled himself near Sif’s head. Her complexion was grey and shone with sweat. Her eyes flicked frantically beneath their lids. 

She’d lost too much blood. They needed to get her hydrated again. Loki pulled the canteen from where he’d clipped it to his belt and uncorked the lid. 

“Sif,” he murmured, slipping a hand behind her neck and lifting her head slightly. She stirred, but didn’t wake. 

“Sif, you need to drink something.” He carefully let a few drops of water splash on her lips and she shuddered, eyes slowly peeling open. 

“You need to drink,” he repeated, touching the lip of the canteen to her bloodless mouth. She licked her lips weakly, her body agreeing with him. She needed water badly. 

Too weak to do much of anything else, she parted her lips and let him pour the water into her mouth. She gagged on it as it slid down her parched throat and he tipped her head back to help her swallow. 

“One more,” Loki coaxed, bringing the canteen to her lips again. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“Mm,” Sif acknowledged after swallowing another drink. Her eyes slipped closed again and he gently laid her head down on his lap to keep it elevated. He took a quick swing of water and then motioned for Ivailo to come around his other side for a drink as well. After the boy was finished, Loki handed Jane the canteen. 

She took it silently.

“Loki?” The trickster almost jumped when the boy curled up next to him and nestled his head against his arm. Too stunned and confused to speak, Loki didn’t respond. The boy continued on as if he had. 

“Is there a word for what you feel when you used to love someone but can’t love them the same ever again?”

The empath’s eyes were drooping closed so he couldn’t see the stricken look that passed over Loki’s face. If Jane saw she refrained from commenting. 

Silence settled over the cave again, Sif’s wheezing breath the only sound for a few heartbeats. Then Ivailo cracked his eyes open again and prompted, 

“Loki?”

Swallowing once, Loki felt Sif’s feverish brow with his palm. 

“Hiraeth,” he finally murmured, unsure the boy could even hear him. 

“What does it mean?” Ivailo asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. 

Loki closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the cavern wall. Everything hurt. 

“Homesick,” he whispered. “For a home that you can never go back to.”

The child was already asleep, little chest rising and falling with tiny breaths. Loki didn’t open his eyes. He let the silence consume him.

Chapter Text

Thor did not want to go back to the cave. He wanted to sit down on the cooling sand and die. Or go to sleep and wake up to find this whole thing had been a cruel, horrific dream. 

He did not want to go back to the darkness of that cave and the smell of his friend’s blood and her child’s tears. He did not want to look into the cold, hateful gaze of a man who once called him brother, and know what his own short-sightedness had cost them both. He did not want to settle down next to Jane’s frail frame tonight and imagine he could feel the life leaving her body as she slept. 

He wanted his mother. 

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to scream at the starless sky and pass the agony he had wrought by his own hand off by blaming the Fates for their cruelty. 

But while he could hold the three eternal sisters responsible for his mother’s early death, he could not blame them for Sif’s. Or Jane’s. Or Ivailo’s. Or Loki’s. 

Those four souls rested heavily on his own lack of foresight and blind pursuit of vengeance. 

Perhaps, if his mother were alive now, she would hate him. 

Thor hesitated at the mouth of the cave before entering. No, sitting down on the desert floor and dying was not possible at this point. Neither was waking up from reality. 

Still everything in him ached for either to be the case before he resigned himself to the truth and ducked into the dark womb of the cave. 

His eyes dilated rapidly, searching desperately for light, but when they found none he maneuvered blindly around the cave’s occupants. No one said anything. No one shifted, or shuffled, or moved as Thor crouched down and unloaded his bundle of wood onto the cave’s sandy belly. Arranging the wood conservatively, Thor brought sparks to his fingertips and lit the fire. 

He could still feel Sif’s body bucking violently beneath his palm as he burned her flesh together. It brought bile up his throat. 

When the fire crackled to life, the occupants of the room were illuminated by its eerie glow. Jane was curled up to Thor’s right, farthest in the cave, unconscious with the severity of her exhaustion. Loki was seated across the cave from them, Sif stretched out beside him, her head cradled in his lap and her son curled into his side. 

A blade rested near the trickster’s knee and the fire light danced off it in the same cold manner as the gleam in his silent stare. 

Do not think I don’t hold you entirely responsible for this, his brother’s wicked glare seethed. 

Neither Sif nor Ivailo were supposed to be here, Thor could feel his own expression pleading. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I did not intend for any of this to happen.

But it happened. Whether Thor intended it that way or not. And Loki’s silence said as much. 

Thor sighed and settled his back against the cave, leaning over to brush a dirty strand of hair from Jane’s fevered brow. 

“How did she come to possess the Aether?” Loki asked quietly, his tone dangerously neutral.  

“She was looking for me,” Thor sighed, pulling his hands back into his lap aimlessly. 

“Why was she looking for you?”

The question was as painful as if Loki had hurled the dagger at his knee into Thor’s gut with his merciless aim. His words always had been as sharp as his blades. If not sharper.

“I don’t know,” Thor tried to lie, but it sounded flat and shallow even to his own ears so he sighed and admitted. “Because I didn’t come back to see her.”

Even the Aether was his fault.

“Why did you not go back?” Loki asked the question without his usual craft, without thought to his empty tone. 

“I don’t know,” Thor said again because he physically could not force himself to voice the horrible truth. He had not gone back because the reality of Jane’s mortality had sunk in as Thor watched the chaos of New York. It was one thing to know that her life would be over in the blink of an eye, to know that if he held her too tightly he could quite literally crush her, to know that he would live on for millennia without her and never find a woman like her. But it was another thing entirely to watch with his own eyes how mortals died at the flick of a hand, how fiercely they loved one another, for so fleeting a time, knowing death was looming before them even as they ate, and drank, and made love, and held their children. 

Somehow, continuing on in Asgaard without thinking of her was easier than going back and ending their serendipitous connection or going back to live out her lifespan with her. And it felt like it had to be one of those two. He could not walk in and out of her life knowing what end awaited them without making up his mind at some point. And he was not brave enough to make that decision. It hurt less to ignore the problem, rather than solve it. 

Now his own emotional irresponsibility may cost this brilliant, quirky, courageous woman her life. 

Loki did not pry and Thor was not sure if he was grateful for it or grieved by it. 

“I will stay up,” Thor muttered into the flames. “You should get some sleep.”

Loki did not respond. But after a few minutes, he picked Ivailo up and moved him to his other side, settling the boy between the cave wall and his mother, completely sheltered from the open mouth of the cave. 

It was such an intentional, protective action that Thor almost blurted the questions that had been tumbling around through his head since their journey began. How did Loki feel about seeing Sif after all these years? What did he think of her having a child? Did he like the boy? Or did it hurt too badly to matter whether he liked the child or not?

His earlier question, of whether or not Loki still felt anything at all for the warrior, had been answered clearly and definitely when he watched with horror as his brother rushed stupidly into the water after Sif with little hope of survival. 

Despite his cold, guarded expression and venomous words, Loki loved Sif even now.

She had obviously shown she still had some feelings for him as well, although Thor did not know if Loki was aware of it. Why did it still seem impossible for them to admit their love to one another? Couldn’t they still somehow work through whatever pain their past held?

But it was a pointless train of thought anyway. What would that change? Loki was still a war criminal responsible for the lives of hundreds who would spend the rest of his days in prison. And Sif was a dedicated mother who had no interest in changing the structure or her life again for anyone. 

That was if Sif lived. 

Thankfully Thor managed to hold his tongue as Loki shifted himself gingerly and settled his battered frame against the wall. His brother sighed once, letting his eyes slide shut, and his chin slowly bowed to meet his chest as exhaustion won the battle over his consciousness.

Silence smothered Thor and the four sleeping people under his protection and he found himself praying to his mother’s spirit that he managed to pull them all through to the other side. 

If that was even a possible outcome at this point. 

Chapter Text

Sif hadn’t had a dream like this in centuries. A dream so real it ripped her soul from her chest, yet so clear that she could hear herself insisting that this was a dream.

A dream.

Nothing but a nightmare. 

Thor had woken her in the middle of the night and she rushed down dark hallways behind him wrapping her cloak around her tightly. She hadn’t worn shoes and the cold stone beneath her seethed against the soles of her feet mockingly. 

“We must hurry,” Thor said in a voice that didn’t sound like his. “We must go to the prisons at once.” 

She didn’t want to go down to the prisons, but could not remember why. 

Something horrible lived down there. She knew that much. Something malevolent and overwhelming and too evil to defeat. She shook her head to tell Thor that they shouldn’t go down into that place. There were some things left better unknown. 

But just like in every dream she had like this one, she had no voice. Thor could not hear her warning and paid no heed when she grabbed at his arm.

It’s just a dream, she reminded herself. It will end. They always end.  

The stairs down to the dungeons kept extending, every time they took one step down three more yawned down into the abyss before them. 

They should not be coming down here. 

Rather than the clean, well-lit cells of the prisons Sif knew housed Asgard’s most wanted prisoners, the prison was from the eastern ruins of the old castle: Bor’s castle. Instruments of terror and pain lined either side of the ancient corridors- for the sake of history, they said. Torch light danced mockingly up the walks, the shadows casting vulgar gestures at them as they passed. Sif shuddered as she realized the weathered stone beneath her bare feet was warm and wet, the smell of copper and iron heavy in the breezeless air. 

They should not have come. 

They should not have come here. 

A pair of guards materialized from the shadows and grinned at her with leering demonic faces: teeth elongated, eyes glittering, faces controting in revolting sneers. 

She wanted to scream at them. She wanted to rip their throats out and hurl their hollow esophaguses across the room. 

But this was one of her voiceless dreams. She could not scream. She could not spit or snarl or stare. She ducked her head like a coward and followed behind Thor. 

They rounded the corner and came to a row of cells. 

There were no guards here. No prisoners in the cells. Only a single torch to light the whole row. Thor grabbed it because Sif was useless in her voiceless dreams, and treaded softly to the last cell. 

She did not want to see what was in that cell. She did not want to go a step further. 

She could not.

Thor pulled her forward and pushed her in. 

She could not speak. She could not fight back. She could not stand up. 

She sank to her knees and tried to scream. Tried until she thought her veins would burst through her skin. She wanted to scream hard enough to shatter this nightmare, to rip herself out of this dream. She wanted to scream and scream and scream and scream until she forced the scene before her to unmake itself. 

But she could not scream either. 

Loki’s naked body hung from a maple tree that sprouted unnaturally from the iron bars that used to be a window. Stone upon stone upon stone had buried the only light source behind that iron-wrought frame. And yet that branch, that wicked maple branch, reached with greedy fingers through the solid space and wrapped themselves in the coord about Loki’s neck. His bloodshot eyes remained open, bulging from their sockets and bruising all around. His lips were dark purple and black, swollen and airless. He was so thin. So, so frighteningly thin. His ribs jutted out from beneath bruised flesh. Handprints stained his body in sickening ways and Sif wanted not to just scream, but to rip her voice out, her eyes out, her hair out, her heart out. 

But she couldn’t scream. She couldn’t say his name. She couldn’t pull him down, or cover him up, or hold his face to her chest. She could only sit on the floor and fight the nightmare until she could finally-

“Sif!” Someone shook her forcefully. “Sif, I’m right here! Sif! Wake up. You’re alright. Everything is- Sif!”

Pain smashed into Sif like gravity after a long fall.

Loki’s too-thin face was all she could see and the pallor of his skin, the bruises on his face, alarm and grime and dried tears on his cheeks sent her into hysterics. 

“Shhh,” he pulled her up against him, pressing her head to his chest fiercely with a shaking hand. “Sif, please be quiet. Something might hear y- Sif, please!”

Sif tried to stifle her cries. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sobbed like this. Loki’s whole body trembled as he held her and it did nothing to help her quiet her cries. 

“Are you hurt?” she croaked when she finally reigned in her sobs. She was shaking too. 

“No,” Loki replied tersely. “But you are.”

“Oh,” she responded weakly. “What happened?”

“You were caught by a skapningdød, ” Loki replied, smoothing her hair back from her forehead absently. He must not have realized he was doing it. Sif closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. 

“I feel strange,” she murmured after he stopped the soothing motion, seeming to have caught himself. 

“You were hurt badly,” was all he said and she felt the lip of a canteen at her mouth.

“No,” she turned her head away. “That water was for you and Ivailo.”

“And Jane,” she added. 

“You need it more than any of us, Sif,” Loki insisted and she couldn’t help but greedily swallow it as he poured it into her mouth. 

“Thank you,” she murmured after swallowing, letting her eyes slip closed again. 

Suddenly panic shot through her like lightning and she struggled to sit up. 

“Ivailo! Where is-” her question was caught off by her own cry as agony tore through her chest. 

“Shhh!” Loki smothered the scream with his hand, only taking it away when she had quieted again. Her heart was in her throat as he promised quietly,

“He is sleeping right here beside you. See? He is fine.”

Sif felt like sobbing again but tried to swallow the sound. She felt delirious. She must have lost a considerable amount of blood. 

“It’s alright,” Loki murmured, smoothing her hair back again. “He’ll be alright.”

“Promise you won’t let him die here,” Sif gripped Loki’s wrist with a half-mad expression. “Swear it.”

“No one is going to die,” Thor said quietly and Sif started, not having realized he was there. 

She was too tired to be ashamed that he’d seen Loki coddling her. She was too tired to do anything but let her eyes slip closed as she listened to the sound of Loki’s heartbeat inside his chest. 

Chapter Text

Sif fell asleep as suddenly as she had woken and Loki found that he didn’t want to lie her back down, but rather continue to hold her here close to him. Thor was frowning at him and he felt heat crawl up his neck, the itch to let her go still not strong enough to beat the urge to hold her tightly. 

“Loki…” she murmured and flinched in her feverish sleep. If he had his magic he would be able to access her dreams and steer them clear of nightmares like the one that had her crying out his name in agony earlier. Hel, if he had his magic he’d have been able to save her arm and she’d be sitting up next to him with a wary eye on the mouth of the cave’s entrance now. Or glaring at him with molten distrust. 

He’d take a Sif that hated him over the one that cried his name in her sleep anyday. Even if it meant that he could not hold her as tightly as he held her now. 

He watched her eyes flicker frantically beneath her eyelids and swallowed a sigh. 

“You still care,” Thor said and Loki begrudgingly tore his eyes off of Sif to glower at his once-brother. 

“Does it matter?” he responded numbly. 

“Yes, damnit!” Thor snapped. “Because it means that somewhere inside what you have become, you are still the Loki that we all loved.”

Loki laughed hollowly at the reliable naivety of the Crown Prince. At some point he was going to have to grow out of that if he was to make even a half-decent king. 

“Do you deny it?” Thor pushed, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. 

“Deny what?” Loki replied evenly. 

“That you still care about her.”

Loki pursed his lips together evenly and raised a single reproachful brow. 

Thor sneered at him hatefully. 

“Of course he does,” Ivailo sat up suddenly, startling Loki. The boy turned owlish eyes sleepily up to the man holding his mother and demanded, “Tell him.”

Loki felt himself crumbling at the edges as he looked into the tiny, upturned face. 

“Ivailo...” he started.

“No!” Ivailo yelled, waking Jane with his shrill tone. “Tell him the truth!”

“Hush,” Loki snapped, glancing nervously at the mouth of the cave. From the corner of his eye he saw the boy flinch hard as though he’d struck him. 

Loki cringed. 

“It’s… Ivailo,” Loki started to explain in a softer tone. “It’s not that-”

“Sh!” Thor hissed. 

Loki snapped his attention furiously back at the Princling but froze when he saw Thor’s head cocked attentively to the side. 

Do you hear that? Thor mouthed across the fire.

Loki’s gut dropped and something icy slithered up his spine. 

The faintest, irregular clicking sounds could be heard above the quiet slither of wind from somewhere in the endless dark beyond the cave. 

What is it? Thor asked Loki with his eyes, using their soundless communication they hadn’t used since they were boys. 

Loki shook his head silently, knowing that his cowardice was likely written all over his face. Ivailo shivered and curled closer into the safe nook that Loki and Sif created with their bodies. Jane, it appeared, was doing the same thing to Thor. 

Tck , clicked one voice. It was followed by another. And another. Coming closely

Tck… Tck tktktkt… tkt tkt

Tkt

Should I put the fire out? Thor asked, moving toward the flame.

Loki shook his head, dread coiling tightly behind his ribs. They moved by sonar. They couldn’t see the light. It was too late. 

We need to run, Loki replied wordlessly, motioning with his chin back to the gaping throat of the cavern. 

Tkt tkt tktktk tk t-

Thor nodded curtly, grabbing Jane at the elbow and pushing her towards Loki, his other finger to his lips warning her to remain silent. 

Paper-white, Jane crawled toward Loki hesitantly and took Ivailo, whom Loki was thrusting into her frail arms. 

The first set of silver teeth glinted from eyeless, scaled heads in the pale glow of the fire. 

Click, Click, a strange wheezing sound like a cough.  

Go Loki pushed Jane toward the dark of the cavern and shouldered Sif awkwardly, fleeing behind the mortal and child. Thor picked up mjolnir and moved to the mouth of the cave, rolling to crouch on the balls of his feet as the clicks grew into coughs as the pack began to clamor about their find. 

Loki spared his brother a single glance over his shoulder before repositioning Sif across both his shoulders and pushing past Jane to lead her into the cold, black infinity.

Chapter Text

Jane had not signed up for this. 

She had signed up at the age of 15 to start her study in astrophysics. She had signed up to take a career path that few women braved at the time and pave the way for other girls like her. She had signed up to dedicate the entirety of her adult life to her research and had agreed to the terms that came with it. She was ostracized, othered, her work was disrespected and ignored for the first 15 years of her career as she lived in a run-down trailer full of papers and books and survived off of cheap ramen and black coffee. But she knew what she had signed up for and she kept to it because she wanted it . Jane Foster was no longer a nobody: she had two PhD’s, had created her own theory of Relativity, had been the first human being to document extraterrestrial beings conclusively. 

Jane was no stranger to hard work, to feeling hopeless, to facing unbeatable odds. She had a brilliant mind and a bright soul and she didn’t she didn’t back down from a fight she signed up for.

But she did not sign up for this. 

Gripping the little boy in her arms was intensely difficult, not only because Aesir beings had different chemical and density make-ups, but also because Jane hadn’t eaten more than a few bites or drank more than a couple swallows in the last several days and fear was making her limbs heavier than they already were as she sprinted after Loki into the caverns. Ivailo bounced uncomfortably in her arms, his own wrapped tightly around her neck, trying to make the task of carrying him easier. 

“I- I can’t see anything!” Jane gasped through sharp breaths to her mass murdering guide. 

“Be quiet!” he hissed in response, but he must have slowed down enough for her to catch up because she ran face first into his back. 

Sif moaned and Jane cringed realizing that she’d run straight into the injured warrior who was braced across Loki’s back. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. 

“Grab hold of her belt,” Loki muttered so lowly she barely heard him. 

Jane shifted Ivailo onto her back, the child clinging with a terrified immortal grip to her the whole time. Fumbling out before her, Jane found Sif’s back and barely managed to get a grasp on her belt when Loki started plunging farther into the darkness. 

Snarls and yips echoed through the cavern all at once and Thor began bellowing as the fight finally began. 

Her heart in her throat Jane squeezed her eyes shut as though she could block out the sound of the scaled wolf-like creatures battling for claim on Thor’s flesh. 

She had never been one for horror movies. Darcy loved them with a passion and convinced Jane to come with her on several occasions, mostly due to Jane’s caving out of sheer loneliness. But she spent most of her time in the theater curled up like an armadillo with her eyes tightly squeezed shut and her ears plugged. 

This was a thousand times worse than that. She wasn’t watching a horror movie. She was trespassing on a realm named after death, had watched a woman have her arm literally ripped out of her body by a sea beast, was leaving the only person in this company that she moderately trusted to be torn apart in order that they might have time to escape a pack of scaled, eyeless wolves, and was being lead by one of the most dangerous terrorists in existence into the belly of a bottomless cave. 

Jane’s gasps were audible now as she struggled to get her weakened body to keep pace. Ivailo’s weight dragged her down and her muscles spazzed and screamed at the exertion. She kept tripping over her heavy skirts, which added at least a third of her actual body weight to her frame as she fled. It felt like they had been running for hours, but Jane knew it couldn't have been that long because she could still vaguely hear the pained yips and roars of the pack animals that had Thor. 

Jane tripped on a stone in her path and fell forward so hard Sif and Loki were almost yanked back to land on top of her. Loki hissed again as she landed on the ground, gasping for air. 

“Get up,” he snapped quietly. 

“I-” Jane choked on a sob, hating how pathetic she sounded. “I can’t… Too heavy-”

“Jane,” Loki demanded, desperation glinting on his tone in the darkness. “You have to get up. Thor will not be able to hold them forever and I can’t carry all of you.”

Jane struggled to her feet wishing that Loki had been the one to stay behind and fight the creatures so she at least had someone who wasn’t heartless to spend her last hours with. 

Did they even have that long? 

“I can run,” the little boy said from somewhere in the vague darkness.

“You must be able to keep hold of me and remain between Jane and I,” Loki decided. The boy must have found Loki easier than Jane could have in the pitch black nothingness because in a moment a little hand slipped into hers and they began their stumbling, desperate escape anew. 

They made it about a quarter mile before Jane’s trembling legs gave out underneath her again. Ivailo yelped as he fell down with her and Jane could practically hear the fury radiating off Loki. 

“I can’t-” Jane gasped, spitting dirt from her mouth. “I can’t go any further. I- too heav-” 

She could barely speak through her painful gasps that burned at her lungs. 

For a moment it was so quiet she was afraid Loki had left her behind as something for the pack to snack on while he continued to escape.

But it was his voice that finally said. “Fine, we can’t run.” 

Jane sobbed as quietly as she could. 

She didn’t want to die like this. She’d rather have a pistol with which she could blow out her own skull than be torn to pieces slowly by sharp teeth. 

The thought was so violent it stunned her to silence for a moment. She’d never felt like that before. 

“Ivailo,” Loki murmured ahead of her a few feet. “Hide in that alcove.” Little feet pattered off to her right. 

Snarls echoed along the cavern walls. Closer than they had been before. Much closer.

“Jane,”  a rough hand hauled her to her feet. She tried to fight out of his grip but gave up as suddenly as she had started, too exhausted to manage it. 

“Here,” Loki unceremoniously pushed her toward the spot he wanted her and she ran face first into the cave wall. Stunned, she dropped to the ground in a useless heap as Loki cursed in old Aesir. 

“You can’t see anything ?” he asked, and she wondered if she was relieved that he hadn’t meant to push her face first into a rock wall, or if she didn’t care enough to feel anything about it. A large hand touched a sore part of her head and she hissed, batting it away. 

Suddenly a tiny light appeared in the alcove, illuminating Ivailo’s hand and most of their poor excuse for a hide-out. Jane and Loki both looked, stunned at the little child who was holding a tiny ball of light in his palm. 

Loki blinked slowly at the light and Jane could almost see his brain scheming. 

“Ivailo,” he asked, “Do you know how to cast an invisibility spell?”

“No,” Ivailo whimpered quietly, lip wobbling. 

“That’s fine,” Loki reassured him as he lowered Sif to the ground. “I’m going to teach you.”

“Now?” Jane asked. 

“Do you have a better idea, Dr. Foster?” Loki snapped. 

Jane closed her mouth with the sickening knowledge that she did not. She did not know how to fight, or survive, or even escape apparently. 

“But, I’m too young,” Ivailo murmured, tears rising to big, gold eyes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loki replied evenly, pulling out a long dagger and handing it to an alarmed Jane. 

“I don’t know what to do-” she started.

“Get out of that death trap you're wearing,” Loki ordered her. 

She didn’t need to be told twice. As she heard the tell-tale ticking rattle down the tunnel she knew their hunter’s were gaining at a rapid rate. She tried desperately to keep herself from thinking about Thor as she began hacking away at her dress. 

“I was about the same age as you are when I first learned a cloaking spell,” Loki crouched in front of the child. “And an Illumination is harder to hold steady, yet you haven’t let your light waver once. You will be just fine.”

Ivailo cast a worried glance at his mother’s unconscious frame and then back to Loki. 

“If you can keep us hidden then we can get home sooner,” Loki said evenly, shamelessly leaving the weight of their fate on the shoulders of this six year-old. Jane thought that was entirely inappropriate but was still trying to cut the “death-trap” of a dress off of her and it was proving to be incredibly difficult. She eventually gave up on the corset and just began sawing around the fabric of the skirt. She had no idea that fabric could be this hard to cut. 

“Can’t you do it?” Ivailo asked timidly. 

“I can’t,” Loki shook his head, a desperate note bleeding into his tone as the ticking grew louder. “I would only be able to hold it for a couple seconds and then it would kill me.”

Leaving them without any protection whatsoever.

Sweat poured down Jane’s back as she continued to saw at the dress. 

“A-alright,” the little boy nodded, tears spilling over his cheeks. “I kind of know how to do it… I just don’t know if I actually can.”

“That’s good,” Loki nodded rapidly. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know that it’s in the third sphere of Being, and that I have to slide into the second tier of the core…” Ivailo muttered quietly, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. 

“Very good,” Loki said, his tone suddenly soft and calming. “Have you located that second tier?”

“Uh… yeah,” Ivailo confirmed after a moment. 

Tkt.

All of their heads whipped to where the sound was. Too close. 

“Ivailo, I am going to use my magic to guide yours into two spells,” Loki spoke rapidly as though he might be cut off mid sentence. “One masks scent and one masks sound. Once you’re in the groove, hold the spell as long as you can. If you start feeling lightheaded, nauseous, or sick: drop the spell immediately.”

He turned to Jane and offered her another dagger. She accepted it very warily. 

“I will lose consciousness as soon as I help Ivailo. As long as you stay within the line of his power you will not be smelled or heard by the pack. Kill as many as you can, either with the Aether or with the daggers.”

“I- I don’t know how,” Jane whispered desperately to him. She had not signed up for this. 

“Your fear will help you,” Loki replied tersely before returning his attention to the boy. 

Ivailo was frowning and biting his lip, but he still hadn’t opened his eyes, focused very intently on the magic he was manipulating internally. 

Loki seated himself against the cave wall next to Sif and pulled in close to his side, wedging the child between himself and Sif. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Loki murmured to the boy as he placed a hand on the boy’s head. “Remember whose name you carry.”

Ivailo sat up a little straighter and he bravely whispered, “Sifson.”  

Loki’s mouth quirked at the corner and cool, green light encircled the boy’s head like a crown beneath Loki’s palm. Then everything fell into chaos at once. 

Chapter Text

Loki felt an ache sear through his chest as he delved deep into his magic core, barely sputtering with life. A strange, metallic taste coated his tongue and wallowed down his throat. 

He didn’t have much time.

He could feel Ivailo’s small frame, vibrating with fear, beneath his palm and he gently threaded his seidre through the boy’s. His own was a green, weak, flickering, ancient entity. It had taken millenia of study and discipline and craftsmanship. Ivailo’s own seidre was young, full of energy that could not be contained, should not be, it ran chaotically through his veins like fire, gold and rich and pure. 

The boy’s seidre latched curiously onto his with complete trust that only a child could possess. Gold reached for his weak flickering core, prodded at broken and missing pieces. 

Focus, little wolf, Loki instructed softly, remembering how Frigga had trained him in his own magic as a small one. We don’t have much time. 

Ivailo’s magic hummed in response, still infantile in its ability to communicate. Loki remembered his mother’s instructions from so, so long ago and communicated the understanding instantaneously through the temporary bond he’d forged with the boy. Loki felt the boy easily find the stream of spellwork for the two cloaks through the memory of Frigga’s voice and the calm wonder Loki as a boy had felt as she held him- much the same as he now held Ivailo- on her lap and wrapped cool blue magic through Loki’s brimming green core. The understanding and comprehension of this method was instantaneous and Loki felt the spell slip around them easily. 

Ivailo’s seidre nearly exploded with delight, wonder shining at every edge of his flames. 

Well done, Loki murmured with his own voice as a ringing shot through his ears. Don’t hold it too long…

Before Loki could feel the child’s acknowledgement he was tumbling back into the empty black hole of his core as his magic began to sputter and seethe in his veins. 

Falling was the worst part of it

Like falling into the void

Endless.

If he couldn’t be the one to avenge his mother, Loki was glad that this was the last thing that he did: guide this young spellcaster with his own Mother’s voice, her memory cool and serene and peaceful.

He continued to fall for ages, over and over and under and through until nothing was left of his consciousness and he succumbed to the inevitable, metallic darkness.

Chapter Text

Jane’s palms were sweaty as she gripped the daggers as hard as she could. The ticking of the creatures down the hallway was so close she barely breathed. She knew in theory that the shimmering gold coat that was hugging her form was supposed to make her entirely invisible to the pack’s senses, but she had a hard time really believing that. Ivailo’s shields surrounded each of them: a comatose Sif propped up against the cave wall, Loki, who had been sitting upright next to her, was now collapsed unconsciously at the warrior’s side, and the little child still perched in his lap. 

She was the only thing that could protect them now. 

All three were entirely helpless. 

She wasn’t a warrior. She was just an astrophysicist. And she was scared out of her mind.

Your fear will help you. She repeated Loki’s words in her head over and over as the first scaled, canine head came into view of the faint light that their shields emitted. 

The creature was not drawn by the light. Its eyeless skull tilted from side to side slowly as it crept forward on black, clawed feet, ticking as it went. 

Tick. Tick. 

TickTickTick.

Panic seized up in Jane’s chest as the creature, so large it came up to her hips, pulled back serpentine lips over its long, wicked teeth. 

Tick.

Tick.

T- The creature’s head swiveled around to stare in the direction of where the other three were sitting. 

It took one predatory step for them, opening its massive jaws to taste the air with a forked tongue. It got within a foot of Loki and Ivailo before she could force herself to lunge forward and stab it through the side of its muscular neck. 

She shrieked as it jerked under her blow and twisted around to snap blindly in her direction only halted by choking on the blood that gurgled and spat from its throat. It shuddered violently before tripping another foot forward, collapsing on Loki’s legs with a sickening death rattle. The corpse’s teeth were inches from Ivailo’s knee. 

A low hiss started through the cavern as another creature came into view, sniffing at its dead pack member and warning the creature behind it. 

Your fear will help you.

With a wild, violent terror Jane lunged for the next creature, blades drawn.

---

  Thor could see creatures slipping past him as he struggled against the pack, streaking into the tunnel after Loki and Jane and Sif and little Ivailo. With a frustrated roar, Thor sent a blast of lightning through the cavern as far as he dared without striking his company. 

The blast cost him as a creature lunged up at his arm and sunk its long fangs deep into Thor’s bicep. The Thunderer roared as he felt canines scrape bone and dispatched the creature with a crushing blow to the head. 

There were so many of them. The night teemed with black scales and glittering white teeth. Thor took out several of the creatures with a single swing, only to have one latch fiercely to his ankle. Pain strengthened his retaliation and he easily smashed its skull in with a brutal stomp beneath his boot. 

Hot blood pumped down his arm and he knew he needed to get the mouth of the cave closed before any more of the creatures could flood in. There were hundreds of them.

And only one of him. 

He hoped there hadn’t been too many that escaped past him, but he knew the number was growing. In Loki’s weakened state, with three in his care, he wouldn’t have the capacity to fight them all off. Thor needed to go after them. 

The pack managed to wrestle him to the ground for a moment and he struggled to get back on his feet, electricity pumping through his veins, unconsciously trying to protect his vitals. 

Thor threw one of the creatures against the cave wall and it yelped, a section of the cave wall collapsing on top of it as it fell. 

It gave Thor a desperate idea. 

With a pained roar he sent Miljnor flying at the upper lip of the cave, immediately calling it back to his palm to throw it again. Sections of the cave came crashing down in waves of rubble and dust. By the time Thor had the entrance sealed he had three reptilian beasts left.

One he dispatched with Miljnor , another with his fist. The last one lunged at his throat and managed to tackle him to the ground but Thor rolled over on top of it and snapped its neck with a merciless twist. 

“Loki!” he called down the cave. “Jane? Where are you?”

Spitting blood from a split lip he heaved himself to his feet, clutching his furiously bleeding arm, and limped down the cavern after them. 

Chapter Text

Thor killed three more beasts as he stumbled down the cavern in the dark, electricity crackling around him and illuminating his path in sudden waves of cold light. 

“Jane!” He called again, desperation burning up his throat. If she was dead… If any of them were dead it would be his fault. 

He received no response and continued limping on, stepping over carcasses, eyes scalding with panicked tears. 

Suddenly, the faintest gold light blushed through the cavern up ahead of him. His first thought was that they had found another exit, but his heart dropped even as it soared as he remembered it was still dark outside. Squinting, he forced himself to ignore his ankle and began to run toward the light. 

He slowed as he approached a sudden curve in the tunnel, light flashing ominously around the corner. Regripping Miljoner and taking a breath he took a peek around the edge and almost dropped to his knees in relief when he saw Jane.

But shock kept him rooted to the spot, gaping at the mortal woman he thought he knew. Jane was crouched in the middle of a pile of dead carcasses wearing nothing but blood stained underclothing and clutching two daggers. A golden aura surrounded her like she was a Valkyrie of old coming to take away the souls of the dead. Every time one of the dead or dying beasts twitched she stabbed it repeatedly and then stilled again, a wild, feral look in her eyes. 

“Jane-” Thor took a step towards her, arms outstretched. 

She snarled like a wild animal and raised a dagger at him before brown eyes widened and she mouthed his name silently. Tears bubbled up in those eyes that looked more like hers now and she ran to him, without letting go of the daggers, launching herself into his arms. He felt one of them nick his shoulder blade, but he didn’t mind now that he had her in his arms again: alive.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did you-” Thor blinked again at the pile of carcasses over her shoulder. “Did you kill all of these?”

Her chest was heaving but she had yet to make a sound. Thor put her down in alarm, eyes traveling over her trembling frame for signs of injury. Her mouth was moving and her body was vibrating under his palms, but she wasn't saying anything. No, he realized, he couldn’t hear her. A cloaking spell. Thor smiled: Loki. 

Sudden terror regripped his limbs as he remembered the others.

“Where-” he asked frantically searching around the corpses. “No!”

The denial was more of a whisper than a word as his eyes landed on Loki’s frame half obscured by a scaled, canine body, collapsed against a phantom-white Sif. His hands dropped from Jane’s shoulders and he rushed to his brother’s body. 

Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Fates, Mother will never forgive me if you're dead.

Ivailo was curled up in the small tent that Loki’s body made as it leaned against Sif’s. Quickly Thor took the little boy into his arms, feeling his limbs and torso for injuries. The touch pulled Ivailo out of the trance-like state he was in and his heavy eyes opened slowly, blinking in owlish confusion up at Thor. A rush of relief washed over Thor even as Ivailo’s eyes fell on the carcass that lay across Loki’s legs, inches from him, and screamed. The light in the cavern went out as Ivailo’s tiny arms wrapped around Thor’s neck in an iron grip of terror. 

“It’s alright,” Thor soothed, cradling the boy against him and pressing a kiss into his hair. “It’s alright. We are safe now.”

Ivailo sobbed against his neck and Thor held him tightly with one arm as his other reached for the two warriors against the cave wall. His fumbling fingers found Sif’s side first and he felt for a throat at her pulse. Weakly, but faithfully, it tapped against his fingers and he gave a sigh of relief. 

Iron in his belly, he grit his teeth and reached for Loki next, finding the trickster’s head lying mutely on Sif’s shoulder. He shuddered as his fingertips trailed down a clammy face and felt for a pulse under his too-sharp jaw. 

It was slow. 

Too slow. 

But he was alive for now. Alive and deathly cold.

“Ivailo,” Thor asked quietly. “Do you think you can bring the light back for a few moments?”

Between sobs, Ivailo nodded and after a moment he unwrapped his arms from around Thor’s neck, curling tightly into his chest, and sparked a golden light in two tiny cupped hands. 

“Very good,” Thor praised him quietly, pressing his cheek to the top of Ivailo’s dark hair. “Thank you, little one.”

Ivailo nodded quietly and hiccupped another sob. 

“Jane,” Thor said in a gentle tone for Ivailo’s sake. “Could you come hold him? I need to wake Loki up before he enters the Sleep.”

Jane quietly crouched down by his side in her crimson-splattered undergarments and opened her arms for Ivailo. Thor heaved the scaled carcass off Loki’s legs and felt them for breaks. After finding no injuries there he explored his brother’s torso for evidence of any other injury. Finding none, Thor pulled Loki off the wall and laid him down, flat on the ground. 

“Loki,” Thor shook his limp frame gently at first. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

“Loki,” Thor slapped him firmly across his cold face. “You must wake up.”

Still nothing. 

“Jane,” the Thunderer said softly, nodding silently at Ivailo. Jane pursed her lips and turned the boy’s face against her chest as Thor called searing energy to his palms, whispered a small plea for forgiveness to his brother’s unconscious soul, and pressed both hands to Loki’s chest. 

There was nothing that Thor hated more about his power than feeling someone’s body buck violently under the strain of it. He would go centuries without using his power for such purposes. He’d rather send lighting out from himself to strike an enemy than to retain physical contact and feel the damage wreck a body in real-time. Sometimes, in the moment, it seemed like he could feel nerves crackling under his touch, muscle and sinew ripping at the cellular level, pain decimating the brain. To have to cauterize Sif’s wound the same day that he attempted to shock Loki back to consciousness was clearly a punishment from the Fates for his own foolishly developed plan and so he tried to bear it quietly even as tears stung his eyes. 

The Trickster remained unresponsive and Thor steeled himself before electrocuting his brother again. Loki’s body bowed with impact and jerked violently against Thor’s palms. The faint smell of urine bloomed in the enclosed space. 

Wake up, Thor begged him silently. Please wake up.  

Suddenly Loki’s eyes and mouth opened at the same time in silent agony and Thor immediately withdrew his lightning, barely smothering a sob as he pulled his little brother into his shaking arms. Loki moaned softly, frame twitching and shuddering with aftershocks. 

“Stay awake,” Thor demanded, gripping his chin and shaking him slightly. “You have to stay awake, do you hear me? You almost entered the Sleep.”

Loki’s only response was an expression wrought with agony and a small whimper. 

“I’m sorry,” Thor whispered, pressing his forehead to Loki’s. “I’m sorry, but you must stay awake.”

Thor glanced up to find Jane watching him with mute horror and clutching a still sobbing Ivailo to her chest. Thor felt himself crumbling before her eyes as he cradled Loki’s semi-conscious frame desperately.  

I’m sorry, his soul cried, to whom in particular he did not know. Jane? Loki? Sif? Ivailo? His dead mother? Odin? The Sister-Fates themselves? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-

Chapter Text

After waking Loki by electrocution, Thor sat him up and helped his brother swallow a few mouthfuls of water. Loki was as weak as a day-old kitten and barely responded to Thor when he was spoken to. 

Watching Thor do that -electrocute his brother- seemed to be a tipping point for Jane. At some point along the way, Jane had come to harbor something hateful against Thor. She couldn’t exactly explain it, or rationalize it. It simply was. 

Jane still hated Loki for what he’d done in New Mexico and New York. She still didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him (which was not at all). She didn’t know much about him other than that he had killed hundreds in a matter of days and killed Thor via the Destroyer that one time. So it wasn’t like she was feeling protective of the god of Chaos. 

She was simply starting to hate Thor too. 

It was likely due to the stress and trauma of the current situation, almost certainly circumstantial, but when Thor tried to comfort her with a hug she’d pushed him away, choosing to cuddle Ivailo instead. Thor had sighed and told her he was going to grab what wood they had in the front of the cavern. 

He’d built a fire and sparked it with his fingers. Still smelling the scent of Loki’s burning flesh, Jane flinched.  

“Can I use one of your daggers?” Thor asked her quietly. 

Begrudgingly, Jane offered him one of Loki’s daggers, surprised at how attached she’d become to them. 

“I’ll give it back,” Thor said quietly, not looking her in the eye. Turning to one of the carcasses behind him, he began to cut into it in the dark, out of Jane’s sight. The first pitch of revulsion that rolled through Jane’s middle was quickly overpowered by the pangs of hunger and her mouth watered as Thor placed a flat stone in the center of the fire and a slab of red meat on top of it. 

“What happened to your dress?” Thor asked quietly, still avoiding eye contact as he poked at the meat in the flames. 

“I- uh, I couldn’t run,” Jane replied, trying to repress the savage desperation for food in her body. “It was too heavy.”

“I should have looked for leathers and armor,” Thor muttered, almost to himself.

“That might have been helpful,” Jane shrugged, pressing her cheek to Ivailo’s head tenderly as he slept in her embrace. The motion made her frown. She’d never had many maternal urges. Her research was the only child that she ever expected to conceive. But here, perhaps at the end of her life, in this dark tunnel lit by a flickering fire and a slab of snake meat, surrounded by people she didn’t really know, couldn’t really trust, hungry, thirsty, weak… here she realized that she possibly had been wrong. Something about holding this child tightly to her was soothing. For some reason, absurd considering their present situation, she wished she had one of her own. 

“I’m sorry,” Thor murmured.

At first Jane blinked at him in confusion, thinking that he was sorry she didn’t have any children. Then she realized what he meant about the outfit. 

“Um, yeah. It’s okay,” she reassured lamely. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, noticing her shaking. 

Jane shrugged. It was cold. There was nothing to be done about it. Loki was still lying limply against the wall, eyes roaming feverishly about the cavern and twitching every now and again. Sif was still unconscious next to him, paper white and missing her dominant arm; her livelihood, even her identity. Ivailo was six years old and had cried himself to sleep in a stranger’s arms, and Thor was worried that she was cold ? 

For some reason, the question made her furious. She glared at the flames, confused by her own feelings and afraid if she opened her mouth she might cry. 

“Ivailo?” Jane’s attention snapped up as Sif stirred and reached for her son. Jane jostled Ivailo awake as she stood up into a crouch in the cavern and carried the boy to his mother. Sif’s body twitched as though she meant to reach with both arms, only realizing with the movement one of them was gone. Panic struck the warrior’s face as she pulled her child into her chest tightly with her remaining arm. Her eyes snapped from Jane to Thor to Loki. 

“Loki?” she croaked. 

Thor’s brother didn’t seem to hear her, gaze glassy and distant. Jane felt a lance of panic strike through her core, her survival instinct terrified of losing their guide. Sif winced and nudged him with her good shoulder, jostling him. 

“Loki.” 

He blinked, seeming to hear her this time and dazedly turned in her direction. Sitting so close beside her he would have had to move to a new position to look her in the eye and he didn’t seem quite coherent enough to do so. Instead, he turned his head toward her vaguely, his eyes catching her boot. 

They both looked like death warmed over. 

Rather than saying anything, Sif grimaced as she shuffled her leg closer to him and entwined their ankles. 

Jane glanced away as though they were sharing an intimate moment and unwittingly found her gaze locking with Thor’s. His blue eyes were brimming with unspoken agony and fear as he offered her the first slab of meat. 

Her heart ached in her chest, cracking like ice that thawed too quickly. Weren’t traumatic events supposed to forge an inseparable bond between people? If even Loki and Sif, who by all appearances hated each other before they started on their journey, could reach for one another and pull themselves closer, why couldn’t she? Why did she feel like screaming at Thor and telling him all the things she knew he was already tearing himself apart with? Why did she dread curling up at his side out of the necessity of staying warm tonight? 

She pushed the thought aside as she tore off a piece of the meat and shuffled over to where their injured companions and Ivailo were huddled. 

“Can you eat?” she asked, bringing up the small piece to Sif’s lips.

Chapter Text

They should have set out the next day, but Thor didn’t have the heart to wake Loki and Sif. They were both completely spent and didn’t wake for nearly the full day. Jane had food still tied up in the remains of her skirt from Loki’s reserves, stale bread and all the apples from the fruit arrangement on Thor’s table. Norns, if only he had known then how badly they would need the food… 

So Jane and Ivailo had the food and water to last them another day or two and Thor decided that they would stay put for a while. Jane and Ivailo apparently needed the rest as well. 

Thor found himself staring at their three dark-haired companions propped up against the cave wall and found himself breaking over and over again wishing too many things at once. He wished that Loki and Sif had never parted, or least parted so venomously. He wished that they still had each other when the whole world had always seemed to be set up against them. He wished that he had been a better friend to the both of them before and after they separated. If he had not been so wholly obsessed with himself then perhaps he might have an inkling why they began to hate each other? Perhaps he might have been able to listen to them, prompt them to open up to him, give them wise counsel? 

If they had never separated, would they be here now? Would Loki have let go on the Bifrost? Would he have hated Thor so much as to target Midgard? Would New York have happened? 

Then again, if Loki and Sif had not parted ways, Ivailo would have never come to be. And as much as Sif had loved Loki, Thor did not think it was possible to love someone as much as she loved her son. 

Her son who might not live to see the end of the week. 

Perhaps it would have turned out this way anyway. Perhaps, when the Dark Elves attacked Asgard, Loki would have been the one to show Thor the paths anyway. His brother had been his constant companion before, his protective shadow. 

I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness.

If only Thor had been wise enough to accept his brother’s protection without pushing him into the shadows. 

Know your place, brother. 

There was no use wondering about these things now though. Despite the fact that Sif slept with her head on Loki’s shoulder tonight, and Loki rested his own head atop hers, if they lived their history would remain unchanged. Once they returned to Asgard Loki would go back to living his life imprisoned and Sif would return to her duties as warrior. They would have no opportunity to heal together even if they both actually managed to heal now. 

Loki stirred finally in the evening, eyes cracking open a few times before he finally decided to open them fully and squint at the fire. Jane and Ivailo were sitting on the opposite end of the fire from Thor, splitting a piece of bread and naming every word they could think of that ended in ‘ite’. They had been at it for almost half an hour and Thor was impressed by their shared vocabulary. 

“Are you hungry?” Jane asked Thor’s brother, noticing he was awake. 

Loki’s eyes flicked from the fire silently to stare at her. Thor didn’t know how it was possible for him to go from begging his little brother to stay alive one moment and then feel like strangling the life out of him himself the next. But such was the nature of their relationship. It always had been. 

“If you have anything, yes,” Loki rasped and Thor was back to loathing himself again. 

Jane got up, handing the rest of the bread to Ivailo before rummaging through her discarded skirts and pulling an apple free. She shuffled closer to the Trickster, still keeping Sif between the two of them, and offered him the fruit. Loki accepted it with an opaque expression but a small inclination of his head. 

“Also,” Jane said, pulling out the two daggers she’d stashed in the makeshift sheath she’d fashioned from her skirts and bound around her corset. “Here. Thanks.”

Loki eyed the daggers, glanced at the pile of corpses Thor had cleared from the tunnel to allow them a quick exit should they need it, and gave a small smile.

“Keep them, you may have need of them yet.”

Jane hesitated before nodding and stashing the daggers away again.

Thor felt something swell in his chest. Something that felt like hope. 

“We should move out as soon as we are able,” Loki muttered to Thor, gaze trained steadily on the flames. “It’s not safe to stay in one place for too long.”

Thor nodded. “It’s six hours to daybreak, we can move out then.”

Loki nodded once and took a bite of his apple.

“Jane,” Thor turned to her. “Does the Aether still call out to Malkieth?”

Jane shivered and nodded. “He knows we are here. He’s not far away.”

Loki’s eyes snapped up from the fire. “We can’t continue with the original plan, Thor. We need to make for the portal.”

Thor’s previous warm mood froze over. 

“We must continue on, we do not have a choice.”

“Of course we have a choice,” Loki hissed, venom seeping into his tone. “To continue to confront Malkeith while we are all injured and malnourished, or to make for the portal while there is still time to get Sif to medical treatment.”

“We have no other way of removing the Aether from Jane’s veins,” Thor growled back, anger burning at his belly. Of course the choice was easy for Loki to make: sacrifice Jane to save Sif. It was not such a simple dilemma for Thor though. 

“Thor,” Loki gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up into a crouch by the fire. “Think about it: the dark elves managed to fight their way through the gates, past Heimdal, and launched a direct attack on the palace. They are not an enemy we can fight as weak as we are.”

“As weak as you are,’’ Thor narrowed his eyes at his brother’s cowardice. “Because you did not tell me you were this close to burnout.”

Loki’s eyes snapped like flames. “You did not ask.”

“I did not think I needed to,” Thor ground back. 

“No, you never think .”

“We will not turn away when we are this close,” Thor informed him. “This is not something which is up for debate.”

“This is not-” Loki began but Thor interrupted him. 

“You are our guide and nothing more, Loki. If I wanted the input of a common criminal I would ask for it.” 

It was cruel and selfish, but nothing he said was untrue. 

Loki surged to his feet, fists balled tightly and expression livid. 

“Sif has lost too much blood! She will not make it two more days and if we meet Malkeith in battle she will not make it at all. You must return her to Asgard for medical treatment. You should have given up this half-brained quest the moment she and Ivailo were pulled into this!”

“They were not supposed to be here!” Thor leaped to his feet as well, the fire crackling between them furiously. “They were-”

“But they are here!” Loki raised his voice. “They are here and I will not allow you to sacrifice them for anyone! Least of all a mortal you couldn’t even be bothered to visit while you had the time!”

“You will hold your tongue!” Thor roared. 

“Even if by some miracle she does survive Malkeith extracting the Aether from her blood,” Loki snarled. “And also manages to survive the battle which will ensue, she will live not longer than fifty more years-”

“That’s enough!”

“-and you think that those fifty years, in which you likely will certainly move on to some other lover, are worth sacrificing Sif and her child?”

“Loki! I said enough!” 

“-After she’s served you for over a thousand years with unwavering loyalty!?”

Thor could barely see through his rage as Loki continued to spit accusations at him. 

“You may think that your precious mortal is worth the sacrifice of all other lives but she is not!”

Thor roared and moved without thinking; grabbing Loki by his chestplate and throwing him into the cavern wall. Sif moved up clumsily from where she’d been resting, screaming something at Thor as Loki’s legs gave out from under him. Thor’s grip on his armor was the only thing that kept him upright. 

“Thor, enough!” Sif croaked, trying fruitlessly to push Thor away from Loki. 

Thor leaned in close to Loki’s face, teeth bared and eyes flashing.

“You are never to speak of her like that again. Do you understand?”

Loki’s eyes were bright with pain and defiance.

“Thor, let him go,” Jane demanded from behind them, voice trembling. 

Thor released his brother and let him slide to the cavern floor hating that he was as weak as he was. He was right; he was not strong enough for battle. And if Thor had known this before he sprang him from his cell, he might have been able to come up with another plan. But he had not known. 

“Thor,” Sif ordered, voice hoarse but firm. “Go back to the other side of the fire.”

“We can not turn back now,” Thor growled again. 

“You are going to kill us all,” Loki replied quietly, gazing up at him scathingly. 

“I said enough!” Sif snapped at both of them, crouching in front of where Loki remained on the cave floor, putting herself bodily between them. “Thor, go sit down. Now.”

Thor moved back to his side of the fire slowly, fury still seething through his veins, begging for the release of a good fight. But there was no one here he could fight. Not now. 

Sif eyed him reproachfully and crawled over to position herself between Thor and Loki, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. Thor met Jane’s gaze for half a second and then looked away from her again in shame. Her face was paper white, her expression horrified. Ivailo crawled from her lap and over to his mother, avoiding looking at Thor entirely. 

How could they not understand that this was their only chance? They had committed treason just by leaving Asgard. There was no saying there would be medical treatment for Sif when they returned, especially if they returned in failure. No, they had no choice but to move forward with their plan: stop Malkeith. Then they could return. 

A few minutes of silence screamed through the cavern. 

“We will split come morning,” Loki said finally, tone steely but less hostile.

“What?” Thor snapped. 

“You and Jane will continue pursuing Malkeith,” Loki said firmly, eyes trained on the fire and not on his brother. “And Sif and I will make for the portal with Ivailo.”

“We can not afford to split up,” Thor growled. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Neither Sif nor I will be of any use to you Thor,” Loki said. “There is no reason that we should continue to travel together when we can split and accomplish both goals.”

“I am not trusting a traitor and a murderer with the wellbeing of any in this company,” Thor snarled. If Loki thought that he could just walk free he was a fool. 

“I am not asking for your trust or permission, Thor,” Loki finally brought his gaze up from the fire. “I am leaving in the morning unless you restrain or kill me. I intend to get Sif and Ivailo off this fates-forsaken planet: alive.”

Thor was speechless for a few moments, fragments of thought spinning chaotically through his head. He couldn’t- They wouldn’t- Loki was an escaped convict- Sif was- New York- Jane needed- 

“Will you go with him?” Thor turned his anger and confusion on Sif, who was sitting between them, pallor grey and wane. She didn’t say anything but War’s eyes were set. She could not be persuaded otherwise. 

“You would trust him?” Thor sputtered. “You would trust him with you and your child’s lives after… after everything he-”

“We must get out, Thor,” Sif said quietly. “I will not keep Ivailo here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

The child curled tighter into his mother’s embrace, face turned away from Thor. 

“I am going to get you all out of this,” Thor insisted but failed to convince even himself. “I do not intend to let anything happen-”

“Things have already happened, Thor!” Loki exclaimed. Sif kicked him lightly in warning. 

Thor ignored him in favor of pleading with Sif. “I will not sacrifice any of you for another, Sif. I intend-”

“Then you will allow us to take the opportunity to escape,” Sif interrupted. “I understand that this is Jane’s best chance, I do. But my priority is my child’s life and I can not protect him now.” 

She gestured to her missing arm with her chin. 

“But Jane-” Thor was interrupted by Jane suddenly. 

“Is anyone going to ask what the fuck I want?” the tiny woman snapped. “Or are you going to continue to argue about me like I’m not here?”

Thor turned to her. Stunned. 

Jane was holding one of Loki’s daggers, fiddling with the hilt and scowling at the flame reflected off the blade. 

“Thor,” she said. “I appreciate everything you and your family have done for me, I really do. But I got myself into this mess and I can deal with the consequences.”

“But it may-”

“Stop,” Jane held up a hand. “Please. Let me finish.”

Thor swallowed and nodded. Dread tearing through his gut. 

“Believe it or not, I don’t want to put my life on the balance when a six-year-old’s is already there. Ivailo getting to go home is my priority too. I want to go with Loki and Sif at dawn.”

“Jane,” Thor’s voice cracked. “You will not be able to survive much longer with the Aether.”

Jane blinked a few times at the fire, jaw set. 

“I know. But there can be no more lives lost on account of me.” Tears shone in her dark eyes as she swallowed. “Not if I can help it.”

Thor wanted to tell her that his mother’s death was not her fault. That she would have died defending one of her lady's maids just as soon. It was how she was. 

I’ll always be a Vanier witch before an Aesir Queen, she would tease when her boys were little and she took them on adventures. You can not train the wild out of me. 

But he had not asked Jane what she wanted and he was realizing with sickening clarity how vital that was. He did not ask her about their plan. He did not ask her what she would need to eat and drink for the journey. He did not ask her if she would prefer a set of leathers and boots. And now he was not asking her if she wanted to continue or wanted to abort the mission. He was making all the decisions regarding her fate and if the past two days had taught him anything, it was that he was still too poor a decision-maker to be deciding the fates of those he loved. 

“Jane,” he finally replied quietly. “I think that your best chance of survival is if we continue on. But if you are certain you have made your decision, I will go wherever you go.”

Jane’s breath hitched slightly and she swiped at a stray tear before nodding firmly. 

“Good. We will leave in the morning.”

Chapter Text

The morning came swiftly and Loki was surprised to find he almost dreaded leaving the hellscape of this planet if only for the fact that he knew his brother was right; this would be a death sentence for Jane. It startled him to find he cared. Not enough to find another solution --getting Sif and her boy out alive overwhelmed every other thought or desire by such a length it did not seem possible for him to even consider another option-- but it was almost painful to look at the mortal as she finished giving out their last rations in the morning. 

For her part, the woman had a grim but certain set to her face, dark half moons bruised under her eyes, face grimy and tear-streaked, and jaw set firmly against what she knew would result from aborting their mission. To her credit, she did not waiver once or ask any of them to reconsider their choice of last night. She faced the reality of her impending death with surprising bravado. Although perhaps it wasn’t fair to call it surprising; he didn’t really know anything about the woman. Perhaps she was always this fearless despite her size and lack of battle experience. 

She almost reminded him of his mother. Not dangerous in stature, but possessing more courage than any Aesir warrior. People always underestimated his mother because of her gentleness, and her preference to solve problems with her mind rather than with her blades. But when she was faced with a battle she did not hesitate to fight.

A warrior’s first duty is to children . She had told her sons once when a trio of foreign assassins broke into their nursery when they were young and she dispatched all three of them mercilessly before gathering the two small boys into the safety of her trembling arms. These were monsters, not warriors. That is why I was able to defeat them.

In reality, it was because of her centuries of training as a battle witch before her arranged marriage to the King of Asgard that enabled her to slaughter three highly skilled assassins on the nursery floor in a matter of minutes. But as boys, this had made sense to them. It instilled a sense of security in the justice of the world to them. Monsters would try to do monstrous things, but true warriors, no matter how much smaller or slighter, would always defeat them. 

“Believe it or not, I don’t want to put my life on the balance when a six-year-old’s is already there. Ivailo getting to go home is my priority too.”

Jane’s words echoed through his skull. 

If only his mother had been right and true warriors always defeated the monsters they faced; Jane might have a fighting chance against Malkeith and the Aether that was poisoning her mortal body. 

The image of a small mortal child, wide brown eyes glassy and unseeing as she lay crumpled in the rubbled New York street, crimson blood bright against the dark skin of her face, flashed before his eyes.

He jerked at the memory suddenly and Sif turned to give him a searching look. 

He avoided her eyes. 

Thor’s mortal was more like their mother than Loki was. 

“Loki?” Sif asked, shifting as though she might reach out to him. He moved away from her and stood to his feet. He couldn’t bear to let her touch him. 

“The portal is a half a day’s journey from here,” he said as he began putting out the fire. “We should start making for the mouth of the cave now to clear it by the time it warms enough to start.”

Thor nodded silently, not looking at any of them as he picked up Miljnor and stood. Sif winced as she shifted into a position to try to stand and Loki crouched back down to help her. She wrapped her right arm around his shoulders and they stood together. 

“Can you walk?” he murmured. 

She shifted to lean more of her weight on him and gave a pained nod. 

Ivailo wrapped himself around her other side tightly as the last embers of the fire began to go out. 

“Can you walk or would you like me to carry you, Ivailo?” Thor asked softly. 

In the dying light, Ivailo shook his head and pressed his face against his mother’s bloodied fauld plate. 

“Here,” Jane offered a hand. “Do you want to hold my hand?”

Ivailo eyed her wearily, likely only wanting to his mother’s missing hand. But after a few moments, he sighed and reached out to accept Jane’s offer and the two filed in behind Thor. Loki and Sif shuffled to take up the rear. 

~~~~

It took Thor a matter of about fifteen minutes to clear the rubble from the cave entrance he’d destroyed with his hammer. He wasn’t limping noticeably anymore but Sif observed through the dull roar of pain that had completely engulfed her since she’d awoken, that he was favoring his left arm. He’d bound it up with a scrap of Jane’s dress. They were all bandaged with her court gown in some manner; Thor’s arm, Loki’s leg that had gotten slashed in the skapningd ø d attack, the remains of Sif’s shoulder… even Ivailo had some wrapped around him in the freeze of the morning. 

Sif glanced up ahead at Jane through her wheezes as she and Loki struggled on. She was still only half-dressed after butchering her dress to be able to move freely in it, and her white undergarments were dirtied and torn, her hair matted and frame so slight it looked like a strong gust of wind might dissipate her like a phantom. She was playing a game with Ivailo as they walked, it sounded like they were naming words that rhymed with ‘el.’

Sif knew she would never forget this tiny mortal woman who was sacrificing herself to save Ivailo. There may be no way to repay her, but she would be grateful beyond even the grave. 

Sif's knees buckled suddenly and the world spun as she lost her balance. It took a moment to realize she wasn't actually falling, it only felt like it. Loki’s grip around her middle remained tight and she hung on tightly where her remaining arm was wrapped around his shoulders. She could feel her pulse beating wildly against his hand as he gripped her wrist as she teetered. 

“Sif?”

“Sorry,” she rasped, “can't-”

She pitched forward and vomited. The only meal she'd had in a few days burned up her throat and her vision blurred dangerously. 

“Sif,” someone was saying over and over. “Sif, stay with me.”

I would have, she replied feverishly in her head. You left me first.

“Sif…”

I wanted to tell you, but how was I to tell you?

Wet water spilled into her open mouth and she choked on it. Something about it sent revulsion skittering down her bones and she twisted away as Loki tried to bring the canteen up to her lips again. 

“Dammit, Sif, you need this,” he muttered as he forced her to take another drink. 

She coughed violently and squeezed her eyes shut, the ground roiling mercilessly beneath her. She realized she had somehow ended up on the ground, although whether she led them down or Loki had, she wasn't sure. 

“Ivailo?” she asked, gripping Loki’s arm to keep herself steady. 

“He’s here,” Loki promised. “He’s right here. We’ll get him home. We’ll get you both home.”

Home. Salvation for her and her son. A promise of death for Jane, heartbreak for Thor, and another cell for Loki.

“I won’t go back. I’ll die first.”

Suddenly panic lanced through her core and she grabbed at Loki's collar. 

“Home,” she rasped. “You can't go- you can't--”

“Enough, Sif,” Loki hushed a note of panic winding into his own tone. 

“N-no, my arm!” Sif wailed. How was she supposed to protect him like this? Thor would send him right back to his cell where perverts would buy time in his cell again. No magic, weapons, or strength to defend himself without enough to eat and maintain himself. He would eventually be overpowered, even if they didn't drug him.

“Thor-” she slurred. “You must tell--”

“Get up,” Loki snarled, voice harsher. “We need to keep moving. Now.”

The image of Odile’s corpse, swaying in the wind flashed through her delirium. A sob wracked through her body like a quake. Going back was a death sentence to Loki as well. In one way or another. 

“Sif, what's wrong?” Thor had come over now and peered at her in concern. 

“You can't, Thor, you can't--” she babbled unintelligibly. 

“She’s delirious,” Loki snapped. “She needs medical attention. We have to move on. The portal closes at the first eclipse today. It won't reopen for another three days.”

Death was closer than three days. Sif could feel it. 

“Are you sure she doesn't need to rest?” Thor asked as darkness blinded Sif momentarily when Loki pulled her to her feet. 

“She doesn't have time to rest,” Loki insisted as she leaned heavily against him. “She needs to get off this world.”

“How close are we?” Thor asked. “Do you need me to carry her a while?”

“No, you are our only protection out here. And she needs to keep walking. She can't go to sleep.”

She was so tired though. 

“Sif!” Pain racked through her as Loki shook her. “Stay awake.”

“Can't go… you have to… can't--”

“We’re close. That ridgeline over there?” Loki was speaking to Thor now. “The portal is in a cave just under the second peak… I think. We can't miss this opening.” 

“At this pace, we’ll make it before the first eclipse,” Thor promised. “Let’s keep moving then.”

Sif let Loki lead her forward, blinded by pain, tears, and panic.

“Ivailo?” she whispered.

“He’s here,” Loki promised, his voice softer again. “He’s safe.”

I wanted to tell you, but how was I to tell you?

Chapter Text

Thor saw the ships too late. It was Jane who pointed them out to him and he realized they had been spotted before there was any chance of evading sight. 

“Loki,” Thor pointed to the advancing ships with his chin. “He’s here.”

Panic flashed in Loki’s eyes for a moment as he saw their approaching enemy, but he quickly twisted his fear into determination as he shifted a barely conscious Sif. He was practically dragging her at this point, she was too weak to keep up and he was too weak to manage her entire weight on his own. Sif was a warrior like the rest of their friends and she not only matched Loki in height, but almost in general weight. Or she had… Loki likely weighed less now, though her missing limb brought them closer to even. 

“Thor, you hold them off as the rest of us make our way up to the portal,” Loki ordered. “You don't have to win, just keep them occupied for enough time for us to make the ascent. Then get out and fly up to meet us as soon as we make it to the top.”

Part of Thor hated this plan. Loki was never supposed to be out of his sight, especially with an injured Sif, Jane, and a child. Loki was too much of a threat. 

But Thor knew this was their only chance. And Loki seemed Hel-bent on getting Sif off this planet alive. Her son too. Despite the monster his little brother had become, it seemed there were still remnants of his former self. 

“Fine,” Thor nodded.  “I’ll keep them back.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jane stepped forward.

“Jane-”

“I’m going to die anyway, right?” Jane interrupted him with unexpected firmness. “This is the only chance we have to get this thing out of me, maybe destroy it in the process. Besides, Malkeith can sense it. I will only be putting the rest of you in danger by traveling with you.” She looked at Loki as she said this, as though trying to convince him of this plan as well. 

But Thor's bastard little brother had already made it clear he didn't care what happened to his brother's mortal lover. 

“Death may come quicker and more violent if you approach him,” Loki warned Jane, to Thor's surprise.

“Death comes,” Jane sighed heavily. “One way or another. Eventually.”

“One way or another,” Loki murmured, almost to himself. 

Feeling lost in a conversation he didn't like the direction of, Thor nodded.  “I think it's worth a try if that's what you want to do.”

“It is,” Jane nodded firmly, looking to Loki and the half-conscious Sif again. “Good luck.”

Loki nodded once, gave Thor a long, silent look, and then began making his way up the mountainside. 

“If it comes to me or destroying the Aether,” Jane asked, as soon as the other three were out of sight. “I want you to destroy the Aether. I'm not worth the universe.”

“Yes, you are,” Thor felt tears rise up behind his eyes. 

“No,” Jane insisted, completely determined. “Malkeith can not destroy the world because the two of us were stupid. I shouldn't have gone looking for you and you can’t sacrifice every life in the light for me.”

“Jane-” 

“You never ask what I want,” she snapped suddenly. “You claim to love me but you didn't come back on purpose. The bridge was fixed and you chose not to come back.”

“I know, Jane, and I’m so sor-”

“Don't apologize!” she yelled, something wild coming into her eyes. “If you care about me then you’ll listen to me! I don't want anyone else to die because I was chasing ghosts. And if Malkeith destroyes the universe, I’ll still be dead. So just-” she sighed heavily and her expression softened as she saw the pain he knew must be wrought across his face. “Just listen to me this time. Okay? Listen to what I want. Please.”

He couldn't bring himself to speak. Tears choked off his airways. But he nodded. He owed her at least that. 

“Awesome,” Jane said with sardonic enthusiasm. “So do we have a plan on how we’re going to do this exactly?”

~~~~

Almost there. Loki’s entire body was screaming at him that he could go no further, but he had to. They were almost there. Even without using his magic to sense the portals, he could taste the seidre crackling above them as they neared the cave. 

Almost there. 

“Loki,” Ivailo called, fear rattling in his tiny voice. "Something's wrong.”

Loki turned over his shoulder slightly, panting through pain, blinking through sweat. The midmorning sun, rusty from the approaching eclipse beat down on the sand fields that the boy was pointing to. Jane was collapsed on all fours, Loki couldn't tell if she was injured from this distance, and Thor was… losing. 

Fuck. 

Ivailo yelped and ran to catch up to his mother and Loki as the monster hurled Thor into the face of the mountain. Thor didn't get up.

“Ursenvield,” Loki swore in elvish.

How was this thing beating Thor? It was true, his brother hadn't reached the full capacity of his power yet, he barely understood his own Seidre, preferring instead to use his strength and speed. But it should take longer for him to fail. 

The monster hurled a boulder at the mountain, crushing Thor again. 

Red caught Loki's eye and his attention was jerked to the ship. Malkeith boarded, red Aether dancing around him maniacally. 

The Dark elves, his mother's voice echoed from millennia ago through his skull, Sought to destroy the Light of the universes. Unsatisfied with the darkness of their own realm, they sought to obliterate the light of other realms. Midgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Jotunheim, Nifelheim, Muspelheim… All these realms were realms of Light, living by stars and heat and life. But Svartleheim lived by Darkness, an absence of Light and absence of Life, but not an absence of all powers of Darkness: possession, hauntings, madness, Spirits of evil intention.

By killing the spirits of the stars, the elves sought not simply to blot out the Light, but to delight in devouring it. They sought the end of the Nine Realms, but not an instantaneous end, a slow end. Creatures of all kind would be driven to madness, war, and cannibalism. Light would eat Light until there was nothing but Darkness and death. 

Some seek to end the world in an instant, others seek to delight in the slow, torturous centuries until death. 

Part of Loki wanted Malkeith to succeed.

Part of him wanted the worlds to end.

But the weight of Sif around his shoulders and her tiny child, wrapping his arms around Loki’s leg in terror, pulsed through the haze of Darkness that already claimed his spirit. He wanted an end, but that did not mean that he wanted that end for Sif. Or this tiny boy who was hers. If Malkeith succeeded, Loki would die quickly, as he desired. But Sif would likely die first, overcome by her wounds and the lack of healing power which was tied innately to the Stars. Thor may stumble on, if he escaped this battle, but not for long. His power, too would fade with the Stars. 

Only Ivailo, then, would survive. Alone in a dying universe, forced to fight for life until he lost it. Which would be the inevitable end. 

Malkeith's ship swallowed itself in a portal and all that was left was the searing heat and sand and the creature pummeling Thor into oblivion. 

Think, his mother's voice echoed through his skull with surprising clarity. It was almost as though her spirit was behind him whispering over his shoulder. How do we stop this? 

I can't. Thor might… he responded, too tired to question his own sanity.

Only if he makes it to Midgard in time. 

Why is he still failing? He has not struggled against an enemy like this in centuries, Loki replied in frustration.

“It's Kursed,” Ivailo answered, as though Loki had spoken out loud. “I can see the spells. Nothing Thor does will kill it.”

“You can see the spells from here?” Loki asked, easing Sif down to the ground and propping her up against the ledge they were on. “Can you draw them for me?”

Ivailo hesitated. “I don’t know what they mean…”

“Just draw them for me, if you can,” Loki said, tracing out a few letters in the sand to show the boy. “Maybe I can read them.”

“Alright,” Ivailo responded seriously, immediately crouching next to Loki and sketching out a complicated Spell pattern. 

It took Loki only moments to realize how this thing managed to kill his mother. There was nothing from any other realm that could harm it. Only weapons and magic of its own world could kill it. 

Frigga had no Dark weapons available to her. Her wards and blades would have been useless against a creature with this spell pattern. 

Now you know how to kill it, my boy, so kill it. 

Was he going mad again? He hadn't heard voices in months…

Move, my child, your brother is out of time.

Suddenly clarity dawned through Loki's mind like a lightning strike.

This was the solution.

To everything: saving Sif and her boy, getting Thor to Midgard in time for the full convergence, ensuring he never went back to his cell, ending these years of madness and suffering… 

“Ivailo,” Loki said. “They need help. Stay here with your mother until they come to get you. If something else comes first, shield from scent, sound, and sight. Just like I showed you in the caves. Can you do that?”

Ivailo nodded tearfully. “I think so.”

“Of course you can,” Loki held either side of the boy's face, Sif’s features so clearly distinguished. “Remember whose name you carry.”

Ivailo blinked back at him with tears but nodded once, bottom lip wobbling as he whispered, “Sifson.”

“That's right,” Loki said with a tight smile, resisting the strange urge to pull the child in against his chest as though he could keep him safe just by holding him. 

There was only one way to keep him safe now. 

Loki glanced back again at Sif, unconscious and colorless. 

She would make it. If anyone could survive this, Sif would. 

“Don’t forget,” Loki told the boy again, handing him a small dagger from his boot.

Ivailo looked back at him with large, gold eyes that knew too much for one so young. 

“I am Ivailo Sifson,” the boy replied, curling up against his mother’s side and clutching the dagger in his tiny hands. 

Loki nodded and gave Sif’s unconscious face one last look. 

There was no way, and no reason, to say goodbye. 

In many ways, they already had. 

Pulling out his last two daggers from his belt, Loki turned and ran back down the mountain.

Chapter Text

Tears seared through Thor's eyes as he led Jane up the mountain in search of  Sif and Ivailo. Jane had said nothing to him since they left Loki. Even if she had, he wouldn't have been able to hear her over the roaring in his head and the ringing through his ears. 

Had his little brother's heart stopped yet? 

It took everything in him to keep moving forward, not to rush back. 

They said bodies that were abandoned never reached Valhalla or Hel. They roamed the spaces between, in agony and confusion, looking for the home they had been denied in death. 

I'm not leaving him,  Thor chanted in his head. I’m going back. I just need to get the others to safety. I’m not leaving him. 

“Thor,” Jane called him from his tangle of lies he kept chanting to carry him forward. “There’s another marker back here.”

Loki had left them a clear trail back to Sif and her boy, large marks slashed into the mountainside with a blade. Some were little more than scratches, but they were clear enough to distinguish. 

Thor had walked right past this one, blinded by his pain and grief. 

He returned to where Jane was pointing and nodded numbly before taking the lead again. 

“Thor, don't leave,” Loki whispered, clutching his broken arm to his chest. 

“I have to get help!” Thor insisted, panic bubbling up in his chest. This was his fault, it was all his fault. He knew he shouldn't have taken his little brother flying. It was against the rules. He knew he shouldn't have, but the hope and excitement in his baby brother's eyes was too much to resist sometimes. And Loki was right, it didn't seem fair how many things Thor could do that Loki wasn't allowed to. Their parents sheltered him, always afraid of what Thor would get his frailer brother into. 

And they were right. Thor was only twelve and he knew he couldn't carry Loki all the way back without hurting him more. 

“Don't leave me out here alone, Thor,” Loki cried, tears spilling over the boy’s round cheeks. 

“I’m coming right back, Loki,” Thor kissed the smaller boy on the brow. “Don’t be afraid. Be brave, can you be brave?”

Loki's expression crumpled, but the little boy nodded. 

“Good,” Thor encouraged. “Try not to move too much. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

They passed another marker. Thor had to carry Jane after she almost collapsed. The Aether was gone, but it had been wrecking havoc on her body for days now. 

“You can't carry us all,” Loki gasped, eyes wide with pain and panic, blood was soaking the black sand beneath them quickly. “You have to get Sif through the portal, Thor.”

Desperately, he clawed at Thor's breastplate. 

“Swear it,” he gasped, blood spattering his lips. “Swear you’ll get her through the portal.”

“I swear it,” Thor managed through his tears. 

“You only have…” Loki rasped. “Until the eclipse- you’re running… out of… time.”

“I will get her through the portal,” Thor promised. “Then I will come back for you.”

“Have to… get Sif…” Loki’s eyes began to glaze over. 

“I’m coming back,” Thor repeated. 

“ Thor!” a tiny voice called out. 

“Ivailo?” Thor answered. “Where are you?”

“We’re over here!” A shimmer in the air pulled back to reveal Ivailo and Sif. 

The boy had been shielding with his magic. Clever child. 

“Thor?” Sif croaked, color ashen and eyes bleary. 

“I’m here,” Thor choked on his tears. “I’m here to get you out.”

“Did you figure out the wards?” Ivailo asked, leaping up to give Thor a hug around his middle. 

“Loki did,” Thor rasped. He hadn't fought an enemy he'd truly believed could kill him in ages. He’d thought maybe this was it. If the beast could kill his mother, break through her own extensive wards, who was to say it couldn't kill him? 

But Loki had figured it out. Somehow he’d found a way to kill the unkillable creature. He’d saved Thor's life, and Jane’s in doing so.

It was true that Loki was dangerously sick as a child sometimes. And that he hurt himself much easier than Thor did. But his parents didn't seem to see how determined Loki was to keep up. They didn't see the hurt in his young eyes when Father took Thor places and insisted that Loki stay home with Mother. Thor had suffered through a long week of Loki being unable to speak to him after his twelfth birthday, the mark of manhood, when Mother had gifted him a spell-book and Father had given him a rare copy of Vanaheim history. 

On any other birthday, Loki would have been delighted by a new spell book and a rare edition tome. But on Thor's twelfth birthday, Father had gifted him Miljnor. A boy’s twelfth birthday was their first weapon's day. His parents meant to protect Loki, encourage him in things they thought he'd be safer attempting, but Thor saw how badly Loki wanted to be like all the others. How badly it hurt him to know he was smaller than average, weaker than the other boys his age, much less his older brother who had already outgrown father. 

He’d watched Loki take many a painful loss in training, but he’d also seen his little brother push fear aside and manage to take down opponents twice his size. He was almost impossible to keep down, even if he was losing. 

Whether their parents wanted it or not, Loki was a warrior to his core.

“Hey,” Loki opened his door finally and sat against the wall next to his older brother. 

“Hey,” Thor grinned, elbowing the younger boy. “Done sulking?” 

He yelped as the floor swallowed him whole and he fell through the ceiling again to land on his back. 

Loki threw his head back and howled in laughter as Thor gaped for air like a fish out of water, flat on his back.

“Where’s Loki?” Sif asked, glassy eyes sharpening. Thor’s eyes strayed over the cliff’s edge to the distant battlefield, littered with corpses. His red cape, wrapped around Loki as though somehow it might help, stood apart from the others. 

“No,” Sif shook her head, tearing her gaze away from where Thor was looking to pin him with her wide hazel eyes. “No, you didn't-”

“Jane, can you walk?” Thor asked, looking away from Sif in shame.

“Yeah, I’m okay now.”

He put her down and went to Sif’s side. 

“Tell me you didn't just leave him there,” Sif shoved him away when he moved to help her up. “You didn't just leave your brother. You wouldn't-”

“I promised I’d get you through the portal,” Thor explained numbly, his own voice sounding foreign to him. “Then I will come back for him-”

“He’s alive?” the hope in Sif’s voice was too painful to look in the face, but he felt her hope warp in to horror as he avoided her gaze. 

“Is he alive?” she demanded, grabbing his breastplate and shaking him with her remaining arm.

“I don't know,” Thor’s voice cracked. “Probably not.”

“Probably?!” Spittle flecked Thor’s face as Sif hissed. “He was dying and you left him there?!”

Thor was coming to pieces. He could feel his control fracturing and he couldn't fall apart yet. The eclipse was minutes away and he had to get them all through the portal. 

“We have to go, Sif,” Thor hauled her to her feet, hanging onto her as she fought him weakly.

“You can't leave him, Thor! He’s you’re brother! You can't just-”

“Jane, Ivailo, let's go,” he demanded, voice cold. It was like something inside him was dying. 

“No!” Sif screamed as he forcibly dragged her up the trail, kicking and throwing weak blows at him with her remaining arm. “Thor! You can't!”

“Are you going to marry Sif?” Thor asked dreamily as they lay basking in the sun to dry off from their swim by the river. 

Loki gave a short, surprised laugh. “What?”

“Are you going to marry her? Make an honest woman of her?” Thor grinned, peering up at his little brother who had sat up in surprise.

Loki blinked down at Thor like he didn’t understand the question for a moment, then gave a mischievous smirk. 

“What about being married would make her more honest?”

“You know what I mean,” Thor poked his brother in the side. “That's what women want: to be married. That's the goal, right?”

“Thor,” Loki rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows, shaking wet hair off his shoulders. “You sound ridiculous. How many of the women in your life want to marry you?”

“All of them!” Thor laughed sitting up. “We’re princes, Loki! You can't really get any better than that!”

Loki’s smile shifted into a thoughtful frown. “When did you start thinking of her as a woman instead of as Sif?”

“What do you mean?” Thor frowned quizzically. “She’s always been a girl.”

“Obviously,” Loki rolled his eyes again and cocked his head to the side. “But when you think of Sif, of what she wants in life, do you really think getting married is at the top of that list?”

“You mean she doesn't want to marry you?” Thor’s humor became serious suddenly. “I thought she was serious about you. You’ve been together forever.”

“We are serious,” Loki shook his head, reaching to feel if their clothes were dry on the rocks beside them. “But she’s making her own way. She doesn't want her path to be dictated to her and if she marries a prince, it definitely will be.”

“You’re breaking up?” Thor asked, stomach dropping. 

“What?” Loki tossed Thor's clothes to him. “No, of course not. We just aren't interested in getting married yet.”

“Is there someone else?” Thor asked, suddenly worried. 

“No,” Loki slipped into his trousers. “Thor stop making such a thing of it. We have all the time in the world to get married someday if we want to. Just not right now.”

“Does she love being a warrior, more than she loves you?” Thor asked. How had he been fooled like this? Had one of his best friends been taking advantage of his little brother this whole time? Playing some game with his heart? He knew that most women didn't think Loki attractive in comparison to Thor, but he hadn’t ever considered the possibility that Sif was messing with Loki.

“Uh, I should hope so,” Loki looked at Thor like he’d lost his mind. “I wouldn't want her to love me more than she loves being herself. That would… it wouldn't be the same, Thor.”

“Loki,” Thor struggled into his own trousers. “She should love you more than anything. You’ve been together for centuries now.”

“More than anything?” Loki shook his head as he slipped his boots on and began lacing them up. “Are you even hearing yourself, Thor?”

“Are you even listening?” Thor snapped. “Mother loves father more than anything. That’s how it's supposed to be! If Sif isn’t serious about marriage, you should start thinking about what kind of woman you want in your life, Loki.”

“You’re so stupid sometimes,” Loki snapped, temper flaring. “Does mother love father more than anything? Of course not! What do you think this is? A fairytale? She doesn't love him more than she loves us, she doesn't love him more than she loves her sister, she doesn't love him more than her magic… and if he expected her to love him more than any of those things then he wouldn't really be loving her!”

“Loki, I'm just trying to protect you. You haven't been with any other women--”

“For Fates sake, Thor!” Loki grabbed his weapon belt and tied it angrily around his hips. “Why is that always your reason for giving me unsolicited relationship advice! The fact that you’ve bed half the kingdom doesn't mean a damn thing! Come give me a lecture on women and marriage when you’re with one woman more than a year! Or better yet, don't!”

“Loki-” Thor tried again, but his little brother had transported himself somewhere else. 

Sif started fighting harder when they reached the portal. 

“Thor! You can't leave him! He’s your brother-”

“And I promised him I’d get you through the portal before I came back for him.”

“There isn’t time! The portal will close and he’ll be alone here!”

“Sif,” Thor said, surprised by the deadness of his own tone. “He’s gone. He was… he's probably already gone.”

There was something missing from Thor's chest. He could feel an emptiness he had only felt one other time; when his mother had died. 

“You bastard,” Sif snarled, yanking herself away from him only to collapse on the cave floor. 

“Jane, take Ivailo through,” Thor ordered. 

As they passed through, Thor knelt down and reached for Sif again. “We are running out of time, Sif. If you keep fighting me, I won’t be able to get to him.”

“It’s too late already,” Sif spat, tears leaving clean streaks down her dirty face. “The eclipse is here. You left your brother to die alone and rot in the open like a fucking coward.”

“A coward who made a promise,” Thor replied, hauling Sif to her feet and dragging her through the portal kicking and cursing. 

The portal closed behind them in the warehouse on Midgard and it didn't reopen. 

Sif's scream echoed through the silence as he stared back at where the portal used to be. 

I’m coming back, he promised his brother's wandering soul. He just had to find Malkeith and kill him first. I promise. I'm coming right back, Loki.

Chapter Text

Despite his recent treason, Odin immediately responded when he was told Heimdal had a message for him. Neither of his son's finding spells were functioning correctly, likely due to the Dark magic of Svartalfheim. The Allfather couldn't locate them, or even discern if they were living. 

They were living. 

They had to be. 

He could not lose his entire family in a single week. 

You lost them long before this week.

Odin descended into the dungeons unannounced. After the dissolution of the trafficking ring a century ago, he tried to drop into the prisons unexpectedly every few years. Of course, the guards who passed Heimdal’s message along knew the King was coming, but it wasn't openly announced. A few guards flanked him as soon as he entered the secured cells and followed as he walked briskly through the corridors toward the most heavily warded prisoners. His assessment of the prisons was that the standards of cleanliness were not being kept up to code and the prisoner's nutrition was clearly lacking, leaving many too thin and dull-eyed. But it was nothing like when he’d opened the inquisition in the century past; prisoners stripped of clothing and chained like animals to the walls. Many were mute or mad or suicidal. 

He was not necessarily pleased by the state of the dungeons, but he saw no need to open another inquisition. Only to reinforce training on what kind of care and living conditions the prisoners were expected to have. 

“Wait here,” Odin ordered the guards as he entered the most warded cell block. He avoided looking at Loki’s empty cell as he entered and moved directly to Heimdall's. The Watcher’s armor was removed, but he still wore the clothing distinguishing his rank. He had not been imprisoned long enough to be fully processed or sentenced. 

“Heimdall,” Odin stepped up to the wards, hands clasped behind his back. “I'm told you have a message for me. Speak.”

“I still cannot see beyond the wards of the Dark World, my King,” Heimdall bowed his head respectfully. “But I have found Thor’s party in another Realm.”

“Yes,” Odin snapped impatiently. “Speak freely, Heimdall. The convergence is nigh and I must find my traitorous sons.”

“Malkeith has the Aether. Thor, the mortal Jane Foster, Sif, and her son are currently in Midgard, attempting to intervene before the convergence,” Heimdall explained, and something in the Watcher’s eyes made Odin’s heart stutter in his chest. 

“Yes?” 

“Sif is grievously wounded and very distressed,” the Watcher's concern for the woman warrior was unsurprising. His family had taken her in, in many ways, as she lost the approval of her aunt and uncle for her choice of direction. The Gatekeeper had always treated her as a little sister of sorts. 

“And Loki?” Odin demanded. One of the party was unaccounted for. The Allfather would never admit it aloud, but he prayed to the Fates that his mad son had escaped somehow. It was not something a King should pray for, but the Fates could not fault him for preferring that to the alternatives. 

“He did not return with them,” Heimdal replied solemnly. It was no secret that since the venomous split between Sif and the youngest prince, Heimdal had lost all fondness he formerly had for the trickster. And Loki's massacres of the last decade were enough to solidify anyone’s resentment. But there was genuine concern in Heimdal’s expression and tone.

“And you can not see him elsewhere?” Odin demanded. 

“No,” Heimdal shook his head. “Although that is not unusual. I have not been able to See him for many years now, since he learned to shield himself from my Sight.”

“You believe he has escaped?” Odin pushed, trying to keep any sound of hope from his voice.

“I do not,” Heimdal shook his head. “Sif is badly injured, but she has turned her wrath upon Thor. And he returned without his cape.”

No. Fates, no! 

Thor could have lost the cape in battle. It happened often enough. But capes were either lost or left to wrap the bodies of the dead. 

And the warrior Sif rarely turned against Thor. Her loyalty to him was unquestionable. 

Which left few plausible answers. 

Either Thor had lost his cape in battle, and Loki managed to slip away in the fray, or Thor had left his cape in hopes that he would return for his brother's corpse after Malkieth was defeated. 

Thor wouldn't leave him behind. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Frigga’s pleaded in the back of his mind. He wouldn’t leave his brother, dead or alive, behind in the sands of the Dark World…

To complete the mission? To save his mortal woman? Loki’s voice sneered in return. Of course he would.

“Damned boy!” Odin cursed and immediately overruled the wards on Heimdall's cell. “Take this to the cells of the warriors who helped Thor and bring them to meet me at the Bifrost. Make no delays.” He pulled a signed and seal-stamped letter sheet from one of his pockets in space and quickly scrawled out a letter of release and immediate demand for service. If Thor’s friends continued to aid him in his treasonous plots, the very least they could do was help clean up their own messes. 

The Watcher hesitated as he took the letter and Odin snarled, “Now!”

When Heimdall bowed obediently, Odin immediately transported himself to the healer’s ward. Perhaps it was wishful thinking to hope that if Loki had not escaped he might still live. But Odin was hardly thinking clearly at this point. His mind was a tangle of grief and fear and loss.

“Eir,” he called and almost immediately the Chief Healer appeared from around the corner of one of her patient's rooms. Her gaze softened as she saw Odin and the grief and compassion in her expression was enough to twist the King's heart violently in his chest. Eir had been his chief healer for several millennia, she was promoted to the position after she managed to save his first child when her mother was lost in the birth. The child was now never to be spoken of, but Eir was one of the few who still remembered the tumultuous time before Frigga; before the Allmother brought peace and stability to an heirless realm and a half-mad King. 

“How may I be of service, your majesty?” the healer inclined her head in respect. 

“I need a healer's kit immediately,” Odin demanded. “And… and a recovery kit.”

He prayed to the fates, unlikely as it was, he would not be recovering his son's absent corpse only days after sending off his mother's.

“Of course, my King,” concern creased Eir's brow but she turned and quickly disappeared down the corridor. Loki had spent much of his childhood in Eir's care. His immune system was not naturally imbued with protections from viruses and infections most Aesir were born with. He spent his entire life in Asgard, but he had not been born there and when he was young, the process of building immunity meant he was sick frequently, sometimes dangerously so. 

Eir had been another parental figure of sorts as she spent so much time with the young boy. Odin could remember so many times carrying his tiny feverish son through these doors in the middle of the night for treatment, or coming to the healing ward as soon as his duties for the day were completed to discuss his youngest child’s treatment options quietly with the healer as the boy slept. 

How many times had he been called down here because Thor and Loki had done something they weren’t supposed to and a bone was broken or a head knocked? Odin was nearly always worried about the boys, especially Loki as he struggled to mature in an Aesir body and realm, and yet the time when they were young and constantly causing chaos was one of the happiest times of Odin's long life. Frigga was by his side, helping heal the realm from the damage their King and his daughter had inflicted upon them. The boys were young and mischievous but so eager to please, trusting, and quick to forgive their father's short comings. 

It was a time before Odin realized Loki was subconsciously mimicking Hela’s appearance in his Aesir form. The realization had come like a heavy blow when he was walking an excited Loki through the weapons guild to discuss the young prince's choice in armor. Every young boy of a noble family first chose his colors and style when he reached his twelfth year and Loki had been dying to choose his since Thor had chosen his own five years prior.

Odin was explaining the meaning behind each color when Loki blurted,

“Black and Green!” excitement bubbling boisterously around him.  “Thor and I talked about lots and I want my colors to be black and green!”

Odin’s heart nearly stopped in his chest as the memory of young Hela tore into the present moment like it hadn't in years. 

“I know what I like father,” the girl gave a bit of an eye roll as she flipped a dark braid over her shoulder. “I don't care that no one’s chosen that pairing before. There’s never been a female heir either.”

Suddenly every feature on the boy's face seemed to change before Odin’s eyes as he realized that he’d somehow missed the clear similarities between his youngest and his oldest. Loki had a sliver of empath magic but was first and foremost a shapeshifter. This ability was what assured Odin that he and Frigga would be able to raise the boy without too many questions, by all appearances the boy was Aesir, despite being naturally a Jotun. But somehow Odin had missed --perhaps because he avoided thinking of Hela, locked away in her eternal prison-- that the boy must have latched onto Odin’s regret and desire for his first child, his first heir.

Unconsciously knowing what Odin wanted, Loki, always so eager to please, had been shifting into an Aesir form that mimicked the goddess of death. 

“Father?” Odin was yanked back by the concerned voice of his youngest. “Is that alright?”

“No,” Odin snapped. The small boy flinched hard, expression crumbling and Odin's thundering heart broke a little at the expression. “How about green and gold?” he suggested instead, tone gentler. “Gold… like your mother and I wear?”

Loki bit his lip to try and hold his tears as he nodded rapidly. “Alright, thank you, father.”

“Come here,” Odin pulled the boy into an embrace. He didn't let go until Loki smiled up at him, blinking his tears away. 

That had been the beginning of his troubles with Loki. After making the realization, Odin could barely stand to look at the boy sometimes. He became a living reminder that no matter how Frigga had healed him, he could not forget his mistakes. No matter how delighted he was with his sons, there was always a reminder of the sister they didn't know existed. A reminder that Odin had failed as a father before, and he could fail again. 

Ironically, this fear and shame seemed to warp into a self-fulfilled prophecy before Odin’s eyes as the centuries spanned on. Odin grew distant from his youngest, more comfortable in the presence of Thor who was nothing like Hela and looked like Frigga. Loki responded to the distance with silent resentment and the relationship between them suffered for the rest of Loki’s life. His discovery of his Jotun heritage may have seemed like the beginning for Loki, but it was Odin who grew distant first. 

“My King,” Eir came around the corner with a cart of healing supplies and a body bag with a funeral rite candle used for calling the souls of the dead back to their bodies until the were released into the light of the stars by their family. 

This doesn't mean he’s dead, he promised Frigga’s soul, perhaps he even promised his own. This doesn't mean anything yet. 

“Let me know if there is anything more I can do, your majesty,” Eir inclined her head as Odin pulled the cart into another pocket of space. 

“Thank you, Eir,” Odin struggled to keep his voice from tightening. 

He then transported himself to the Bifrost. There was no time to spare. 

“Heimdall,” he said in greeting to the Gateeeper who eyed the king's battle armor in concern. “Volstagg, Fandral. I’m offering you one chance to prove your loyalty to the crown, rather than merely its heir.”

“We are extremely grateful for the opportunity, your majesty,” Volstagg spoke for the two of them as they bowed. 

“Good,” Odin replied shortly. He pulled the Gate’s Sword from the pocket in space he’d locked it in. 

“Heimdall, to Svartleheim,” he demanded, handing the Gatekeeper the blade. 

“But my lord, I won’t be able to see you-”

“I’m threading a link,” Odin snapped, spelling out an invisible link between himself and the Gatekeeper so they would be able to communicate through the Dark wards of the realm. 

“My King, I know it is not my place to speak but should you go with so few guards? I-”

The Gatekeeper was right. This was foolish for a King. But he had once thought he was a husband and a father before a King. Those priorities had switched somewhere along the line, and now he was no longer a husband. He had not been able to protect that title.

But he was still a Father, and for Frigga and her sons, and the memory of who he had once been as her husband, Odin would fight to remain a father. 

“Time is of the essence, Heimdall,” Odin sighed. “The Convergence is minutes away and I need to know if he’s alive. When I am ready to return, I will contact you through the link.”

“Very well, my King,” Heimdall bowed and stepped up to the podium, sliding the blade into the lock cleanly. 

Chapter Text

Odin had never been to the dark world and he had told his sons never to travel there either. Some magics were best left alone and the curses on this world were Dark and dangerous.

Loki had disobeyed that order several centuries ago, always looking for new paths through the worlds, but it had terrified him enough to keep both of them away after that until the Dark Elves attacked. As the Bifrost dissipated like thunder around them, Odin peered into the murky atmosphere of the once place his father never took him. 

Fandral muttered a curse about the heat as it slammed into them full force. The sand was pitch black and the sky an ominous green tone. 

“Your majesty, is Thor here?” Volstagg asked, gripping his axe as if anticipating an attack. 

“No,” Odin said threading open the channel to Loki’s vital mapping spell he’d placed on the boy when he was small. The Trickster had learned in adulthood how to mask it so Odin could never tell if his youngest was living or dead, safe or getting himself in mischief. It was a long shot, but Loki’s magic would be greatly depleted after being in the cell for so long. He might not waste energy masking the spell if he believed Odin would be unable to read it while he was in the Dark world. 

“Right,” Volstagg said. “What would you have us do here, my king?”

“Follow me,” Odin responded absently as he found the vital spell open on Loki’s end. He was alive. A relieved sigh rushed through his chest. Loki’s heartbeat was unsteady and weak, he was not using magic to mask his location or his link to his father, but he was alive. 

“Hold onto me,” Odin ordered. 

“I'm sorry,” Fandral looked at the other warrior. “I’m afraid I don't und-”

“Just grab hold of me,” Odin snapped his patience thin. Loki may be alive, but it was only by a thread. “I am going to transport us elsewhere on the planet.”

Hesitantly, as though touching the armor of the Allfather might burn them, the warriors obeyed and Odin pulled them with him as he transported them directly to Loki’s location. 

The warriors recoiled from touching the King as soon as they were on the other side of the transportation spell. Odin paid attention only to the body in the sand, wrapped in crimson red. 

“Loki,” Odin called as he rushed to his son's side. The second prince was pale and gaunt, bruises purple and green against his face and throat, a thick line of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. His color was ashen and he didn't stir as the King of Nine Realms knelt by his side. Tears choked off Odin’s airways as he cupped the side of Loki’s face with a trembling hand. 

If he didn't have a live vital spell tethered to the boy he wouldn't think he was still alive. But he could feel the weak pulse tapping faintly down through the tether. 

Heimdal, call Eir and have a patient transport ready.

Yes, my king.

After a moment’s hesitation, Odin sensed the warriors turn their backs and station themselves in a protective stance around their King as he worked. He spun through the vital spell trying to find where Loki was most injured. Injury after injury flashed before him at an overwhelming pace. He struggled to focus on the most grievous: an impalement, straight down the center of his body, sternum broken open, ribcage cracked, blood flooding both lungs and pumping through his body toward bleed out. The remnants of his magic were desperately trying to slow the bleeding but they were only whispers of power now.

Odin clenched his jaw and pulled Eir's healer's cart from its dimension, using a small set of sheers to cut through Loki’s already damaged armor. He was wearing the leather breastplate, not his metal one. The blade had slide through him easily.

The wound gaped out in the air, a bloody trench carved down an emaciated chest. Scars and bruises and protruding ribs almost pulled Odin from his task, but he pushed all thoughts to the side as he packed the wound with Healer's salt to stop the bleeding and clean the wound. 

“Loki, can you hear me?” Odin called, sealing the wound off with a paste from Eir. 

“ Only a coward would attack a city dwelling of families, children, their elders!” he had shouted at Loki the last time he argued with him in the prisons. “Why would you rule a kingdom paid for by the blood of the innocent? Would you rule by terror?” It went against everything he had taught his sons. It was a choice Hela would have made. 

“Terror seems the most effective motivator,” Loki replied sharply, mouth twisted in a venomous sneer. “What would you have me do, rule benevolently? Inspire love by making speeches? Tell me, Allfather, how did your Father conquer the first three realms? By peace? Compassion? How did you take the other six? In gentleness?”

Loki scoffed. “You sit here an call me a coward for washing my hands in the blood of the innocent, yet you bathed in it when you were named conqueror of Nine Realms.”

“You speak of what you do not know,” Odin seethed, “in hopes that by passing blame you can continue to mourn yourself. It is selfish and cowardly.”

“You would know,” Loki shrugged and stepped away from the cell wall, returning to his sofa to read and ignore the Allfather for the rest of their conversation. 

A sofa , Odin smoldered. He needed to have a conversation with Frigga about her concern with Loki’s comfort. The convicts of Asgard accused of the crimes which Loki had committed were not entitled to a “comfortable” imprisonment. This was a punishment, not a reward. 

“Now, Heimdall!” Odin tugged on the tether between himself and the Gatekeeper and Thor’s friends took a step closer to the King and his son as the Bifrost bridge slammed down around them. 

Eir was on the ground in the Bifrost sanctuary as soon as they landed, healing magic humming from her fingertips as she examined Loki. 

“Get him onto the table,” Eir ordered. Volstagg and Fandral immediately obeyed, lifting Loki up onto the slab of stone floating in the air beside them. 

“Eir-” Odin grabbed the healer's wrist, words pushing at his tongue but no coherent thought making it through his mind. 

“I will do everything I can,” Eir promised. “Please make a portal directly back to the healer’s ward, my King. We do not have time to walk him back.”

Mutely Odin did so with trembling hands caked in sand and blood. All but Heimdall followed the chief healer through the portal until it was only Odin and the Gatekeeper left in the Bifrost. 

“Thor?” Odin asked, his voice calm and strangely absent. 

“He fights on,” Heimdall replied solemnly, gaze going back to Midgard. “The mortal Jane Foster has created some sort of device to open portals of her own. It's working.”

“Good,” Odin nodded longer than he needed to. “And Sif? And the boy?” 

“Sif has not woken since the battle began but her child is unharmed,” Heimdall replied, attempting (and failing) to mask the concern in his voice. 

“I will send a healer immediately,” Odin promised the Gatekeeper who nodded in gratitude as the king turned and stepped through his own portal into the Healing ward.

Loki was centered in their operation room when Odin arrived, healers rushing around the table madly trying to keep hold of his slipping lifeforce. Eir was calmly giving stern orders as two young novice healers carefully cut the rest of Loki’s clothing from his body.

Odin finally registered the bruises as he stood helplessly watching. The bruises and the protruding ribs and the scars. So many scars. More scars than flesh. Scars that had no place on the body of an Asgardian prince. A glance was all he needed to know the purpose of such scars. 

His child had been tortured. 

Coldness slithered through his belly as Eir stepped up to the transparent barrier with a serious expression and tapped on the shields to hide what was happening in the room from the observers. 

“No-” Odin stepped toward the door just as Eir stepped out and closed it firmly behind her. “You must let me see him, Eir-” Odin insisted weakly. 

“You may wait out here, Allfather,” Eir insisted sternly. “But you may not enter the healing chamber until I determine it will not put our work at risk.”

“But what happened-?” Odin struggled to breathe. “Eir, he’s…”

Was there a word for how broken his youngest was? 

“I know,” Eir placed a steady hand on the Allfather's shoulder. “Let me work. I will bring you back to him when it's time. Wait here,” she gestured to the armchairs and sofas that lined the main room’s back wall for waiting family. “You must trust me.”

With that, the chief healer turned to slip back into the room and locked the door behind her.

Odin stood still for what may have been hours just staring at the white opaqueness of the barriers. It could have been merely minutes. It could have been days. 

“My King,” Odin dazedly turned his attention to Hogan, the small Vanhiemian warrior. He could not remember when he had appeared. He must have travelled from Vaneheim… Perhaps Heimdal had called him.

The man offered a damp towel to the King. Odin took it without thanks and stared at it uncomprehendingly. 

“For your hands,” Hogan offered and the King remembered his were painted in his son's blood. 

“You sit here an call me a coward for washing my hands in the blood of the innocent, yet you bathed in it when you were named conqueror of Nine Realms.” 

Silently, the King cleaned his hands with the towel, crimson staining the light blue color like the blood on Frigga’s gown. 

“Allfather,” Hogan held out a hand and took the dirtied towel from the king with a quick bow. 

Odin realized Thor's friends were all standing with him still in the healer's ward. 

“You may return home,” Odin informed them. “You have done what was asked of you.”

Fandral leaned against the wall and looked down at his boots silently, unmoving. Volstag sat down on one of the sofas and made himself comfortable. 

Odin sighed and moved to sit in one of the armchairs next to the warrior, grateful, although he could not speak it, for the comfort of having other living beings present. 

“Why will you not speak to the witch your mother sent for?” Odin demanded in another one of their arguments in the prisons. 

“You don't have to pretend with me,” Loki sneered hatefully. “Just tell your wife you did your duty and you asked me to cooperate and leave me alone.”

“I am not here only on behalf of your mother, boy,” Odin snapped. “ I want you to speak to the witch as well. You let go on the Bifrost all those years ago, you've become twisted with the obsession of power. These are dangers to the mind and a mind-melder can help you only if you let her.”

“You did not put me here to get ‘help’” Loki snarled. “You believed my proper punishment to be greater than death and you’ve made that clear. Don't pretend to be concerned now.”

Pieces of a puzzle Odin didn't want to solve began to click into place.

Frigga, my love, what have I done? 

Chapter Text

When Jane, Darcy, Eric and Thor returned from the battle, an Asgardian healer was in Darcy’s apartment, treating Sif on the dilapidated couch in the corner of the cluttered living room. 

“Woah!” Darcy whipped out a stun gun. “Who the hell are you?!”

“This is Erigg,” Thor stepped forward, pushing the weapon down. “He is one of the Battle Healers of my father's court.”

Jane reached out to place a comforting hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sif needs help.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, pushing her glasses up with one hand while reholstering her stun gun. “I told you we should have called 911 when you got here.”

“Midgardian medicine would have been able to do nothing for her,” Thor shook his head as he stepped over to crouch by Erigg's side as he worked. The Aesir healer flashed a series of signs to the prince with bloodied fingers. 

“It was two days ago, one night,” Thor replied. 

Erigg nodded and signed something else, gesturing to Ivailo who was curled up at Sif’s feet, watching everyone in the room with wide, frightened eyes. 

“Of course,” Thor nodded. “Ivailo, come here, we need to let the healer work with your mother to make her better.”

“No!” Ivailo shook his head and wrapped stubborn arms around his mother’s right boot. 

“Ivailo,” Thor said, tone stern. “I am not asking. Come here.”

“No!” Ivailo shouted, kicking at Thor as he tried to pry him from his mother's side. 

Jane stepped forward as Thor demanded again, “Ivailo, you must obey me. Your mother would-”

“I don’t trust you!” Ivailo screamed, rousing his mother. “Nobody trusts you!”

Thor recoiled as though the child had burned him and Jane moved forward quickly putting herself between them. 

“Ivailo,” she tried, offering her hands out to him. “We need to listen to the doctor, the healer, so he can help your mom.”

“I don’t want to leave her,” Ivailo sniffled, glaring at Thor. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Ivailo,” Sif slurred. “C'mere little one…” she reached for the boy with her remaining arm. 

The boy looked at Jane and then Thor and then back to Jane as if he expected them to stop him. 

“Here,” Jane scooted back to give him room to climb off the couch. “Come up this way so you don’t hurt her.”

Ivailo sniffled again and then clambored off the couch to stand near his mother's head. Sif smiled weakly at the boy and touched his face. 

“You’ve been so brave, my love,” she rasped. “So brave this whole time. But we are safe now. We don't have to be scared any more.”

“I don't want to leave you with him,” Ivailo whispered, shooting a frightened look at a heartbroken Thor. “What if you don't come back?”

Like Loki hadn’t. 

Jane glanced away from Thor, avoiding the chance of meeting his gaze. 

“I will always come back for you,” Sif choked, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. “I am your mother.”

The healer signed something to Thor who translated softly. 

“Erigg says you can stay here in the room but he needs you to step away while he prepares your mother to travel home.”

Ivailo hesitated, looking distrustfully between Thor and the silent healer and then back to his mother. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “I'll be right over there.”

“Thank you, my boy,” Sif smiled at him through tears. “Perhaps the Lady Jane could find you something to eat while you wait?”

  Jane looked up to meet Sif’s gaze. 

“Of course,” Jane nodded reaching out to Ivailo. “We’ll get you something to eat. How about you sit in this chair here,” she gestured to Darcie’s favorite red armchair, worn from hours of binged TV shows and Hockey games. “You can stay close to your mother here as Erigg helps her.”

Ivailo hesitated a moment longer before nodding and kissing his mother on the forehead. 

“I’ll be right over there, mother,” he promised, accepting Jane’s outstretched hand and slowly letting her guide him to the chair across the room. 

“Darcy, could you make us something to eat?”Jane asked. 

“Uh yeah,” Darcy said, watching the strange tension in the room with curiosity. “You like fruit loops, kid? What am I even saying!” she laughed. “You’ll love fruit loops!”

“Maybe something a little easier on the stomach?” Jane asked. “Like toast and eggs?”

“Boring,” Darcy rolled her eyes as she moved into the kitchen. “But yeah, I got bread and eggs.”

“Could you make me some as well?” Jane called.

Darcy peered over the countertop bar at her. 

“Didn't you just eat like three sandwiches before we left?”

“Yeah,” Jane laughed a little. “I’m just really hungry, Darcy.”

“Oookay,” Darcy shrugged and pulled out a carton of eggs from the fridge. 

Jane sat herself down at the foot of the armchair and smiled up at Ivailo. 

“Your mom’s right,” she said, patting Ivailo’s knee. “You’re like the bravest kid I’ve ever met.”

Ivailo wiped his nose and straightened up in the chair. 

“I’m Ivailo Sifson.” 

“Don’t be afraid,” Loki murmured to the boy in the cave as he placed a hand on the boy’s head. “Remember whose name you carry.”

Jane blinked back tears and gave a little laugh. “Yeah you are.”

Erigg returned to treating Sif’s wound and rewrapping it. Eric wandered down the hall for a shower. Darcy’s intern --Jane couldn't remember his name-- joined her in the kitchen and Thor sat at the dining room table, his head in his hands. 

Jane could hear bones split as the blade entered Loki’s chest. His head snapped back as the blade exited his back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Thor was screaming. 

Jane watched something flicker out of Thor's eyes as they walked away from his brother. His eyes were hollow by the time they got to Sif and they were hollow still. 

“Thor,” Darcy called. “You want something to eat? Eggs? Toast? Fruit loops?” 

Thor didn't respond and he didn't lift his head from his hands. 

“Um-” Darcy frowned in concern and opened her mouth to ask again but Jane shook her head silently at her friend from her place on the living room floor. “M’kay.”

Darcy turned back and said something to the intern who went to go knock on the bathroom door. 

“Uh- Dr. Selvig, do you want anything to eat?” 

They ate as they waited for Erigg to finish his work with Sif. By the time he finished and helped Sif sit up, Darcy had put Finding Nemo in the DVD player and they were halfway through. Ivailo had drifted to sleep in the chair and Jane was still seated on the floor next to him, despite her protesting joints. 

Erigg steadied a dizzy Sif as she adjusted to sitting up. When she was steady he turned and signed to Thor again. 

“It’s time for us to go home,” Thor said wearily, standing from the dining room table. “Darcy, thank you for your hospitality.”

“Sure dude,” Darcy punched him lightly on the arm with a teasing smile. “Drop by anytime you’re on this side of the Universe.”

Thor didn't even try to smile back but came over to wake Ivailo. He hesitated as he reached for the boy though, and looked at Jane as if she could help. 

“Oh,” Jane stood up, wincing as her aching joints protested, and gave the boy a gentle shake. “Ivailo, Ivailo, it’s time to wake up buddy.”

Ivailo inhaled sharply and blinked owlish eyes at Jane before reaching out to her. 

“Oh, okay,” Jane picked the boy up, grunting as she readjusted the Aesir child’s weight. “Come here, it’s time to go home.”

She turned to find a confused Thor looking down at her. 

“You’re coming?”

“Until I know Sif is okay, yeah,” she said, patting Ivailo on the back as he wrapped his legs around her middle. She wasn't going to leave Ivailo now.

“She will be alright,” Thor promised, eyes still hollow. 

“Yeah,” Jane nodded. “And until she is alright, I’m sticking around.”

Thor hesitated, glancing at Erigg who was helping Sif to her feet and swinging her arm over his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Thor said slowly. “We need to leave the building so Heimdall can reach us easier.”

Suddenly, Jane realized she hadn't tried yelling at the sky for Hemidal in her search for Thor. The thought was a little funny to her. It felt like years ago now that she had been desperate to find Thor again. 

It seemed like she was a different version of herself then. 

“Hey!” Darcy called as Jane followed Thor, Sif, and the Healer, Ivailo still in her arms, toward the front door. “When are you coming back this time?” 

“I don’t know,” Jane smiled, though she was sure that it didn’t reach her eyes. “But I will be back.”

“Oh good,” Darcy laughed a little. “So you aren’t like, moving to Asgard or anything…”

“No,” Jane replied, smile tight. Absolutely not. 

“Okay, cool… I’ll uh, I’ll keep an eye on Eric.”

She thanked her friend, then she followed their sad company into the driveway and looked up to the sky for the bridge. 

Chapter Text

Odin sat in Eir’s study trying to listen to her account of Loki’s condition through the ringing in his ears and the thundering of his heart. 

“He was lucky you found him when you did… would have bled out if you had arrived a few minutes later… in our treatment we performed a physical exam and a breif exam of the mind and found serious complications…” 

Odin stared at the diagram Eir was using to explain the nature of various injuries and “complications.” The illustrated outline of a body was completely smothered in notes. 

“I’ve placed the nature of injuries in layers,” Eir said softly. “There were too many findings to put on one diagram without sacrificing legibility. I’ve ordered them by approximate age of the injury. We’ll start with the most recent and go backwards from there…”

The King hadn't felt so lost in millennia. He could only half comprehend everything the healer was telling him. But the half that filtered through the fog of his mind was enough to set a tremor in the Allfather's hands as he clenched them in trembling fists in his lap. 

“... damage from the Dark World is, of course, obvious. Several lacerations… small scrapes… impalement… despite our efforts his magic gave out trying to heal the wound... has gone into the Sleep.”

How could Thor have left him there? How could he have abandoned him like that, barely clinging to life?

“In the second layer, we find many injuries that he sustained before aiding Thor’s plot this last week… 

“...severe bruising indicates…” 

"...several bone fractures suggest…”

“...extremely malnourished, likely hasn't had regular food for a sustained period of time. At lease six months… if not years… dehydration to the point of…”

“...We also found several infections in his blood including these two, which were the most common sexually transmitted infections we found in victims during your prison inquisition last century…”

Images of prisoners, naked, broken, bleeding as they tried to hang themselves with the very chains that chained them to the wall ripped through Odin's memory. 

“...Unfortunately, the combination of these infections with the ample physical evidence from our physical exam leads me to conlude…”

“...tactics of starvation used to weaken…”

“...water likely laced with…”

“...keeps victims compliant…”

“...beatings…”

“...tearing and scarring…”

“...likely in groups of three or more…”

“...no matter what kind of training…”

“...rendered unable to defend…”

“Allfather?” 

He was completely submerged in the details. Drowning.

“Allfather, are you with me still?” 

Odin blinked his eyes into focus on the wisened healer. Concern and pain were etched into her gentle features as she watched him suffocate. 

“Perhaps it would be best if we continued tomorrow,” Eir decided, beginning to gather the diagrams and report. 

“No,” Odin slammed his hand down on the papers but recoiled it just as quickly. “I… If there’s more, Eir, we must know.”

Pain ripped through the haze as he remembered there was no “we” anymore. Frigga would not be here to deal with this at his side. She was gone. Forever. 

Perhaps it was a small mercy that she didn’t live to know what he’d allowed to happen to their son.

“I must know. Please, Eir.”

The healer hesitated but ultimately nodded and sifted through the papers again. 

“This is a diagram of his last physical exam, a few years before the fall from the Bifrost. If you compare that to the other results of our exam, you will see the vast majority of these documented injuries were actually obtained between 2 and 5 years ago, before his imprisonment…"

“...suggests someone extremely educated in the torturing arts…”

“…burns…"

“…healing pattern indicates shattered bones…”

“…scar tissue runs…” 

“…internal injuries consistent with…”

“…given the range of ages of these wounds I would estimate he was held by the same captor for approximately three years before the attack on Midgard…”

“…suggests either strong level of resistance on the part of the captive or incredible level of sadistic pleasure on the part of the captor…”

“...or both,” Eir finished. Silence descended on the study, carpeting everything in suffocating weight. 

The healer got up and began doing something at one of her counters but Odin could not turn his head from the corner of the last diagram he’d been looking at. He couldn’t hear anything over the ringing that threaded between his ears and his heart beat so hard it strangled off the breath in his chest.

“Breathe, Odin,” Eir said softly, using the familiar name a rare few dared to use with the King. “He’s here now. He made it. We’re doing what we can.”

A mug of steaming tea was placed before him. 

He could not bring himself to reach for it. He could not bring himself to do anything but continue struggling to breathe. 

“We are finished for today,” Eir decided, placing a hand on the king’s shoulder. “We will discuss the rest after you have had the chance to see him. I will check in with the other healers and see when he will be ready for a visit. Wait here.”

The healer left the study door open but Odin could not turn his head to watch her go. Instead, he remained rooted to the chair before her desk, staring at the steaming mug on the table, drowning in the words.

internal injuries

victims compliant 

sadistic pleasure 

tactics of starvation 

resistance 

tearing and scarring

sexually transmitted infections 

three years before the attack on Midgard 

likely in groups 

As he struggled to find his way back up to the surface the last part of the healer's explanations sunk in.

“We will discuss the rest…” 

They weren’t done. 

Chapter Text

“Welcome home, your highness,” Heimdall greeted Thor and his company solemnly as they entered the Bifrost. “Praise the Fates for bringing you home successful.”

Three horses awaited them already. The Gatekeeper left his post to come down and meet Sif who was leaning heavily on Erigg's shoulder still. 

“Little sister,” the warrior sighed, touching the side of her face softly. 

“I will be fine, Heimdall,” Sif muttered. “Worry not.”

“Erigg said she is stable,” Thor promised softly. “She just needs an energy transfer to replace the blood she lost and much rest for the next few days.”

“I will be fine,” Sif snapped, venom seeping into her tone when she addressed Thor instead of her brother. 

“I will come to the Healer’s ward to check on you as soon as I can,” the Gatekeeper promised. 

“We will take her there first,” Thor promised, helping first Jane, then Ivailo onto the first horse. “I will go to my father after she’s settled.”

“Actually,” Heimdall replied as he helped Sif onto Erigg’s horse, the healer wrapping one arm around her waist and the other hand taking the reigns. “You will likely find the Allfather in the healing ward, waiting on news of Loki.”

A raw sob of relief tore from Sif’s lips before she smothered others with her remaining hand pressed firmly over her mouth.  

“He’s here?” Thor asked numbly. “He’s… he’s alive?”

“He was, just barely, when they brought him back today,” Heimdall shook his head. “That was many hours ago. I have heard no news since.”

“They found him?” Thor’s knees were weak and threatened to fall him. He steadied himself by gripping the saddle of his horse next to him. 

“Your father did,” Heimdall confirmed softly. 

Thor clenched his jaw against the storm that threatened to breach him and nodded against tears. 

“Thank you, Heimdall.”

“My prince,” Heimdall bowed his head respectfully as Thor mounted his horse. The Gatekeeper turned to squeeze Sif’s knee. “I will be there.”

“I will count on it,” Sif managed a teary smile back at him.

Thor turned to lead the procession up the bridge when Jane spoke up.

“Uh, T-Thor? I don’t know how to, um… ride.” 

“Of course, I'm sorry, Jane.”

Thor backed his steed up to take the reigns from her and swung them in front of her mount before leading them toward the city. 

________________________________________________

Volstagg, Hogan, and Fandral were waiting in the healing ward when Thor and his party arrived. 

“Thor, thank the Fates!” Fandral started. 

“Sif! By the Fates, what happened to you?” Hogan immediately went to the side of the stone table she floated on, which had waited for them at the front gates with a worried entourage of healers.

“Ivailo,” Volstagg went straight for the boy, opening his arms as Jane put the child down and he launched himself into the safety of the big warrior’s embrace. 

“Oh my child,” Volstagg pressed an aggressive kiss to the top of the boy’s head as he picked him up and held him against his chest. Ivailo buried his face in the warrior's massive red beard. 

“Erigg,” Eir came from around the corner of patient rooms. “What do we have?”

Erigg signed several things rapidly from his position directing Sif’s table. 

“Good, take her to room 4,” Eir nodded. “I will be in to supervise the energy transfusion in a moment.”

“Eir,” Sif rasped, grabbing clumsily for the healer’s hand. 

Eir stepped forward and took the warrior's hand, her expression softening. 

“Loki?” Sif asked, voice rough. “Is he…?”

“Alive as of yet,” Eir promised, smoothing Sif’s hair back from her forehead. “Though it looks like both of you gave every effort to get yourselves killed.”

It wasn't their fault, Thor wanted to say. It was I who brought them this close to death.

The words stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Sif smiled tearfully up at the aged healer as Erigg led her table back toward her own healing room. 

“Volstagg?” Sif called.

“Right,” Volstagg followed quickly, Ivailo still held tightly in his arms. He gave Thor a concerned look over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner. 

“Is anyone else injured?” Eir asked, turning to look at Thor and Jane with concern. 

“Is… could you have a healer look at Jane?” Thor managed to ask. “She… the Aether…”

“Of course,” Eir beckoned Jane over to her side. Jane looked small and frail compared to every one of the Aesir here. 

“Mildrid?” Eir called. Almost immediately a tall, slender healer with long dark hair came from around the corner to answer her summons. 

“Yes, Eir?” Mildrid asked, giving a respectful curtsy to Thor. 

“Please take the Lady Jane and run her vitals. Give her a transfusion of energy only if you’re sure the infection is gone.”

“Of course,” Mildrid nodded. “This way, m’lady.”

“Oh, just Jane please,” Jane smiled weakly. “I’m really not a Lady or anything.”

“Very well, Jane.”

“Your highness,” Eir turned to Thor. “Would you like to accompany Lady Jane or would you like to see you father and brother now?”

“I… uh,” Thor looked at Jane questioningly. She had been on edge with him since they left the Dark World. He wasn’t sure what she wanted. 

Mostly, he was ashamed to admit, he just wanted to sit at his brother's side and watch him breathe. 

“Go to your family,” Jane smiled encouragingly, that edge still present in her voice. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Thor nodded, both relieved and heartbroken. 

He watched as the two women, human and Aesir, disappeared around the corner. Then it was only him and Eir, Fandral and Hogan at his back. 

“Eir, how is he?” Thor asked, stepping toward the healer, tears burning at the back of his throat. “I thought… we thought he-”

“He nearly did,” Eir replied seriously. “It is not out of the Fates’ loom yet, but I am hopeful.”

“Can I-” Thor choked. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” Eir nodded, wrapping her arm around his and leading him slowly down the hall. 

“I will let your father choose what to tell you of our findings,” the healer murmured softly. “But I must warn you, things are far more complicated than first believed.”

“Complicated?” Thor asked, wiping at his tears with his free hand. “What do you mean?”

“Here he is,” Eir said, pulling her arm free of Thor’s so that she could use both hands to unlock the warded door. “I’ve charmed the ward to allow you and your father entrance, for now, no others.”

“Why? Is he in danger?”

“Perhaps,” the healer responded vaguely before opening the door and gesturing for him to enter. 

His father sat with his back to the door at Loki’s bedside. The stoop of his shoulders made him look ancient, weak. 

“Thor,” Odin said as Thor closed the door behind himself softly. The king's voice was not frail, it was hard.

“Allfather,” Thor bowed his head respectfully. 

“My first treasonous son,” Odin practically spat, standing but keeping his back to his heir. “So you return victorious?”

Tears threatened to brim over, but Thor managed to wrestle back control just barely. 

“Malkeith is defeated,” Thor replied softly. “The realms of Light live on.”

“Barely,” Odin gave a gruff laugh, shoulders now tight with anger. “I am told you managed to pull it together with but moments to spare from the Convergence?”

“Yes,” Thor all but whispered. 

“And if you had obeyed my orders?” Odin spun around, eye flashing dangerously. “Would the Aether have been in Midgard in time for the Convergence?” 

“No, father, but-”

“But what?!” Odin shouted. Thor flinched back from him. He had not been this angry since he stripped Thor’s power and immortality from him. 

“But your little Mortal woman would have died,” Odin snarled. “We would have extracted the Aether from her then and kept it under lock and key as we planned out the best way to defeat the Dark Elves after the convergence, after the threat to the Nine Realms was past.”

Odin took a step forward, almost menacingly. Something dark and nameless swam around him, a madness Thor had never seen. Without Frigga, Odin was much changed. 

They all would be. 

“But instead, you chose to commit treason, to break Loki from his cell, to steal a ship under ample guard, convince your friends to attack their own brothers-in-arms, and pulled a child into the Dark World with you.”

“Ivailo was never supposed to-”

“It was your plan, Thor!” Odin roared. “You were responsible for predicting the outcomes of it! But you did not think, you had one goal: save the mortal and the rest of the Nine Realms be damned!”

“That wasn't- I didn’t…” but Thor couldn't finish his defense because that had been his primary goal. Avenging his mother was second… saving the Nine Realms was maybe a third. He had told himself that was the purpose driving everything, but his father was right. If saving the Nine was his first priority, he should have done everything in his power to ensure Malkeith never came near the Aether until the Convergence was passed. 

“ You were responsible for what happened to your warrior, Sif,” Odin jabbed a finger into Thor’s chest as the tears finally started to fall from Thor’s burning eyes. “ You were responsible for what happened to her child!

“The moment you took Jane and the Aether from this realm you became responsible for the acts which the Dark Elves intended to inflict upon the universe with the weapon in her blood!

“And you were responsible for your brother, Thor,” Odin hissed. “You chose to gamble all of these lives for one and you managed to come back with most of them in tact. But if you think that your gamble was a good one, just because you made it back with your party half-alive and the Nine Realms still standing, you are a fool! A selfish fool!”

“I am a fool!” Thor shouted, tears blinding him as he twisted away from his father and stalked down the short length of the room. “I know I was selfish!” he paced at the end of Loki’s bed feverishly. “I know! I am a vain, greedy, cruel boy! Unworthy of these realms! Unworthy of my title! Unworthy-” he sobbed. 

“Thor-”

“Of the loved ones-”

“Son-”

“-I have betrayed,” Thor's legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled at the foot of Loki’s bed, sobbing. He pressed his forehead against the frame of his brother’s bed and sobbed with all the relief and shame and grief that had soured his bones over the course of the week in the Dark World. 

Silently, Odin returned to his seat at Loki’s side where he remained until Thor had cried himself dry. Several long moments of silence passed as Thor sat on the floor, head pressed against the foot of his brother's bed, gasping for breath. 

“It would seem,” Odin finally replied, voice hoarse as though he had been crying as well. “That we are both unworthy.”

“I am sorry, father,” Thor managed, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

“As am I,” Odin replied.

Confused, Thor managed to shift over so he could see his father from his position on the floor. Sitting here, looking up at him reminded Thor of the many times Odin would sit them down for a story or a lesson, how Loki and he would look up in awe, completely enraptured in their father’s stories. 

Odin sighed wearily and turned his face down to his oldest. Tears had left a salted track down one side of his face. 

“You were responsible for your brother in the Dark World, but I was responsible for him here. I was responsible for his state when you sprung him from his cell.”

“What-” Thor frowned, wiping wearily at his tears. “What do you mean?” 

Odin shook his head, exhaustion weighing on every line of his body. 

“Come here, my son,” Odin stood and beckoned for Thor to stand. The heir managed to do so, but his stance was unsteady, the emotion from the past week sucking the life from him like a wound. 

“Sit at your brother’s side now,” Odin gestured to the chair he had been occupying. “We, neither of us, will do your brother any good weeping over our own sins. There are things I must attend to. Stay with him a while?”

“I- of course,” Thor rasped, confused as to what Odin’s “sins” were, but too tired as to inquire. He sat and took Loki’s thin hand in his own. 

“He’s entered the Sleep?” Thor asked, eyes tracing the gold aura line that encircled itself over the top half of the bed. He had spent hours staring at the same arc when it kept track of his brother's wandering soul all those centuries ago when he was in the Sleep before. 

“Yes,” Odin replied softly. “He is the only one who can decide whether he will live now.”

“I think he was trying to get himself killed,” Thor whispered. “He was saving me, but then he just stood there. Staring. Like he could have moved but decided not to…”

Silence settled over the room again and shame burned in Thor’s belly as he realized he must sound like he was excusing himself. Like this was what Loki wanted. 

Footsteps treaded to the door. 

“I am glad you are home safe, Thor,” the Allfather said quietly, before shutting the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

“Come in for a few check ups while you’re here,” Eir finished after reading Meridith’s report. “You look pretty healthy all things considered, though we likely won’t know the long term effects the Aether has had on you for some years to come.”

“Oh?” Jane sat up on the table and swung her feet over the edge of the stone table. 

“If you experience anything unusual or alarming that you think may possibly be linked to the possession of the Aether,” Eir said. “You will need to return here for treatment. Midgard will have nothing for you.”

“What type of unusual or alarming things?”

“There’s really no way to know,” Eir smiled sympathetically. “And it's best not to worry about it unless you must. If I may be honest with you, Lady Jane?”

“Yeah, um, just Jane, but please.”

“When you first came through these doors I did not think you would live to see the twilight. There’s really no precedence for someone of your species surviving an infection of such power. But you are here and well. As far as I can see, you are free to go about life as normal.”

Normal, Jane almost wanted to laugh. As though living in Asgard until Sif was better was normal… 

“Okay, thank you so much…”

“Of course,” Eir offered her a hand as Jane hopped off the table. “And should you need help, in the years to come, take this.”

She offered Jane a necklace with an amber stone. 

“All you need do is ask and our spells will alert us to your needs.”

“Oh wow,” Jane gave a little laugh. “My own life alert?”

“I’m sorry,” Eir frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, its an earth thing. We have necklaces for the elderly so if they fall in the shower or something they can call for help. There’s a ton of jokes about it,” Jane laughed a little. “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

Eir looked affronted and Jane quickly realized that humor didn’t transfer across realms well. 

“I’m sorry that didn’t-”

“It is a Midgarding sense of humor,” Volstagg stepped into the room, a sleeping Ivailo resting his head on the warrior's shoulder. “You know mortals, the funniest thing to them is their own mortality…”

Eir feigned a smile, concern still wary in her eye as she bid Jane goodnight and exited the room, leaving Jane and the big bearded warrior. 

“Thanks,” Jane laughed a little awkwardly with Thor's friend. “That was… I’m really tired. That wasn't appropriate at all.”

Volstagg chuckled, “Lady Jane, I’ve managed all the Warrior’s three, Sif, Loki, and Thor raving drunk many a time. Your dark humor does little to concern me.”

“Oh man, I bet Thor’s a real piece of work drunk,” Jane tried to laugh but it came out flat. 

“Well,” Volstagg cleared his throat. “Sif has sent me to make sure you are taken care of for the night. She thought it best if you and Ivailo stayed with my family tonight while Thor waits on word of his brother? We’ll leave word for him so he knows where to find you and perhaps you could move to his chambers sometime tomorrow…”

Her dilemma must have shown on her face because he quickly added. 

“Or, if it suits you better, we could always house you for the extent of your stay… or find you a room to rent. Whatever… whatever is most agreeable to you?”

Jane gave Volstagg an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, of course, thank you so much for hosting me tonight. I really appreciate it.”

“It will be our pleasure,” Volstagg said, turning to offer her the arm that wasn't holding the sleeping Ivailo. “Besides, I think Sif was concerned about Ivailo having someone from his adventures close by. It can be helpful as one adjusts to home-life to be near someone who understands.”

Something warmed Jane’s chest as she heard that Sif trusted her with being there for Ivailo. It made her more certain she’d made the right choice returning to Asgard. 

“Yeah, I know I'm going to need a buddy,” she said softly, slipping her arm through Volstagg's and letting him lead her from the Healer’s ward. 

“You will have many,” Volstagg replied warmly. “My wife, Idagh, is an excellent listener to tales of adventure and woe, and my three children are excellent slayers of silence when there’s nothing to be said.”

“Hogan,” Volstagg nodded to the Asian warrior who was leaning against the waiting room wall. Jane blushed a little at her own assumption. Well, he looked Asian, but he wasn't Asian because Asia was a continent on earth and they were in Asgard. She felt a little stupid. 

Hogan nodded to Volstagg and then to Jane. 

“It is nice to meet you, Lady Jane,” he said softly. 

“It’s just Jane,” she smiled tiredly. “And nice to meet you as well.”

Fandrall was half-sitting, half slumping in the sofa, snoring. 

Jane smiled as Volstagg led her from the room. Despite every terrible thing she’d learned about Asgardians’ warring way of life over the past week in the Dark World, seeing Thor's friends sleeping in the waiting room as he sat with his brother reminded her they were very like humans in many other ways. 

Chapter Text

Sif woke just before dawn, the palest blushes of light visible on the horizon she could see from her window. Her body ached as she gave a tiny stretch, wincing as her left side protested. The agony was gone, replaced with a constant, but bearable, ache. 

Her arm.

It still didn’t feel real somehow, that her life was over. 

She shook herself as she managed to sit up, pain flaring and ebbing. Her life wasn’t over. She had returned safely with Ivailo. He was her life. 

She’d learn everything over again. She’d wield a sword again someday in her right hand. She’d never be what she was, perhaps she would need to look for another livelihood, but her life was far from over. 

Ivailo still had his entire childhood ahead of him. He would train in his own craft, choose his own livelihood; maybe a few of them before he found what he truly loved. They still had his first crush ahead of them, first lover, first job… there was so much of his character they still had to discover together. How tall would he be? Would he prefer his magic or another weapon? Would he like fighting at all? 

They had an entire life ahead of them still. 

Tears stung at her eyes as she tried to imagine a life without training, without her brother's in arms goading her temper or exclaiming in astonishment as she pulled a new feat in the heat of battle. 

She felt like a child again, uncertain of who she would be in life… But there was a life ahead of her.

It was thoughts of Ivailo that pushed her from her bed so early in the dawn in search of Loki’s room.

She tried to pull her hair back, but quickly realized she didn't know how to do so with one arm. So she crept to the door of her healing room, hair a long tangle around her shoulders, wearing the linen bedclothes of a patient, and peered into the vacant hallway before stepping out onto the cold stone floor with bare feet and padding past each room, reading names and catching glimpses of patients through open barriers or cracked doors. 

The healing ward was dead silent at this hour but for the hum of the barrier wards that quietly kept patients cordoned off from one another and contained the sounds of the sick or injured within their own space. 

As Sif rounded the first corner she stopped and ducked back behind it as she saw a man, who looked like the relative of a patient considering his noble attire, pacing anxiously before the closed door of one of the wards. He kept running a frantic hand through his brown hair, a crazed look in his eye. 

“Stupid,” he was muttering. “Stupid… weak… pathetic…”

Sif looked around for someone to assist the nobleman, or at least keep him from interfering with her search, but she saw no one. It was just as well, Sif knew she’d be sent right back to bed if she was caught. Probably locked in her room or given a sleeping tonic. 

She decided to try an inch past him but just as she was about to creep around the corner again the door he was pacing before opened and a novice healer scurried out with a pan full of bloody sheets. A woman’s scream slipped through the door before it was slammed shut and the nobleman spun away from the sight of the bloodied sheets with a green tint to his panicked expression. He teetered dangerously as the novice slipped down a different hallway and Sif moved toward him impulsively. 

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, reaching out her single arm as though to steady him. 

“Uh,” the young man blinked back at her, blue eyes wide and expression pallid. “Y-your arm,” he managed, pointing at her armless shoulder as he sunk down onto the bench next to the door. 

“Yes,” she nodded briskly, wishing there was some way to cover her missing limb and avoid making the already queasy man positively ill. “Who are you here for?”

“M-My wife,” the young man stuttered, running another hand through his already wild hair. “W-we’re… well s-she’s having our baby.”

“That’s wonderful,” Sif smiled as she sat next to the man. He looked no older than twenty.

“Y-yes, well,” the boy groaned, running a hand over his haggard face. “It is except I’m out here… and she’s in there.”

Sif frowned. “I’m sure the healers would let you in if-”

“No, they did,” the boy snapped miserably. “And I fainted. Twice.”

Sif blinked. 

“Oh.”

“I promised her I would be there,” he threw one hand up in the air in exasperation, tears welling in blue eyes. “And I was but there was so much… so much blood and… and screaming and-”

He choked on a sob, “I’ve got to be the worst husband of the realm.”

“Hey,” Sif grabbed his hand with her remaining one and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure she understands.”

“The healers kicked me out after the second time,” he sighed miserably. “I can’t imagine how afraid she must be, all alone.”

“She’s alone?” Sif frowned. “I could go in if you-”

“Well she’s not alone,” he amended. “Her mother’s with her.”

“Oh,” Sif nodded, letting go of his hand as he wiped at his tears. “Good.”

“It’s just my father told me this is the most frightening thing a woman has to go through, that it's important she knows she’s not alone, that I'm there with her…” he sobbed once again before reigning it back in. 

Sif was unexpectedly touched by his words. 

“Actually,” Sif smiled a little. “I think I’ve lived through a few things more frightening than childbirth.”

“But were you alone?” he cried, fresh tears painting tracks down his face. 

Sif’s smile faded.

“Yes,” she answered softly. “Or I was afraid I was. My own mother died when I was a child. Most of my friends are men… so I… I was afraid I’d be all alone.”

“What about the father?” the young man turned to look at her with such concern she felt tears prick at her own eyes as she shook her head.

“No… no it was just me. And I was very afraid, but then a friend came… she was like my own mother in many ways. And she gave me a hand to hold and a familiar voice as I delivered and I wasn’t alone.”

She patted the boy on the shoulder. 

“Believe me, if I was fine with only a friend, your wife will be fine if her mother is there. And you aren’t leaving her. You’re right out here. She knows that.”

The boy looked at her with so much hope she couldn't help but laugh. 

“You’re going to be fine.”

The novice came back around the corner with clean linens and paused at the sight of Sif. 

“You’re… you’re not supposed to be-”

“Lord Caldrid,” a healer opened the door and the sound of a baby wailing made both Sif and Caldrid leap to their feet. “You may come in now.”

Caldrid rushed into the room, followed quickly by the novice, and Sif hovered in the doorway, strangely bound to this young couple’s story. 

The wife’s mother, a round, dark-skinned woman with gray streaks through dark hair, quickly ushered him to her daughter’s side. The new mother was no more than a girl in Sif’s eyes, dark complexion glowing with sweat and relief and that inexplicable joy as she cradled her tiny infant to her chest. 

“Oh Auldia,” Caldrid cried, fresh tears streaking from the corner of his eyes as he hovered over the two of them. “Oh she’s beautiful!”

“I know,” the girl laughed through tears of her own. 

The family began murmuring to one another, tears and smiles and small touches of love enough to bring Sif’s own tears brimming over. 

“Little sister?” 

Sif started to find Heimdall at her back.

Inexplicably she wrapped her remaining arm around him and buried her face against his unarmored chest to hide her tears as silent sobs suddenly wracked her. Heimdall wrapped his arms around her, one hand stroking her hair softly as he rocked back and forth from one leg to another gently. 

The door to the family’s room shut quietly, the only sound left in the hallway the hum of the barrier wards again. 

“What were you doing?” Heimdall asked as her tears subsided and she pulled away with a twinge of shame, wiping at her tears. She hadn’t cried this much perhaps since Ivailo was born. 

“I just came upon them,” Sif sighed, still furiously wiping at tears with one hand. “I was looking for Loki’s rooms.”

“Sif,” Heimdall grasped her good shoulder firmly. “You can not tell him.”

Sif blinked up at her adoptive brother in shock.

He’d never… she knew he suspected what no one else did, but he’d never so openly suggested…

“I… I just need to see him,” Sif said quietly, a frown meeting on her brow. 

Heimdall blinked and glanced first at the closed door behind her and then back at her face. 

“Heimdall, I just need to… I just need to be with him,” Sif shook his hand from her shoulder and took a step back from him. 

Heimdall seemed to realize his mistake and straightened himself up, offering an arm to her. 

“Of course. I apologize… I think his room is this way.”

It took her a moment to accept his offered arm. His verbal acknowledgment had rattled six years of carefully guarded secrets and silence.

Quietly the two made their way to Loki’s room, Heimdall asking a novice along the way to fetch Eir or someone with clearance to open the wards. 

“His room is warded?” Sif asked, the thought both reassuring and worrying to her. 

“Yes, I passed Thor on his way out,” Heimdall explained. 

“H-how was he?” Sif asked. “Thor?”

Heimdall hesitated. 

“He did not look well…”

Part of her felt like she should apologize for her words back on Svartleheim… another part of her meant what she’d said. 

“You are not supposed to be out of bed today,” Eir said as they approached the room she was waiting in front of. 

“I just need to see him,” Sif said again, aware of how pitiful she sounded but unable to help it. 

Eir pursed her lips but gave a sigh and nodded, hands shifting the wards carefully as she unlocked the door. 

Loki was lying still on his back, though he preferred to sleep on his side, pale and unmoving. The bruises on his face and throat were fading but traces of yellow and green could still be seen ghosting over the fading marks. 

Heimdall helped her to the chair next to the bed and stood behind her quietly as she hesitantly reached out to touch his hand. Almost immediately she retracted her hand again. It didn't feel right to hold his hand after everything. She didn't know who they were anymore, what they were now.

She fingered the edge of his sheet nervously instead.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she said softly. “But you aren't alone. We’re all waiting for you to wake up… your father, Thor, me… even Heimdall’s here,” she laughed a little as Heimdall squeezed her good shoulder. “I think Hogan and Fandral might have slept in the waiting room… so if you think you’re alone,” she smiled tearfully. “You aren't.”

Loki’s hand twitched and Sif found herself reaching out to take it despite her earlier hesitation. She didn't know exactly where she and Loki stood anymore, but she knew who she was to him. She was the one who was going to stay by his side until he was safe again, until he was whole again. Once they were there, they could mutually decide to go back to being bitter nemesis for all she cared, but until then, she was the one who would be there, always beside him. 

Her life wasn’t over with the loss of her arm. Loki’s life wasn't over with the weight of his crimes or the ways he’d been broken… wronged. Their lives were not over, they were starting again. Perhaps not together, but at the very least beside one another. 

Maybe, someday, she would find the right time to tell him about Ivailo.