Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When you're down and out

When you're on the street

When evening falls so hard

I will comfort you

While Don couldn't claim that as a child, he dreamed of someday working at Piranha Powersports and making his living helping people find the right watercraft to suit their individual needs, he could admit that he'd taken to the job like a... Well, like a jet ski to water. It helped that he had a knack for understanding people and getting into their heads. He could put himself into their shoes enough to figure out what they really wanted and needed, even when they sometimes didn't know for certain themselves. And his friendly and warm demeanour tended to earn their trust enough to believe him when he explained that financing the purchase was simpler than ever.

He didn't have a perfect sales record, because there's always that one person who didn't seem to understand how perfect a specific model would fit them and claimed that they would rather have a dirt bike or something else. But his successes outweighed his failures by a decent percentage. And the paycheck that he took home reflected all of those commissions.

He was proud of his job. It gave him a sense of accomplishment and purpose at the end of the day. And he liked how people would leave the store with a smile, already dreaming of their next visit to the lake.

But his coworkers were starting to point out more often that there was more to life than his job. That he should go out and have fun every now and then. Cleveland was filled with things to do on a Sunday night. And it might be nice to have a story on Monday morning about how he spent the day off other than trying to finish up his laundry.

So he was going out. Nothing fancy. Certainly not as wild as the twenty-year-old new hire talked about regarding his weekends. Just head out drinking, maybe talk to a nice lady or a guy at the bar, and see what happened.

Dressed in a nice-but-not- too -nice shirt, his hair briefly combed, and freshly shaved while hoping that his drugstore aftershave wasn't too much, Don was ready for a night on the town. But as he reached for his keys on the kitchen counter, a loud crash made him jump and spin around. Arms flying up in a defensive gesture, heart racing, and the keys hitting the back door.

The backyard looked fairly innocent and normal when Don poked his head out cautiously. No slightly smoking car that had somehow skidded off the road through a few neighbours' yards before crashing through his white privacy fence. Neither the young ash tree near the house nor the larger elm at the far corner of the lot had fallen to the ground. His grill on the small porch hadn't even been knocked over by raccoons again. 

Everything seemed fine. Not even a single leaf was missing from the flowering shrubs under the windows. There was nothing to explain the noise.

Until he stepped out further and saw the disturbed dirt with a pair of legs sticking out.

Don cursed sharply, not even knowing exactly what he was cursing as he broke into a run. There was a dead skydiver crashed in his yard. That was the only thought screaming in his head. Someone fell out of a plane and the parachute didn't open and they were probably splattered like a watermelon and what if the mangled body was still alive and-

And that wasn't a dead skydiver. 

Don blinked hard, but it didn't change what he saw. Despite clearly falling from high enough to leave an actual crater in his yard, he wasn't a mangled mess of broken bones. He actually looked relatively intact. His chest was rising and falling with faint breaths. There could still be internal bleeding or a shattered spine, but the sprawled figure wasn't completely pulverised by the impact. Which seemed impossible. 

He was also very obviously not a skydiver. There was no colourful jumpsuit or failed parachute. He wasn't even wearing regular clothes instead. Don was staring down at what he could only describe as armour.

Not modern body armour like bulletproof vests. It looked far closer to something that he might see at a renaissance faire or in a fantasy movie with elf warriors. Golden and coppery metal on his forearms, shoulders, chest, and even some type of neck guard things that couldn't be comfortable. All of it in swooping and smooth shapes, though there were some patches of silvery rectangles near his shoulders. He could see green pleated fabric beneath the metal and there was a bit of gold on the chest that vaguely reminded Don of a necklace or an insignia. And what wasn't covered in metal, there was dark leather. The entire thing felt more ceremonial and decorative rather than practical. There was even what looked like a green cape crumpled under the sprawled figure.

Though something must have happened to the young man wearing it. There were faint scratches on the metal and leather like someone scraped him with sandpaper during the fall. But even that didn't change the fact it looked fancy, impressive, and completely out of place in the middle of the suburbs.

And despite having about a million thoughts and questions filling his head and demanding attention, Don couldn't help also noticing that the not-dead not-skydiver was surprisingly good-looking. Even mostly covered up by the strange armour, though the leather pants left very little to the imagination on certain features despite Don not actually looking, his face would be enough to charm an army of teenage girls and plenty of teen boys as well.  He was young with innocent features and messy black hair. Other than the slight scrapes to one temple and the opposite cheek, he looked almost too perfect. Like a fantasy from those lonely and heartbroken days after Lisa. Don knew that there were more important things to worry about, like how in the world the strange young man wasn't dead, but he wasn't completely oblivious to the attractiveness of the guy either.

Then the sprawled figure groaned quietly and began stirring.

"Where am I?" He asked, sounding rather dazed.

Not that Don could exactly blame him since he was sprawled in a shallow crater next to the shrubs in the backyard. The fact that the oddly-dressed young man was stirring at all was impressive. And while Don would never claim to be a fan of conspiracy theories, like that giant green monster, but he couldn't help thinking that the man not being dead was a sign that he wasn't human.

Well, that "Iron Man" rich guy in California could probably survive falling from the sky somehow. Or that man that Don vaguely remembered from history class that was in World War II and tougher than normal. But this was clearly not Tony Stark and that other guy probably died decades ago. 

"You're in my yard in Cleveland. Well, a suburb of Cleveland, but close enough that it is easy to visit everything in the city or head over for a day on the lake..." He trailed off briefly before trying again. "You're safe in my backyard. Kind of crashed, but don't worry. You're safe."

He looked at Don before rolling his eyes dismissively at the attempted reassurance. That didn't stop Don from noticing the dull emptiness of his expression past the automatic response. Like he was emotionally drained and numb, only going through the expected motions. Don didn't like it at all.

And then the dark-haired stranger started shifting in a way that was clearly an attempt to sit up, banishing any other concerns from Don's head. He immediately found himself kneeling in the crater with his hands on the young man's shoulders. Trying to pin him down without putting too much weight behind it in case he caused more harm than good.

"Don't move. Just stay still. I don't know badly you're hurt yet," he said firmly. "You could have a neck or back injury, so let's not risk making it worse. It's a miracle that the fall didn't kill you."

Or proof that the man wasn't human. It really was the most likely explanation. The impact crater and the guy being alive were fairly compelling evidence. So the question was if he was proof of someone recreating that super soldier formula from World War II, a realistic android built in a lab, or an alien from Mars. Regular humans would have gone splat.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Don muttered under his breath, "It should have killed you."

“Unfortunately," he said dully, sitting up despite Don's best attempt to keep him down and not even slightly hindered by his efforts, "it did not."

The tone sent a chill down Don's spine. It wasn't the sarcastic comment of a moody teenager dragged into the store by parents planning a family vacation on the lake. It was an honest and frightening declaration of disappointment over his own survival. Combined with the apathetic and almost broken expression, Don knew that the stranger needed more than just physical help.

But if Don was right about the potentially suicidal young man not being human, he couldn't call a therapist for the same reason that he couldn't call an ambulance. Science fiction movies were very clear what would happen. Serious men in black suits would show up to memory wipe Don with a flash of light and almost certainly dissect the stranger. Which would do nothing to help anyone.

The only one that could help the poor young man would be Don. No pressure or anything.

“All right," he said, trying to smile reassuringly and pretend he didn't hear anything previously. "I guess you didn't crack your spine. That's a good sign. The name's Don, by the way."

Don reached out a hand. But the young man didn't take it. He merely gave it a brief look before climbing shakily to his feet, wincing with the movement and trying to hide it. He started brushing some of the dirt from his strange clothes, the gesture almost seeming automatic, before he abruptly stopped and let his arms drop back down. Giving up and simply accepting his circumstances as they were.

"You're safe," said Don, reiterating what he'd told him before. "But if you insist on moving, let's at least get you inside. I think I still have a first aid kit under the sink."

One hand moved cautiously to the young man's back. He stiffened slightly at the contact, but didn't pull away. Not because he trusted Don not to hurt him. That much was obvious from the look in his downturned and dull eyes. He simply didn't care what Don might do to him.

Don tried not to think about that too strongly as he guided him away from the crater and towards the house.

Still worrying about potential broken bones and internal bleeding, Don kept a steadying hand on the young man as he carefully ushered him inside. And immediately wished that he was a better housekeeper. He wasn't terrible. Just the normal level of messiness for a lone bachelor in his forties. But he could have straightened up the stack of magazines on the coffee table, put away the folded laundry still sitting on the brown couch, or even got that one blanket back on the couch rather than partially on the floor. 

He wouldn't delude himself into thinking he would have dusted the collection of knickknacks on the bookcase though.

The woman who originally sold him the place spent a while bragging about how popular open floor plans were and how they increased a property's value. The kitchen and dining area flowed directly into the living room with only the transition from white tile to hardwood floors marking the separate purposes. Grey stone countertops on top of pale wooden cabinets that matched the round table by the window, chrome appliances, and the island in the middle would have looked boring without the orange-and-brown tile backsplash.

The stone fireplace in the living room half of the space was the other main feature that had been pushed by her. And Don could admit that it was nice during the winter. The rest of that part of the room was filled with pale wooden furniture, the comfortable brown couch, a burnt-orange rug, and the television that was nearly as important and prominent as the fireplace. And despite the slight mess, Don could honestly brag that...

All right, he was no interior decorator. He was lucky that he hung the pictures on the tan walls straight. But he did put the kitchen table and chairs close to the door to the backyard. Which was the important part as he eased his unexpected guest into one.

“What do you say we try to get your wounds cleaned up?”

The man didn't say anything. He didn't even look at Don. 

“Can you… can you tell me your name? Or something I can call you?”

He still didn't get an answer. The strange man didn't say a word, just sat there on the kitchen chair, staring despondently at the ground. 

“I don't even know how you're alive,” Don muttered, “you didn't have a parachute, you fell from a crazy distance, based on the crater in my backyard, and I don't know why you survived, but I would like to make sure you're doing okay. Can you please say something to me?”

“Loki.”

Don took a moment. “Loki. Is that your name?”

The brunet nodded. 

“Okay, that's good,” he said, “thank you for telling me, Loki. Do you have any injuries I can't see that I should know about? Does anything hurt?”

Loki didn't move, didn't nod or shake his head. Don stifled a sigh. 

This wasn't good. He didn't know why this young man wouldn't speak to him, why he was so unresponsive, but it couldn’t be good. 

He didn't know what had prompted the comment from earlier, either. Why Loki would think it was unfortunate that he wasn't dead. 

“Are you… from Earth?” Don tried. Loki didn't answer, not immediately, but he looked up sharply at Don, and Don realised this was the first time he had mentioned what planet they were on. 

His eyes were a pale, clear jade green. “This is Midgard,” he said slowly, glancing around the room he was sitting in. 

“Midgard?” Don repeated. 

“Midgard. Earth.”

“So then you're not from Earth.”

“No.”

Don took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. This was not how he expected to find out that humans were not alone in the universe. Truth be told, he had never really counted on finding that out at all. 

Humans weren't alone in the universe. 

He couldn't focus on it, but he would need to come back to that fact. 

“So where are you from?”

A shadow flickered on Loki's face, like Don had struck a nerve. He didn't answer. 

“I'm gonna go get that first aid kit,” Don decided, “see if we can't get those cuts cleaned up. I still can't believe you didn't die in the fall.”

Loki muttered something that might have been “why don't you finish the job?” The words frightened Don more than he wanted to admit. 

Just how badly did this young alien want to die?

It was hard to think about. He made himself walk away, even though he didn't feel like he should. 

It wasn't a fancy first aid kit. Honestly, it was one of the cheap ones that he only bought because his father lived by the rule of being prepared and would probably haunt him otherwise. Burn cream, an ice pack that became instantly cold if you snapped the hard centre, some packs of expired single-dose pills for fever and pain, tiny scissors, cheap forceps that would likely break the third time someone used them, antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, a few gauze pads, medical tape, and a half-empty box of bandages. All in a dusty plastic box. Along with a damp dish towel, Don retrieved the box and returned to the table.

Deciding the face was as good of a place to start as any, he carefully brought the dish towel to Loki's cheek. He gently brushed it across the pale skin, slowly and with small movements. Wiping away the dirt and grime as he worked his way back towards the hairline. It would be easier to spot smaller scrapes and bruises when he was clean. And Don could save the antiseptic wipes for around the actual injuries. 

"If you have a name for here, Earth or Midgard ," said Don after a few minutes of working in silence, "does that mean that you... your people... Have they been here before?"

"Not often in recent times," he admitted quietly after some hesitation. "We were... They were worshipped by your people in the northern parts of your realm. Especially when Father- when Odin saved them from the Frost Giants."

And that raised far too many questions. But Don had a feeling that he wouldn't be getting that many more answers. Loki's expression had somehow managed to shut down even further than before, his eyes growing distant and empty as he spoke. The last words were barely whispered. Don would have to make do with what he had.

Moving to carefully wiping each hand and the cool fingers, he considered what he knew. The aliens had visited Earth in the past. They fought something called Frost Giants. Loki's current broken and suicidally depressed state seemed connected with home. Or potentially his family considering how he corrected himself. 

And the name Odin vaguely felt familiar. Like he had heard it before a long time ago. A vague memory from college, a passing reference that he barely paid attention to at the time, reasserted itself. 

"Are you talking about Vikings? You guys visited Vikings?"

Loki didn't answer. He just remained silent and withdrawn as Don finished cleaning him up a little.  None of the injuries seemed too bad. Certainly nothing that might require a hospital to stitch him up. But a little antibiotic ointment wouldn't hurt.

Muttering a quiet apology about it possibly stinging, Don quickly swiped the antiseptic wipes across the worst of the scrapes. Loki didn't even react. Nor did he do anything as Don applied a thin layer of ointment. He honestly thought Loki might have completely shut down. Which was why it came as a surprise to hear the soft and utterly wretched voice again.

"They hate me..."

Setting everything down, Don asked gently, "Who?"

"My family. I ruined everything . "

"I'm sure it's not that bad. Mistakes happen."

Eyes meeting his, Loki said, "I lied to my brother about our father and then tried to kill him when things went wrong. I led a monster to my father while he slept so I could slay the would-be assassin to save his life and prove my worth to him. And I..."

He trailed off and looked away. Don was grateful because he needed a moment. That was a lot to sort through. 

Taking a deep breath, he asked, "But they are alive now, right?" When Loki gave the smallest and most reluctant nod, Don continued, "Then nothing is completely ruined. You can still fix things and apologise.  Families are messy and complicated, but tend to be forgiving when you really mean it."

"We aren't even family," he said, voice wavering. "It was a lie. All of it. Everything. He merely found me. I'm not even-"

"Is adoption not a thing on your planet?" interrupted Don. "Look, family is more than bloodlines. It sounds like they didn't tell you about the adoption, which is not the greatest move, but think about it this way. Your family chose you. They didn't have to, but they did. I might not know all the details about what happened before you landed in my backyard, but you clearly love them enough to worry about ruining your relationship with them. If they love you even half as much, then there's hope.”

Loki gave him an indecipherable look. But he seemed to be listening. 

After a moment, Don added, "But word of advice? Apologies are definitely a good idea, apparently from both sides. But also try to avoid trying to kill them again. You don't want to do that anymore, right?"

Because, yes, the murder attempts were a little concerning. Or staged rescue attempts that involved first arranging outside sources attempting murder.

"No," he said firmly.

Smiling encouragingly, Don said, "Things are rarely as grim as they seem at first glance. Mom always suggested a warm meal and a good night's sleep before giving up, letting you look at the situation with fresh eyes. Almost everything always seems better in the morning."

Loki didn't say anything. And the rest of the minor first aid treatment followed in silence. With everything cleaned up, the scrapes didn't look nearly as bad. He could only hope that his words were also making a difference. 

Except now Don didn't know what to do next. He didn't exactly have a plan. Only going with the most immediate and obvious course of action. He cast his eyes around and landed on an old menu stuck to the fridge with a magnet.

Pizza. Don wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. He had essentially discovered that humans were definitely not alone in the universe, that aliens were real and were previously worshiped as gods in the past and could have family dramas that were practically soap operas combined with Shakespeare and could also clearly end up suicidal... And he decided the best way to handle first contact was by ordering a pizza .

But they could both use some food. And pizza could be delivered, was fast and filling, and it could be eaten without knives or forks. Since Don couldn't be certain that Loki wouldn't stab himself or even Don in the throat, avoiding potential weapons at the dinner table seemed reasonable. So yes, he picked up the phone and started dialling his favourite pizza delivery number.

Only partway through the greeting did he realise that he forgot to ask Loki what toppings that he wanted. And then remembered immediately after that realisation that an alien-god had probably never eaten pizza before and wouldn't have a preference yet. Don simply decided to go basic, ordering half-cheese-and-half-pepperoni. Hopefully Loki would find something that he could eat.

Unless his species was lactose intolerant or something. Don immediately shoved that thought away. He had enough to worry about already without making it worse.

After being promised a delivery in thirty minutes or less, he turned his attention towards getting a drink for the dull-eyed Loki. Water was hopefully universal enough to be safe, but it didn't feel right to offer something straight from the tap. It felt lazy or like he didn't want to put in the effort. There was beer, but he had no idea what effect alcohol would have on the situation. Drunk and suicidal felt like a bad combination. Don refused to risk it. And that left the pitcher of lemonade in the fridge.

Don grabbed a couple of plastic collectable cups that he'd picked up from the movie theatre several years ago; he skipped his normal glasses in case someone decided to smash them and use the shards to slice open their wrists. Loki was staring numbly at the table and didn't notice what Don was doing until the cup was pressed into his hand.

"Dinner will be here soon," he said. "Until then, I thought you might like some lemonade. It's not fancy. It's from a powder mix instead of fresh squeezed, but..."

He shrugged awkwardly. He was absolutely not prepared for company. Maybe it was best that he didn't go out. If he had somehow met someone at the bar and brought them home, there wouldn't have been much to offer them either.

 Tilting the cup back and forth a little, eyeing the yellow lemonade suspiciously, Loki carefully took a sip. His eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting the sour flavour. But he kept drinking slowly. Don would take it as a victory.

And while certainly not gone, at least one of the minor scrapes that Don had cleaned already looked a little better.

After all that trouble dragging out some answers previously, Don was now left with the quiet and withdrawn version of Loki again. Distant gaze from dull eyes and a hopeless silence that hung heavy around them. Sinking into a dark inner abyss that threatened to swallow him. And Don didn't know if he was qualified to pull him out.

Which was probably why they both jumped a little when the doorbell abruptly rang.

"It's fine," said Don, even before he figured out what the noise meant because it was far too normal for everything that was happening that evening. "Don't worry. Someone is at the door. Pizza . Right, the pizza. That's it. Hold on just a second.”

He scrambled for his wallet as he hurried over to answer it. The pimply teenager holding the cardboard box received an absolutely-inappropriately impressive tip in Don's rush to grab the pizza and get rid of any potential witnesses. He barely managed to get his hand out of the way before Don yelled thanks for the paper plates and napkins that the teenager also provided and slammed the door.

A quick mental debate and Don picked out a slice of cheese pizza for each of them. They could experiment further with pepperoni after making certain that Loki didn't immediately gag on the most basic version. He slipped the paper plate and a small stack of napkins in front of his guest before reclaiming his chair, his own dinner on a similarly flimsy plate.

The confused, suspicious, and almost unnerved look that Loki gave his slice of pizza almost made him chuckle. It was certainly better than apathy. The distrustful expression as he eyed the food made it obvious that Loki was contemplating if it was actually edible or if Don was trying to poison him. And if he was willing to die from that potential poison, he would have to first figure out how to eat it correctly.

"Pizza is the classic dinner option when you don't have time or energy to cook and you don't feel like dressing up enough to go to a restaurant. Like when you get unexpected company showing up at the last minute. Or if you've spent all day carrying furniture because you or your friend are moving to a different state halfway across the country," said Don. "Hot, filling, delicious, and with minimum clean up required." He picked up his slice and took a bite to demonstrate. "No utensils required. In fact, if you try using a knife and fork to eat pizza, I'm pretty sure some people would try having you drawn and quartered for the crime against proper pizza etiquette."

Quiet and almost ruefully, Loki chuckled and said, "Then I shall endeavour not to add further crimes to those that I have already committed."

Loki reached for his cheese pizza and delicately picked it off his plate. As if uncertain that Don wasn't tricking him into holding the greasy food with his fingers. Somehow he maintained his dignity and even managed to take a cautious bite.

"I also ordered some pepperoni if you would like to try a different type," he continued, watching Loki's reactions carefully. "That's the thing about pizza. You can get a variety of toppings. Meats, vegetables... Some people even put pineapple on it, but I draw the line there. Pizza is not supposed to be sweet. But yeah, pizza can look and taste like a lot of different things, but it is still pizza. You just have to find the combination that works for you."

The longer that they ate, the more that Don wondered if he should have tried something different like Chinese food. Finger foods and Loki didn't seem to fit together. The pizza seemed to clash with the almost courtly manners on display. But Loki continued to take slow and contemplative bites, which was a hopeful sign. Perhaps hunger outweighed his suspicions on the quality of the meal. Or maybe pizza was a universal food that even alien-gods enjoyed.

But certainly not the grease on his fingers judging by how he practically scrubbed with the napkins as he finished his slice.

"If you want more pizza or lemonade," said Don, "there's more than enough."

"Whatever amount of hospitality that you feel obligated to extend, I promise that you have more than demonstrated it. You do not need to keep going."

"Hey, anything we don't eat this evening will be a snack later this week. Might as well enjoy it while it's still fresh. But honestly, if you're still hungry or thirsty, please say something. I promise that I won't mind if you need more than the bare minimum. I was going to get a slice of pepperoni myself in a minute or two."

Hesitating for a moment, Loki said, "Then perhaps I will try the other variety as well."

Don smiled and said, "Second slice of pizza, coming right up.”

Loki was more enthusiastic on the second slice. He seemed a bit surprised, at first, by the spices in the pepperoni, but it was without complaint. 

He seemed to stop himself after the second, despite the way he cleaned the paper plate so thoroughly and made it clear he would have eaten more, if he had any, so Dom brought him another piece of each when he went back into the kitchen. 

His sulky demeanour didn't really seem to improve, but he attacked the food enthusiastically enough. The two other slices had soon disappeared. 

It was while Loki was eating the second slice that Don finally voiced the subject that couldn't not be in his mind, now that he knew it was true. 

“So we're really not alone in the universe,” he breathed. 

He thought Loki might have snorted. “Not even close.”

“You make it sound like there's more than just you and us.”

“There is,” Loki said, “outside of Earth and my home, there are seven other major realms, which does not even consider those which are not under Asgard’s dominion. There are probably thousands of different species within the universe. I was not aware that Midgardians had forgotten so much as to believe they were alone.”

“I can't believe we used to know.”

“Odin said we were once known as gods to Midgard. Your realm was subjugated to protect you. As a dominion of Asgard, no other realms would dare invade Midgard.”

“Was that a big problem?”

“So I'm told.”

Believing him, that some gods were real and were technically aliens, was insane, but Don didn't see any other option. “So then you're a Viking god.”

“I'm too young to have been of any importance.”

Don hadn't even thought about age . Loki seemed like a man in his early twenties, at the most, but yet he spoke of gods that had been part of myths when the Vikings were still around, hundreds of years ago, as his family. “How old are you?”

Loki needed a second to think about it, and that was Don’s first clue it was going to be an outrageous number. “I am 1046 years old,” he said eventually, “truthfully, we never celebrated the less important years, so it can be difficult to remember. The last time the year of my birth was overly important was when I came of age, forty-six years ago.”

Don had hundreds, maybe thousands, of other questions, but he remembered himself when he saw Loki stifle a yawn. 

His guest was wounded and probably exhausted. He needed to be a good host. 

“I have a spare bedroom,” he offered, “you can sleep there, if you follow me.”

The man led Loki down the short hallway from the kitchen, next to the washroom  It wasn't a particularly large or grand space. Pale grey walls with white trim and a window that looked out towards a young tree. There was a picture on the wall of trees next to a lake hanging next to the closet and sage green curtains pulled away from the window, but the walls were mostly bare. 

There were only a few pieces of furniture, all constructed of the same honey-pale wood that Don favoured. There was a short bookshelf with a lamp sitting on top, almost serving the same purpose as a small table. The bottom shelf  was filled by a set of encyclopaedias covered in a fine layer of dust, but the other one above it held an eclectic mixture of books: worn novels, thin papery books claiming to contain brain teasers, instructive tomes "For Dummies," and a thick copy of something called "Sons of Yoman" that had never been touched. Next to the bookshelf was a large wooden seat with green padding.

Leaning down, Don moved the cushions off the couch and unfolded the hideabed from within it, stretching it out until it laid flat with its two legs on the ground. 

"There should be sheets, blankets, and pillows in the closet," said Don, moving to fetch them. "I know it isn't much, but you're welcome to use it for as long as you want it. I'm going to try to find you some clothes that you can sleep in. You are a bit taller than me though, so I'm not sure how well they'll fit. They should be more comfortable than what you're wearing, though. I might not be home when you wake up, I have to work in the morning, but you're welcome to make yourself some food and find yourself something to do.”

And if he spent his whole day at work, praying his god alien didn't get abducted and brought to Area 51, and the CIA didn't show up to arrest him for aiding and abetting an alien, that was his business. 

At least, he thought it was the CIA that would show up. He was fairly sure there was a TV show with that premise.

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will ease your mind

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will ease your m ind

- Bridge Over Troubled Water, Simon & Garfunkel, BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER (1970)

Chapter Text

Softly tread the sand below your feet now

Two worlds, one family

Trust your heart

Let fate decide

To guide these lives we see

It took Don right up until he said it out loud to his reflection in the mirror to realise he couldn't tell anyone at work about his exciting night. 

He had planned out, already, how he could explain that he had not gone out for drinks, and he would tolerate a few seconds of the jibes and teasing from his disappointed coworkers, before getting into the reason why. How he had heard a terrible crash out in his backyard, and had run outside, expecting to see the chaos of a car accident or something else mundane, and had instead seen a crater with a pair of legs sticking out of it. 

Now with their full attention, he would tell them how he had approached the scene of the crash, expecting to see a very, very dead parachuter whose parachute had failed to activate, and instead finding a strangely-dressed young man who had barely even seemed hurt. He would go through some of his conversation with Loki, never truly explaining how the young man was unhurt, leaving them in suspense and regretting their earlier teasing about how he never did anything exciting. With his co-workers on the edges of their seats, he would give the grand finale: 

“I have an alien in my guest bedroom.”

And that was what made him realise he couldn’t do any of that.

He couldn't tell his friends at Piranha Powersports that he had proof that aliens were real. He certainly couldn't tell them that one was sleeping in his guest room. 

Assuming they didn't write him off as senile twenty years too soon, assume he had lost his marbles and start treating him with the same kid-gloves people used for their aging grandparents - which would be bad enough - things would be worse if they believed him.

Don knew the stories about Area 51, the secrets that might be kept out in the desert of Nevada, what might be locked in the archives in Langley. 

But the government wasn't the only dark force at play. Don had heard stories, stories he had assumed were rumours, whispered by conspiracy theorists and government-decentists. He would never have sought out those rumours himself, but he worked with a young man who bought into them hard. He insisted that shadowy organisation was the reason there was no proof to his belief that a brilliant scientist had turned himself into a crazy green monster, a group of people so secretive that the United States government barely knew about them who came along and covered it all up. The sorts of people who dealt with the ‘Iron Man' and that captain from history class, in dark sunglasses with mind-erasing gadgets like in Men in Black. 

Don had never put any stock in the rumours of crazy cover-ups, but that was before he had an alien in his house. 

Now, he couldn't be so certain it had never happened, and he couldn't be so sure that the strange organisation wouldn't come and wipe his mind for knowing about Loki, and haul Loki off to some shady warehouse. 

Or worse, not have mind-erasing technology, and haul them both off to a shady warehouse. 

So he couldn't tell a soul about Loki. That much was clear.

Loki was another, very concerning, matter on his own. Don had poked his head in the door when he woke up, planning to remind Loki that he was welcome to some food for breakfast and he would be home in the evening, and finding that the alien didn't appear to have moved at all since last night. 

He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded on his lap, staring off into space, completely zoned out. Don didn't know if he should interrupt. 

He wound up deciding to do so, to explain that there was food in the pantry and fridge, but Loki didn't even look over at him. 

Don didn't know what to do. Part of him wondered if he should stay home, if maybe this was a sign that Loki really was injured and just didn't look it. Another part of him worried that this was more to do with whatever had made Loki say it was a shame he wasn't dead, and possibly mutter that Don should finish the job and kill him. 

In the end, he decided to go to work. If, god forbid, Loki was severely injured, there was nothing Don could do. He couldn't bring an alien to a hospital. If he got home and there was a dead guy in his guest room, that would be bad, be a massive nightmare, but he would have done everything he could. 

If it was the latter, maybe some space would do him good. Either way, it was too late to call out of work, now. 

It was a slow day for jetski sales. They had a few customers in, but Don spent most of the day behind his desk, finishing up his end of the paperwork for some sales he had made already that week. 

When that was done, he pulled up a search engine. 

He had never graduated from Cleveland State, he had lost the desire to be there after other parts of his life failed to work out. He only vaguely remembered the Viking mascot, based on some sort of a comic strip. He hadn't recognised Loki's name, but he had recognised Odin, so that was the name he typed into the search bar. 

Odin's Wikipedia page called him the king of the Norse gods. It said he had two sons, Thor and Baldur. Loki hadn't mentioned either of them, but he had mentioned Odin, so he scoured the page, trying to find a reference to his alien guest somewhere. 

There was, in the end, only one. “Odin has a particular relation to Loki.”

And that was all there was to be found about Loki. The names Thor and Baldur each led to their own page, not packed with information, but at least listing some notable deeds. There was no such page for Loki.

So the internet was no use. He closed his browser and got back to work. 

“Don! Did you do anything fun this weekend?” Ryan asked, walking up to his desk. 

“Are we teasing Don already? Not even letting him get through Monday?”

“Depends on his answer!”

His answer, really, was more exciting then they could imagine, but he couldn't tell them about it. “I just stayed in, watched a movie. Honestly, I don't know why you guys try so hard. I'm very comfortable with my lifestyle.”

“And how are you ever going to meet the nice lady who will change your mind if you don't ever go out?”

“Or gentleman! This is a proudly inclusive workplace!” Don's supervisor reminded them as he walked by. “Maybe Don hasn't met the right nice lady because it's not a lady he needs to meet.”

“I'm glad my dating life is such a fun topic for everyone here,” Don said, “I will meet the right person when I am ready. For now, I want to enjoy my quiet life.”

His quiet life now included keeping a secret from everyone. That would take some adjusting.

“Alright, alright. What movie did you watch? Was it any good?”

Don blanked for a moment, then remembered he had never said it was a new movie. “ You already know my favorite movie. You can't go wrong with Andre the Giant, Mandi Patinkin, Cary Elwes and Robin Wright.”

“Really? You blew off going out to watch the Princess Bride again?”

“Why mess with perfection?”

His co-workers booed, But a customer came in before they could press him any harder. Don had never been so grateful to have a chance to not sell a jetski in his life.

He decided as he left work that he would take his new guest out to get some essentials after dinner. For tonight, dinner could be left over pizza and whatever other leftovers Don could scrounge out of this fridge, and they could go to the diner he liked while they were out and get a slice of key lime pie.

He threw those plans out the window when he got home and realized that nothing had changed.

Loki was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Don didn't know much about mental health, but he knew that wasn't good.

This time, he decided he needed to do something about it. He went into the kitchen, made two cups of cocoa, and walked back over to the guest room, knocking on the door frame. Loki didn't answer him, so after about five seconds, he stepped into the room. 

“Did you sit like that all night?”

“I'm not tired.”

His eyes were red-rimmed, he seemed like he'd been crying. 

“Fair enough.” For all Don knew, aliens might sleep less than humans. He couldn't prove this one needed to sleep. “You're not exiled to this room,” he said, “you're allowed to look around, find something to do. I have no idea what alien civilization looks like, this might be pretty pathetic compared to what you're used to, but it's temporary, isn't it? Your people will be looking for you, you'll get to go home soon.”

“I can't go home.”

“I promise, whatever you did, time heals all wounds. When they find you, they won't be thinking about whatever you did, only how much they miss you.”

“You don't understand,” Loki said, “there's only one way back to Asgard from Midgard, and it's gone. It was destroyed. I can't go home, not that I even have one.”

“So you've been sitting here all day, contemplating the fact that you're homesick already, but you can't get home regardless. and you did that all night, too, and now you're exhausted and still doing it.”

“Midgardians are more clever than my fath - Odin - ever gave them credit for.”

“Is Odin your father? You used the name and you mentioned your father yesterday, but I did some research while I was at work. Odin doesn't have a son called Loki.”

“No,” Loki said bitterly, “I imagine the myths wouldn't say he has a son by my name. It was all a lie, anyways.”

“So Odin is your adoptive father,” Don surmised, “and I'll ignore the fact he thinks humans are stupid. That's very interesting, the Wikipedia page mentioned several children, but the only ones it actually named were Thor and Baldur.”

Loki winced.

“One of those names means something to you, I assume?”

Loki sighed. “Thor. He's Odin's oldest. His only son, that I know of.”

“And you. So he's your older brother. And Baldur?” 

“I've never heard of - wait, he might be the guard Odin asked to look after Thor and I, when he brought us to Midgard as children. We were young, I only remember the excursion in stories. Apparently, I had a number of knives on me during that visit, and I made that into Baldur's problem. But he's certainly not Odin's son.”

“Why were you young enough not to remember this story yourself and still equipped with a knife?” 

“I didn't like the toys I was given? I don't know, why do I still have knives on me?”

To demonstrate, Loki twitched one of his hands, and there was suddenly a silvery dagger in his grip. 

“I guess that answers my question of if I should lock the knives away somewhere,” Don said, “I was a little worried you might hurt yourself if I left them lying about, but it turns out you don't need any extra knives to pull that off.”

“I wouldn't choose a method that would leave such a mess,” Loki said dismissively. “There are rules a guest must follow.”

Don was quiet after that statement. “That's the only reason?”

“I didn't take you for someone who would have mistaken how and why I got here. Not after I called you clever.”

“I had hoped I was wrong. Just like I'd hoped I was wrong when I thought I heard you tell me to finish the job and kill you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Don sighed. “Because you disappointed your parents? What son hasn't? I moved all the way from Texas to Cleveland, mine thought I was crazy. You don't know what that means, do you?” 

Loki shook his head. “Anyways, everyone has disappointed their parents before.”

“Not everyone has tried to kill their brother. Invited an assassin to murder their father in his sleep for the express purpose of stopping it to be the hero. Not everyone is a monster.” 

“You like that word,” Don said, “ monster. You keep calling yourself a monster. Do you want to tell me why?” 

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

“I'm not Asgardian,” Loki said quietly, “I wasn't born on Asgard, I was born on Jotunheim.”

Loki tensed, as though he was waiting for a bad reaction. 

“You know that doesn't mean anything to me, right?” 

He was a little surprised that Loki was still talking, he had said he didn't want to, but Don wasn't going to comment on it. 

“Jotunheim is the reason Midgard was made subjugate to Asgard. The last war Asgard fought with Jotunheim was around one thousand years ago, after the Jotun invaded Midgard and turned most of the realm to snow and ice, like their own.”

“Earth has never been mostly ice, to my knowledge,” Don said, “the worst ice age I know about covered around a third of the planet, and it had entirely natural causes. This sounds highly exaggerated.”

Loki squirmed. 

“I'm pushing at this too hard, aren't I. You're allowed to tell me to stop, Loki. Point is, I'm not one hundred percent sold on this monster thing. Maybe I'm right, maybe you are. We can drop it for now. For now, how about we get you some dinner and if you're still not tired, we can watch a movie.”

“Movie?”

“Film? Moving picture?”

Loki shrugged. 

“What do you have for entertainment on Asgard, anyways?”

“Sparring, visiting the library, sex and feasts. Occasionally the theatre troupe has something to put on. Apart from that, very little. I'm rather fond of tricks.”

“Theatre troupe. I can work with that. A movie is like a recorded version of a play. Sort of. Only I was going to suggest an animated movie, so those aren't real people, they're pictures. Technically, I told my coworkers that I watched The Princess Bride again on my day off, rather than ‘I rescued an alien from a crater in my backyard,’ but I'm feeling Tarzan .”

“You chose this to try and teach me a lesson of some sort,” Loki said, near the end of the film, as guns were firing and Kerchak was dying. “I'm familiar with the art of using hidden methods to make a point. Queen Frigga was fond of such strategies.”

Don shrugged. “What lesson am I trying to teach you, then?” 

“That you don't drop subjects when you say you’re going to.” 

Don didn't reply. 

“Why don't you just spit it out?” 

“Alright, monster lesson can wait. The point is, you don't need to stop calling your family Mom and Dad because you're adopted. The queen is your mother, isn't she?” 

“Queen Frigga raised me, yes.”

“And do you want to stop calling her ‘Mom?’”

“I never called the queen ‘Mom,’” Loki said, “‘Mother,’ yes, but never ‘Mom.’”

Don snorted, “now you're being intentionally difficult,” he said, “‘Mom’ or ‘Mother,’ you got my point… do you miss her?”

Loki sighed. “Of course I miss her,” he said, “but it doesn't matter. I can't go home. I will never see her again. The Bifrost is gone and they cannot fix it. There is no longer a way back to Asgard.”

“Well, that doesn't mean you have to cut ties with her, Loki. You're still her son. She loves you.”

“And my father and brother?”

Don pointed back towards the television. “Maybe if you watch, you'll get my lesson after all.”

“Is the lesson that he doesn't have a hand on that vine he's swinging from?”

No words describe a mother's tears

No words can heal a broken heart

A dream is gone, but where there's hope

• Two Worlds, Phil Collins, TARZAN (1999)

Chapter Text

In any other world

You could tell the difference

And let it all unfurl

Into broken remnants

Smile like you mean it

And let yourself let go

Don usually ran errands on Sunday. As his only day off, it was one of the only days that worked for him to stock up on groceries and other household necessities. 

He had a habit. He would hit up a grocery store first thing in the morning, be done shopping by lunch, and take himself out for a little treat as a reward for his hard work throughout the week. 

That didn't work for the new houseguest that appeared after his weekly shop. Getting supplies for the alien in his guest room couldn't wait. He needed a toothbrush, at least a couple pairs of pants that fit him properly, and probably needed some hair supplies. Don had short blonde hair that if his father had been any indication, would go grey sooner than later. In fact, some of it was starting to grow in that colour already. Hair care for him was an all-in-one shampoo and a visit to a barbershop once every three months to keep him from looking overly shaggy.

He had a feeling that Loki would expect a little bit more than that. If Don had long hair, he would probably expect the same. 

Loki was still reclusive, quiet and withdrawn. It did encourage Don a bit to hear him call Frigga “Mother,” although the switch back for Odin was conspicuously absent. 

Perhaps there was too much history there for it to be so easy. Don didn't know the full story. 

So far, his knowledge on his guest was still limited. He knew Loki was Asgardian, or rather, looked Asgardian. He knew that his adoptive mother and father were the king and queen of Asgard, which made Loki a prince. That, in turn, explained Loki's courtly manners. 

He knew Loki had an older brother, Thor. Don had always wished he had siblings, had always thought that if he did find the right person to settle down with, he would like to have two kids, so they always had someone to play with, but Loki spoke about Thor like he was walking through a minefield. 

Loki was intelligent. That, Don had figured out without being told. Loki was clever, he occasionally had a glint in his eyes that suggested he knew more than he was saying, or had gleaned something unspoken from a conversation. Don imagined that some people would find that frustrating. 

He didn't. He, instead, was simply curious to know what Loki was learning. 

He knew that he didn't really have anywhere else to go, but he hoped that it meant something that Loki was willing to stay. It had only been two days, but he was hoping to earn the alien’s trust, to make sure he would feel safe on Earth. At the very least, whether he could tell anyone his guest was there, having an alien as a houseguest certainly made things more interesting. 

So he decided that despite it being Tuesday, he would take Loki out to get some essentials after work tomorrow. 

Just so long as his houseguest actually got some sleep.

Unlike his brother, Loki was not a fool. He could recognize both messages in the evening’s entertainment. The one about how adoption, even outside one’s own species, was still bonds of family, was the easier one to notice. The secondary one was a little subtler, but not overly much.

Clayton spoke of and treated the gorilla as violent and mindless beasts, his sketch of them portraying them as deadly, sharp-fanged, and barely resembling the actual creatures. Kerchak saw humans as a threat that must be avoided at all costs, dangerous to his family and impossible to trust. Both viewing the other species as monsters when it was only singular individuals who were threats rather than all of them. Both sides turning strangers and the unknown into enemies who weren’t nearly as extreme as believed beyond singular examples.

But the colorful and bright performance was a work of fiction. Reality was not as simple. And he was not yet ready to consider that secondary message.

Loki shuffled back towards the small spare room for the night. He was exhausted, everything weighing him down. At least most of the pain was gone. His body had ached deeply from the uncontrolled and directionless fall through the collapsing Bifrost when he allowed himself to collapse on the strange new bed the night before. But the weariness and aching hadn’t been enough to occupy him. All that had mattered was the events of the last few days repeating in a loop in his head. It all seemed to come crashing down the moment he had a chance to think.

The interrupted coronation where he just wanted to prove that Thor wasn't ready, wasn't as perfect as everyone seemed to believe, wasn't so much better than Loki. The trip to Jotunheim, which shattered his entire life and left him picking through the shards as it fell apart. The Odinsleep, being appointed regent, and the increasingly desperate attempt to maintain control and prove his worth as it all quickly spiraled. Plan after plan, adapted and adjusted as events shifted rapidly. Leaving him so far from who he thought that he was supposed to be that he couldn't find his way back.

Loki hadn't originally intended to try killing Thor. The lie should have been enough, even if it was cruel, but the others wanted Thor back and no one was listening and he had to do something. He just needed to keep his brother out of the way until he had a chance to prove himself. To prove that he was Asgardian, that he was truly part of the family, that he had no loyalty to monsters, that he wasn't like them...

Except it turned out that he was. As horrible as the ruthless and cruel Frost Giants from the stories. Sending the Destroyer after his brother. Leading enemies of Asgard straight into his home and to their king while he was vulnerable. Trying to destroy an entire realm. Even the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge could be considered indirectly his fault.

Loki could claim that he did it for his father and all of Asgard, but they were the actions of an enemy. A villain. A monster. No wonder his father rejected his excuses and his decisions at the end.

No wonder he rejected Loki.

He stared down at his hands as they rested on his lap. Pale flesh with familiar calluses from centuries of wielding knives. Ordinary and innocent. No different than any other Asgardian or even a Midgardian in appearance. And yet he couldn't help seeing the unnatural blue replacing it in his mind as he stared. As awful as it was when a single touch dragged the truth past the lifelong masquerade.

The terrible irony of it. The God of Lies learning that everything was a lie. His origins. His species. His family.

Loki pressed his eyes shut. His family. Even if the Bifrost hadn't shattered, ensuring that his home would be forever out of reach, his family would not want anything to do with him. Not after his crimes. Not when he wasn't blood. Not when he'd proven himself to be a monster.

Everyone knew how monstrous, vicious, dangerous, and untrustworthy Frost Giants were. From childhood stories to epic tales of the last war with them, their reputation was inescapable. There was only one proper way to deal with the Jotunn. He knew what they deserved. The only good Frost Giant was a dead one.

Loki expected the collapsing Bifrost to grant him at least that mercy. The power to shatter a realm, unleashed and falling apart. It should have been enough to destroy him or at least leave him stranded in the cold emptiness of void between until he perished. But despite the rough experience, letting go wasn't enough.

The monster still lived.

"Loki?"

He reluctantly glanced back to see Don at the end of the short hallway, his face concerned. He seemed to study Loki a moment before continuing.

“Try to get some sleep tonight. I really think that it will help. And we’ll work on getting you some supplies and such hopefully tomorrow after I get back from work.”

The clothes. The bedchamber. The strange food and drink that were surprisingly delicious and filling. The evening’s entertainment and the promise of new supplies. Even bringing Loki into his home in the first place, cleaning and caring for his injuries as best that he could. No hesitation or reservations. Don did everything possible to help him.

Not because Loki was a prince. Not because humans once worshipped them; Don barely seemed to know of him, Odin, Frigga, Thor, or any Asgardian. Not because he felt obligated or duty bound to do these things. And not because he seemed to expect any form of reward in return. Maybe Loki was missing an angle that would benefit the man, but mostly Don appeared to be doing everything solely out of the kindness of his heart. Helping merely because Loki was in need.

“Thank you," he said quietly. Just because he would never see his mother again did not mean that he should disappoint her by forgetting his manners. "You have been quite generous."

Hands gravitating toward his hips, Don said, "I'm just doing what anyone who was halfway decent would do."

Loki gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, not fully agreeing with his assessment. There were plenty who would not do such a thing for a stranger. Especially if they knew. A halfway decent person would react in horror if they realized that they were hosting a Frost Giant. They would not offer food and shelter to such a monster.

He looked over the clothing that he was still wearing, the ones that Don gave him to serve as sleepwear and that he’d worn all day. Not leather. Lighter than wool, but not as light as silk. But certainly a soft enough material to provide a comfortable rest. The waist of the gray pants had an interesting amount of elasticity and a drawstring to further tighten them, ensuring they would not fall. The shirt sleeves ended about halfway down the biceps and left the rest of the arms bare. The black material had blue and yellow writing across the chest that read "Piranha Powersports."

Neither garment was something that he would have chosen for himself. But he was in no state to bother complaining about how the kind gesture was not to his preference. Loki was alone and with few options. He was essentially relying on the generosity of a stranger.

Maybe he could potentially use his secret paths to travel the realms, though there was no guarantee that the destruction of the Bifrost wouldn't affect them. But even if he could, Loki's own actions ensured that his home and family would not welcome him back. He was banished in all but name.

And yes, Don was feeding and sheltering him for now. But it was one thing to help an unfortunate soul or even a disgraced prince. It was quite another to welcome a monster under his roof. It wouldn't last. Loki might have told him what he was, but he didn’t seem to understand yet. How long would it take for Don to fully comprehend what a Frost Giant was like? Would it be easier to make the human understand now, forcing him to look upon the true appearance of such a beast? Let that kindness shrivel away before Loki could grow too familiar with it?

It would have been easier if the fall from the collapsing Bifrost took his life as well. It was an impulsive decision to let go. Whether he still wished that it had succeeded or if he would rather survive now that he no longer saw the look in his father's eye, Loki was still mulling it over. But being alive was certainly more complicated and difficult. And yet Don seemed rather determined to make it easier to trudge forward with his devastated and ruined life.

No, he would let his monstrous nature remain hidden for a little longer. He would live the lie that had defined his existence for over a thousand years. He was too much of a coward to admit the truth.

He laid his head down and wondered if he would actually get any sleep.

Don didn't wake Loki up before he went to work. He knew it meant the alien might not eat all day, he didn't seem like he was comfortable going through Don's house alone, but he was finally asleep. It seemed criminal to ruin that, knowing the alien who may have been a god had not slept the night previous.

Don had decided that since the internet hadn't been very helpful, He would go to the library someday soon and look into the supposed god's situation.

Don was still telling himself that Loki was supposed to be a god, because admitting it might really be true just felt too insane, even considering the complete insanity of having a man crash land in his backyard who wasn't somewhat godly and surviving .

He was in such an insane situation, he didn't know what to do, how to make sense of what was going on. He didn't think there was any sense to be made.

He needed to stop having such a meltdown over the alien-god he had invited into his house, but that was easier said than done. It was almost impossible to forget how crazy it all was, and how crazy he must have been to get himself into that position to begin with. 

What sort of a person saw an alien crash in his yard and didn't call the police, or the military, or anyone? Who else, other than Don McDonnell, invited that alien into his house and told no one?

But he was in too deep for those doubts now. The time to doubt himself was long past. He had made his bed, and he didn't really have anywhere else to go but to lie in it.

And it wasn't like now that he had heard the story he could turn his back. Not with how desperate the situation with his houseguest clearly was. He suspected that no matter who he called, no matter what he did, turning his back upon Loki would result in his death. The government would run top secret experiments on him until they went too far, or the god himself would do something to end his life.

Neither option felt acceptable to Don. The only moral option for him was to continue down the path he had started. 

Work was unbearable. He wanted to be able to talk to someone, to confide to someone what was going on, but he knew he couldn't. Maybe, just maybe, someday he would be able to tell someone that he had a roommate, but he would never be able to explain the full situation.

For now, until Don managed to establish whether anyone knew that something had entered their planet, Loki was only safe if he was a secret. 

Don had always known that he was only really cut out for a job like selling jet skis, but now he definitely had proof that he never would have made it as a spy. Keeping this secret was giving him a stomach ache, and he had only just started.

He ran out of work as soon as his shift was over, and felt a little bad about it. Usually, he was willing to stick around and chat a bit, catch up with some of the people he worked with. Today, he was worried what would happen if he was gone too long. The very best case scenario seemed to be that the newest resident of his house would starve until he got there. As soon as the clock hit five, he grabbed his keys and ran out before anyone could question him on it. 

Loki was easy to convince to go out shopping, once Don made it sound like he needed stuff, too, but that wasn't where he went first. 

"What are we doing here?" asked Loki.

An understandable question. After all, the original plan was to pick up some supplies for his alien-god houseguest since he would likely be staying around a while longer. Shampoo, soap, comb, brush, whatever products that someone might need for their hair since Don tended to lean towards the bare minimum, toothbrush, toothpaste, and so on. And since Loki wouldn't be able to name any brands that he would want, Don was bringing him along to help pick the items out. He wanted Loki involved in order to make it feel like it was his and to ensure that he was happy with his new belongings.

Within reason. Don still had a budget to keep in mind.

But as they passed the diner practically across the street from his job, he couldn't help detouring towards it. The last few days had been stressful. For both himself and for Loki. They deserved at least a moment to relax and indulge in one of life's small pleasures.

"We're stopping for some of the best pie in all of Cleveland," he said. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on the experience."

"Who's your friend, Don? I haven't seen him around before."

Grinning at the approaching gray-haired waitress, he said, "Stella, my absolute favorite person to see at lunch time. They have you working today?"

"Jo wanted to head down to visit her family, so we traded days this week."

"Good for her." Gesturing towards his companion, Don said, "This is Loki. He's going to be staying with me for a while."

Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Is that right? Taking in strays?"

"Nothing like that, even if he does remind me of one. He's a childhood pen pal. He's had a rough time lately, but he was in the area and so he's sort of... crashing at my place. But he's harmless." That earned him a mildly affronted look from Loki. "He's more of a pussycat than a feral stray.”

Stella gave Don a knowing glance that told him that she wasn't completely buying his lie, but that the motherly woman would leave it alone. She knew how to keep her mouth shut about good customers. He was grateful for that and silently decided to work on a better cover story than childhood pen pals.

"How about you grab your usual seat and I bring a menu around for Lukey to see what he wants then?" she said.

"Oh, we're both just here for a couple of slices of your famous key lime pie," said Don quickly before Loki could comment on the mispronunciation of his name.

"Then I'll get your order to the kitchen. Should be out in a couple of minutes."

"Thanks, Stella."

She disappeared towards the back while Don quickly guided Loki to a small both against the window. It was tucked behind the stack of booster seats and at least offered a hint of privacy even on the busiest day, further away from the other customers. The red leather of their seats were worn in just the perfect amount for maximum comfort. And it was at the perfect angle to keep an eye on Piranha Powersports during his lunch breaks.

Loki's eyes swept around the room, clearly taking note of the exits, the other scattered customers, the black-and-white tile, the counter with the line of stools, and the jukebox in the corner that only played songs from the 60s, 70s, and early 80s. Then he returned his gaze towards Don. The faint shadows under his eyes from the restless last few days did nothing to diminish the mesmerizing intensity of the blue-green color that seemed to shift with the lighting. It would be easy to get lost in those eyes.

"Should I bother asking what a 'pen pal' is or would I regret the answer?" asked Loki quietly.

Keeping his own voice down, Don admitted, "It was a really bad lie. Don't worry about it. I'll figure out something more believable next time."

"And why did she refer to me as 'Lukey'?”

"Because Luke is a more common name than yours and she probably assumed that she misheard or my accent made her misunderstand what I was saying." Shrugging, Don said, "I'll be honest. Stella probably won't be the last person to mess it up. And since you don't have any documentation proving that you legally exist on this planet and neither of us want to attract alien-obsessed government agents to kidnap and erase memories, it might not be worth fighting too hard on the pronunciation."

Any further comments were delayed as Stella returned. Twin plates and silverware were placed in front of them before she withdrew once more, chuckling faintly. But all of Don's attention was on the work of art in front of him.

Every detail was perfect. The pale, barely golden crust. The deep and intense shade of green of the light, soft, and yet firm filling. The precisely centered swirl of whipped cream topped with an elegant lime twist as garnish. Even the triangular slice was exact and smooth. The beautiful appearance was only matched by the perfect blend of citrusy, sweet, and tart flavor that awaited his tongue.

"What," asked Loki, eyeing it with even greater suspicion than he had his first glimpse of pizza, "is that ?”

“One of life's greatest pleasures.”

Loki still looked skeptical, but was too polite to voice that doubt. “But what exactly is it?”

“Key lime pie,” Don said happily, “my go-to pick-me-up treat on my shopping days. I work six days a week, so sometimes, I need a little treat to get me out of the house for more errands.”

“Today wasn't your day off. You didn't need to go out today.”

Don shook his head. “You're cleverer than a lot of people want you to be, aren't you?”

“I only listen to what people say,” Loki said defensively. “People say a lot more than they realise.” 

“It's not a bad thing, I just wasn't counting on you realising that today was not my errands day. I figured you would feel better about us doing this all if you didn't think that I was going out of my way to do it. Really, all it means is that I'll actually have Sunday off. I'll do all my errands today, and we can relax this weekend. Now, give it a try!” 

Loki looked down, a little skeptically, once more at the pie in front of him, then seemed to shrug his shoulders before skipping up a small piece on his fork and sticking it in his mouth. 

He didn't like it. Don could tell immediately, even though Loki was an admittedly good actor. The god managed to keep his reaction to a slight wince, before he methodically chewed and swallowed, and forced himself to smile. “Very nice,” he managed to say. 

“You don't have to lie,” Don told him, “I suppose I should really remember that it's not for everyone.”

“Don,” Stella admonished, “did you order your friend a pie he hates, instead of letting him order for himself? I keep telling you that not everyone is going to like the key lime pie!” 

“Yes, you've told me all the two times I've brought someone here with me,” Don retorted. 

“What kind do you usually like, Lukey? I'll get you a new one, no extra charge. Don is our most consistent customer, I can comp him a slice you'll actually like.” 

It was a generous offer, but there was one glaring problem: Loki didn't seem like he had a completely solid idea of what a pie was, nevermind a flavour he enjoyed. 

Still, he covered well for himself. “You seem knowledgeable, Lady Stella,” he said, “I'll take whatever you recommend.”

“Lady Stella?” the waitress repeated, clearly amused. “Where did you find this gentleman, Don? If there were cute, gentlemanly pen pals like him when I was his age, maybe I would have had one. As for what I recommend… You don't like the key lime, So I'll bring you a slice of my favourite: The chocolate cream pie.”

She walked away. 

“When she was my age? Is she Asgardian? Or some other species blessed with longevity? I was under the impression that humans didn't live to my age.”

“No. She just doesn't realise that you're - You said over a thousand years old?”

“One thousand forty-six,” Loki agreed. 

“Right. She doesn't realise you're that old. You look like you're barely in your 20s.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“Depends who you ask. If you go to a bar, you may still get ID’d, which wouldn't be ideal for you, since you have no ID. Do you drink?” 

“Drink what?” 

“Alcohol.”

“Norns, yes,” Loki said, “mead is traditional, but I'm partial to wine.”

“White or red?”

“I like all kinds of wine,” Loki replied. 

“I may have a cheap bottle or two,” Don said, “maybe we can have a drink some evening. Not tonight, I have work in the morning, but someday soon. Figure you can outdrink me? I didn't do too badly back in university.”

“Asgardians swear that they've never found another liquor in all the Nine Realms that holds a candle to that found in our realm,” Loki replied, “so although I've never managed to outdrink anyone there…” 

“You'll probably put me under the table,” Don laughed, “fair enough. Could still be fun, even if I'm sure the hangover would suck for me. Oh, here's your pie.”

Stella cleared away the barely touched plate of key lime and set a new one down in front of Loki. “I'm sure you'll like that one better,” she said encouragingly, “it's our bestseller.”

Loki seemed to steel himself to claim to like it even if he didn't, just to avoid disappointing Stella, but the smile on his face when he tasted it was genuine. “This is delicious,” he told Stella. 

“I figured you would think so. Don’s the only one I know who loves the key lime pie so much,” Stella said, “I think he's nuts, too.”

“Hey!” Don protested, finally taking a bite of his own pie, now that Loki had found something he liked, and closing his eyes to fully enjoy the tangy citrus flavour dancing on his tongue. “I thought you were meant to be kind to your customers!”

“I comped you the slice of pie, Don,” Stella retorted. 

“You got me there.”

“Anyways, Lukey, where are you from?” She asked. 

Loki blanched, his fork still in his mouth. Don covered quickly. “He's from England, of course.”

“Well, I could tell that much by the accent. Where in England?”

“Londinium,” Loki managed to say, and Don was impressed he had that much, even if that wasn't the name of the city anymore.

Well, to be honest, Don couldn't be sure that Londinium was London, but it sounded similar enough. 

“Where?”

“London,” Don said quickly.

“Right,” Loki agreed, “London.”

“It must be nice there,” Stella said appreciatively, “I've always wanted to go to London. Are you going back? Don said you were crashing here for a while, but surely London is home.”

“No,” Loki said, before Don could answer. “I think I might just have to stay.”

Stella smiled, since she didn't know how forced that was, and tutted away as the bell at the door jingled and another customer walked in. 

'Cause it's all in the hands of a bitter, bitter man

Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in

Take a bow, play the part of a lonely, lonely heart

Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in

To the world you thought you lived in

• Any Other World, Mika, LIFE IN CARTOON MOTION (2007)

Chapter Text

It can't be unlearned
I've known the warmth of your doorways
Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Poking at the slice of pie with his fork, Loki said, "You mentioned working when you were not home, but I do not believe that you said what you do. You do not seem like a warrior or a laborer. Are you some sort of scholar? Or perhaps a merchant?"

“You could say that." Don gestured towards the window. "I work over there selling jet skis and other personal watercraft, which despite what most people believe, aren't the same thing. That's just a common misconception. Jet skis are a specific brand of them and is the most popular, but there is also a wide selection of sea-doo, waverunner, and the Piranha Powersports exclusive: the Thrustking. In addition, we sell a smaller section of other vehicles for those who prefer more terrestrial interests such as dirtbikes and ATVs."

Then he noticed the slight confused frown on Loki's face, his brows furrowing a little. And he remembered who he was talking to. Not a customer who just walked into the store, but a god-alien from another world. One that probably had never heard of jet skis.

"Personal watercrafts are vehicles for moving on top of the water for fun. Wind in the hair, little mist slapping you in the face. And nothing but open water in front of you. They are small, fast, easily handled, fairly easy to use, and affordable, and their propulsion systems do not have external propellers, making them in many ways safer than small motorboats for swimmers and wildlife in the area.”

Don gestured slightly with his own fork as he talked, his key lime pie sitting half-finished on the plate. He was on a roll now.

"While they attempted decades prior to create personal watercrafts of various sorts, it wasn't until 1972 that the very first jet ski was created and it reached perfection in the early 1990s with the stand-up JS750-A model. The engine was a twin-cylinder 743cc two-stroke with reed valves and automatic oil injection. The redesigned hull was lighter in weight and more maneuverable than previous models. And while they have and continue even today to improve and tweak the designs, that's when the magic truly happened. In that brief, shining moment... there was a beautiful union of form and function, which we call the jet ski. And a reasonable man cannot differ."

He ended up grinning sheepishly as he realised how long he'd rambled on. But Loki stared at him with something almost resembling fascination.

“Midgard has vehicles that are simply used for fun?”

“Do you not?” 

“No. There is a function for everything on Asgard. We have ships, true, but mostly we use horses for transport. I really don't like horses. And you are a successful merchant?” 

“I make a living,” Don said awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. He got the sense that Loki didn't realize what sort of question that was. Even worse, perhaps he did and he was not so subtly implying that a merchant was beneath him, in both wealth and status. 

It was probably true, but it didn't mean it was a very nice thing to have pointed out. Don may not have been rich, but he did all right considering it was just him.

He felt stupid immediately after realising that was what he was worried about. The way that Loki had been talking about himself, it was incredibly unlikely that he was thinking of himself as superior to anyone. More likely, he was just genuinely curious. 

“Successful might be a stretch, but I manage all right. But now you have me curious. If there's no vehicles used for fun, and you hate horses, what is it that you guys do to amuse yourselves? I can't imagine you veg out in some of the boob tube.” 

“I'm not even sure what that means.” 

“I figured that. It's slang for television. Anyway, I'm serious. What do you do for fun?” 

“Fight,” Loki said distantly.

“That can't be all.” 

“It very much is. Aside from that, I suppose there's feasting and bedding. Sometimes there's a play worth seeing, or a musician, but it really is mostly those three.”

“You don't seem particularly enthused by those options.” 

“I like bedding just fine,” Loki replied, with a smirk that made Don blush. “I could take or leave feasting, I've never been one who enjoys eating so much he can barely move, and fighting gets tiresome. Always the same thing. Trick, stab, repeat.” 

As if to illustrate his point, Loki brandished an ornate dagger which Don was absolutely certain he didn't have with him, but that was clearly not true, since it was in his hand now. 

“Loki!” He hissed, “you can't have a weapon in here!”

Loki frowned. “A man should always have a weapon,” he said, seeming genuinely puzzled. 

“Well, I'm sure that's good advice, but you can't have a dagger in a diner!” 

Loki's frown only deepened. “I was unaware that Midgardian eating places were weaponless,’’ he said, seeming genuinely confused. The knives disappeared from his hands, and Don didn't ask where they had gone. It was better if he didn't know. 

“All Midgardian establishments are weaponless. You can't bring a knife into a club, a restaurant, or a store!” 

“How do you defend yourself?” 

“Well, no one else has one, either.” 

“And you can just trust that?” 

“Yes, because if you're caught with one, you can go to jail. I don't know where you got them from, but you shouldn't pull it out again.” 

Loki nodded. Don swiped up the last bit of whipped cream and pie from his plate and put it in his mouth. 

“We should probably get going before you get into more trouble. We'll go get all the shopping done, I'm sure you have some supplies. I doubt you want to share a toothbrush.” 

Loki still looked a little confused, which should have been concerning, considering a toothbrush was a fairly basic necessity for a human, but maybe they just called them something else on Asgard. Still, he got to his feet and followed Don to the front. 

“Okay. I imagine you're going to want something a bit more hair-friendly than the all-in-one shampoo I have at home, so,” Don led Loki to the shampoo aisle of the local store. “I'll go grab some essentials, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, and then I'll meet you back here. You can open the tops to sniff them, they’ll tell you what they do in the bottles, just don't pour them everywhere, okay?” 

Don had always thought that the amount of options for shampoo was a bit excessive, but Loki didn't seem phased at all. Don didn't know much about vikings, much less space vikings, but maybe they had a lot of hair-care options, too. 

“Right.” 

Don walked off, content to let Loki pick out his own supplies. He would return when he had the other necessities. 

Twenty minutes after he had returned, with Loki still crouching in the shampoo aisle, Don had come to the conclusion that this had been a horrible idea and he just wanted to bury his face in his hands and laugh. Dozens of bottles were arranged in a semi-circle around Loki as he sat there in the center of them. Arranging and rearranging his options by some unknown criteria that only the alien-god understood. He read the labels thoroughly and contemplated the list of ingredients, sometimes his brow furrowing with a hint of confusion before setting the bottle aside for a different one.

Don couldn't tell if he was leaning towards a specific brand or scent. He certainly wasn't limiting himself to a particular intended gender or a price range. He'd even selected a couple of colorful bottles of no-tears kids shampoo to join the potential options.

There were heavy gambling addicts who didn't put as much thought into championship sports brackets as Loki was putting into picking a shampoo.

It wasn't as if he'd brought Loki to some professional-level haircare specialty store. There were only so many bottles to choose from. But since this was the most interested and motivated that he'd seen Loki since they met, Don wasn't going to rush him.

Though as the wait began to approach the half-hour mark, he decided it might be all right to offer some advice.

"You know," he said slowly, "if you don't end up liking your choice, you can always try something else next time. It's not a permanent commitment. If you make a mistake and pick something you don't like, it's not the end of the world."

Loki glanced up briefly at him before turning back to his selection of shampoo bottles. And with absolutely nothing to indicate that it was the current leading choice, he plucked a seemingly random white bottle. Don quickly grabbed the corresponding conditioner because Loki definitely seemed like the type of person who would consider it a requirement. And it saved them from a similarly long choice.

As Loki climbed back to his feet and began moving like he intended to walk away, possibly in search of soap or a pair of pants that didn't include an elastic waistline, Don asked, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Loki frowned in confusion, not seeming to know what he was talking about. Don helpfully pointed at the now-rejected shampoo bottles still scattered across the floor. But when Loki turned to look, he ended up turning back towards him still uncomprehending the problem.

"We made a pretty big mess over here," explained Don patiently, trying to keep in mind that Loki grew up a prince and probably with an army of servants to take care of things. "It would be rude and disrespectful to create all of this extra work for the people here. If everyone who shopped here did the same thing, the employees wouldn't be able to go home to their families until hours after the store is supposed to close. It's harder to do something like this at where I work, but there's been a few cases of customers bringing their mischievous scamps and letting them knock over the smaller displays of pamphlets and such. The least we can do is not make everyone's jobs harder."

Now there was a hint of understanding on his face. Loki looked back at the scattered shampoo bottles and gave a slight wince of guilt. It might be an adjustment to think like that, but he wasn't that bad of a guy. He was just dealing with some culture shock.

"My apologies. You are quite right. I should take responsibility for my own actions," said Loki.

Don was about to tell him not to be so hard on himself, but Loki gestured sharply and he was forced to swallow a startled yelp as a green light flashed, sending the shampoo bottles flying. And not randomly. They shot straight for the appropriate places on the shelves.

Head jerking in every direction to check for possible witnesses and grateful that they weren't in an aisle valuable enough for cameras, Don asked, "What was that ?"

"I cleaned up my mess," he said, his innocent expression unable to hide the traces of amusement in his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

And yes, Loki absolutely looked like he was enjoying Don's shocked expression. And he certainly preferred Loki's brighter and almost teasing mood. It was a vast improvement over borderline suicidal with misery. But Don would also love an explanation any time now.

"Loki, you do remember that alien-gods are new to me. So if you have some kind of shelf-stocking superpower, could you just-"

"Magic."

Blinking in surprise, Don asked, "What?"

"I used magic to tidy up. It seemed simpler than attempting it manually. Or at least faster. I assume that you did not wish to remain here all night either."

Don almost said that magic wasn't real. But less than a week ago, he would have said the same thing about alien-gods.

"You have magic," he said slowly. "Is that... common for alien-gods?"

"It varies. Some rely solely on enchanted objects, the same way that many humans rely on your electronics without detailed knowledge of how it works or how to recreate it yourself. Some have some limited gift that they wouldn't even call magic. Some can do more impressive feats worthy of the description, but only within a rather narrow range of abilities. Thor has a talent for lightning and little else. And a few can learn a great deal of spells and abilities."

"I'm guessing that you're among the latter?"

Grinning proudly, Loki said, "Mother always told me that I was talented when it came to wielding magic." A more distant and almost morose look drifted across his features. "She's the one who taught me..."

Don couldn't let him sink back into that duller and heartbroken state. Not just when Loki seemed to be improving. And he rather liked the mischievous and teasing version of Loki that he'd just glimpsed. Acting on instinct, he leaned over and gave Loki's shoulder a playful shove.

"You've been holding out on me. Afraid I'd be jealous?" he asked.

Blinking in surprise, Loki asked, "Jealous?”

"Well, yeah, who wouldn't be jealous of the good-looking alien-god prince who can also do magic ? Anyone would be impressed by any part of that, but most people would love to be able to do magic. And you made it look so easy. That's destroying my reality over here."

The warm and honest praise seemed to surprise and overwhelm him enough that Don briefly worried that he might have overdone it. But he was truly impressed. And while Loki did duck his head slightly, a smile was tugging at his lips again. Don considered that a victory.

"Magically manipulating and moving physical objects is relatively straightforward in concept," he said. "But that level of precision and control does require a great deal of focus. Returning all those bottles to their exact locations and all at once only worked because there were no other distractions. In normal circumstances, it is not generally as neat and precise of a spell. I have far more experience yanking and throwing physical objects in a general direction instead."

"So you were showing off?"

That bright and amused look was back in his eyes as Loki gave a vague shrug and nod. But he almost looked hopeful as well. Hopeful that the attempt at showing off worked out for him. It felt like Don was getting to meet the real him instead of the broken shell that crashed in his yard.

"And that must be where the daggers came from!” 

Loki smirked. “I would demonstrate, but you told me no weapons in public.”

“Okay, I absolutely want to see more if you feel like-"

Don smothered another shout of surprise as the number of Lokis in the aisle abruptly doubled. Same face, same hair, same borrowed clothes, and the same playful smile as the pair smugly began to circle him. Every detail identical with no clue to indicate which was the original.

" But since we want to keep a low profile ," he hissed, once more checking for witnesses as he continued, "how about we wait on the demonstration until we're finished shopping and are back at the house?”

Twin sets of eyes rolled in response, but Don didn't see any signs of him actually disagreeing or being upset by it. One of the Lokis disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the real one behind. And the real one wasn't the one that Don guessed.

Judging by the continued smug look, Loki absolutely knew he guessed wrong. Probably because Don couldn't hide the impressed and excited grin. He wasn't going to pretend that he didn't like the trick. It was amazing.

"Okay, let's get the rest of your stuff so we can head back. And I hope you're ready for a lot of questions about your magic.”

Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul
Honey, make this easy
Leave it to the land, this is what it knows
Honey, that's how it sleeps

- It Will Come Back, Hozier, HOZIER (2014)