Chapter 5
It is a Thursday and Loki has a headache and in less than half an hour he is to see Jörmungand.
He feels jittery, skittish, uncomfortable in his skin in a way that he has never before felt in his Jotun form. They are in a plane, the Avengers’ Quinjet, which is just totally ridiculous and horrible but also kind of necessary because Loki finds it difficult to teleport large groups of people at once. And. Well. Quite a few people had insisted on coming with him. Thor and Bruce are here, taking it in turns to stare at Loki in a way that he finds frankly disconcerting, and Romanova is piloting the plane.
Sleipnir has a whole interior wall to himself; he is back in his natural form, since he had not been able to sustain the form of a Jotun for longer than a few hours. (This is no slight upon his shapeshifting skills. As a youth Loki would have been proud of such an achievement.) He is as purple as ever, and there are numerous straps and buckles holding him in place, since of course he is too large for the usual seats. He looks rather travel-sick, occasionally letting out small burbles of distress. Loki tries to soothe him, but has little success, since Loki himself is feeling rather anxious.
Bruce puts his hand on Loki’s elbow, absent-mindedly, as if he doesn’t even notice that he is doing it.
Loki stares at the hand on his arm. He has a headache and he’s exhausted and he’s just not in the mood to question it. Maybe later he and Bruce will have a conversation about personal space and tactility and possibly kissing. No, wait. No kissing. Loki’s not sure where that came from. He certainly hasn’t been having… inappropriate thoughts about a colleague.
Anyway, the hand on his arm is warm and large – though not as large as the Hulk’s – and kind of reassuring, so Loki’s just going to, uh, leave it. He’s always espoused an attitude of total emotional non-interference when it comes to touchy-feely things. Asgard isn’t exactly a talk-about-your-feelings-then-hug-it-out kind of place. Then again, that’s at least half of the reason why Loki became a temporary supervillain.
So. Hugging it is, then.
Loki’s so busy having an internal freakout about the proximity between his limbs and Bruce’s hands that he barely even notices that they’ve arrived until they’re actually touching down. He’d figured the best place to do this was Antarctica, since the last time Loki saw Jörmungand he’d been enjoying the icier waters of Midgard. Now that Loki thinks about it, that’s probably got more than a little to do with Jörmungand’s Jotun heritage. Odin’s meddling has affected more lives than just his own.
Loki steps off the plane, relishing the feeling of icy wind on his cheeks. Midgard is of an easier climate than Asgard, but in his Jotun form he still finds it somewhat difficult to bear sometimes. This blue body was not made for warmer temperatures. This, though… He can see why Laufey was so willing to conquer the frosty ranges of Midgard’s northern and southern poles.
He’s not going to voice that in the company of Avengers, though. Better safe than sorry.
“Shit fuck, it’s cold,” observes Romanova amiably. “You know what, I’m just going to wait in the plane. You guys call me when you’re done.”
Loki gives her a wounded look. “You do not want to meet my second-youngest child?”
Romanova raises her eyebrows. “Do I want to meet the ginormous sea serpent that’s apparently been living in various oceans for a couple of hundred years, unbeknownst to any of our governments? No, you guys can just, you guys can have your space.”
“All right,” grumbles Loki. “We didn’t want you along anyway.”
Sleipnir lets out a harrumph of agreement, and turns his back on Romanova, swishing his tail in her face. She looks like she’s suppressing a smile, but Loki knows not to trust any of her expressions. One does not get to a position like Romanova’s without exceptional control over one’s body language.
Loki is barefoot in Antarctica, and the snow crunches pleasantly beneath his feet. They have parked the jet close to the coastline. Any coastline will do, really; even if Jörmungand is not currently inhabiting this part of the world, he is the child of two sorcerers, and he is perfectly capable of going wherever he pleases in a very short amount of time. Angrboða’s children had received some small amount of instruction in the magical arts before Odin had taken them away. Sleipnir had never had that luxury.
But now he does, Loki thinks determinedly. Now Loki is fixing things, and Sleipnir has access to the kind of childhood he always should have had, even if he is not exactly a child anymore.
There are ice floes bobbing along in the distance. Loki feels a pang of nostalgia; Jörmungand had always loved to wrap around those huge chunks of ice, trapping them in his coils and then mushing them into tiny pieces.
Bruce gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Loki glares at him, and then sidles – certainly does not sidle, but rather stalks in an entirely dignified fashion towards the water’s edge, refusing to look behind him.
“Jörmungand!” Loki calls, lending certain magics to his voice so that it reverberates through the water. “I know that you can hear me! I and your brother have come to visit. If you… If you would like to converse, you may join us.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, and mouths, “Converse?”
Loki ignores him.
There is a long pause, and for a moment Loki feels a horrible pang, fearing that Jörmungand hates him, that he never wishes to see his parent ever again, that he blames Loki for his long exile. Surely, though, Jörmungand would at least want to see Sleipnir…? What if something has befallen him? Loki is not sure what could possibly have hurt such a tremendous being as Jörmungand on Midgard of all places, but there is always a first for everything. What if his son had been injured terribly, eons ago, and Loki had not even known it?
Loki does not even realise that he is working himself up into a panic until he spies a ripple of scales flashing in the distance, and immediately relaxes. The indistinct shape resolves itself into an enormous serpent, with piercing eyes and glittering blue-green scales, quickly winding its way through the water.
Jörmungand is here.
Jörmungand wants to see him.
“Hello,” says Jörmungand, and Bruce starts.
“He can talk?” he murmurs, looking to Loki.
“Of course he can talk,” Loki hisses in return.
“Hail, nephew!” cries Thor, who has absolutely no sense of tact and/or timing. Jörmungand shyly wiggles his way up to the shore, and Thor beams widely. “How are you this fine morn?”
“Thor,” says Loki, upset. “I will speak to my son, if you don’t mind.” He turns back to Jörmungand, and abruptly feels horribly nervous. “Ah… That is to say… Jörmungand, has not Sleipnir grown? Look, he is purple now!”
Loki gestures desperately at Sleipnir, who is quite happy to prance up to the water’s edge and poke his nose into the water. He immediately rears back in shock at the cold, and falls onto his hindquarters, looking adorably perplexed. Jörmungand lets out a gurgling sound that might resemble a laugh.
“You have too many legs, brother,” says Jörmungand, somewhat smugly. He does a little somersault in the water, sending a tiny wave splashing out onto the icy ground that Loki and his fellows are standing on. “You should try being legless sometime!”
Sleipnir whinnies indignantly, and Jörmungand bobs his head in apology. “Of course I did not mean to disparage your natural form,” he says agreeably. “I only meant that mine is better.”
“Boys,” says Loki severely, finding his voice at last. “Don’t squabble. You are each as fine as each other. Jörmungand, it is… it is so very good to see you at last.”
Jörmungand opens his mouth very wide, showing off each of his teeth in a rather awkwardly beautiful grin. “It is good to see you too, sire of mine,” he says, and comes closer, nudging his head forwards so that Loki can scratch the scales behind his eyes. His head is at least the size of Loki’s torso. “Who are the tiny mortals that you have brought with you?”
“I am no tiny mortal!” roars Thor cheerfully. “I am your uncle Thor!”
“Oh,” says Jörmungand, blinking. “Yes, I see. Hello, uncle Thor.”
Loki stifles a snort, but Thor looks as if his excitement has been punctured a little at Jörmungand’s unenthusiastic greeting, and Loki moves quickly to change the subject. “And this is Bruce.”
Jörmungand cocks his head. “What is a Bruce?”
“Many things,” answers Loki. “Many fine and wonderful things. Bruce, say hello.”
“Hello,” says Bruce dutifully.
Jörmungand treats him to intense scrutiny, and then says to Loki, “I like him.”
Loki does not have to look to know that Thor is pouting hard enough to split his big lumpy face in two.
“It’s good to meet you,” says Bruce honestly. “What do you get up to these days?”
Jörmungand looks thoughtful. “Swimming around,” he says. “Eating some fish. Scaring the penguins. Swimming around some more… Mostly I just swim around.”
“Sounds like… fun,” says Bruce uncertainly.
“What have you been doing, Lokisire?” asks Jörmungand. There is no censure in his tone, but Loki feels a pang of guilt anyway.
He flaps his hands. “Oh, you know. Fighting some battles. Killing my bio-dad. Tried to take over Midgard this one time.”
Jörmungand scowls. “Don’t do that,” he says. “I like Midgard.”
Loki gasps in outrage. “Are you implying that I would not take care of it?”
His son rolls his enormous eyes. “You would get bored within the week and wander off to some library or other. A throne would suit you ill.”
His words echo Thor’s from so very long ago. Loki knows they are correct, but he does not like to admit it.
“By the way,” says Loki. “You’re half-Jotun.”
“That’s nice,” says Jörmungand.
Bruce has a funny look on his face. “Loki,” he says, and hesitates. He looks as if he is conducting some fierce internal debate; knowing Bruce, this is probably exactly the case. “The Hulk would like to meet Jörmungand,” he says eventually. “Would you… I mean, would you mind…?”
“Of course not,” snaps Loki, waving his hands. “Hulk was not going to come all of this way and not meet my son, was he? Bring him out this instant. He and Jörmungand can compare colour palettes.”
Bruce gives him a smile that is half a grimace, and then his skin is bulging and stretching, ripping through his thick winter coat, and in barely a moment the Hulk stands before them. He looks around curiously, taking in the vast expanse of water and ice, and the cool midday sun above them, and then he nods to Jörmungand and says, “Nice scales.”
Jörmungand looks flattered.
Loki cannot help but grin wildly, but he wants the Hulk to think him a fine, stoic warrior, so he covers his mouth up with his hands and pretends that he is sneezing.
Hulk looks back to Loki, then to Jörmungand again, and then he turns to Loki and says, “Nice genes.”
Loki tears up a little. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, thank you. They are quite magnificent, I know.”
Hulk smiles and flops back into the snow. He is naked, but for the stretchy trousers that Stark had designed for him, but the cold doesn’t seem to bother him. Loki cannot help but be a little resentful of the stretchy trousers.
Loki and Jörmungand converse for some time, until evening falls and Thor begins to shiver uncontrollably.
Loki looks at Thor and sighs, exasperated. He turns back to Jörmungand. “I will return next week,” he says, and Sleipnir whickers in agreement.
“Okay,” says Jörmungand happily. “I’ll bring you some fish.”
In the Quinjet on the way home Hulk finally shrinks back down into Bruce, who is mostly naked, but for the stretchy trousers. Once again Loki curses the stretchy trousers. Why this insistence on being clothed? Hulk and Bruce are both very fine creatures, and should not be ashamed of their manhoods. They are very fine manhoods, after all.
Bruce just looks at him, and looks, and looks, until Loki feels vaguely uncomfortable. “What?” he says eventually.
“Nothing,” says Bruce. “You’re just… you are a good parent.”
“I am hardly that,” scoffs Loki, turning his face away. “Abandoning them for hundreds of years on various realms? Leaving Sleipnir to be the steed of the Allfather? No, Bruce; I am not a good parent.”
Bruce shrugs one shoulder and then lets it fall. “You’re better than mine ever were.”
Loki does not quite know what to say to that, so he does not say anything.
They sit in companionable silence until they reach the SHIELD base.