Chapter 2
The lab hummed with quiet energy, the sound of whirring tools and the faint hiss of solder filling the air. Tony Stark sat at his workstation, tinkering with what looked like a sleek new set of gauntlets. His latest project involved creating more adaptive gear for the team—something to compensate for their individual weaknesses without them even needing to ask.
Across the room, Bruce Banner was perched on a stool, scribbling in a notebook. The two scientists had fallen into an easy rhythm, one that allowed Tony to fill the silence with rambling while Bruce occasionally offered a thoughtful response.
“So,” Tony started, holding a screwdriver between his teeth as he adjusted a tiny circuit board. “Here’s a fun thought. Every time I think we’ve got things under control—boom. Alien invasion, rogue A.I., Extremis… you name it. It’s like I’m cursed. Or maybe the universe just hates me. Either way, it’s exhausting.”
Bruce glanced up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Tony, I’ve said this before, but I’m not a therapist.”
Tony flicked him on the arm with a greasy finger. “Yeah, yeah. And yet, you’re still the one who keeps listening. Why’s that, big guy?”
Bruce offered a faint smile, then went back to his notebook. The truth was, their dynamic worked because of their shared ADHD tendencies—Tony needed to talk, and Bruce didn’t mind being the silent sounding board.
Their peace was interrupted by the sound of the lab door opening. Steve Rogers walked in, his presence as imposing as ever. Tony sighed loudly, setting his tools down.
“Captain Righteous,” Tony greeted with exaggerated cheer. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Steve ignored the tone. “I need to talk to you about Clint.”
Tony arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Oh? Is Barton finally admitting that archery isn’t a superpower?”
Steve crossed his arms, his jaw tight. “He needs better hearing aids.”
The wrench Tony had been holding clattered to the floor. He blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what?”
Steve frowned. “I just found out,” he said, his tone heavy with guilt.
Tony glanced at Bruce, who looked equally surprised, then back at Steve. “Hold up. You just found out? Captain Honesty-Is-The-Best-Policy is keeping secrets this big and blabbering to anyone who’ll listen?”
Steve stiffened, his tone defensive. “I’m not blabbering. I’m trying to help my teammate.”
Tony stood abruptly, stepping closer to Steve, his voice rising. “Clint obviously didn’t want your damn help, or he would’ve said something. You’re playing savior when he doesn’t even know you’re in the game!”
Bruce quietly set his notebook down and began edging toward the door, muttering something about needing to check on a gamma reactor. Neither Tony nor Steve noticed.
“You don’t get it,” Steve shot back, his voice tight with frustration. “I’m trying to make sure he’s safe out there. We’re a team—we have to look out for each other!”
Tony jabbed a finger at Steve’s chest. “You don’t even talk to your team, Rogers. If you did, you’d know how to handle this without turning into a self-righteous Boy Scout.”
The insult hit its mark. Steve’s face darkened, and in a swift motion, he shoved Tony backward.
Tony staggered but quickly recovered, shoving Steve back with equal force. “You wanna go, Cap?” he sneered, his voice dripping with challenge.
Steve’s fist connected with Tony’s jaw before he could finish the sentence. The impact sent Tony stumbling into the wall, but he quickly retaliated with a punch of his own, catching Steve square in the nose.
The two of them were locked in a flurry of blows, neither holding back. The sound of fists colliding with flesh and grunts of effort filled the lab, punctuated by the occasional crash as tools and equipment were knocked to the floor.
“Cut it out, now,” Nick Fury’s voice crackled through the comm system, cold and commanding. “Or you’re both on house arrest for a month.”
The words hit them like a bucket of cold water. Both men froze, breathing hard, their faces bruised and bloodied.
Tony wiped at his busted lip, glaring up at Steve. “Get the hell out of my lab.”
Steve stared at him for a long moment, his own bloody nose dripping onto his shirt. Finally, he turned on his heel and walked to the door, his voice low with venom. “Gladly.”
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Tony standing alone amidst the wreckage of his workspace.
He let out a frustrated groan, kicking a fallen wrench across the floor. “God, I hate that guy.”
"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. started, "You are an Atheist."
"Shit, yeah. Science, I hate that guy. Thanks, Jar."
But as he turned back to his workstation, the guilt began to creep in, just as it always did.
The Avengers had found a rhythm, though it was far from perfect. Steve and Tony continued their cold war of constant denial about being on the same team, their barbed words a far cry from the outright brawls they once had. The two men don't even acknowledge each other. Conversations flowed more easily with everyone else, meals were shared without sharp silences, and the Tower buzzed with a semblance of camaraderie.
Thor, however, felt none of it.
The ache in his heart had become unbearable. Frigga’s absence weighed on him like a stormcloud that refused to break. His mother, his guiding light, was gone, and though he tried to push through with the same boisterous confidence he always carried, his grief had begun to crack the armor.
And Loki’s silence only made it worse.
Despite their endless quarrels and betrayals, Loki’s pain mirrored his own. Thor had reached out again and again, but his brother refused to answer. It was as though Loki had retreated into himself, building yet another wall Thor could not climb.
Thor didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to ease the ache in his chest or silence the questions in his mind. He hated the way he didn’t look as broken as he felt.
Odin was no help.
Thor had approached the Allfather, his voice tight with restrained frustration. “Father, I seek counsel. I feel… unmoored.”
Odin’s only response was a cold, dismissive wave of his hand. “You seek answers to questions that should not concern you. Tend to your duties, Thor.”
Odin’s throne room was vast and cold, the golden light of the setting sun streaming through the high windows.
“Father,” Thor said, his voice steady but firm. “I seek to understand why I feel this way. Why my grief is muted when it should roar like a tempest.”
Odin sat on his throne, his expression unreadable. He regarded Thor for a long moment before speaking again.
“It is not for you to understand,” Odin said, his tone final.
Thor’s frustration flared. “Not for me to understand? She was my mother! I deserve to know why my heart does not ache as it should!”
Odin’s gaze hardened. “Leave it be, Thor.”
Thor stared at his father, disbelief and anger warring within him. “You would deny me this?”
But Odin said nothing more.
Thor turned on his heel and strode from the room with clenched fists and a silent mouth, his cape billowing behind him.
It was Heimdall who finally gave him the truth.
Standing at the edge of the Bifrost, Thor gazed at Heimdall’s ever-watchful form. The golden-clad guardian met his gaze, calm and steady as always.
“You seek something your father will not give,” Heimdall said, his voice rich and deep.
“Aye,” Thor replied, frustration lacing his words. “He will not speak with me, but I must know why this wound festers so deeply. Why I feel this… disconnect.”
“Heimdall,” Thor said, “I seek the truth.”
Heimdall regarded him carefully. “And what truth do you seek, my prince?”
“My father has turned away from me,” Thor said. “I feel as though I do not know myself. I must know why.”
Heimdall hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “Your father forbade me from speaking of this truth to anyone.” He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But he did not say I could not speak to you, specifically. How could I have known exactly who he meant?”
Thor stepped closer, his heart pounding. “Tell me.”
Heimdall’s gaze softened. “Frigga was a mother to you in every way that mattered, but she was not your birth mother. Your true mother is Gaea, the goddess of the Earth. Odin conceived you with her and raised you with Frigga.”
Thor felt as though the ground had been ripped from beneath him. “Gaea… the Earth?”
“Yes,” Heimdall said. “It is the reason why your connection to Midgard is so strong. Why your power on Midgard is on strong. Your mother’s essence flows through you, binding you to its lands, its waters, its people, and its storms.”
Thor’s chest tightened, betrayal mingling with confusion. “Why would my father not tell me? Does he not trust me?”
Heimdall placed a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Perhaps Odin feared your loyalty would stray to Midgard. Perhaps he believed it would cloud your purpose. The Allfather is a complex being, and his reasons are his own. Whatever those reasons may be, only he may tell them to you. All you can do is wait for if he chooses to speak up and decide what these truths mean to you."
Thor shook his head, his mind racing. “Do you think me so weak of will, Heimdall? That I cannot hold my devotion to both Asgard and Midgard?”
“That is a question only you can answer,” Heimdall replied.
Thor exhaled sharply, his hands trembling. “Thank you, old friend,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.
Without another word, he summoned the Bifrost and returned to Midgard.
Thor arrived at Avengers Manor under the cover of sunlight. The sprawling grounds were quiet, the team likely scattered or training. Thor, however, had no intention of joining them.
He made his way into the grove of trees behind the manor, searching for the largest, oldest one. When he found it, he sat beneath its sprawling branches, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.
Thor began to meditate, his deep voice resonating through the air as he called out. “Gaea, Mother of the Earth, I beseech thee. Hear me.”
For hours, he called, his prayers a steady rhythm. The moon rose high above him, casting its silver light through the leaves. But there was no response.
Still, Thor did not waver.
Finally, as the first whispers of dawn touched the horizon, he heard it—a voice, soft and weary, carried on the wind.
“Who calls for me?”
Thor’s eyes opened, and he spoke again, his voice filled with urgency. “It is I, Thor Odinson. Gaea… are you truly my mother?”
There was a pause, and then the voice replied. “I am. You are my son, born of my essence and Odin’s might. You are the bridge between Asgard and Earth.”
Thor felt a lump rise in his throat. “Why do you sound so weak?”
“Humans,” Gaea replied, her voice tinged with sadness. “They have harmed me. Their trash poisons my oceans and scars my lands. Their negligence saps my energy.”
Thor clenched his fists, a surge of anger rising within him. “I vow to restore you. I shall cleanse your lands and replenish your strength.”
Gaea’s voice softened. “My strength is not gone, my son. But a clean Earth would ease my burden. You are a protector of this realm, and I am proud of you.”
A figure appeared before him, stepping out of the shadows like a dream. She was a striking woman with thick black hair that coiled around her head and eyes. Her presence was serene yet powerful, her beauty otherworldly despite being veiled.
“Gaea,” Thor whispered, his voice trembling.
The goddess approached him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into her embrace. Her touch was warm and comforting, her fingers combing gently through his hair.
“My son,” she murmured, her voice filled with love. “You have always made me proud.”
Thor closed his eyes, leaning into her embrace. For the first time in months, the ache in his heart began to ease.