New York, 1955
Thunder boomed overhead of the small house in the Bronx. Steve Rogers cuddled his wife close and reminisced silently to himself about a hammer and a battlefield and a large army of aliens. He remembered when the gods had found him worthy to call down the lightning. He had never told Peggy. He knew that if he ever claimed to have wielded Mjolnir, he would probably be hauled off to a padded cell somewhere.
His memories were interrupted by scrambling feet as his four-year-old daughter, Natasha, ran into the room, eyes wide. She jumped into the bed and pushed her way between her parents, shivering with fear.
“What is it, my dear?” Peggy asked, stroking her daughter’s dark hair.
“The thunder came into my room and hit me on the head,” Natasha muttered, cuddling up to her parents.
Steve spoke up then, hugging his daughter close. “You don’t need to fear the thunder, Nat. It’s just your Uncle Thor having a party.”
“Uncle Thor?” Natasha asked, wide eyes looking up at her father.
“Yeah, Uncle Thor. He is the god of thunder and when he has a party, the whole earth shakes. But not to worry. He is a mighty warrior with a temper as quick as lightening, but with his friends he is a true gentleman. I know he would like you, Nat. Shall we go say hello?”
Natasha nodded, and Steve swung his daughter into his arms and walked to the kitchen, an amused Peggy following behind them. Steve warmed up some milk and poured three glasses. He handed each of them a glass. He then went out on the front porch and lifted his glass to the skies, “Thor!” he called to the heavens, “Enjoy your revels!”
Natasha and Peggy laughed, but joined in the sentiment as they all drank their milk. “All right,” Peggy said to her daughter, “back to bed with you.”
“I’ll be just a moment,” Steve said, smiling at his family.
As the girls went back in, Steve turned once again to the sky. “Heimdall,” he whispered. “I know that Thor will not meet me for another 60 years. I know neither one of you at this current moment knows who I am. But could you give him a message? Tell him a human who knows that the Norse gods exist does wish him the best and that I hope he enjoys his revels.”
He then turned away and reentered the house to go back to bed.
Far away in Asgard, Heimdall looked down amusedly at the mortal who had stepped back into his house. He then removed his sword from the portal and went to find the crown prince.
He found him indeed having a party with his brother and their friends. Thor looked up in surprise, “Heimdall,” he remarked. “What brings you from your post?”
“I have a message for you, Your Highness,” he then relayed the words that the mortal had said.
“Strange,” Thor said with a frown. “I have no intention of returning to Midgard any time soon.”
“I know, Your Highness,” Heimdall said. “But the mortals have not believed in us for many years. I thought you might want to know someone still does.”
“Thank you, Heimdall,” Thor said with a smile. “Join us for a drink before you go back to your post?”
“Do not mind if I do,” the Watcher said, and sat down with the princes and their friends for a mug of ale. As he drank, Heimdall decided that he would keep an eye on this mortal. He was intrigued.