A Close Call
Pain.
Searing hot pain ripped through you as you entered that wretched creature’s head; even more so than you already felt, even despite the circulation of blood and oxygen connecting your head with the rest of your body being slowly but certainly severed more and more with each passing second. The inside of that monster’s head was a cluster of swirling terror threatening to take you down with it, as you focused on all the power that was still left within you.
Loki’s voice still seemed to guide you, encourage you whenever you heard it break through the static, the mixture of screams from people outside this connection, outside your head, as well as the screams coming from the three of you.
For the creature was hurting.
In other occasions you might have cared, but your life was on the line—so with an excruciating amount of energy you crafted the thought meant to be planted in its head, a seed you hoped would quickly latch on and grow. You could already feel your head start bursting under the pressure, metaphorical as well as purely physical, while you repeated your command at the creature over and over while your connection lasted.
There was a moment of silence and you felt yourself giving up, felt your grasp on it, as well as life, slip from your fingers, as if sand, as if water, as if one of those toys filled with liquid almost everyone had owned in their childhood, slipping from your grasp no matter how you tried to hold on. The creature’s mental defenses were oddly thick, much like its skin which apparently had been thick enough for it to barely feel the knife as you had plunged it into its arm as deeply as you could—apparently not deep enough. For its clutch was still tight, scalding and draining your consciousness fast.
You gave another push while your legs clung to its torso for dear life, saving yourself from being held by your neck. The scream that came out of your mouth sounded almost inhuman, slightly feral, most likely due to your constricted ability to move, the lack of air to scream, your squished throat and the fact that you screeched inside as well as outside of your head.
And that was it.
The world around you started to fade, barely to a dim light in which black spots started to clearly dance around you as if laughing at you, gloating with their ability to move freely while you couldn’t. It’s grip loosened and in but a second your body collided with the stone floor, head barely saved from the collision with it as your back fell first, giving you the opportunity to shield yourself. For a moment the world came back into harsh focus as the impact send a truly unpleasant shiver up your spine, screams around you which had formerly dulled coming back to life in full force as you gasped and cried for air, writhing on the floor in an attempt to soothe yourself, to draw in enough oxygen to keep your lungs from collapsing. Your hands flew to your throat, wanting to press your fingers against it but recoiling as it hurt even worse, raw and burning and hot.
Through the veil of tears clouding your eyes you caught the creature, stepping back, further and further, before turning and leaving, out of the room and up the staircase. Worried shouts still echoed around you but you couldn’t reply, couldn’t even really say what they were on about, as the panicked scraping of your feet against the stone floor subsided, as the world once more began to dull before it faded with a final breath of relief escaping your chapped lips.
——————
Useless.
Utterly terrifyingly useless.
The creature had used the word to describe you, yet he couldn’t help but feel it fit him much better; enclosed in a cube limiting his seidr to stay within his cell, binding it through ancient magic. Watching your face contort into painful grimaces he had unleashed more of his abilities than he ever thought he would, tearing and twisting at the walls surrounding him in a desperate attempt to escape, to be of any help as he felt you fading, slowly but steadily in the back of his mind.
Yet it was no use, no use at all, for the creature still held you in its grasp, tightly, hand burning as it contemplated the abilities it felt radiating from you. Which is why you weren’t dead yet, why you were still able to channel your last strength to force it to let go—and all he could do was watch and hope. For screaming for help apparently hadn’t proved fruitful despite his best efforts so far, he scowled, continuing to try and claw his way out of the cell encasing him in stone and ancient magic with a vehemence he scarcely dreamed of having.
It was undeniable relief he felt when the creature had actually started to retreat, relief he felt when he yelled your name to try and gauge your condition more properly—not that he wasn’t aware of your hurt, for he felt the fire and force restricting your breathing to a quiet wheeze as if it were his own. For a fact, trying to tear the cell apart seemed to be the only possibility for him to control the adrenaline fueling the rage within him, to cope with the fear coursing through you and try to block out the overwhelming pain. Yet it was, unmistaken, panic he felt as you sank to the ground unmoving, sunk as if all life had left your fragile body.
He had never yelled for support louder than this very moment—and he had never been happier to catch sight of Fandral actually rushing towards him, blonde hair a disheveled mess on top of his head, rapier at his side shining with crimson blood. The look in his eyes was an apprehensive one at first, slightly suspicious, before softening and immediately contorting to a look nothing short of horror at seeing your crumpled up form on the floor.
Fandral was many things, truly. Annoying was the most prominent one in Loki’s head—intrusive and far too unhealthily obsessed with the attention of women only more unkind descriptions he could think of to accurately describe the man’s seeming lack of personality.
Yet he was kind. Noble. Deep down, Loki mused, Fandral was more than just kind, and he would never, under any circumstances, let harm befall to an innocent. Only that in this case the harm had already been done, with him in direct vicinity, and he hadn’t done a thing to stop it. He could see it crossing the blond’s face, the distress at someone seemingly unfit for battle having been so severely injured, while he gently bent down to pick you up and into his arms, mindful of your throat and head. Perhaps he even knew you to be a friend of Thor, which would only add heaps and pounds of salt to the wound he thought he had inflicted upon himself.
“Fandral,” Loki spoke, and in that moment his eyes shone with nothing but honesty whether he had wanted to or not, gaze speaking paragraphs despite no words being uttered. There was a second in which both men clearly saw the pain in each other’s eyes as they were confronted by the fact that no one had done anything to prevent this from happening, a second in which they each tried to convince the other that it wasn’t their fault, but rather their own.
Loki had secretly always liked that about Fandral, far, far back into all of their childhood. When Fandral, despite seeming terribly full of himself like a bucket filled to the brim with water, yet with undeniable confidence and poise, would always look for the blame not within others, but within himself first things first. It contrasted immensely with his apparent love directed solely at himself, so it was a moment of pure beauty and innocence in which Loki was reminded of his childhood, was reminded that Fandral was still Fandral—annoying but incredibly kind and easily worried behind his facade of blatant optimism and charm.
With a silent hint of a nod Loki broke the trance they had fallen into, Fandral reciprocating the motion and dashing off and up the stairs with your limp body in his arms.
Now all he could do was wait.
——————
You awoke jerking forward in the bed you apparently found yourself in, familiar feeling of hands holding onto you to gently push you back down to rest the only thing you dared to feel at that moment. But it was there, a burn, a terrible burn at your throat and you couldn’t help how your hands fought against the friendly touch, how your hands fought to claw at the skin around your throat.
“Please calm down—“ A voice, slightly desperate and oddly stiff wound its way through the mess clouding your brain, two shadows appearing in your still slightly blurred vision before you heard a door fall closed— “You are safe here, and everything is alright.”
Thor, your mind screamed at you, vaguely remembering how he had said these exact words to you before with a sick flutter in your stomach, Thor was here and everything was okay. It was what you tried to tell yourself, but your body didn’t stop, couldn’t stop; feeling of burning hands wrapped tightly around your throat refusing to subside as you arched your back trying to restrain yourself. Your name was repeated on an endless loop in different voices, both distressed, one clearly in your head and one clearly from next to you—but you failed to quite catch on to either of them.
“Your wounds have been healed with the Healing Stones,” Thor continued to speak, even though your mind failed to understand the meaning behind his words. That you were not going to die and that the battle happened only in your head. Still, it was as if he was speaking to you in a language you didn’t speak and it didn’t help your frantic head in the slightest. And so he merely continued to hold you while you fought and trashed, writhed in his gentle but firm grasp, tossed and turned until the effort tired you out and you could only lie still.
It felt like accepting death, vaguely.
For all you felt, all you saw was the creature looming above you, decidedly picking you up by the throat another time, hands burning a bit brighter, burying themselves around your throat a bit deeper, until a snap sounded through the room and you went limp.
But you weren’t limp. You were alive, a calming, friendly touch on your shoulders rather than the asphyxiating one around your neck crushing your windpipe.
You were alive, and your brain was only now catching up with that fact.
Something echoed along in your mind, something akin to a breathless laugh, a hollow sound void of actual, innocent mirth and rather drenched in genuine relief, bone deep sorrow creating a shiver up your spine.
[You’re alive—]
You could feel the voice inside you crack, felt yourself crack as you realized that he must have thought you to be dead. It was no surprise, for mere seconds ago you had been sure of it yourself, or at least believed yourself to be eerily close to it. With a choked sob you allowed yourself to utter a laugh as well, truly hollow, as if only to lighten the mood for you were beyond comprehension of anything around you.
In a sudden reflex your hand went up to hold onto your throat.
“You are really here,” Thor spoke after a while of silence, voice oddly quiet while his gaze intently searched your face. His eyes were even more concerning; red, slightly puffy, and if you didn’t feel as if you had been run over by a truck, sight just as blurry and world just as turning, you might have actually believed that there were wet patches on his cheeks and under his eyelids. While your eyes clung to his, taking in his obvious grief in his every muscle, your hand trailed the scar on your tender skin with a harsh intake of air. There was an obvious indent, ever so slightly, were your skin took on a more leather-like quality. The fabric which had previously covered it along with your mask was shredded, cut off in places to ease the access, for healing purposes, no doubt.
Thor’s gaze fell down to glimpse at your scar as his lips pressed into a thin line, his hands clenched on his lap.
“Fandral brought you here, a friend of mine,” he explained, tightening his hands to fists, before unclenching them and rubbing them together in a light motion which immediately told you that half of his thoughts just returned to stay with you, other half so, so far away from here, “If it had not been for his quick action, you might have—“
He didn’t dare say it out loud but he also didn’t have to.
Loki had thought you to be dead, you yourself had thought to be dead. It was no wonder everyone else had had the same impression.
He turned his wandering thoughts into a cough, managing to draw your attention to him, yet failing to cover up whatever he had accidentally meant to hide which shone in his eyes, burned itself into your retinas with an intensity rivaling the sun. Thor was grieving. But not solely for you.
You watched as his lip turned more and more into a slim line and decided to not ask him, not prod around in his head; for if he had wanted you to know, he would have said so.
“They were after what resided within Jane, the Aether—an Infinity Stone,” he looked at you, trying to gauge whether you were receptive enough to understand the severity of the situation unfolding in front of you, and you forced your still slightly trembling body into submission as you tried to cling onto his words.
Your body was fine, you kept repeating in your head, only your mind wasn’t.
“I will not let them return—I will take Jane and escape to a different realm,” he continued on and you only gazed at him quizzically, too many questions spiraling around within you which still didn’t make sense with the remnants of panic still mushing them together into a gigantic ball of terror.
“I am telling you so that you know you will still be safe here while I am gone. Upon seeing you wake I have sent someone to inform Aldís and Ragnarr—“ You perked up at hearing your friends’ names, mouth opening widely before turning into a disbelieving grin— “I also intend to break Loki out of prison and depart at once.”
You had quite possibly never shot up that quickly, hands lightly holding your shoulders be damned as you heaved yourself into a sitting position. The movement caused your head to spin, world tilting even further, swimming before your eyes as if you were nearly drowning, head barely above the surface of the water trying to smother you.
“What?”
Thor’s soothing words went almost completely over your head as your thoughts spiraled in circles over and over and over again.
“Once the problem has been resolved, I will personally escort you back to Midgard. But until then—“ He gently pushed you back down onto the bed, to prove his point— “I want you to rest. Healing Stones are certainly not going easy on the body, especially on that of a mortal. There might be some dizziness still, similar to last time only that, so far, you had less time to rest.”
He definitely had a point and you were not about to object, yet what was their plan? What were they even going to do? You didn’t know much after all, only that the force residing within Jane Foster was a destructive one and probably shouldn’t stay within someone that’s only human. But luring a bunch of powerful creatures away, to only the three of them? That seemed more than simply dangerous and your still frantic mind didn’t want to let go of your friends, of Loki, after having just been reunited with them.
Your body only offered a nod.
“I know this might not be easy for you—“ So he knew of your connection?— “Do you want to see him before we leave?”
This time the nod you gave was harsh, heart beating in your chest having rapidly picked up in speed as you almost tried to push Thor away again to rise on the bed.
“Yes.”
———
The silence after Thor had left to prepare was short-lived, for the door burst open and in came a flurry of two people sprinting over with a hurry scarcely to be seen. A bundle of blue and brown came running towards you, stopping a hair’s width from you with eyes wide and frantic.
“Aldís, Ragnarr—“ Their names left your lips in a mumble, vision starting to blur once more as they beamed at you with a happiness you hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Ragnarr was the first to break out of his trance, pulling you into a deep, tight embrace which radiated warmth and love and made your eyelashes flutter closed in relief.
They were here, they were alive, and you were there to see them.
Aldís joined in soon after, worried expression never quite leaving her face as she pat your head before engulfing you in a hug of her own.
“We are so glad to see you alive,” Aldís spoke, almost choked as her eyes seemed glassy with unshed tears, all the while giving you a bittersweet smile. Both of their breathing was still slightly rough, from all the running, from all the grief.
Grief?
“We were just informed about what had happened and came as quickly as we could,” Ragnarr said, with his arms wound tightly around you still as if he hadn’t intended to let go at all. A soft blanket was pulled up around your shoulders and you couldn’t help but feel drowned in the love you felt. You had almost given up hope of ever seeing them again and here you were, clutching your friend tightly for you feared that if you separated, you were to be cast off Asgard straight away to never return. Again.
Once Ragnarr finally broke free from his embrace, you noted the tear rolling down his cheek, quietly dripping from his chin and onto the floor. He raised his hand, furiously wiping the remaining wetness away while his smile turned into a laugh, a relieved, fully content laugh. Your eyes turned glassy along with theirs—how could you have ever tried to forget just how easily Ragnarr was to be read? How each emotion was displayed so clearly on his face for everyone to see? How could you have ever tried to forget Aldís’ worries face, ready to kindly reprimand you should you even try to stand or do anything just as foolish?
Aldís gave a slight chuckle, filling the room with sound,
“He has been thoroughly in a bad mood almost every day since you were gone.”
An exclamation, which earned her a truly light hit to the shoulder by her half-brother, making her chuckle turn into a full blown laugh with glee.
“As if you had been any better!” he retaliated, grinning.
With your happiness filling the chambers you resided in, the two of them took up a chair and sat down next to you, where you fell into pleasant conversation about just everything and anything until Thor would arrive, until Loki would be there with him to say goodbye once more.
Yet apparently your time of glee and lightheartedness in spite of the dire situation couldn’t last for long, for a mere hours into your exciting and luckily distracting discussion about a topic only Ragnarr could make sound interesting, the door burst open wide, revealing an array of guards with a scowling expression plastered on their faces. They parted immediately, only to reveal an even scarier looking Odin, a fuming King to emerge from within the cluster of men.
“Have I not forbidden you to return to Asgard?”
His voice was but a growl, low and threatening as he stood in the middle of the room, staring you down with an intensity that made you shrink in your seat on the bed. Like a stop sign warning you into precaution his head gleamed red, veins popping out of his head with scary intensity.
For some reason you could tell that you weren’t the actual cause of his apparent madness, yet you knew you had to take it nonetheless.
Aldís and Ragnarr hurriedly stood in front of you, determination radiating from them, even though the latter seemed slightly more conflicted by the idea of opposing his King—a sentiment you could understand, especially regarding his position as a guard himself.
“What is the meaning of this?” the King continued to fume, end of his lance getting rammed into the floor with a deafening sound to support his incredulity, his searing anger.
“Prince Thor has asked of us to ensure their safety and we hold onto our promises,” Aldís spoke and you noted her hand brushing against Ragnarr’s arm in a reassuring gesture while he stood with his feet stiffly rooted to the floor as if frozen still and fused with the ground below.
The King looked more than just ready to argue, you noticed worriedly, you could almost feel the words burning on his lips just waiting to be spilled, etching themselves onto his tongue for every second in which he didn’t say them. You feared, waiting for him to reprimand the subjects of his kingdom, which he most likely declared to obey his every command—especially someone that is a guard.
But contrary to everyone’s belief he swallowed the remark, despite reluctantly so, the name Thor no doubt circulating around his head like crazy; and with that you feared how the poor prince was now going to be pulled into all of this and face the madness in your stead.
What the King let out instead, was a growl, low, almost animalistic.
“Once more, to clarify—“ he took a deep breath through clenched teeth and a clenched jaw, taking a step closer and raising his head with something akin to royal grace which only made him look menacing instead— “I will tolerate the mortal’s presence until my son returns. Afterwards the mortal is to leave and never return, lest they will be executed as an example. Understood?”
The three of you nodded in automatic response, eyes not straying from the King’s form as if fearing he might change his mind and murder you right then and there.
“Good. And should you ever dare defy my orders again, I shall lock you in the dungeons for the rest of your days,” he spoke, lance thundering against the marble floor for another time before he turned around and left, crowd of guards encapsulating him once more as the doors fell closed behind them like thunder rolling in the distance.
You couldn’t believe your friends stood up for you against their King, looking up at them with deep, honest gratitude while in the back of your head you felt guilty for now Thor now had to deal with this problem.
———
And there he was.
Thor entered the room first, smile widening slightly to shadow his grief as he caught side of the three of you sitting, smiling and laughing with toothy grins adorning your faces. Barely a second later Loki trudged in behind him, and your previous smile fell away in awe. Awe and palpable concern.
For the man standing before you seemed a mere shadow of himself, eyes practically unfocused, hair still slightly disheveled and clothes not nearly as ironed out and smooth as it usually seemed to be the case—even though something told you that he had looked much worse mere minutes ago. His eyes regained a slight glint once they fell on you, lips twitching up into as smile as you almost instinctually scrambled to get out of the bed you were still resting on.
Before you could do so he was already at your side,
“Easy now,” he spoke, and you needed no abilities to feel the sorrow radiating even from behind his sincere smile, “Everything is okay.”
You laughed—for many reasons you assumed—because he was here, without any shackles to bind him and weigh him down, because he was alive, you were alive and because Thor had said the very same to you not so long ago.
Brothers indeed.
Something within you screamed to touch him, to make sure that all of this was indeed real, that all of this was indeed happening, and not merely a fever dream your dying mind had conjured to ease your passing. You almost visibly shuddered at the thought, almost forgetting that Loki felt it all, heard it all, before seeing his facade give away to the sorrow that had been looming behind so directly beneath his eyelids, hidden behind his poise and grace while he walked, even though something about him tried to say; plucked fresh from the sewer.
Sorrow. Grief.
Because his mother died.
You heard a sharp intake of air echo through the room, the only sound within making it appear louder than it had most likely been. And it took you a couple of seconds to realize that it had come from you.
Frigga—the Queen, the person that had helped you, accepted you and treated you well despite her husband embodying the complete and utter opposite from her, she, who was shining as brightly and warmly as the sun—was dead.
The understanding dawning on you made everyone else set into motion as well, knowing of your connection and seeing the recognition in your expression, yet no one made a move to explain, to speak about it. For it had happened, nothing could possibly change it, but with the grief still struck deeply into the hearts of the people around you they couldn’t help but try and deny it by choosing to postpone their mourning to a later date. Perhaps to after all of this was over, to after the creature that had killed the Queen, apparently the same that had attacked you, was ridden of the universe and whatever lay beyond.
Careful beyond words, light as a feather, Loki placed his hand on your arm. His expression seemed almost stony, but his facade to protect himself from the world around him was useless against you as you felt the rage, the misery within him, fighting to devour him whole, rampaging through his head like a maniac. With an even gentler movement you placed your own hand above his, gifting warmth to his cold skin, warmth to his clouded mind with an empathetic smile carrying a promise. A promise of trust and hope.
———
“It is time,” Thor spoke the words with nothing but sadness dripping from his words even despite his resolute and determined posture. With a soft pat of your arm Loki rose to his feet, taking a step back to gaze at you with a faraway expression fogging his eyes.
In a swift and unexpected movement he motioned with his hands; little strings of nothing short of magic appearing around them until they formed a little membrane he could reach through—and did. Pulling his hand out of the little, blue portal, a book came with it, oddly and terribly familiar, gold glistening in the stray light of the fire around you as he held it out for you to take. With a second of surprised hesitation you took it out of his grasp, eyes glancing from the book to him and back as you felt the weight reside in your hands almost unnaturally heavy so.
As he took a step back you mouth awakened from its trance.
“Be careful,” you spoke, a phrase so mundane but so very important as you watched him walk up to Thor, both giving you an almost sad smile before they left through the door, letting them fall behind you closed.
———
Aldís and Ragnarr only reluctantly left your side mere minutes after Thor’s and Loki’s departure, even though it was the both of them that had wanted you to rest. Like Thor had mentioned before, the Healing Stones had been given to you while you had been unconscious and on the brink of death, just barely pulling you out of its dark and cold clutches before it was too late. They were still keeping your body unusually docile and calm, slightly clouding your mind and, at times, tilting the word at an odd angle before you realized that you had merely been dozing off from exhaustion.
Still, no matter how exhausted you had been, the curiosity of the book, familiar book you had noticed since first arriving on Asgard a year ago, kept you awake and from blissful darkness and sleep. Which is precisely why you now, hands oddly shaking, opened the book and began to read.
Read, and read, eyes widening and widening, barely making it to the next couple of pages before halting.
You closed the book with a loud snap tearing through the air, forcing yourself to slightly trembling knees and pushing yourself to rush out of the room, out of the palace, pushing yourself to follow Loki.