Sleipnir hadn’t planned to stay on Midgard. He had planned to come down, see with his own eyes that his siblings were safe, and then return with his grandfather to Asgard. He had planned to say the bare minimum to his father and then walk away. Yet his father had come towards him, confident walk turning nervous and a small, sad smile on his face, and all Sleipnir could remember was centuries ago, when he had been unwilling to speak to his father for his anger. When he reached where his father stood, Loki greeted him softly, stepped aside, and then gestured to where his siblings stood. Sleipnir realized this was all Loki would ask of him. That was when he made his choice.
Now that he was here, he and his siblings had a few hundred years to catch up on. Every Friday night they got together, and his siblings treated him to a new dish from Midgard. Six months later, they were nowhere close to running out of choices. Sometimes it was five-star restaurants that Hela had to pull strings to get them into, and other times it was street food from a night market in some town that Jorgamund had to open a portal to get them to. Sometimes they saved themselves the hassle and ordered into one of their homes, or on some occasions their father’s prison. Sometimes it was just the four of them and other times others were there, doing their best to make him feel welcome.
Sleipnir liked to observe them with his siblings. He watched the way Tony Stark would look at Hela like she was his world, or how she’d share the same exasperated look with James Rhodes and Happy Hogan when Stark got a little too irritating. He saw how casual Fenrir let Steve Rogers be with his touch and let Sam Wilson mock him without losing his temper. He observed the respect that any visiting wizard showed Jorgamund, and the genuine friendly affection from a powerful wizard who was otherwise one of the most effortlessly arrogant people Sleipnir had ever met.
Midgard had been good to them, even if they had had to hide there against their will. His siblings were loved here. They had everything they had been denied in Asgard. He wondered if it was how they were on Jotunheim, before their mother died. Their easy smiles and unhaunted eyes brought him joy.
On this Friday, they were at a tiny Korean barbeque in some back-alley restaurant in Seoul.
“Sleipnir Lokison, you are nearly a thousand years old. I should not have to tell you to slow down and chew with your mouth closed.”
He paused, feeling like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t, not eldest sitting at the table. Hela was looking at him, unimpressed, while Fenrir attempted and failed to stifle his chuckles, and Jorgamund just continued to eat with an amused glint in his eyes. The former horse slowed his pace and chewed carefully, before swallowing and then complaining. He would deny the accusation he pouted, because he would never be caught doing something so undignified, no matter what his siblings claimed, “Hela, do you know what grass tastes like? Nothing, and it’s all the same. All of it. Hay is worse. I have had the same taste in my mouth for over nine hundred years. You will not stop me from enjoying every moment of this.”
Fenrir finally started cackling, drawing stares from the other patrons. Hela turned her angry look on the youngest, and it only made him laugh harder. Sleipnir took her distraction as an opportunity to quickly get another mouthful of bulgogi. Hela noticed anyway.
“I swear, I can’t take any of you anywhere.”
“I’m being perfectly civilized,” Jorgamund pointed out.
“How are you even here? Aren’t monks supposed to be vegetarians?”
“I’m a snake Fenrir,” and Jorgamund left his comment at that and ate another chopsticks worth of rice.
Hela was pinching the bridge of her nose while she sighed, “Fine.”
“Hey, this is still better than the cotton candy thing,” Fenrir said.
Sleipnir felt his cheeks heat up and cursed his human body for being useless at hiding such emotions. To be fair, he had only been a human for a week when he found out about the existence of cotton candy. How was he to know that eating that much pure sugar would make him ill?
“Or the time with the Indian food,” Fenrir continued, enjoying himself far too much.
“I didn’t know what spicy even was!” He protested, “Grass is never spicy!” He was just glad that it had been take out. He couldn’t imagine the humiliation of having mortals see him unable to stop coughing and guzzling water and then milk. Fenrir’s laughter had caused enough shame.
Fenrir opened his mouth, probably to cite another example, but Hela swatted him in the back of the head before he could.
“Hey!”
“When Sel asks me to magic your mouth shut, I will do it.”
“No fair! You were just complaining about him!”
“But she wasn’t doing it to cause trouble,” Jorgamund put in. His voice had no particular emotion, but there was a glimmer in his eye that he recognized. It was the look their father had when he was neck deep in mischief. Sleipnir grinned at his brother, who gave him a small smirk back.
“How is it you always find a way to gang up on me?” Fenrir couldn’t stop the whine in his voice.
“You make it too easy baby brother,” Sleipnir turned the tables on his brother.
“I’m almost six hundred years old! Don’t call me a baby!”
He said it loudly, which caused the family at the table next to them to look over with an expression that described the ‘wait, what?’ line of thought that was going through their minds.
Fenrir noticed them and smiled, “Aesir-Jotun.”
Considering they were the only Aesir or Jotun left on Midgard, save Loki, it was pretty obvious who they were. Their eyes widened, and more than one pulled out a cellphone. The youngest -a preteen maybe- spoke, eyes lit up, “Photo?”
Sleipnir perked up. The cameras these Midgardians had developed thrilled him. What clever things, and not just because of the camera itself. So many of them were intelligent enough to know they should take pictures of him. His one regret was they couldn’t take them in his true form. Him as a horse was clearly superior to this, no matter how much he honestly was enjoying the human body his father had given him.
“Sure thing,” Fenrir volunteered for them, being the only other one of then who truly enjoyed being the centre of attention.
Hela straightened and put on the placid smile she always used for the press. The effect wasn’t quite the same with her sitting on the ground. Fenrir put on his easy smile while Sleipnir beamed. The only one who didn’t was Jorgamund, who turned his head enough that they’d only get his profile, not a clear view of his face. His brother didn’t enjoy being in the public eye like this. It’s why he spent so much of his time hidden in sanctums and the mountains of Nepal. Sleipnir shifted his body, blocking his brother just a little bit more from the photographers. Once the pictures were taken and the gratitude expressed, Sleipnir turned back to his food and found Jorgamund looking at him.
“Thank you,” his brother said.
Sel just grinned at him, “More attention for me,” he left it there, even if Jorgamund’s thanks made him feel a happy warmth, “Can we order more food? We’ve eaten everything.”
Hela was back to sighing, but she called over the waitress to order another platter and side dishes, “The three of you are going to be the death of me.”
“You’ve put up with Tony Stark for the last decade,” Jorgamund pointed out, “We’re not going to be the thing that breaks you.”
Hela opened her mouth, paused, and then replied with, “Okay, that’s fair.”
The food arrived and Sleipnir made the effort to at least try and eat less at once and more slowly, if only to keep down Hela’s blood pressure. They ate in silence, until Fenrir broke it again.
“So Sel, therapy with Dad. How is that going?”
The food in his mouth turned sour as his appetite made him feel sick. He swallowed, despite the was his stomach rebelled. He wasn’t hungry anymore.
Fenrir was grinning again, clearly pleased that he had gotten the upper hand in their sibling teasing. Hela, however, had wide eyes at their brother’s comment and Jorgamund looked between the oldest and the youngest.
“Fenrir…” Jorgamund began to warn.
Fenrir ignored him and kept on going, “I still can’t believe you agreed to that. The last thing I’d think you’d want to do is talk to Dad about your feelings. How did that even happen anyway?”
It happened because his father’s therapist suggested it, even after Loki shot it down. The doctor then got Sleipnir’s agreement with logical sounding arguments that he realized later were meant to trigger his guilt. Then Sleipnir completely understood why this woman was the one they had chosen to deal with his father. It was only Sleipnir’s agreement that made Loki begrudgingly agree with family therapy. After that Sleipnir couldn’t back out without feeling bad.
It was unpleasant and possibly necessary, but that didn’t mean he had any intention of dwelling on it outside that one hour every other Wednesday. It was too raw and painful to share with anyone else, and the remainder of it was the best way to ruin his evening.
He kept his anger down and made no reply. Perhaps if he said nothing, Fenrir would stop. Surely, he would catch on that this wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.
If Fenrir realized it, he ignored it, “Is there crying?”
His father hadn’t cried in their sessions, but Sleipnir knew it was only because he was there. Sleipnir was smart enough to know that he probably did cry later. He was mostly long past the childish desire to cause pain, so it turned his stomach doing it biweekly.
‘Enough Fenrir!” Hela hissed, looking at her older brother in concern. That concern grew as Sleipnir’s angry face grew darker.
Sleipnir didn’t cry. No, he grew angry and snapped when they got too close to the cracks they hadn’t come close to repairing yet. He didn’t hold back his anger when they got anywhere close to his father’s ‘fall’ -suicide attempt, because he refused to make it sound prettier than what it was-, to what Sleipnir felt that day, and how it felt years thinking Loki dead, only to be betrayed when he was told Loki was alive. He hadn’t even been told by Loki- his father took a year to even come to him after that. His rage at that always bubbled under the surface, and when Loki refused to even try and give excuses for any of that, he let it out and said things he would feel terrible for the moment he had time to think about it.
He refused to bring that venom out of that room. Dr. Gallant told him it was better to deal with it all in a safe space and not have it pop up in everyday situations. He always shoved it to the back of his mind so it didn’t poison everything with his father. He could forget their problems and just be with his father, like before everything had gone wrong the second time.
Having his brother remind him of that now like it was nothing but a joke, made him snarl, “Forgive me Fenrir. Not all of us can be a wanted child with a childhood to match.”
Sleipnir was only a quarter of the way through his words when Fenrir’s face told him his brother had realized how badly he had messed up. His eyes widened in acknowledgement and more than a little panic at what he did.
Silence reigned amongst them, until Jorgamund broke it, “We’ll add this to the list.”
It was the list of things they knew not to talk about. Most of it didn’t have said out loud. Asgard was at the top of the list, save for the scant good years there. Odin wasn’t meant to be mentioned, ever- their anger or his love for their grandfather wasn’t something they addressed. They avoided Loki’s villainy, because that brought them too close to the subject of Asgard. Sleipnir knew that it wasn’t only his father that he had issues to deal with. There would eventually have to be a reckoning between him and his siblings.
Thinking of that while they all sat together, joking and laughing, finished off whatever enjoyment he had been feeling. Now it was bitter, one he had to leave behind before it went any further.
“Excuse me,” he got out through clenched teeth before getting up and storming out. Once outside, he went around the corner and leaned his back against the side of it.
He missed Asgard. He missed his shape and how graceful and powerful he felt. He missed his grandfather and the golden halls he ruled over. He missed the simplicity and ease, where he didn’t have to feel like this all the time. Sleipnir didn’t want to admit to such a childish emotion, but he was homesick.
“Sel,” the former horse turned and saw a contrite little brother coming to his side,” Sleipnir said nothing in return, “I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but it’s just...I’ve never seen it when it’s bad between you, you know? Only about those ten seconds when you first got here. I forget sometimes.”
“I don’t.”
He felt Fenrir out and squeezed his shoulder, and his anger melted away. His baby brother was thoughtless, not cruel, at least not to his family.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Isn’t that what my therapy is for?”
Fenrir snorted, “There are things you’re never going to say in front of Dad. My Steve enforced anger management has told me bottling up your feelings isn’t helpful.”
Sleipnir made a sound of disbelief, “Your problem has never been bottling up your feelings Fenrir.”
“Apparently we need to cover all the bases. Next up is lashing out and destroying things when you’re angry. It’s more of a review anyway. Hopefully it will stick this time.”
Fenrir’s previous lessons hadn’t lasted past Sigyn’s death. The minute she was gone, it all fell apart. Sleipnir hadn’t been there to watch, had been too busy running away from his own pain, but Hela and Jorgamund told him it was awful to see. It left Sleipnir wondering how Fenrir had survived those first years on Midgard, in that time before he found Steve Rogers to ground him. Sleipnir knew he couldn’t ask, because it once again went too close to Asgard. There was too much he couldn’t ask, and he dreaded the day when they finally had to.
“We don’t talk about the first time I wouldn’t speak to him. That’s the one thing we’ve made peace about. It wasn’t hard to forgive that, once I finally realized he was as much of a child as I was,” Fenrir squeezed his shoulder again, “but it comes up sometimes, those first three decades. Not…not the stallion directly, though Father might talk about that when I’m not there. I managed to charm it out of one of the guards that he has nightmares the days that we do. It doesn’t take a genius to see the correlation,” he was practically whispering by the end. This was the first time he had said this out loud and expressing it didn’t make him feel any better.
“Dad’s always had nightmares. I don’t remember much from Jotunheim, but I have a few memories of him having some night terrors. It’s not only about that. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
It brought him no comfort, “Wouldn’t it be easier if I wasn’t here as a constant reminder? Me being born means he’ll never be able to forget.”
“Don’t say that Sel, and never say it in front of Dad. With you or without you, he wouldn’t have the tools to cope with what happened,” Sleipnir said nothing, so Fen took hold of his shoulders to turn him around and force him to look him in the eye, “You really haven’t realized it, have you? Dad cares about you more than the rest of us combined.”
“Fenrir-“ he started, alarmed at the comment. Surely he couldn’t have missed his brother feeling such a thing.
“I’m not jealous Sel, never have been. But you were right, when you said that I was welcomed and had a childhood to match it. The three of us did, even with Jor being a whoopsie baby. We were easy, but he had to fight for you. We both know Dad is a selfish bastard who prefers to drop whatever trouble he’s caused in someone else’s lap for them to deal with. He had to fight all that because he wanted you in his life. Then he had to fight to have you actually like him. Then there were those times where you hated him, where he respected your wishes, backed off, and didn’t try to manipulate you. You bet your ass he wasn’t above manipulating us if he felt he had to. When I talked to Everhart, she told me the only thing he showed active regret for was what happened with you,” Sleipnir hadn’t read the article. He had been angry and didn’t ask his grandfather, and once he came to Midgard, he thought it was a bad idea to drag any of that up. Apparently, he should have, “He was willing to sacrifice for you. Did you ever doubt he’d be there if you needed him?”
“Never,” he had taken cruel glee in that over the years, knowing that he had that much power over Loki. He was sure that Loki would do whatever he could for him, no matter what Sleipnir did. It was power and Sleipnir liked power as much as his father and grandfather did.
“When I needed him most, he spent the first fifty years getting drunk. I don’t blame him, not really. I don’t deal with grief much better. It doesn’t make a hundred years chained up go away. He’s already proven he’ll do whatever he needs to for you without hesitation.”
“Fenrir…” he didn’t know what to say, or how to help. He didn’t like that feeling and liked the look in his brother’s eyes less.
“You’re not the only one who’ll need family therapy at some point. We’re all screwed up Sel. Hela has self-image issues, Jor has connection issues, I have anger issues, and Dad is psychotic. You fit right in with the rest of the family,” Fenrir gave a self-deprecating smile, “and I am sorry for acting like an ass earlier. I should have known better.”
“And I should have asked you to stop, not snapped at you and stormed out.”
“So let’s try and act like mature adults from now,” Sleipnir couldn’t help the bark of laughter at Fenrir’s words, “I did say try,” he kept going with a chuckle, “I didn’t say we’d actually succeed.”
“Thank you Fenrir,” Sleipnir didn’t know if his brother was right. He didn’t know if he could even believe him, and if doing so would only be an excuse he’d use for himself. For now he’d take it.
He pulled his brother into a side hug and held him there for a moment. Fenrir let him, leaned into him for a bit longer before he cleared his throat and stood up straight.
“Hela said something about paying the bill and heading home early. How about we find a convenience store and get some soju instead to forget we had this conversation?”
“What’s soju?”
“My friend, do I have an experience for you,” Before he could say anything else, the ground shook. With a yelp, Fenrir stumbled away from his side, and Sleipnir had to brace himself against the wall to stop from doing the same, “What the hell?”
An earthquake? Sleipnir had felt those before, both natural and magical, and this didn’t feel like one. When the earth shook again, he knew it wasn’t.
He grabbed hold of Fenrir and pulled him back towards the entrance to the restaurant. Everyone had gotten out, probably with the first tremor. Jorgamund was holding Hela steady, and neither of them had stopped to grab their things or put their shoes back on. Sleipnir and Fenrir had just joined them when the third shake hit. There was a crack from behind them, and Hela turned in time to throw a shield of ice above them to stop the pieces of the taller building from hitting them all. The people around them began to scream and panic, just in time for the next one. More of the building fell, and cracks appeared in Hela’s wall.
“We need to move!” Sleipnir told them, “Open a portal!”
Jorgamund did that, and Sleipnir saw an open park on the other side. He didn’t know where it was, only that it was open and there were no buildings to fall on them. He turned to the people who had been sharing the restaurant with them, and the ones from shops around them, and gestured to the portal, “Go!” None of them hesitated. Fenrir helped one of the elderly owners through while Sleipnir lifted a pregnant woman who had twisted her ankle through. Once the civilians were safe, he exchanged a look with Fenrir and both agreed to have Hela and Jorgamund go through before they stayed on the safer side.
Hela was still strengthening her ice shield when Fenrir jumped back to her, “Hela come on!”
It was then that the ground beneath their feet opened. The crack appeared under where Jorgamund was standing, concrete jutting up. Sleipnir lunged, catching his brother in the middle and throwing them both out of the way as concrete fell into the chasm that had torn the street in two. He hit the ground and slid, hissing as the skin of his bare arms scratched. He heard the wind shoved out of Jorgamund’s lungs at the impact. He shook off the pain and got to his knees.
“Are you alright?” He asked his brother, who appeared to be blinking away stars. Had Jorgamund hit his head? “How many fingers Jor?”
“Three,” he groaned, sitting up, “I’m alright.” Sleipnir helped him to his feet, worried more than he probably should be.
“Is it supposed to be glowing like that?” Fenrir’s startled voice made them turn, and Sleipnir’s eyes widened when he saw what was happening.
The hole in the ground had widened, and it had turned a pulsating red. It reminded him of the lava fields of Muspelheim, but Fenrir was correct. That crack was not even close to the core, and there were no volcanoes running around them. There was a deep fire running under the ground, and he could feel the wave of heat burning his face.
“Something’s wrong,” Sleipnir said, and Jorgamund added to it.
“There’s magic here. I…don’t know what it is.”
The hole had widened. They couldn’t just jump across it to reach Fenrir and Hela on the other side. He could have Jorgamund open another portal, but it was happening too fast. His siblings’ side of the road was dropping too fast. By now the buildings around them were coming apart.
“Hela! A bridge!”
Hela knew what he wanted her to do, and she gave a grim nod.“Get ready to run Fen!” She threw ice across the space between them, as high as she could to avoid the heat. It didn’t stop it from beginning to melt under their feet as Hela grabbed hold of Fenrir’s hand and bounded across it. It was almost gone, barely slush that was only defying gravity because there was magic there.
“Jump!”
Hela did what Sleipnir told her to once again, bringing Fenrir with her. They closed the rest of the distance, and Sleipnir caught Fenrir when he was close enough. He barely made the edge, feet balanced on the Rim, when Sleipnir pulled him back.
“My hero,” Fenrir sounded shaken in the safety of his arms, but grateful.
He heard Hela scream, and turned in time to see her just miss the edge. She barely scraped the corner of it, before it disappeared, and she was falling.
“NO!” Sleipnir screamed, reaching for her, knowing she was too far to do anything.
Hela had just fallen out of his sight when her screaming stopped. He heard her gasp instead, and when he reached the edge, he found his sister suspended mid air, held there by what he realized was half a dozen red tentacles were wrapped around her. He looked up to find that Jorgamund was no longer human, but instead an octopus-like creature he had never seen before.
“Get me up!” Hela screamed.
He lifted her up into Sleipnir’s waiting arms and she held back a groan of pain behind clenched teeth. He looked at her bare legs and feet, and saw the bright red burns running up them. She caught him staring, put a hand on her thigh and let ice coat the burns. It would help her long, but it would give her time to escape.
“Jor, a portal!”
“This magic, it’s different. It’ll follow us.”
“Of course, it’s here for us,” Fenrir finished, “It wouldn’t randomly show up in the edge of a city unless something was drawing here. I doubt it was anyone else in that restaurant.”
Sleipnir looked around at the devastation already left around them, and I knew they couldn’t risk bringing it elsewhere. That didn’t mean they had to stay in the middle of it.
Jorgamund read his mind, “The intersection a block over. It’s open enough to maneuver and close enough to keep the damaged contained.”
Sleipnir shifted Hela, carrying her on his back like they were children playing piggyback. It was a testament to how much her legs were causing her, that she let him do it without complaint. Despite his human body, Sleipnir hadn’t lost the strength or speed of his true form. Fenrir had. He was stronger and faster than a human, but still limited. Fenrir knew this, but it didn’t stop him from cursing.
“God damnit. Fine.”
In between those seconds, Jorgamund had shifted once again. He was no longer an octopus, but a great wolf, white instead of black.
“Oh come on!”
Despite what was happening and the danger they were in, Sleipnir laughed out loud. Hela snickered and the huff was probably the closest thing Jorgamund could make to a laugh.
“I hate you,” Fenrir climbed on Jorgamund’s back, and they ran.
They flew past the broken street, out to where the ground was still whole. Sleipnir turned, and he found the rip in the Earth following them. Watching it coming, he realized Jorgamund was right- had they gone through a portal, this magic would have followed them, cutting the ground in half across the distance.
They stopped when they reached the intersection, and there were still many mortals there. Most of them were confused and trying to figure out what was happening. Others were clearly injured, from falling debris or cars being jerked around with them inside. Whatever the reason, they were all in danger. Sleipnir refused to let them die because of some danger he had brought to them.
“We need to get these people out of here before whatever’s coming gets here.”
“On it,” Hela replied, before jumping down and putting on her best queen/CEO voice, “If you need help, raise your hand. If you can move of your own will, either go through the portal or help others do so.”
Hands were raised, and what’s when they went into action. Hela went to the people closest to her, a pair limping away from a car that had gone into a pole. She slid an arm under the man’s shoulder to help the woman drag him along. Fenrir was with another group, teenagers in school uniforms, and they were organizing how to have the uninjured ones help their classmates who weren’t so lucky. Fenrir carried one of them, a boy who was bleeding from his head. Jorgamund had opened a portal, seemingly to the same field from earlier, and was getting people through as quickly as he could. Others were more hesitant, hanging back in barely veiled fear. Jorgamund’s coaxing seemed to be helping, but not quickly enough. There were still too many people here, and the danger had almost reached them again.
Sleipnir left his siblings to the task, kept half an eye on them, but he didn’t turn his back to the destruction still coming towards them. Whatever this was, it was more than just a hole in the earth that was chasing them. He wouldn’t have his back turned and vulnerable when it came. It came quickly, the long howl that sent a shiver down his spine and echoed through the night. Fenrir jerked upright, whirling towards the sound with a growl rumbling in his chest. His nostrils flared and teeth bared, a wolf in human form.
“Wolves,” he growled, voice low and threatening. Fenrir had never played nice with others of his kind, and that was when they weren’t a threat to his family.
As if summoned by his words, the howl sounded again, and it was joined by half a dozen others. Then, one by one, they emerged. They didn’t quite leap up but were graceful as they emerged from the rubble. They came, one by one, until six of them stood along the edges of the glowing crack. They were at least ten feet tall, but probably closer to twelve or thirteen. They were dark grey, with streaks of red under their fur, and it glowed with every breath they took, like a bellows gusting over hot coals. When they looked at him, eyes like embers, he saw intelligence there. These were not mindless beasts. That made them far more dangerous.
Sleipnir had fought creatures this size before, and had beaten them, but that was with soldiers at his side, and in the form he was most powerful in. Already he could tell that it was far different fighting in this body. He had very few soldiers here- only Fenrir, but he wouldn’t discount Hela and Jorgamund with their powers. Perhaps some of the mortals would find some way to help, but he was still very limited.
Fenrir growled again, a wolf warning others off his territory. He drew their attention to him and they growled in return. The difference was that fire sprouted from their jaws.
“What the hell are those?”
Hela didn’t curse often, and she never used that word that was too close to the name of her prison. That she did now, expressing what they were all thinking.
The wolves had not moved, were staring them down. They were taking their measure, deciding who was a threat and waiting for them to make the first move.
“They’re called bulgae,” Jorgamund informed them in the tone of someone who just remembered something they knew they should have remembered before, “Fire dogs.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve lived in Asia for three hundred years. I researched everything mystical thing that could kill me.”
The wolves were finally stalking forward, slow and deadly. Sleipnir tensed, falling into the combat stance he had watched countless two-legged creatures take over the years. It was the first time he’d use this, and it made him weary. Fenrir was worse, ready to pounce, to lunge at these creatures who had dared come too close to him. Hela was standing in front of the mortals, blocking the ones who hadn’t been able to escape. Jorgamund’s portal had been closed, and he now had magical shields extended in front of his outstretched arms.
“They eat magic during eclipses.”
Quickly, Sleipnir glanced up to the sky, and saw a chunk of the moon was missing.
“There are four demigods, two of them with seidr, in a place with monsters that eat magic but only come out at a specific time, one that can be tracked. Whose idea was it to come to Korea tonight?”
Jorgamund’s silence and his tone from earlier spoke volumes.
“No one ever gets to call me the irresponsible one ever again.”
He could have replied to Fenrir, could have chided Jorgamund for making this massive of a mistake, but the wolves finally rushed them. They attacked at once, separating into two packs to try and overwhelm them. They went for him and Fenrir first. Fenrir, the brave, foolish idiot, met the first wolf head on, ducking under the jaws to slam into legs. It didn’t come close to moving the wolf, but he acted like a stumbling block under its paws. It did trip and took another wolf down with it. If it hurt him, Fenrir didn’t show it. Instead, he jumped back to his feet, sharp grin in place.
Sleipnir didn’t have time to tell his brother to stop taking stupid risks. The wolves reached him, but he avoided them. He jumped back and to the side, letting the first two wolves rush past him, straight into Jorgamund’s spells. When the light hit the wolf in front, it whined in pain, only for the whine to change into a content huff moments later.
Damnit. Magic. These things ate magic.
“Jor shift!”
His brother had a form to defend himself, but Hela’s main line of defense had always been her magic. He could tell her to run, but he knew she wouldn’t.
The third wolf snapped at him, and this time he didn’t avoid it. He grabbed at its maw, holding it open through force. It took him to the ground, but still he held it back. It stood over him, and Sleipnir yelled with the effort. It growled and thrashed, but he kept its teeth out of reach.
It jerked suddenly, howling in pain. Its head shook and it pawed at its face. Sleipnir rolled out from under it, grabbed tufts of fur around the wolf’s neck as it jerked and withered in pain. It wasn’t easy, the bones were strong, but he put every bit of his godly strength into it, and they gave. The crack reverberated through the air, though it was lost in the sounds of battle and destruction. He let the head fall to the ground. It landed with a thud, and he took an instant to look and see what had saved him.
There was a knife hilt sticking out of its eye. He pulled it out and recognized the ivy design and turned to his sister. She was standing, stance wide and ready to fight. There was a second dagger held tight in her hand. He nodded his thanks and then threw it back to her. She caught it without blinking, the blade only inches from her face.
There was roaring to his left, and he looked as his brother coiled one of the wolves in his body, leaving the other creature shrieking in pain. The second wolf was clawing at him, leaving gashes in Jorgamund’s scales, biting at his side. Jorgamund held it off and didn’t let the other one go. The captured wolf squirmed and turned, destroying a block’s worth of buildings in their struggle. Sleipnir hoped no one had hidden inside them. One of the wolves was in its death throes, convulsing as it suffocated and was crushed. The other one howled its fury, jumped, and landed on Jorgamund’s head. The wolf sunk its teeth into the top of it and Jorgamund swung around, hissing and thrashing, attempting to get it off.
Sleipnir took off running, avoiding the dead wolf Jorgamund let fall to the ground. He used the body as a climbing board. Jorgamund’s body swung past him, sending blood raining down on him. He slipped in the now wet fur but kept himself steady and leapt. He managed to grab onto the second wolf’s flank, dislodging it at least a little. It was enough to give Jorgamund the opportunity to shake it off.
Sleipnir went flying with the wolf and managed to land away from it. He hit the broken concrete, felt the sharp end of it pierce his side. He yelled at the pain, at the feeling of rock invading his body. He rolled off it, clutching at his side to stop the blood flow. He felt it leaking between his fingers, but he rose to his feet anyway, breathing hand and keeping himself upright by sheer force of will. Then Hela was at his side, anchoring him and cursing when she saw how much blood he was losing.
“I can’t heal this. Ice will only make it worse.”
He had survived wounds worse that this, and he’d survive this one as well. He was Sleipnir Lokison, warhorse to Odin Allfather and King of Horses. He would not die at the hands of this two-bit, flea ridden pack of wolves. His end would be far more glorious than this.
“I can cauterize this,” she said, looking at the bloody knives in her hands.
“You need fire for that,” he grit out, dizzy now but still aware.
She looked over to the wolf that was struggling to get back to its feet. Her eyebrows rose, and Sleipnir understood her plan.
“Hela no!”
“Hela yes!”
She was going to do it, regardless, so he spoke through clenched teeth, “Don’t attack it from the front. You’ll get caught in the fire. Get on its back and hold the knife over it. You’ll have to make it angry enough to use fire.”
“I know how to piss off a wolf Sleipnir,” and then she was off. She went faster than he thought she could. The wolf was still groggy, and it didn’t see her coming. She grabbed onto the thick fur around its neck and swung herself up onto its neck in one fluid movement. In pain or not, she was the picture of grace. She straddled it like she would a horse, bracing herself as it started to buck, and then plunged one knife down into its eye. It reeled back, snarling its pain to the sky. It blew out flames, one that Hela held her second knife over. She screamed, agony in the sound, but held on and didn’t move her hand. Only when the metal was red hot did she tumble off, barely managing to pull her first knife out of its eye. The minute she stumbled away, he yelled to his brother.
“Get rid of it Jor!”
The was blood across Jorgamund’s face, and Sleipnir feared the wolf had taken his brother’s eye. He didn’t get a good look before Jorgamund opened his massive jaw and turned their attacker into prey. Then Hela was back to his side, pulling up his shirt and shoving hot metal against his skin. Sleipnir screamed, falling to his knees, unable to pull away with Hela holding him by a fistful of hair. Black spots danced in his eyes and the scent of burning flesh filling his nostrils. He stayed conscious and the burning stopped. Hela helped him back up, hands shaking and skin pale. The skin of her hand was already blistering, hugged close to her stomach. She looked haggard and sick, but stood tall in the face of it. He wanted to tell her to go but didn’t. He still needed her.
Fenrir was still weaving between two of the wolves, getting far too close and then dancing away just in time. He was weaponless, an annoying distraction to keep them occupied.
“Get that idiot a weapon before he gets himself killed.”
Hela nodded, and an ice spear formed in her hands. It was crude and not as strong as her mother’s, but it would give Fenrir something to defend himself with. She wasn’t good enough to throw such a large weapon with accuracy, and it was doubtful Fenrir -lost in his manic look, the one that couldn’t hide the rage- would even hear. She moved over broken ground and the remains of buildings and cars, slower than before, but no less determined.
He didn’t have time to track her progress, not when he had to turn and see Jorgamund. The wolf’s corpse was gone, and his brother’s jaw hinged once more.
Around them, the sounds of sirens filled the air. The mortal protectors were here filing out of their cars and yelling things he didn’t have the energy to translate. Their guns were not pointed at any of them, thank the Norns.
“Will bullets harm them?” He yelled to his brother.
“They have physical bodies. They should.”
He looked at the three wolves that were left- the two attacking Fenrir and the one standing back and watching, even as its packmates fell.
“The smallest one- can you move it to give the Midgardians something close the aim at?”
Jorgamund made a noise, between a hiss and a sigh, before his body twisted and reforged itself. The limbs came first, talons and wings. Then his scales turned into golden feathers. What he lost in length he gained in wingspan. He took off from the ground with a mighty screech and swopped towards the smallest wolf. He lifted it with ease, stunning the wolf more than anything. It yowled when Jorgamund threw it to the ground in front of the mortals and then perched on it to keep it down. The mortals did not disappoint- they opened fire on the wolf, making it twitch and growl. Sleipnir could see blood seeping through the fur. When Jorgamund decided it wasn’t dying fast enough, he lent his aid by beginning to rip it apart with his razor-sharp beak.
Now there were only two left, and Sleipnir didn’t know how any of them were going to do this much longer. Fenrir was still dancing around, half manic and stabbing the wolf with the spear, making it turn around and around as it snapped at him. Hela was close to him, leaning against the rubble but still managing to throw her dwindling supply of knives when Fenrir’s attacks left the wolf’s weak spots open. The wound in Sleipnir’s side was beginning to open again, Hela’s temporary fix failing more as he moved. He took stock of the rest of him, and knew it wasn’t his only problem. He had at least one cracked rib from his fall and his left wrist made a grinding sound when he moved it, along with a shock of pain.
The last wolf was still watching, eyes keen and hungry, and Sleipnir understood. This was their leader, and it was sending out its cannon fodder to weaken its enemies before taking them for itself. Sleipnir had seen it from both sides of the battle field, used by his grandfather and against him. It always cost more lives than necessary, but if done right, it could mean victory. He watched the wolf, knowing this was the one he should be focusing on. He should attack him before he was ready to move. It was the greater threat, the most dangerous. Instead, he turned his back on it and ran for his siblings.
Fenrir was on his back, finally having tripped over his own feet. The spear had managed to stay in his hand. The wolf was advancing, moving quicker than Fenrir could push himself back. Before it reached him, the air dropped and glowed. Hela cloaked herself in winter, reached into her core to pull out the magic of Jotunheim. She shone with it, the aura of light beautiful and cold all at once, and a beacon to these creatures that ate magic. Fenrir forgotten, the wolf snarled and lunged over him, going straight for Hela. As it sailed over him, Fenrir thrust his spear up. It caught the wolf deep in the stomach and then cut all the way from stomach to groin, its insides falling out in a mess. It was dead by the time it landed at Hela’s feet, hollowed out. Fenrir stood there, covered in gore as though he was a character in one of the horror movies they had forced Sleipnir to watch last movie night. At least the gleam was out of his younger brother’s eyes.
Sleipnir grabbed Fenrir by the front of his shirt, ignoring the stench of bloods and innards, and pulled him in to hiss, “Anger. Management,” when Fenrir did nothing but curl his lip in disdain, he continued, “Disappointed Steve Rogers.” That, at least, had an effect. The love-struck fool actually looked chastised at the reminder.
“Look out!”
Sleipnir managed to duck at Hela’s warning, but Fenrir wasn’t fast enough. The paw swept over them, grazing Sleipnir’s head as he fell and catching Fenrir in the middle. He was thrown like a rag doll, crashing face first into the nearest standing building a street over. He lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving, and showed no signs of life when Sleipnir screamed his name. He wasn’t the only one who screamed. Jorgamund’s voice echoed in his mind, yelling not only Fenrir’s name, but Hela’s as well. It was then Sleipnir heard the scratching and snarls.
After swatting them away, the last wolf had turned its attention to the closest magic user. It was scratching at the dome of ice Hela had conjured to protect herself. It wasn’t very high or long, and it told him she was curled up into a ball under it, forcing out all her power to keep it standing. Chunks of it were falling off with every rake of claws. The ice was breaking too quickly. Sleipnir stumbled to his feet, grabbed Fenrir’s dropped spear, and threw it haphazardly. He didn’t aim, didn’t even try, just hoped it would provide at least be some sort of distraction. It barely grazed its ear and it didn’t even make the wolf glance at him.
That was when Jorgamund came from the sky, claws extended and shrieking his fury. He raked his talons across its face and managed to pull away before the angry wolf could close its jaws around him. It was prepared for the second dive bomb and caught Jorgamund’s leg in its mouth. He shook his head, jerking Jorgamund back and forth as he struggled to get away.
Sleipnir couldn’t do anything to make the wolf let go of his brother. He was weak and weaponless, and Jorgamund needed the opposite of that, so he made a decision. “Hela!” he yelled, pounding on the ice to get her attention. It melted, leaving them both soaked. When she looked up at him, she was scared but alert.
“We’re getting delivery next time.”
He almost laughed but was too tired. He picked her up into her arms, unable to run but getting her out of there anyway. He went to Fenrir, who was moving, but barely. When he reached them, Fenrir was moaning, arm twisted the wrong way and nose possibly broken.
“Get him conscious,” he told his sister as he put her beside him. He heard her yelling at him to wake up as he turned back to Jorgamund. Sleipnir watched as he shed the bird and became human again. Being smaller meant he slipped out of the teeth and it wasn’t able to catch him again as he fell. Without any other option, Jorgamund threw a spell upwards before he even hit the ground. It caught the wolf in the chin and lifted it up off the ground. It gave Jorgamund time to open a portal and drag himself into it to crawl out at Fenrir’s side.
“I can’t do this for long,” Jorgamund told him, “Shifting too fast and too big.”
He noticed it then, the way Jorgamund’s skin seemed to be rippling, how brief images of scales would spot across his flesh.
“How long can you hold a shape?”
“This one, an hour at most. Anything bigger, minutes.”
And that was the point, wasn’t it? First the pack forced them apart, meaning they had to divide their attention and strength. Then it had worn them down, leaving their bodies injured and broken, until two of them would have no choice but to use their magic to fight back to survive. Once they did, it would consume it and grow stronger. It had worked already- any damage from Jorgamund’s attack was gone and the human bullets were now bouncing off its body.
It was watching them again, and he saw the calculation in its eyes. The four of them stood -sort of- together again, even if they were broken and bruised, and they posed more of a threat this way. The wolf was planning its new method of attack now that they were stronger. Unless it would run at them directly, Sleipnir didn’t know what other tactic it would use, seasoned warrior or not.
The wolf looked around it and then stilled. Sleipnir realized the moment the wolf made its plan. Yet it still didn’t move, just locked its eyes on something to the right. Sleipnir followed the line of sight and instantly understood what it planned.
Not all the buildings around them had fallen in the battle. Some of them were still standing and others were at least partly there. It was one of those buildings that the wolf was watching. One of the sides had been torn away, ripped right down the middle of the rooms. One of those rooms was three stories up, and it was obviously the remains of a classroom. It wasn’t empty- there were a dozen small children and an adult huddled against the remaining wall. They were all trapped and helpless.
The wolf looked back, making sure they knew exactly what it was doing. Sleipnir did, and by the shocked inhale behind him, Hela did too. If it ran at those children, there would be no way to stop it physically from this distance. It had to be a magical attack or let them die. As soon as it was sure they were watching, it took off.
Sleipnir didn’t hesitate in his command, even though he knew it would crush his sister, “Hela. We need a god to do this.”
When he looked back, his sister looked stricken and more than a little betrayed. He hated himself but asked it again anyway.
“We can’t kill it with magic or by force.”
She wanted to argue, he could see that, but she didn’t. Instead, she closed her eyes and nodded. He didn’t have to tell Jorgamund to open one more portal for her to go through. She re-appeared on the edge of the destroyed classroom, between the charging wolf and the children. It howled in delight, seeing its plan had apparently worked. Hela didn’t flinch, only raised her hand. He couldn’t see her face, but Sleipnir knew that she would be crying. When the wolf reached her, its jaws were open, ready to snap shut on her. The minute her hand touched its body -the large canine fang- it froze. It looked like it was struggling in chains. The grey started as Hela acted just as the wolf wanted…but it wasn’t magic.
Fenrir had called them all demigods, but he was wrong. The three brothers were, powerful because they were sons of a god. Hela was a goddess in her own right. She was the Goddess of Death because the King of the Gods bestowed divinity on her, even if it was against her will. It was no more magic than his uncle’s lightning. This creature, as strong as it may be, could not stand against the power a god could wield, certainly not the power over death itself.
It started with Hela’s hand. It blackened and shriveled, and then the decay travelled up her arm and spread across the rest of her, until she stood there, body two equal images of life and death. Even after she was transformed, it didn’t stop. It was just redirected. The wolf realized something was wrong and began to struggle harder, but Hela’s damage had already begun. The decomposition that changed her began at its mouth and turned quickly to rot as it ghosted over the wolf’s body. It died slowly, body changing like it would in the months after death, all while it still lived. Its fur fell out first, then its skin shrunk as Hela’s had, until it hugged its bones, little more than a skeleton with skin. It finally escaped her hold when its muscles weakened too much. It seized on the ground, organs shutting down and losing flesh in chunks. Hela could have kept going, could have ended it only when the wolf’s bones were nothing but dust, but stopped once it was finally dead.
She stood on the edge – powerful and divine, horrifying and sublime- looking down at the wolf whose life form she had just drained. He couldn’t make out her expression, but Sleipnir thought it would be carefully blank, a mask to hide the disgust and hate. He wished her hate and disgust would be directed at him, but he knew it wouldn’t. She would feel it all about herself. Sleipnir hated that he had ever had her do this. His brothers said nothing, understanding her self-loathing even more than he did. They had watched her repulsion of her body since she was a child, made worse in Asgard, and brought to the breaking point when Odin used it as inspiration to decide her fate.
Sleipnir felt a flash of guilt, but not at what he had done. It was the guilt of the favoured child who had been given everything while his siblings suffered for it. Never their father, because for all Sleipnir loved him, it wasn’t Loki who Sleipnir thought of when he heard the term ‘parent’. It would always be Odin, the man who was in his earliest memories, soothing his hurts, and chasing away his nightmares. Yet for all that love and care he received, his siblings got nothing but suffering. This wasn’t the only time he’d felt this, and it wasn’t the first time he forced it aside. He did it again now, determined to make sure his siblings were still breathing. He wouldn’t admit it was cowardice as well.
Finally, Hela turned away. Sleipnir didn’t know how the children she had just saved reacted. He prayed to the Norns that they didn’t recoil from her. He didn’t hear new screams, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to over the thunder of new sirens and voices as ambulances and firetrucks arrived.
“Did…did we know Hela could do that?” Fenrir’s voice was dumbstruck, and he seemed even more so when both Jorgamund and Sleipnir replied with a blunt ‘yes’, “Why didn’t I know?”
“It would require you to pay attention in lessons,’ Jorgamund’s voice was no longer vocal. He was a snake again, though a miniature form of himself, no bigger than a garter snake, curled at Fenrir’s feet.
“Well shit. Our sister is terrifying.”
‘Do not tell her that!” Sleipnir snapped at him.
“I’m not an idiot Sel,” Fenrir sounded offended, and Sleipnir barely held an ill-tempered retort about Fenrir’s careless words from earlier. He had promised to at least try and be a mature adult.
The woman in question was still moving. She had created an ice slide down to the ground, saving the firefighters at the bottom from having to set up their ladders. The children were sliding down into the waiting arms of paramedics. A part of Sleipnir’s mind thought if it’d be fun, in a different place. The teacher went after his charges and then Hela went last. When she reached the bottom, she waved off the paramedics and came back to them.
She was Pepper Potts when she reached them again, godliness hidden under the glamour she always wore. She was limping but didn’t look as terrible as before. Being in her own body had rejuvenated her, for all she still looked like she was about to fall over. Hela slid to the ground behind Fenrir, saying nothing.
Sleipnir wanted to reach out to her, to apologize and comfort, but he knew she wouldn’t want it now. Instead, he settled for a quiet, “Thank you.”
Fenrir laughed suddenly, arm looking even worse now, holding back almost hysteric giggles, “A hunt with the de facto matriarch of the family. I think I just came of age on Jotunheim.”
From the bottom corner of his eyes, Sleipnir noticed Jorgamund’s flinch, even in such a small body. Neither Fenrir or Hela realized anything was wrong, didn’t think of what that comment might do to their brother, who couldn’t do it because his mother died the day before he was supposed to. Instead of sharing, Jorgamund merely commented, “You have to be in your true shape for that.”
“After three hundred years, this is the real me.”
That wasn’t something Sleipnir expected to hear. It alarmed him, in a way, that his brother considered himself human now. How could he? Sleipnir spent most of his time missing his body- how could Fenrir feel that way after so little time as three hundred years? It made the discomforting thought of ‘will that happen to me?’ flash through the former horse’s mind.
“If that’s the case,” Hela finally spoke, “then stop throwing yourself at things ten times your size acting like you still have claws and teeth to match.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.”
Their conversation was cut when the paramedics made their way to them. He could have delayed them and told them to see the mortals who needed it more, but they all looked like hell. The adrenaline would wear off soon, and the three of them would feel their wounds. He had no desire to be standing and unmedicated when the pain of the hole in his side came back full force. They took one look at Hela’s legs and his side and put them on gurneys and another man helped Fenrir to an ambulance. They were not the only ones injured, and far from the worst. He was pleased to see that all the children seemed to be fine. He hoped Hela saw it as well. There seemed to be no bodies, but there was still rubble to shift through. How many people had taken cover in the buildings they destroyed?
With a start, Sleipnir looked around and realized that Jorgamund wasn’t with them. He looked back, just catching sight of Jorgamund’s tail disappearing under some concrete.
“Jorgamund!” He cried, alarmed.
“I’m fine,” it was the only reply he got.
He made to get up, to force his brother to come, but Fenrir’s voice stopped him, “Let him go Sel. He’ll be back before long.”
He didn’t like it, but he saw the logic in Fenrir’s command. If Jorgamund was injured, human healers couldn’t help him. He trusted his brother to see to his own wounds. If he wanted to be apart, it was for reasons of his own. He’d tell them when he was ready to.
The paramedics sat Sleipnir down in the back of an ambulance, where they stitched up his side, wrapped tight cloth around his chest and wrist, and pumped medicine into him. He felt it work, though knew by tomorrow it wouldn’t be. When they insisted he go to the hospital, he promised he would, but only after they took every human that needed it first. They were reluctant but agreed when he reminded them of the damage an Asgardian could take. They gave him a wet towel to clean himself with and managed to find him ill fitting clothes to change into. They led him to wait on a bench that was miraculously still standing at what he assumed was once a bus stop. The paramedic assured him that his siblings were being seen to before turning her attention to another.
Finally -finally- Sleipnir allowed himself to just rest. He closed his eyes and leaned over to put his head in his hands. How had this night gone so spectacularly wrong? It was barely even forty minutes ago that they were sitting around a table, happy and as carefree as they could be. But now? The four of them were injured and possibly traumatized.
“That was one hell of a fight.”
Sleipnir looked up through bleary eyes and wasn’t even remotely surprised to see Nick Fury standing there.
“How did you know?” he knew the director would learn of it and show up eventually, but he didn’t expect it to be this quickly.
“You’re in the most connected country in the world. You were being live tweeted the minute you were recognized in the restaurant. The videos of you all running around started before the wolves showed up.”
“I’m surprised you’re here first. I would have thought it would be Stark, or perhaps Strange.”
“We couldn’t get ahold of Strange and the Avengers were already in the middle of taking down a Hydra base.”
“So you waited until they were finished before you told them about what was happening,” he didn’t say it as an accusation. It’s what Sleipnir would have done.
“I was watching the stream- between you four and the police pumping bullets into those things, you seemed to be doing just fine,” doing fine was far from a correct description, “The minute Hydra’s goons were in cuffs, they were informed.”
Even if they hadn’t been keeping the creatures at bay, Fury would have kept it from his team until SHIELD’s enemies were defeated and claim ignorance later. It was a risky gambit when they had an unbalanced father who would level the world for each of them and volatile friends and lovers who would do the same, but it made sense. Hydra slipping away into another hole was more likely to happen than four powerful demigods being killed. The director hedged his bets and came out a winner. Odin had done the same thing and it helped them win the day.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here first.”
“I was already in China when it started,” he didn’t go any further with an explanation. Sleipnir could pry, could find out what Fury had been up to. He had learned deception and how to reveal it at his grandfather’s knee and perfected it a the Liesmith’s. He didn’t like that the spymaster had been so close at a time he and his siblings just happened to be here, and then lied about it. Sleipnir didn’t know this world, but his siblings always explained things to him before they went somewhere new. They had shown him South Korea on a map. Sleipnir could see a map and understand exactly how it translated into real life. He knew there was no way Fury could have covered the distance he claimed in the amount of time that had passed, even with his fancy planes.
He could make Fury tell him -the man was good, but Sleipnir was centuries older than him- but there were other things he had learned. He was a prince born and bred and knew that a leader didn’t tip their hand. If he pushed Fury now, the director would know never to underestimate him again. So, he let it pass, filing the lie away for later.
“As for Stark, his suits are good, but not even he can fly halfway across the world in twenty minutes.”
Sleipnir gave it a month until he could. Stark had an almost alarming ability to have a mistake happen with his armour, and then improve upon it so that it was never a problem again. Given Hela was involved, he’d be damn near manic about it.
“You’re going to have to answer a lot of questions, from both the authorities here and SHIELD.”
“I’ve been to post-battle meetings before,” why did mortals always seem to forget he was a seasoned warrior who had been trusted to lead soldiers more than once?
“Your display earlier made it pretty clear you knew what you were doing.”
“I did my battle training under the best horse masters in Asgard and learned strategy from my grandfather. If we were separated or he incapacitated, I had permission to lead in his stead. I have been forced to do so in the past,” he didn’t bother to keep the arrogance out of his voice. What was the point of hiding his pride at the things he had done?
Fury noticed it of course and merely shook his head, “A lot like your father, aren’t you?” It was an insult in that context, but Sleipnir let it pass. It was fair, “but all that training shows. You shone out there.”
Arrogance or no, Sleipnir would share credit when it was due, especially if it was his siblings, “I didn’t fight alone. My siblings fought as fiercely and killed more than me,” normally such a thing would wound his pride, but not with them. He was proud of what they had done.
“Of course, but it was pretty clear you were the one leading them,” it was perhaps too simple -they had all acted of their own accord- but Sleipnir inclined his head, agreeing and letting Fury continue, “The first thing you focused on was getting civilians out of there. None of the videos were high definition, but you could still see you were the one they looked to. I think they only did a lot of things because you’re the one who asked him to. Christ, no one guessed Potts had that in her,” he sounded just a little amazed, and it made Sleipnir smirk, “and I know I’ll never be able to look at a snake in the same way.”
“And Fenrir?” he was amused and wondered what Fury would say about the youngest.
“Stopped him from getting himself killed,” Fury said bluntly, “We’ll have to have a little chat about that. I don’t accept soldiers who can’t keep their cool, and if he pulls that again, he’s out of the Avengers,” Fenrir had been an official Avenger all of a month.
“If it helps, I think it was because they were wolves. It makes him territorial,” he wasn’t even making excuses for his brother, merely stating a fact. Fury didn’t look appeased and he pitied his brother, just a bit.
“I appreciate your praise, but why are you here Fury?”
The man could have given any number of answers, all of them vague yet plausible words about SHIELD being required to contain incidents such as this. Instead, Fury didn’t insult his intelligence by assuming he’d believe any of it.
“Since your father first invaded, we’ve been getting more Avengers. Captain Rogers is a capable commander, but even he’s going to get stretched a little thin. Then there’s the times when there’s more than one emergency at once.”
Sleipnir caught onto what the director was implying, “You wish to offer me a position.”
“I can’t imagine you’re going to be happy doing nothing, once you’ve gotten adjusted. Something tells me you’re a man who doesn’t like to stay out of the action.”
The human wasn’t wrong. No matter what shape he took, Sleipnir was of Asgard. He was a warrior of that realm and while he wouldn’t say he was full of bloodlust, he enjoyed it. He was content for now, learning to understand Midgard, but he wouldn’t be for too much longer. He would want a purpose, something with some importance, to fill his time with. He wouldn’t be able to be idle for long, and he was far too much like his uncle in that he wouldn’t be very good at distracting himself with gentler pastimes for a significant amount of time.
Here was Fury, offering him an opportunity to see it didn’t happen. He wouldn’t accept it, not until he had time to think of all the alternative reasons for this offer. But past that…it was tempting.
“There are others already on your team that would be fine commanders,” Sleipnir pointed out.
“None of them have the experience you have, and none of them will look as though they’re filling the Asgardian size hole.”
He understood, “I’m not as strong as my uncle. Not even close in fact.”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as it has the right spin. People are still complaining about Thor being gone, and not because they miss his shining personality. If it looks like we have another Asgardian on the team, a lot of complaints will go away,” There had to be people who were still pressuring SHIELD and their ilk to undo any deals made to get back Asgard’s help. Sleipnir -Asgardian royal family, beloved by Odin, stronger than any human- was a replacement ready to step into the job, “You don’t need to decide now. Take your time,” there was no manipulation there, as far as Sleipnir could tell. This was an honest offer, for all there were machinations behind it.
“I’ll consider it,” Sleipnir replied, and he was being truthful. It was an option that could be appealing. He just didn’t have the energy to think about anything until he’d slept for at least twenty-four hours, “And you’re not giving me some silly name,” Sleipnir had laughed hysterically when Fenrir had explained he now had the codename ‘Winter Soldier’. He knew it was a badly translated term for the Jotun warriors of legend, and that only made it funnier.
“All I can do is ask,” Fury said, “and noted,” he gave a gesture to a building across the street, “They sent your brother to wait in there. You’re not the only one who wants to wait for more fragile people to get help. Do yourself a favour- get to that hospital sooner rather than later. You look like you need it.”
Sleipnir snorted, “I feel like I need it,” when Fury began to walk away, he thought of something, “Director. My sister never had a chance to collect her knives from the battlefield,” it wasn’t actually necessary to add, but he did, “They were her mother’s.”
“We’ll get them back to her.”
When Fury was gone, Sleipnir sat there longer. He watched as Stark arrived and flew straight to the ambulance where Hela was sitting inside. He couldn’t see them from where he sat, but he could imagine exactly how emotional and panicky it would be. Hela could deal with it herself. Finally, he went to find Fenrir.
The building was some sort of café and he found Fenrir sitting on one of the long-padded benches. He looked better. They had washed him down somehow and given him clean scrubs. His arm was in a temporary case and sling, but they hadn’t put anything around his nose, which meant it wasn’t broken after all. His head was tipped back, and he looked far too content for someone with a broken arm.
“How many painkillers did the healers give you?” Sleipnir asked as he took a seat beside him.
“Way too many,” Fenrir giggled, before flopping down to lay straight and rest his head in Sleipnir’s lap.
Sleipnir was surprised and then relaxed. No matter how big or angry he grew, Fenrir had always sought comfort this way. He had seen it a thousand times, with their father, siblings, Sigyn, and presumably his mother. Sleipnir just hadn’t been able to offer it before.
He ran a hand through Fenrir’s damp hair and his brother rumbled in contentment, “I’ve read your war record and seen the videos and photos. How do you change from a well disciplined soldier to a reckless idiot the minute something bigger than you shows up?”
“They were going to eat Hela and Jor,” he mumbled, and Sleipnir just sighed.
“Out of all Father’s traits, why did you have to inherit this one?”
“Hela and Jor already yelled at me,” Fenrir’s voice was getting fainter as he got closer to sleep.
“I plan to as well,” Sleipnir replied, “once you’re awake enough to understand it,” and it would be nothing compared to when their father found out about this. Then there was Steve Rogers.
Fenrir didn’t answer. His breath had evened out, telling Sleipnir the drugs had finally pulled him under. He kept carding his fingers through his younger brother’s hair, finding as much comfort in it as Fenrir did.
“He hasn’t done that in a long time.”
Sleipnir looked up to see Hela standing there. There was gauze around her legs and hand, and she flinched with every step she took to reach them. She sat down on Sleipnir’s other side.
“Humans are less tactile than canines, I think,” he nodded to Hela’s burns, “How bad?”
“Second degree heat burns on my legs and third degree on my hand. Nothing a few days of rest and some burn cream won’t cure.”
“I’m surprised Stark let you out of his sight.”
“He knows the sooner this is cleaned up, the sooner I can go to the hospital and we can go home. He’s the best one to look for anyone who got trapped, with all his sensors. And he respects me enough to listen when I tell hm I don’t want to be crowded.” He heard the bitterness in her words and the pain in the way she said it.
“I’m sorry I asked it of you.”
“It was a few days of self-loathing versus the lives of a bunch of kids. There was nothing else to do.” She said it like she was trying to make herself believe it. With the wounds this raw, he knew she couldn’t. It was the right thing to do, but the worst for her.
“I can ask Dr. Gallant if she has a colleague you can speak to.”
Hela’s laugh was watery and Sleipnir hadn’t realized she was crying. He pulled her into his side, let her rest her head to cry into his shoulder.
It wasn’t only letting the world see the form she hated, but wielding death itself. She had never wanted that power, but it had forced upon her when Odin put her on Helheim’s throne. She was the Goddess of Death, could spread it with a touch, and it scared her. Midgard had seen the truth of her looks and her power, saw the executioner she could be, and she was frightened of what it would bring.
“It’s alright,” he tried to soothe her. She continued to cry, so he didn’t think it helped.
“I hate it,” she whispered, “I hate being half a corpse. I hate what I can do. I hate that everyone has seen it.”
“Whose judgement do you fear Hela? Tony Stark’s? He loves you more than his own life. Your family? Have you seen what we’ve done? Your friends and allies? They’ve already shown they’ll stay at your side. A planet full of mortals who barely live for a century? They are nothing, not even a speck in the universe. You are a goddess Hela. There mortals are nothing in your wake. Who cares what they think of you, now or ever?”
“It’s not that easy Sel.”
He pushed a lock of her hair -such a pretty shade of red, but he always loved the grey more- behind her ear and gave her a small smile, “I, of all people, know that.” Fenrir’s pretty words from earlier didn’t change his mind. He would always be a symbol of Loki’s pain, for all his father loved him. Nothing could wash away what he was -why he was- and he hated that knowledge as much as Hela hated what she looked like.
He let her keep crying, until her tears ran out and she leaned against him, exhausted and in pain. He wondered how long Stark would be, and decided it didn’t matter, “Rest Hela,” he told his sister, “When your consort is finished, he will let everyone know.”
She laughed again, this time without the tears. He turned towards her to place a kiss on her forehead. The angle was awkward, and his neck cracked in pain, but it was worth it to see her little smile.
“I’m glad you’re here Sel. Even if you’re embarrassing to eat out with.”
Sleipnir still missed Asgard, was still homesick far too often, but he was too. It was worth it, for this.
“If you could ask, I’d like that recommendation.”
He felt proud of her for asking. Between him, her, and their father, perhaps they’d be alright eventually.
“Go to sleep Hela.”
Within a few minutes, she had. He let them rest against him and realized he had never comforted them like this. In other ways yes, but never with this…closeness. It was the first time, he realized with a shock, that he truly understood what it was to be the eldest brother. For all they shared a past, it hadn’t been like this- he’d never had to take care of them like this, not even as he did his best to help his father raise them.
His mind was still whirling with his realization, when he felt movement on his foot, and how it slithered up his leg, over his chest, and draped itself around his neck.
“You could have just asked to be picked up.”
Jorgamund simply rested his head on the shoulder Hela hadn’t taken. He reached up to run a thumb across the scales of this miniature version of his brother. He was pleased to find all the bite marks were gone and his eye remained undamaged.
He had grown used to Jorgmund’s silence over the last months. He would normally let it be, wouldn’t try to coax out information his brother didn’t want to give, even if he teased him for the lack of words. The silence was different, not content, indifferent, or silently amused. He waited it out, knowing what Jorgamund would say, but letting him go on his own time.
“I’m sorry,” Sleipnir said nothing, but let Jorgamund get the rest of his apology out, “I should have realized.”
He really should have. If this was a soldier, Sleipnir would have berated him for getting them into such a situation when he had previous knowledge of the danger. But this was his brother, not a soldier, “You have centuries worth of knowledge in your mind Jor. You can’t be expected to remember it all without prompting.”
“I should. It’s been my duty for two hundred years to follow these things. I’ve been distracted.”
Sleipnir did not like that Jorgamund called being with his family again a distraction in his guilt. It meant he was considering drawing away from them. He wasn’t going to allow that to happen, “If you use this as some reason to hide yourself away in your library and stop spending time with us, we will have none of it. Father will find a way to blame himself no matter what we say. That will infuriate Hela, which means Stark will devise ridiculous plans to draw you out. Fenrir will be petulant and then angry, and Rogers will turn his attention to fixing it. He’ll go to Strange right away and he’ll begin to needle and harass you about it. The cloak will probably force you out. I will be very disappointed and then ignore your wishes and move into your library until I’ve convinced you to leave. You’re not getting away from us.” They already had too much time apart. He would not let Jorgamund’s misplaced guilt take anymore of it from them. Jorgamund didn’t reply, so Sleipnir pressed on, “You saved Hela’s life Jor, and nearly lost a limb doing it. You saved many of the mortals you care about so much. That’s the part everyone cares about.”
Jorgamund didn’t reply, didn’t give away any of his feelings. Sleipnir doubted his mind had changed, but at least he knew withdrawing wouldn’t be something he could get away with. He respected his brother’s love of solitude and would grant him the space he needed to deal with the guilt he felt over this disastrous night, but would pull him back before guilt turned into self-loathing. Their family had enough of that to go around. Jorgamund didn’t need it too. Sleipnir would make sure Fenrir didn’t tease Jorgamund for this. That would only make it worse.
“What did Fury want?” Jorgamund finally said.
“He wants me to be an Avenger.”
If Jorgamund was surprised about that, he didn’t show it, “Do you?”
“Maybe.”
Jorgamund didn’t push him for anymore than that, and Sleipnir was glad his brother was just as willing to let topics rest.
“How long can you stay this size?” He knew shapeshifting took far less energy if it was your real body just smaller. He also knew he would run out of power for even that eventually.
“Until the morning,” they’d have to get Jorgamund out of there soon. There was no room for a giant snake here, “Then I’ll have to sleep for a week.”
“Tell Stark you want his island. Then you can sun yourself as you sleep.” Perhaps Sleipnir would join him, because right now he felt like he needed a vacation.
Silence fell between them, and for a while Sleipnir found himself nodding off, before a thought came to him, “This morning Stark said something about a food called shawarma.”
Jorgamund sounded amused when he replied after a beat, “There’s a place by his tower.”
He remembered Hela’s words from earlier, “Do they deliver?”
“They will when they see Stark’s checkbook.”
Sleipnir nodded, decision made. Just because this Friday night was ruined didn’t mean they had to cancel next week. There were still so many things for him to try. Sleipnir smiled at the thought.
Eventually the three of them had to see healers and Jorgamund had to get somewhere with more space. All of them would have to answer questions and deal with worried companions. But for now, all Sleipnir wanted to do was rest, anchored by his siblings and the knowledge they were all safe. They still had so many problems and carried blame. Fights and heartbreak loomed on the horizon. They weren’t okay, not really, but in that moment, Sleipnir believed they eventually would be.