(no subject)
Serrure choked back a sob as he awoke. The images from his nightmare, of buildings falling and burning along with the people inside of them began to fade. His cheeks were wet with tears. He sniffed and sat up in the doorway where he had been sleeping, wiping the tear tracks off his face with one grimy hand.
Luc stirred from where he was curled up beside him. He opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. “Nightmares, Serrure?” he mumbled. Serrure drew his knees up to his chest and covered his face, nodding embarrassedly.
Luc looked at him for a moment before shrugging and sitting up. “Seriously, you can tell me about them if you want.”
Serrure sniffled and shook his head. The images were fading already, and ever since the nightmares had started he had felt the urge to keep them a secret. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he told anyone about what he saw when he closed his eyes they’d hate him.
Peeking between his fingers, he saw Luc huff a sigh and roll his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, “let’s just get some breakfast.”
Serrure smiled slightly. Luc never pushed; that was why he had stuck with the other boy for so long. That, and the fact that he was an excellent pickpocket. They had a con that they worked together. Serrure would be doing the old three-card-trick. The marks would be careful to watch him for any sign of cheating, and while they were doing that Luc would ‘liberate’ their wallets.
Of course, Serrure didn’t really need the help to get money. People never guessed the right card when he was shuffling. Sometimes he even tricked himself. Just when he thought they had guessed right and he’d have to fork over some cash, he’d feel his hand warm and presto, it was the wrong card.
Brushing himself off, he followed an impatient Luc out of the alleyway and down Paris’ streets to the tourist quarter. Fat tourists were always the people most easily parted from their money.
After buying croissants for themselves and gobbling them down (croissants; you had to give the tourists what they wanted to see), the two of them set up shop on a street corner. Serrure had long-since mastered putting just the right amount of cheekiness and charm into his voice as he called out after passer-by’s, allowing the two to gather a good crowd quickly.
“Here we go here we go here we go,” Serrure chanted. “Ladies, ladies, all you lovely, lovely ladies, here we go. Sharp eyes and sharp minds, one and all - it’s an old game, I know, but one of the best.” He curved his lips into his best smile. Spreading his hands, he finished his spiel. “I hope you all want to play with me.”
Holding up a card, his hands warm and tingling as they always did when it was going to be a good day, he continued to smile at the crowd. It was mainly made up of young women on vacation, having too much fun to pay attention to their purses.
A tough, muscular woman with short blonde hair and a goggle-like pair of glasses stood out a little in the crowd, though. She was kind of scary looking, but she didn’t come forward to say or do anything; he looked at her out of the corner of his eye while spoke, trying to decide if she was with the police. They’d been cracking down on poor street performers like himself lately. Nothing he could do though. Besides, they couldn’t prove he was cheating people out of money because he wasn’t. They had no reason to hassle him.
Beside a tall, pretty auburn-haired lady, Luc smirked at him; Serrure gave him a tiny nod back. It was time to get to work.
Turning back to the crowd, he started the second part of his little speech. As he spoke, his eyes wandered around the crowd. A brunette was leaning in and looking interestedly at his cards. Just as he was reeling her in, all the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
There was a tall, muscular blond man staring at him. He felt like something was squeezing the air out of him. The sudden stab of fear made him stutter momentarily and lose his place in his patter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Luc shoot him a worried look.
Automatically, he made a small motion with his hand to let him know that everything was alright. “Big blond guy, keep a look out,” he said, partially to the brunette and partially to Luc.
Forcing himself to get back on track, he looked down at the cards and began to move them. His hands, however, were cold. When the lady picked her card, she picked right. Serrure tried to keep how rattled he was off of his face. The man wasn’t a cop, he probably would have tried to get closer to watch his hands if he was; all Blondie was doing was staring directly at him.
As he tried to convince the woman to play again, he glanced up and saw Luc standing behind the man. No, no, no, he thought, watching in horror as Luc reached for the bag slung across Blondie’s back. But it was too late as he grabbed Luc and lifted him off the ground with a growled “Whelp.”
“Serrure, run!” Luc shouted.
Blondie, still holding the other boy off of the ground, whirled and pointed at Serrure. “You!” he snapped out. Serrure didn’t need to hear anymore. He turned and ran, knocking over his card table and shouting, “Go to hell!”
He sprinted down the street, knocking over people and pushing them out of the way as the man chased him. Indignant shrieks and the bull-like snorts from his pursuer followed Serrure as he darted down an alleyway that opened into a parking lot. Weaving in and out between cars, it wasn’t long before he jumped onto the top of the nearest car and began to leap across the hoods and roofs.
As he ran, his mind raced. Blondie hadn’t tried the game; all he had been doing was staring. Luc had been the one to go for his wallet. So why was the nutcase trying to catch him; he shouldn’t have realized that they were working together!
“Stop running.” The man ordered from behind him as Serrure jumped off a bridge. “You won’t escape.”
“Like hell I won’t!” Serrure snapped over his shoulder. There, a way down into the Metro! If he could get on a train he could lose Blondie in the crowds.
Jumping over the turnstiles, he knocked a lady over, shouting a garbled apology. The two of them charged along the platform. Serrure mentally swore as he saw that there was no train or real crush of people. He was too early for the rush.
His lungs heaving, he barely heard the crazy man’s mutter of “Always cleaning up your messes.” over the sound of his own heartbeat. There was nothing for it, he’d have to run into the tunnel and pray that he didn’t get hit by the train.
Jumping off the platform, he shouted hysterically, “You’re insane, crazy man! Show me what you’ve got!” He’d have to be a dumbass to follow Serrure into the tunnels for a few bucks.
Light flashed, and for a split second Serrure wondered if he had missed the train coming before he slammed into something that certainly felt like a wall of steel and falling flat on his ass.
It was Blondie, but now he was wearing some sort of armour. A jolt of recognition hit Serrure. God, he was one of those crazy American superheroes! No wonder he had been able to keep up!
Scrambling back, his back hit the side of the platform as he babbled, “Look, I’ll give you your money back, all of it. Whatever my partner took, I’ll match back, in fact, I’ll give you a chance to double it if you just -“
“I do not want money!” the man roared. He was holding something up, a hammer, but Serrure felt his attention dragged away as he realized something.
“You - You’re…” Serrure felt his voice trail off as he struggled to put into words something he knew in his bones. Confusion and fear warred in his stomach, making him nauseous. “What language are you speaking?” he finally forced out, “You’re not speaking French.”
The big guy actually smiled at that. In a deep, booming voice, he said, “Neither are you. Are you?”
Slowly standing up on shaking legs, he shook his head and pleaded, “I don’t understand.” The man smiled down at him. He looked so damn glad to see him, like he knew him or something.
“You speak with the All-tongue. Everyman hears it as his native language.” The man leaned closer to him. “You are not of the folk. You are, like me, a son of Asgard. A god.”
As the man continued, his voice took a richer tone, like he was telling a story. “You are Loki, son of Laufey and Farbuti, child of Odin, son of Bor, and brother of mine. And for your myriad sins, for all the wretchedness of your past lives… I cannot imagine my present life without you. I brought you back and sought you out to bring you home, brother.”
Serrure felt a lump grow in his throat at the man calling him brother. “You - you are insane, big man, you know that? That’s the craziest…” he trailed off. He thought back as far as he could.
“Oh god.” he said in a tiny voice as his eyes began to burn.
“I don’t remember anything. Anything. You know?” His voice shook and cracked as he continued. “I just - I’ve been making suckers chase cards for money my whole life. I remember -“ he scrunched his face up in fear and confusion, “a season, a day? I can’t tell.”
“Even my name is fake.” Now that he was thinking of it, horror filled him. “I just thought it sounded good. My memories… I have no memories.” God, he wanted to believe the man in front of him, that there was a home and family and memories for him.
A warm hand laid itself on his shoulder as tears began to flow down his face and he looked away in a futile attempt to hide them. Shame raised its ugly head Serrure suddenly felt like he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to have anyone look at him with such love in their eyes.
Squirming away from the warmth of the hand on his shoulder, he forged ahead through his tears. This guy - he didn’t know about Serrure’s dreams. He had to know about his dreams; he’d leave him and hate him if he knew about his dreams.
“Guh - God, I don’t - I have dreams. I have such hideous dreams.” he admitted. Looking back up, he sobbed, “The things I’ve done in my dreams would convict me to the gallows in any court in the land.”
“Why am I plagued by such sights?” he begged, searching the man’s face.
He saw that the man’s features were tinged faintly with horror and pity as he looked down at him. “There are things,” he started, before schooling his features into sternness, “there are things that all of us, have done in our lives that we wish to forget.”
He placed his hand back on Serrure’s shoulder. The boy drew strength from it and straightened slightly, his tears drying on his face.
“Let us just suppose that you were given a gift, eh?”
The man’s hammer began to glow with a strange blue light. He held it towards Serrure. Tentatively, he reached towards it.
“Will this help?” he asked, transfixed by the glow. “Will you help me?”
“Nothing can erase the past. For you or anyone else. All this will do is bring our paths in tandem. You still have to walk it alone.” Serrure’s eyes flicked back to the man’s face.
“But, at least, you’ll have company.” the man said, his eyes softening. “Your life, ‘Serrure’, is your choice and your choice alone.”
In the back of his mind, Serrure knew that the man was trying to give him an out. It made him pause, allowing another fear to surface.
“What if my nightmares are my memories trying to return? What if - “ his eyes flickered between the hammer and the man as he whispered brokenly, “What if I am everything I fear?”
He felt that fear begin to ebb as the man smiled at him again. “You are my brother, ‘Lock’. You have nothing to fear.” Every word was filled with love.
With the man’s words buoying him, Serrure reached out to grasp the handle of the hammer. “Anything would be better than this…” he swore. The light it gave off seemed to reach out and welcome him.
And Serrure was no more.
Loki looked down on himself in delight. His clothing was now proper Asgardian clothing. “My… word.” he said, grinning. He knew that people were staring and didn’t care.
His big brother Thor sounded confused as he said, “That’s not what usually happens…”
Loki looked up from himself and ran over to grab his hand. He began to pull him back towards the platform. “Forget what usually happens,” he chattered excitedly, “when did you get so old?”
His brother actually laughed and began to help him up onto the platform.
Then the roof caved in.
* * *
Thor roared with anger and fear as he threw away pieces of cement and steel. He could not find his brother amongst the wreckage of the Metro station. Around him, paramedics carried the groaning bodies of the injured out of the hole that used to be the station and into their ambulances as he uncovered them. Police officers shouted orders as they began to cordon off the massive hole in the street that was all that was left of the station. People screamed and sobbed while the sirens wailed. All of the noise was merely a faint buzz in his ears, though. The only sound he could hear was his own thudding heartbeat as he pulled away more wreckage and did not find his brother’s small body.
The sun was setting before he finally climbed out of the hole, collapsing to his knees amongst the rubble and hanging his head. His brother was not in the rubble of the station. He closed his eyes and breathed shakily, trying to think, something that his brother had always been better at.
Loki had been beside him when the station had collapsed. A lucky blow from several hundred pounds of concrete and steel had knocked him unconscious despite his helmet. When Thor had awoken, there was no one near his body. Sifting through the rubble hadn’t yielded Loki either.
A hand was gently laid upon his shoulder. Looking up, Thor saw it was one of the paramedics that had rushed to the scene.
“You okay, Mister Thor?” he asked.
Looking back down at his hands, Thor sadly shook his head. “No,” he whispered, “I cannot find my brother.”
Thor heard the man shift uncomfortably. “There are some SHIELD agents here, sir. I think they want to talk to you about what happened.” the man said. Thor heard him begin to walk away, then stop. Gravel and glass crunched under the man’s shoes as he walked back.
“Sir?”
Thor looked back up.
“Thank you. You saved a lot of people while you were searching.”
Someone called from the row of ambulances and the man hurried off. Thor looked over to where the injured were sitting and lying down, waiting for an ambulance to take them to the hospital. All around the cordoned-off area, people were helping each other, either handing out food and water, giving people blankets, reporting on the explosion or just holding those who had rushed to see if their relatives had been one of the survivors.
Slowly, Thor stood up. Kneeling amongst the debris would not help him find Loki. He needed to talk to the agents and find out what had happened. Hopefully they would be able to help him.
The crowds parted around him as he walked away from the site of the blast and towards the SHIELD agents that were waiting just beyond the main crush of people.
There were three agents, two men and one woman, all in SHIELD uniform. One of the men was holding a twisted piece of metal and speaking to one of the police officers that had come to the scene while the other two watched.
“This explosion,” Thor rumbled as he stopped in front of them, “do you know what caused it?”
The man who had been speaking to the police officer broke off in mid-sentence and hastily dismissed him before answering. “Thor, is it? I’m Agent Garcia, and these are Agent Schmidt,” he said, nodding at the man, “and Agent Nazarova. I’m afraid we aren’t sure right now who caused the explosion, but we do know what.”
Agent Garcia showed the piece of metal to Thor. Looking it over, he saw nothing that would tell him who made the bomb. It looked like a ball that had been melted and blown open.
“We found it nearby. Do you know of any enemies or supervillains that would do this?”
Thor could feel the agent’s eyes on him. Normally he would feel annoyance at the scrutiny, but all he could summon now was exhaustion as he shook his head. Most of his enemies would not use an explosive and then disappear without challenging him. An empty pit formed in his stomach. His brother was gone, and it was his fault.
A rock bounced off his helmet, jerking him out of his depression. Looking over his shoulder, he saw an unfamiliar young boy in a tuque and a long-sleeved red shirt. Thor could see him holding another small piece of rubble in his hand; his thin limbs were shaking with rage and his face was caked with tears and dust.
“What did you do!” the boy howled, his voice breaking, “What did you do to Serrure!?”
Serrure. Recognition flooded Thor along with heartache. He had not even thought of the other boy that had been working with Loki after he had tossed him to the ground.
“I simply reminded him of who he really was, child,” he said, his voice tired.
“He doesn’t need to be reminded who he is, he is somebody! He’s Serrure!”
“No, he is Loki, and my little brother.”
“Wait, Loki?” Thor heard one of the agents interject, startled.
“Bullshit! You creepy bastards think you can just waltz in and kidnap people while acting the hero!? You and that fucking blonde lady! I bet you aren’t even the real Thor; you’re probably just another clone!”
The boy threw another piece of rubble at Thor. It bounced off of his chest without harming him. He heard the agents behind him shift, preparing to silence the child. The crowd that surrounded the destroyed Metro station was beginning to take notice of the child’s rage, nervously watching for Thor’s reaction.
However, Thor was concentrating on what the boy had said. “A blonde woman, you say?”
“Yeah,” the boy snapped, “she dragged him out of the rubble and took off before anyone else got here. I almost couldn’t recognize him with that dorky outfit on. Then you burst out and started throwing stuff around, trying to look good!”
Thor frowned and looked down, thinking furiously. A blonde woman had taken Loki. Perhaps the Enchantress?
“Boy -“
“It’s Luc, you bastard!”
“Luc, can you describe this woman?”
A few tears slipped from the boy’s eyes; he scrubbed them away, smearing more dirt across his cheeks. “Shouldn’t you know?” he asked
sullenly.
Supressing his irritation at the boy’s distrust, Thor stepped forward and kneeled down to look him in the eye. “I swear by Asgard’s honour, Luc, I did not cause this explosion, and neither was I working with any blonde woman. I merely sought to safely retrieve my little brother and bring him home.”
The boy sniffed and wiped away more tears. He looked uncertain now, as if he wanted to believe Thor but could not quite do so.
Agent Garcia cleared his throat. Looking back, Thor saw that he looked slightly uncomfortable at the boy’s tears.
“If the boy did see someone, we can get a sketch artist to work with his description,” he said shortly. “If a woman did grab your brother, then she might have something to do with the explosion.”
Turning back to the boy, Thor reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Luc, will you help me find Loki?”
The boy looked uncertain. His eyes darted from Thor to the agents. “You’re not police, are you?” he asked the agents suspiciously. “Cuz I don’t want to help and then get thrown in jail.”
Thor tightened his grip slightly. “I swear to you, I will not allow them to arrest you.” He shot a look over his shoulder. All three agents quickly nodded and looked agreeable.
After a long moment, the boy finally nodded. “I’m gone if I see a cell though,” he groused. “And his name is Serrure.”
* * *
Loki stared at the dark green canopy above him. He was lying on his back underneath a thick blanket, uncomfortably warm, on a soft bed. Distantly, he heard the crackling of a fire. He had known this now for a while. What he couldn’t figure out, however, was why this was wrong.
His mind moving slowly, he thought back. He had been with Thor, who was suddenly so much older than him and was speaking of second chances. There had been a loud noise and everything went dark. Now he was here in this room that didn’t look like the one he had in Asgard. There was more to it, he knew, but it felt like his head was stuffed with damp rags.
Speaking of his head, it was itching terribly, along with his left arm and right foot. Gingerly wiggling his fingers, Loki’s head was cleared with the sharp stab of pain that followed.
He whimpered and closed his eyes briefly. Opening them again, he carefully lifted his other hand to his head. Underneath his fingertips he felt bandages.
Wrinkling his brow, he slowly sat up, his whole body aching. Pain rocked through his body in waves, and by the time he was done, he was panting from the exertion. Nevertheless, sitting up he was able to take in much more detail of the room he was in. It didn’t disappoint. The bed he was sitting on was soft and covered in green sheets. The wall to his left had a set of bookshelves and a thick wooden door set into it; the opposite wall held a lit fireplace and a window with decorative ironwork and thick panes of glass. The room was otherwise bare.
It was absolutely nothing like Asgard.
The sound of the door unlocking jerked Loki away from his examination of the room’s contents. Belatedly he realized that his clothes were gone, leaving him only wearing bandages. He clumsily tried to pull up the blanket to better cover himself, but quickly realized that it was a waste of time when the person walked in. A short, thin man in too big clothes wheeled in a cart covered in a white tablecloth that had a several covered dishes on it.
The man’s face shone with sweat, and he kept his eyes on the ground as he wheeled the tray up to the side of the bed. Reaching underneath the tablecloth, he rapidly pulled out and set up cutlery, plates, a bowl, a goblet, a napkin and a large bottle of wine before quickly uncovering the covered dishes, revealing a whole roast duck, two loaves of bread and what looked like a small cauldron of vegetable soup. It took less than two minutes and with that done, the man quickly bowed and began to back out of the room.
Loki’s mouth watered at the food set in front of him, his stomach clenching and reminding him that he had only eaten a croissant earlier today. A thought floated through the haze of hunger that clouded the godling’s mind; was it the same day? How long had he been asleep? He frowned.
There was a loud crack, the sound of a metal striking flesh, and Loki’s head snapped up. The servant had disappeared. Now standing in the doorway was a . . . man? Or perhaps an automaton, like the Destroyer. Had he been taken by dwarves? The figure seemed to be made of metal, and was wearing a long green tunic and cape.
The boy automatically shrank back and tried to tug his covers up higher as the automaton strode towards him. “Loki,” the machine boomed.
Loki’s mind raced. That had not been a question; his captors were aware of who he was. That could be very good or very bad, depending on what the machine’s builders wanted. It had used his name, so it was more likely a personal grudge than a plot against Asgard. That made it unlikely that Odin or any of the Asgardians would be contacted for ransom. His heart sank. This would most likely get very painful, very quickly, and he would only have himself to depend on.
Loki did his best to sound nonchalant as he replied, “Yes?” His voice was calm and even, not showing the fear that now gripped his body.
“You are…smaller.” The automaton sounded almost uncertain.
Loki couldn’t keep his lips from thinning.
“Really?” he said, raising an eyebrow, “My apologies, then. I shall endeavour to keep from further disappointing you.”
The automaton grunted and moved forward. Loki deliberately kept his body still as the machine laid its hand on the crown of his head and forced him to look into its eyes.
Despite his best efforts, though, he couldn’t help but let out a small breath. Its eyes were flesh, as was the area surrounding them. This was no machine, it was a man!
The man that wore a metal mask made a disappointed sound. It appeared he had not found what he was looking for in Loki’s eyes. Loki tried to not be insulted by this. He was used to disappointing others, what was one more?
“I am Doctor Doom.”
Loki said nothing to this. Part of him stirred, a memory from the part of him that still called itself Serrure. It remembered the name; the man was the tyrant of a nearby country called Latveria. He regularly fought an American group called the Fantastic Four and sometimes the Avengers. Back then, the name had made him think that perhaps this Doctor Doom was just compensating for something; it now reminded him of the over-the-top monikers that some of the weaker spell-casters took in compensation. The way the man carried himself, however, did not give the impression of compensation. He carried himself like a proven warrior did, with the knowledge that they were dangerous and did not need to prove it.
“I am an ally of yours. I found you injured, and brought you to Latveria,” the man continued. “You have several cracked ribs, seven broken fingers, torn tendons in your foot and a concussion.”
His hand moved from Loki’s crown down to gently cup his jaw, his eyes softening just slightly. It was an oddly familiar gesture that made Loki’s heart warm and confuse him.
“You are still tired. You may eat as much as you wish,” the man said, gesturing at the cart, “and we shall speak further in the morning.”
With that, his gauntleted hand slipped from Loki’s jaw, and the man turned and strode towards the door, leaving Loki alone and feeling oddly bereft. He gripped his blanket tightly.
“My thanks, Lord Doom.” Loki called after the green-cloaked figure. He saw the man hesitate slightly before giving a sharp nod and continuing, shutting the door behind him with a deep thud and the sound of a lock turning.
Loki reached for the roast duck thoughtfully. As he clumsily manuvered it into his lap, unable to move his immobilized fingers, he began to go over what this Doctor Doom had revealed. He claimed to be an ally, yet locked the door. Either he feared for Loki’s safety, which was unlikely given the way he had dismissed that servant, or he wanted to know where Loki was at all times. A strange thing for an ally to do; it showed little trust.
He tore off a leg from the duck’s body and began to chew on it. It was well prepared. In fact, it was seasoned just the way Loki liked it.
Curiouser and curiouser. Granted, it could be coincidence, but when taken with Doom looking for something in Loki’s eye, and his disappointment, it seemed that the two of them knew each other.
So, Doctor Doom knew him. They were close enough for Doom to know how Loki liked his food seasoned, but Doom did not trust him
enough to keep the door unlocked. An odd sort of intimacy.
Setting down a gnawed-clean bone, Loki grabbed a fork from the cart and began to tear off strips of duck. This feeling of intimacy, the familiar way Doctor Doom touched him; perhaps this had something to do with Thor suddenly being so much bigger. And not just bigger, but older too, and speaking of second chances. Loki shovelled in the scraps of duck to hide his worried frown. He had simply been glad to see Thor at the time after being alone for so long, but now that he had the chance to truly think it through, Midgard had been very different than what Odin had described. Far more advanced. And the part of him that was now a shadow called Serrure had never seen this as unusual.
The way Thor talked, along with his dreams; it seemed her really had done the terrible things he dreamt of.
Loki rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache. Thor was older. Midgard was fairly advanced. He was somehow intimate with yet not
trusted by a tyrant who called himself Doctor Doom. And he had done things terrible enough to wake him screaming every night. Loki thought back to his lessons.
He remembered a particularly interesting class that had discussed life and death. The master that had taught it had been very old and a bit batty, but he had believed that Ragnarok was a cycle, and that all the gods were capable of rebirth.
Had Loki died, and then come back? But then, that didn’t explain the missing memories. He fumbled the plate of picked-clean duck back onto the cart and managed to pour himself a goblet of wine after a few tries. It was good wine, almost sweet, just the way he liked it. The soup was also how he liked it. Yet more clues that pointed towards him and Doctor Doom being intimate.
Well, unexplained missing memories aside, rebirth seemed to best explain everything that was going on around him. Loki ate until his eyelids were drooping and there was no more food before lying back down to sleep. With a full belly, he dropped back into unconsciousness quickly.
* * *
It had been a full day and again, Thor had politely and carefully been told that nothing had changed. SHIELD still did not know who the blonde woman that the street urchin Luc had described was, and where she had gone with Loki.
Thor, for his part, was floating above the large warehouse in the outskirts of Paris that SHIELD had set up as a temporary base, as yet another storm, summoned by his grief and frustration, rolled in. Wherever the woman had gone, Loki was now hidden even from Mjolnir and the Odinforce. He despised moments like these, where for all his might he could not help someone. One would think he would be more used to it, he mused darkly, for he had felt it around his younger brother far too often.
“Thor!”
A deep, familiar voice reached him and dragged his mind back to the present. Looking away from the oncoming storm, he saw Steve Rogers standing in the doorway of the Paris police station. Thor’s frown eased slightly as he floated down to the ground.
“I heard what happened.” The blonde man said solemnly. “I came as soon as I could.”
Thor sighed tiredly and walked towards him. “To support me in my time of need, or to chide me for resurrecting Loki?” He stopped in front of him. “For I have heard many whispers, from the agents of SHIELD and my Asgardian brothers-in-arms, that I have gone mad.”
Steve’s lips tightened. “I’m not about to call you crazy for loving your brother; I will, however, make sure that we look at every possible angle.”
Thor looked away.
Steve’s eyes softened and he reached up to clap a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “C’mon, just standing around out here won’t do any good.”
Thor’s lips twitched into a smile. “My thanks, brother. It is good to know I have an ally here.”
“Hey, mister thunder god!”
Thor looked past Steve to see the street urchin, Luc, standing farther down the hall. The boy had been walking towards them, but had stopped when he saw Steve and swayed nervously, his cheeks red.
“Yes?” Thor said, taking a step towards him.
“IwannatalktoyouaboutSerrure.” the boy rushed out, stepping back.
“Right here?”
“Alone.”
Luc was sweating and fidgeting, his eyes darting from Thor to Steve and back again. Thor looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye. Steve smiled and made an aborted wave at him.
“We can talk later. It seems he’s got something to say.” He then left the two of them standing in the brightly-lit hall, staring at each other.
The boy looked away first, digging at the linoleum with the toe of one ragged sneaker and twisting the hem of his shirt. Thor waited patiently.
“W-what did you do to Serrure, really?”
“As I said before,” Thor said, “I merely reminded him of who he was.”
Luc’s lips thinned and turned downward. “No, really, I mean, one minute he’s like, terrified, but the next he’s all ‘let’s run away together’?” He looked back up at Thor and raised an eyebrow. “Nobody just does a one-eighty like that naturally.”
Thor sighed. The urchin still did not believe him. “Is there some place where we might sit down? This will take some explanation.”
They ended up back outside on a bench in front of the station. “You heard of the Siege of Asgard, I presume?”
Luc looked him over carefully before nodding. Thor idly wondered what had happened to him that made him so wary of just answering a question.
“During it, my brother, Loki, died.” Thor closed his eyes briefly at the memory. “He sacrificed himself in a fight against a creature known as the Void. He was torn to shreds, but we were able to defeat the creature thanks to his distraction.” He looked down at his hands, which were clasped in his lap.
“After his death, I found myself missing him, despite his mischief, and so I called his soul back from the void.”
Luc frowned. “Wait, wasn’t the Void what killed him?”
“The void that I speak of is just that, a void; it is where the souls of those who are not claimed by any afterlife go, not the mad animal that killed so many during the siege.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy look away with red cheeks. Mentally chiding himself, he gently placed one of his hands on the boy’s back. “It is an easy mistake to make, Luc; I was not clear in what I was speaking of.”
“As I was saying, I called his soul back from the void. When he did not reappear, I set out and tracked him down to here. His soul called out to Mjolnir.”
“That’s your hammer, right?”
“Yes. I tracked him down here, to Paris, and when he touched Mjolnir, his memories were restored.”
The boy crinkled his nose. “But I’ve seen you two on TV before; you were fighting and he was always screaming stuff about how much he hated you.”
Thor bowed his head. “Loki and I have a…complicated relationship. When we were younger, I was occasionally cruel to him, and I did not always protect him from others as I should have. I did not realize until it was too late how much the taunts of others had affected him.”
Luc looked down at his hands. Thor watched as he fiddled with a hangnail. He had the feeling that the boy wanted to say something, but was holding himself back.
Finally, quietly, the boy asked, “Is there anything left of Serrure?”
Thor felt sympathy fill him. He placed a gentle hand upon Luc’s back, covering most of it. “From what I saw, his personality as Serrure is much the same as his personality as Loki. He simply remembers more now.”
Luc continued to play with his nails. Thor continued to sit beside him. There was no reason to get up and leave. He had extracted an oath from one of the agents that he would be informed straight away when they found any clues as to the whereabouts of Loki.
“What if…” the boy started before trailing off. “What if he was happier being just Serrure?” He looked up into Thor’s eyes. “Cuz I don’t… I don’t think that he likes Loki.”
Thor felt his brow crease. “What makes you say such things?” he asked. Luc looked back down at his hands.
“Some nights, a lot of nights actually, he’d wake up crying or yelling.”
Thor’s heart jumped and he stiffened slightly as the boy continued, sounding like he was forcing the words out. “He’d never tell what it was he was dreaming about when he was awake, but sometimes, when it got real bad, he’d talk in his sleep, yelling about people burning and being torn apart and he’d beg someone to forgive him. Said that he didn’t mean for it to go that far. Some nights, he wouldn’t sleep at all because he was too scared.”
Luc looked up through his lashes at him. “Were those dreams his memories from before?”
It took a few moments before Thor could find his voice again. His little brother had been tormented by visions of his past misdeeds that much? He had not realized it had been so bad.
“Yes, I believe they were,” Thor said gruffly. “But I swore to Loki before I awoke his memories that his past no longer mattered, and that I would protect him.”
Luc stared at the wall across from them and looked thoughtful. “So those dreams, he actually did that stuff? I bet a lot of people are angry with him, then.” The boy’s face twisted into a skeptical expression. “Can you really protect him from everyone?”
“None would dare to harm him while he is under my protection.” Thor assured the boy.
Luc looked like he wanted to say more, but was stopped by a panting SHIELD agent, his glasses askew, appearing at the end of the hallway.
“Mister…Odinson?” the man asked.
Thor’s heart leapt with joy. There was only one reason for an agent to come and speak with him.
“We found the woman that the boy described!”