fossilised | For Darcy

No, Loki.

Those words still rang in his ears even hours after they had been said, as though a bell tolling for his execution. He saw Odin's face with every blink of his eyes, disappointed and dispassionate, as though he cared nothing for the suffering of his younger son. No-- No, not son. He had made that mistake too many times, he was no Odinson, and to believe otherwise was to perpetuate the lie told to him his entire life. He would not be so foolish as to pin hope on those words said before the sleep took the All-Father, where he said he still saw Loki as his son, where the lies had been designed to protect him.

His actions since proved those false. Lies worthy of being told by the Silver-tongue himself.

Despite all Loki had done. Despite upholding his decision regarding Thor, despite proving the elder son had no right to the throne in his arrogance and stupidity, despite saving the sleeping king's life from a mortal enemy and slaughtering his own birth father for his sake, despite acting as a true ruler to destroy a realm that had declared war... still he was seen as wanting. His actions deemed as unworthy, even criminal. And Thor returned to the fold as worthy heir.

He had thought to die when he fell to the Void. He had hoped for once brief, brilliant moment that Odin or Thor would catch him. But they did not. They watched him fall as though they had tossed him to the abyss himself. But he had not died, he had somehow fallen through the gaps in shadow and landed in another realm. He knew at once that it was Midgard. It stank of the mortals, the air had that distinct sharpness that was only found here.

This was where Thor had become worthy once more.

Perhaps that was a sign. Perhaps he could reforge himself once more here on Midgard, perhaps-- or perhaps those were false hopes brought out by a shattered mind. He no longer knew himself if he were insane, and he found he did not care. He only wished to be alone and hidden until he thought through what he should do, until he found a place for himself once more. It was a matter of instinct to cloak himself from Heimdall's gaze, though he had little energy left and exhaustion tugged at his bones even with that small use of his magic.

He did not even have the energy to find one of the cities the mortals had built, scarce enough to even find one of their roads and sit beside him. He used the last of his magic to change his clothing into garb less likely to draw attention, simple black trousers and a neat shirt, before he sat in the dust and dirt and waited for one of their vehicles to pass by.

Loki required transportation, food, and rest. Then perhaps he could begin to make sense of what had happened and plan his next moves.

Threaded | Flat

Jane Foster was fond of strays. Case in point: one Darcy Lewis, sole applicant to a science research intern position and woefully unprepared for what followed, yet Jane took her under her wing and cared for her in her own distracted little way. She had discovered one night while crashing at Jane’s – a rare evening spent convincing Jane that she still knew how to have fun, which the almost empty bottle of flavored vodka could attest to – that the scientist fed a pile of local cats, something she found adorable and only later attributed to a deep sense of solitude and loneliness.

Their little section of the desert was secluded, the nearby town small and quaint. Thor’s arrival and the subsequent temper tantrum of his kid brother was the most excitement Puente Antiguo had seen in its entire history. SHIELD was on hand to invent elaborate excuses and assist with funding repairs, but Darcy wasn’t quite sure how anyone could cover up a giant murderous robot rampaging around. Whoever managed to pull that off deserved a hefty bonus.

Despite that uninvited bit of fun, Darcy chafed against her internship and the quiet life it had forced her into. She was a social creature at heart, used to spending time with friends, attending parties, filling her life with as much noise as possible so she didn’t have to be left in the company of her own thoughts for too long. With little to occupy herself, Darcy had been forced to spend far too much time staring her own insecurities in the face, feeling inadequate every single time she stepped into Jane’s makeshift lab. No matter how quickly she picked up on things, or how useful she made herself, whenever Jane and Erik got into a conversation, Darcy felt as if she was about three inches tall and possessing the IQ of a pineapple.

She reminded herself repeatedly that it was worth it, finishing up the last of her credits with such an easy gig, but then Thor happened, and the entire world upended itself. Her world became more complicated, and as she stared at the smoking ruin of a cute antique store, she wondered if six credits justified this level of trauma. She’d need therapy for years.

“I want my iPod back,” she groused, slouching in her seat, then proceeded to segue into her fourth rant about SHIELD until she noticed Jane slowing the car. She glanced out the window, spotting a downtrodden young man lurking like some creep from a horror movie. “Uh. What are you doing?”

And thus Jane’s fondness for strays, which should have been exhausted in the past few days on Thor, kicked in to complicate their lives again. “I think that man needs help.”

“He’s probably on an entire cocktail of drugs.”

The car came to a stop and Jane released her seat belt. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Darcy knew what she was thinking. Thor had been a stranger, a presumed homeless man found in the middle of the desert drunk out of his mind, and he’d wound up being a god who just so happened to grow attached to Jane. This guy, however, looked decidedly normal, if exhausted.

Exhaling sharply, Darcy got out of the car right behind her, determined not to let her potentially walk into danger alone.

“Hey,” Jane said, addressing the man. “Are you all right? Do you need help?”

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