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Chapter Text

Darkness, pain, and then…nothing. Nothing yet, everything. His mind went clear, the most focused he had ever been before.

The natural, overwhelming scents of the royal horse stable he had grown up in were suddenly harder to ignore. The musty smell of hay a few days old unpleasantly filled his nostrils for the first time. Someone's stall needed a desperate clean, too. Hunger pangs rumbled in his stomach but the mushy oats in his trough no longer looked appetizing.

Something seemed off.

Everything that once seemed so normal, so clearly defined, no longer felt the same way—no longer clear. Any pride for his role as the king's steed evaporated. The other horses were jealous of his status but looking different made him an outcast of the herd.

The other horses knew their purpose and had simple minds but he felt different. Not only did he have four extra legs than a regular horse but he could also think like a person.

A person—he didn't belong in the stables with the other horses. He knew someone out there, someone who shared his family blood. The king, perhaps? Unlikely. He wanted, needed, to find out who.

His head hurt. Memories he didn't know he even had started flooding his brain. A young man with black hair and bright green eyes and a taller, man with golden blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes crinkled up in laughter. A small wolf pup bounded through the garden, chasing a butterfly. The feel of a snake curled up on the top of his head, the little red tongue flickering in and out of his view as he took in his surroundings. An adorable baby girl appeared in a flash of green, wrapped in the arms of the terrified dark-haired man. Their names escaped him. His, too, refused to come back.

He could remember these people, these creatures, but he couldn't remember his name. His name. What was his name? It started with an 'S.'

S-S-Sleip-Sleipnir! Sleipnir—much more than just an eight-legged horse, more than the king's steed. He could do extraordinary things a regular horse could not like think for himself and wonder and dream and know where he belonged…

He didn't belong here in the royal stables of Asgard. He didn't belong here, eating blended oats out of a trough or grazing outside in the pastures. He didn't belong here, obeying the king's every order as just another dumb animal.

Sleipnir watched a rat climb up the leg of his food trough and nibble on the grain. Good, at least someone liked it.

Feeling suddenly thirsty, Sleipnir trotted over to his water trough. Taking a few sips of the dirty water refreshed him a bit but his reflection caught him off guard.

The stable boy had braided part of his mane, keeping the hair out of his hazel eyes. His black mane faded to brown, standing against his light gray coat. His teeth were surprisingly straight and pearly white, unlike most of the other horses who had varying shades of yellowed teeth.

Able to think clearly now, his reflection looked much more detailed. And he thought he looked rather well, considering he never knew what he looked like before.

Sleipnir huffed, creating little ripples in the water. His horse stall felt too cramped and the smell of the stallion next to him started to give him a headache.

Do horses get headaches? Do horses even question if they get headaches? What was happening to him?

Awful, he felt awful. His stomach suddenly rolled and he tried to push down his breakfast so he wouldn't get sick in his cramped stall. The stable hands wouldn't return until noon, and he didn't want to be stuck in his own sick until then.

His life suddenly felt boring, the same thing almost every day wake up, eat, run around in the grazing pasture, eat, run around some more, go to training, eat, and then go back to sleep. He usually got to go out more than the other horses because the king took him whenever he went on a diplomatic trip or whenever he needed to travel somewhere.

Compared to the other horses, he was on the younger side. He knew the system to judge ages differed between the Aesir and horses, yet he felt like his age coincided with the Aesir.

A loud 'neigh' shook Sleipnir from his thoughts. In the stall across from his, a stable boy with dirty blonde hair and a splash of freckles on his face tried to calm down the other horse.

Adella, a mare about the same age as him. Her blonde mane stood against her brown coat, which shimmered in the sunlight as she shook her head in protest to the stable boy's desperate pleas. Sleipnir always had a small crush on her. He still felt bad for the stable boy when Adella kicked him on the shin for trying to put a saddle on her. The boy crumpled and dropped the leather saddle.

"Damn you, stupid horse," the boy cursed, rubbing his shin where a hoove-sized bruise would surely start to form.

Adella snorted and gave Sleipnir an annoyed look. Adella didn't like being ridden; she enjoyed pulling carts instead. For some reason, saddles scared her while pulling heavier weights did not.

The boy gave up and closed the latch on Adella's stall door. He limped out of the stable, cursing the entire way.

Only when the stable doors slid shut with a small bang did Adella calm down to pace in her stall, huffing and shaking her mane.

Sleipnir watched her with interest. He always liked her but knew he probably didn't have a choice in matters of a partner. The stable hands would sometimes talk about how they wanted to use Sleipnir to raise a new generation of war horses, much to his dismay. Any time they attempted anything like that, Sleipnir would kick and buck around until they gave up.

He knew he was gifted, able to open portals to teleport the black-haired man in a memory he didn't know he had. He didn't know if he could still do the same thing now, let alone on command. The king used the Bifrost to travel to other realms, not Sleipnir. And who knows if anyone actually knew the full extent of his abilities—he sure didn't.

Strength and speed were prized for horses, and he qualified in both regards. It made him stand out more, ostracizing him from the herd. People always stared at him, judged his extra limbs, and sometimes even offered ridiculous amounts to buy him from the king.

He didn't want to be sold. He didn't want to be used. He had grown weary of this place. The sights, the smells, the grumpy old man who would roughly brush his mane, nothing felt normal anymore.

A sudden feeling of rebellion surged through him. He had to leave; he couldn't stay. Someone needed him. He didn't know who—probably the snake, the girl, the wolf pup, or maybe the two young lads.

He had to get out of here. He needed to find someone, find himself—his true self.

With a strong back-kick to the stall door, Sleipnir broke through the wood and stepped over the splintered wood. Adella whinnied and paced around her stall nervously, wanting to know what Sleipnir had planned. He ignored her and focused on trying to find a way out.

The noise caused the stable boy to come rushing back, this time with two other workers in tow.

"The king's horse!" the boy shouted and pointed. Sleipnir froze, he had never been temperamental or disobedient except for when they tried to find him a mate. The looks on the men's faces did nothing to stop Sleipnir from the urge to escape.

One of the men, a tall, burly man with long, ginger hair tied back into a ponytail, held up a hand, trying to soothe Sleipnir's rebellion.

"Hey, there, easy boy," the ginger said calmly. Sleipnir had seen this trick enough to know it wouldn't work to wrangle him back into a stall. "Easy, now. We're not going to hurt you."

Yeah, right.

Suddenly emboldened, Sleipnir charged right through the trio. The stable boy yelped and dove into a hay pile to avoid getting run over. The ginger managed to grab onto one of Sleipnir's hind legs, getting dragged a few feet until he let go. The other man grasped at Sleipnir and fell on his face, clinging to nothing but empty air.

Sleipnir ran through the open stable door and out into the fresh air. He galloped through the green pastures and took a flying leap over the fence. A glance over his shoulder showed two men chasing him, falling further and further behind as Sleipnir picked up speed.

Only when he couldn't see the stables anymore did he slow down to a brisk trot. They would surely have a team out searching for him because not every day does the king's stallion escape. At least that gatekeeper man, Heimdall, no longer worked for the king. The new man couldn't see the universe without the aid of a few dozen sorcerers, so Sleipnir could hide anywhere. However, his eight legs stuck out like a sore thumb, making it easy to recognize him.

He needed a disguise. Or to disappear to a realm far from Asgard's reach.

Closing his eyes, Sleipnir focused his energy on the center of his being. What if he had sedir? He didn't know if his parents did or if he inherited any. It wouldn't hurt to try.

Ignoring the blinding headache pulsing behind his eyes, Sleipnir slowly began to feel the beginnings of something flowing through him. It started as a trickle and then burst into a stronger stream of energy.

He stayed still for nearly five minutes, intentionally going slow because the increasing speed became difficult to control. He'd seen inexperienced sorcerers catch themselves on fire because of an overconfidence in their abilities. A fatal mistake right now would end his entire new-found freedom.

The use of his little store of magic brought hidden memories rushing back:

The snake stabbed the blonde-haired man while the dark-haired man watched in shock...

The wolf pup curled up asleep, using Sleipnir as a pillow...

In the throne room of Asgard, the king sat on his throne, gripping his staff grimly...

The dark-haired man crying and shouting as he struggled against the guards holding him back. The blonde-haired man hung unconscious between two other guards. The wolf pup growled while the snake snapped at a guard who tried to pick him up. An infant wailed in the arms of a dark-bearded man in a top hat and tailcoats. The king glared as he reached a hand toward Sleipnir's head, causing the horse to recoil and strain against the ropes around his neck. The hand landed and he fell unconscious…

Sleipnir gasped in agony and shock. His knees gave out from under him, and he collapsed onto the grass.

What had the king done? Those people, his family, were they cursed? It had to have been real. It felt real and not a figment of his overactive imagination.

Sleipnir grabbed at the ground, trying to find an anchor back into reality. They were his…siblings. The snake, the wolf, the baby—his siblings. Ripped from each other by the king.

A shudder ran down Sleipnir's spine. Two little brothers and a baby sister. The dark-haired boy: his father, and the blonde: his uncle. And the king split them up. Why?

Frustration gave Sleipnir the energy to stand back up. He wobbled and tripped over his feet, feeling unbalanced and odd.

Looking down, Sleipnir noticed his hooves had disappeared.

What?

Instead of eight matching hooves, two pale feet and long legs held him upright. Shocked, Sleipnir scrambled backward and landed on his rear in the grass. Something sharp bit into his skin and he whirled around to find it only to see pale skin in place of his dark gray coat. Lifting his front limbs, he realized he possessed two arms and two hands with five fingers on each side. His mane felt shorter, and he reached up to tentatively feel the soft hair on top of his oddly shaped head.

He almost passed out and would've if he hadn't forced himself to crawl over to a puddle of water under the shade of an oak tree left over from last night's rainstorm. In his reflection, he noticed his eyes stayed the same color of hazel except for it being inset in the pale, high-cheekboned face of a young Aesir man. Dark eyelashes framed his eyes like black eyeliner. His mane, shorter on the sides and thicker toward the top, still had the same black color fading out to brown. His slender frame had a decent amount of muscle definition.

He'd shape-shifted—shapeshifted into an Aesir lad instead of an eight-legged horse. He didn't know he could do that. He decided he didn't mind the change.

A small breeze made him realize he didn't have any clothes on, despite not feeling cold even without his warm coat protecting his skin from the weather. Sleipnir pushed himself to his feet and almost tripped again as he struggled to gain balance in his new form. Thank the Norns, nobody else could see him in his vulnerable state. He needed to find something to cover himself up if he wanted to travel disguised as an Asgardian.

Keeping to the shadows and ducking behind bushes and trees, Sleipnir slowly made his way towards the city market. He had been through there plenty of times to know of the seamstresses and leather workers who had plentiful supplies of clothes to sell.

Going to the city market might have been risky, but he had no other ideas. The guards patrolling the palace removed breaking into the palace as an option. This would have to work, so Sleipnir crept around the backside of the market shops looking for a place to get clothes.

He could hear the crowd laughing and talking openly with each other as they exchanged goods. Vendor tents and wooden shacks lined up on both sides of the road, sellers shouting out prices and trying to earn as much profit as possible.

Finally, he found a fancy shop selling men's and boy's clothes. After making sure nobody would spot him, Sleipnir snatched a pair of black pants, calf-high boots around his size, and a dark gray vest and a navy blue tunic. He also grabbed a pair of silver arm gauntlets and quickly got dressed in the shadows of the thick foliage surrounding the market.

Everything surprisingly fit, and although he didn't have a mirror, he thought it looked good on him. He didn't have any money so he felt bad for stealing, but he needed it more than they did. They would understand. Maybe.

Fully clothed now, Sleipnir decided he would need a weapon if he were to go find his siblings.

Stepping out of the shadows, Sleipnir joined the crowd to look for a weapons vendor. Perhaps they would take pity on him in his confused state and assume his awkward attempts to not trip over his feet meant he required help.

"How are you doing there, son?" a tall man asked, startling Sleipnir. Walking took most of his focus because going from eight legs and horizontal to two legs and vertical took some adjustment.

Despite Sleipnir's considerable height, the man stood at least a foot taller. A leather apron and gloves covered his rugged body.

"You look lost," the man continued, his smile soft and gentle compared to his hard-lined face.

"I am," Sleipnir said slowly. His voice sounded strange, almost chimy compared to his deep brays. He hadn't talked before, and he didn't know if the man understood him. "Do you know where to find a blacksmith?"

The man chuckled and motioned with his hand towards his shop. "You are in the right place, lad. Allow me to help you."

The man turned around and started rifling through his goods. Swords, axes, and spears hung on the walls. Daggers and shields were laid out on several tables. A single lantern lit up the inside of the shop with help from the front wall being completely removed to let in the sunlight.

"What exactly are you looking for?" the man asked.

"A sword?" Sleipnir replied. He hadn't fought before and never had any training so he just said the first weapon that came to mind. Warriors used swords. It would take some getting used to, having opposable thumbs for the first time; he could figure it out.

"A sword," the man repeated. He mumbled to himself and decided on a longsword, the silver blade gleaming in the sunlight. Blue leather wrapped around the grip and the silver pommel and cross-guard glittered.

"How is this one?" the man asked and laid the sword on a table. He placed the matching sheath next to the sword. "It will go well with your outfit."

Sleipnir gave an awkward smile and nodded.

"Wonderful," the man said. He slid the sword back into its sheath and pulled out a feather pen and a scroll of paper. "How will you be paying?"

Sleipnir blinked. He forgot he didn't have any money. "I'm sorry?"

The man looked back up. "Payment, lad. I don't just hand out these for free."

Thinking quickly, Sleipnir came up with an excuse for why he didn't have any coins on him. He felt bad for lying, but if he were to travel to find his siblings, he needed something to protect himself with.

"Oh, there must be some misunderstanding," Sleipnir said, choosing his words carefully. "I am a messenger from the king. He told me to tell you to leave a tab open, and we will pay you back for the sword. He is too busy to take care of simple matters like this so I went for him."

The man looked taken aback. "The king? Why, you certainly must be so, considering the fine clothes you are wearing. I am so sorry for this misunderstanding. Tell the king I am honored to serve him."

The man put a fist to his heart and bowed his head. Heat rushed up Sleipnir's cheeks. He hoped the man wouldn't notice the redness as he handed over the sword and quickly wrote down a payment note for Sleipnir to give to the king.

Sleipnir tried to act normal as he walked away from the blacksmith as if he didn't just lie his way through getting a free sword and outfit. He strapped the sword around his waist and walked in the opposite direction of the palace. If he wanted to leave Asgard, the Bifrost would help.

A bald man with a dark beard and blue armour glared at him. A collection of odd junk and items piled off onto the side made Sleipnir raise an eyebrow in confusion. The previous gatekeeper didn't have a mess of useless garbage ruining the grandeur of the Bifrost. What would guests of Asgard think when they first stepped foot into the realm only to see the clutter scattered around?

"What do you want?" the man growled.

"I am looking for my siblings," Sleipnir replied. He stood up straighter, held his head up higher, and tried to look more confident when in reality, the man kind of scared him.

The man scoffed. "I don't take requests to find lost siblings. Get lost, kid."

The man started to get on his nerves; Sleipnir liked Heimdall more—more compassion and more respect for his honored job.

"I don't think you understand," Sleipnir continued, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. The man deserved a lecture for treating his job as a mere throwaway and trashing up the sacred Bifrost. "The king ordered me to find my siblings so we can help him with some extremely important issue. They are not on Asgard, and I am sort of on a deadline, so you must open the Bifrost for me."

"Your fancy declarations don't mean anything to me," the man said. "I-"

"I'm sure you would prefer to not lose your status as gatekeeper," Sleipnir interrupted. "I would hate to explain to the king that his gatekeeper is refusing to follow orders."

The man paused, contemplating. He cursed under his breath and stepped up onto the platform holding the sword to open the Bifrost.

"What are your siblings' names?" the man asked, looking rather unhappy about the whole thing.

Sleipnir realized he didn't know their names. Thinking hard, a name finally came to him.

"Jormungandr. We'll start with him," Sleipnir said and walked towards the opening to wait for the man to open the Bifrost.

"Great."

The man twisted the sword in the holder. A rainbow of light swirled in the opening, replacing the view of the blue sky.

The force of the Bifrost tugged on him, sending Sleipnir off to Norns-knows-where.

Wherever the Bifrost sent him, Sleipnir hoped with his whole being to find Jormungandr alive, to find answers about his past, and to reunite his family.

Chapter Text

The bright colors of the Bifrost faded as quickly as they came once he touched down on the spongy ground. Sleipnir stumbled and caught himself on a tree branch before he fell, still not used to his new body. Looking around, Sleipnir surveyed his surroundings, wondering where his brother could be.

The thick treeline could only mean he landed in Alfheim, the land of the Light Elves. Its reputation of being an inviting realm eased some of Sleipnir's concerns as he wandered into the trees. The canopy of leaves blocked out the sunlight, casting ominous shadows onto the moss-covered ground. Alfheim had the most forests out of any realm yet somehow Sleipnir landed in possibly the only swamp in the realm.

Moss covered the ground, making it soft and squishy. Strange birds chirped in the treetops and frogs croaked unseen on the shore. Vines drooped from trees, dragging on the ground from the low-hanging branches. Algae turned the closest pond water green, hiding whatever lurked beneath. A slight fog hovered low in the stagnant air, swirling in the occasional breeze.

Luckily for him, he had landed in the only relatively dry area of land. The Bifrost had burned the moss away, leaving the symbol he once knew the meaning of a long time ago branded onto the ground.

Acutely aware of his surroundings, Sleipnir picked a direction and slowly started walking in hopes of finding his brother. He drew his sword and held it in front of him like how the royal guards would whenever they were wary of a hostile area. His boots sank into the ground with each squelching step, leaving deep imprints only for the mud to refill the prints. An alligator basked in the rare patches of sunlight streaming through the trees.

The swamp seemed scary and out of place in a realm known for its light and beauty. Maybe the fog got to him or the strangeness of a different realm he had only seen while accompanied by a troop of guards. Either way, something prickled the back of Sleipnir's neck and he had the distinct feeling of being watched. It felt like trespassing on someone's territory, and only the urge to find his brother kept him from turning around and high-tailing it out of there.

Too focused on the trees around him and the branches above, Sleipnir didn't watch where he stepped until his foot collided with something dry and large. His momentum sent him rolling over the unknown mass, barely managing to avoid landing on his sword while sitting down hard on his rear. The dryness of the object brushed against the ground in a dull whisper.

His stomach jumped when he saw what he tripped over…

A large, clear snakeskin big enough for him to crawl through lay on the ground. The beginning and the end of it disappeared into the fog.

"What in the Nine Realms?" Sleipnir mumbled out loud, his voice wavering. What did this swamp hide? Snakes didn't get this large unless they had dragon blood somewhere in their lineage. The snakeskin's owner could be out there, and most likely unfriendly.

Sleipnir struggled to his feet, his legs suddenly turning to jelly. Nobody could survive an attack from such a large creature. What if the snake ate—no, his brother had to be alive, he must be.

As Sleipnir bent down to grab his sword, a rustling in the trees above him gave him pause. His heartbeat picked up in tempo and a cold sweat chilled the back of his neck. Thinking maybe he was being paranoid, Sleipnir turned back to his sword, feeling the need to get out of there as soon as possible.

However, before he could take a step, something heavy suddenly dropped down on him, flattening him to the mud with its weight.

Sleipnir yelled and rolled, trying to kick the thing off and winning a grunt from the attacker.

He never had any self-defense training but adrenaline shot through his veins and his head cleared as his senses narrowed.

The creature, he realized, lacked skill, just as sloppy as a fighter as Sleipnir, but the beast had the element of surprise. Sleipnir could barely get his feet under him when a hard punch connected with his jaw.

The recoil made Sleipnir lose his grip on the creature and he fell backward onto the ground, the softness dampening his fall. Sleipnir reached for his sword but it lay out of arm's reach. Strong arms wrapped around his neck before he could scramble to his feet, squeezing hard. Startled, Sleipnir gasped for air and clawed at the arms in an attempt to loosen the grip.

"Who are you and why are you trespassing on my territory?" the creature hissed angrily.

"I'm...looking...for...my...b-brother…" Sleipnir managed to gasp out. The lack of oxygen made it hard for him to focus.

Just when the darkness almost completely consumed his vision, the arms slid off and Sleipnir fell forward onto his stomach. The sudden rush of air into his lungs made him descend into a coughing fit. Once he got his wits about him, he slowly rolled onto his back and propped himself on his elbows to look up at his attacker.

A young man about his height and possibly a year younger than himself stood with his bare arms crossed angrily in front of his chest. The only clothes he had on were a pair of dirt-covered black pants with holes ripped in the knees and a sleeveless silk shirt that at one point must have been white. His feet were bare and covered in mud. Surprisingly, shiny silver earrings shone in the helix of his ear and earlobes.

The lad's hair stood out the most. His undercut with shaved sides and slightly wavy hair piled on top desperately needed a good washing and brushing. The hair color shocked Sleipnir more than the unkempt appearance—green. It faded from dark green out to almost a lime at the tips of his hair, long enough to cover his eyes.

Reaching up, the boy brushed it out of the way to reveal bright, golden eyes. A remnant of a scar crossed over his left eye, standing out against his pale skin. High cheekbones and a slender build oddly reminded Sleipnir of himself. He had more muscle definition than Sleipnir while also being skinnier due to a lack of nutrition. The wild nature about him intimidated Sleipnir, and he eased himself to his feet slowly so as to not spook the other boy.

"What's your brother's name?" the boy asked just as menacingly as when he first talked, his voice rough from possible disuse.

Blinking the sudden blurriness from his eyes, Sleipnir took his time to think over his response. He didn't want to anger the boy any more than he already had.

"J-Jormungandr…" Sleipnir finally answered.

The boy raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" the boy asked.

"Yes," Sleipnir replied, quiet from fear of being attacked again. He noticed his sword lay behind the boy, the hilt sticking out of the mossy ground.

The boy shook his head. "I don't have a brother."

The single sentence hit him as hard as the boy's punch.

"I-I-I'm sorry? W-What?" Sleipnir asked, trying to grasp what the boy just said.

"I don't have a brother, so get lost!" the boy snapped. He turned his back on Sleipnir and started walking away, jamming the sword further into the ground as he passed.

In an act of bravery or pure stupidity, Sleipnir chased after the boy. He caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder to spin him around. Ignoring the daggers shooting from his eyes, Sleipnir gripped the boy's shoulders tighter and met him head-on.

"I don't think you understand," Sleipnir said, trying to make his purpose clear for the boy. "I am looking for my younger brother, and his name is Jormungandr. I can spell it out if you want but I'm almost certain that you are him."

The boy gave a dry laugh, clearly not amused at Sleipnir's insistence. "I'm going to tell you one thing and one thing only. I have lived here for years and never in my entire life have I ever had a brother, and certainly not one who is a fancy, know-it-all prince."

The boy shook off Sleipnir's hands and turned away to stalk further into the swamp.

Fighting against his subconscious yelling at him to leave the crazy boy alone, Sleipnir yanked his sword from the mud, slid it into its sheath, and followed him.

"Do you even know where you are?" Sleipnir asked, going for a slower approach.

"Alfheim. Where else would I have gotten these clothes from?" the boy responded. He looked over his shoulder, a smirk on his face. When Sleipnir didn't say anything, the boy explained, "I stole them from a teenage elf too stupid to realize he trespassed onto my territory. If I were you, I would leave unless you want to end up dead, just like that boy, and have me steal your much nicer clothes from your rotting corpse."

The boy turned away and resumed marching. The threat gave Sleipnir pause long enough to almost lose track of the other young man in the fog before summoning enough courage to keep following.

"Do you not know who I am? Do you not remember our younger siblings?" Sleipnir asked. "What about those summer nights when we would watch the stars and chase each other until we were too exhausted to continue? What about our father—"

"Oh, would you just shut up?!" the boy shouted and whirled around to glare at Sleipnir. His golden eyes burning with anger hot enough to force Sleipnir to take a step back.

"My father abandoned me here. I had to learn how to take care of myself. How else do you think I managed to survive? I am not your brother, and I certainly do not care about my father!"

"I don't know if you noticed, but there's a giant serpent around here somewhere. If I were you, I would want to leave," Sleipnir continued, his temper rising at the boy's stubbornness.

"Oh, I won't hurt you unless you piss me off. Unfortunately for you, you have pissed me off and I suggest you leave and never come back if you want to live to see tomorrow."

What?

Something clicked in Sleipnir's head, and the image of a little snake popped into his mind.

"You're the serpent," Sleipninr gasped. "You can shape-shift, like me?"

The boy snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about." He stormed off again only for Sleipnir to grab the boy's wrist and pull him back before the boy could take another step.

"Jormy, would you just wait?" Sleipnir pleaded, the nickname slipping out without any thought.

"My name is Jormungandr," the boy hissed and yanked his hand away. He stepped up close to Sleipnir and glared, his breath warm and smelled slightly of fish.

"I don't need a family or a brother or a father. What I need right now is to be left alone," Jormungandr snarled, his voice dangerously low. "My father never cared about me. If he did, he'd be the one out here looking for me instead of some stupid horseboy."

Jormungandr spun on his bare heel and shoved the low-hanging branches out of his way. This time, Sleipnir let him go, almost ready to give up.

"So you do remember," Sleipnir called out after him. His memories of the day in the throne room came rushing back in sudden clarity. "And you are wrong. You were not conscious when we were separated. Our father had tears streaming down his face and he did everything in his power to stop it. You might not believe it, but I know he cares. He never wanted any of this—for us to be separated like that. He's not our enemy."

Jormungandr stopped in his tracks, his body almost swallowed up by the fog. Sleipnir only took a few steps towards him, still keeping his distance.

"I can barely remember anything after it. You were gone, our younger siblings gone, and our father—gone. All those memories came back not even a day ago and for the first time, I felt truly alive. You must've had the same feeling—waking up feeling...different, constant headaches, living a lie. I'm sure our father is feeling the same way. He cares about us, whether or not you believe it. He didn't separate us like some monsters, our grandfather did."

Sleipnir's voice started cracking as emotion took over him. A sudden feeling of abandonment washed over him and tears began running down his cheeks. Nevertheless, Jormungandr's quietness gave him the strength to continue.

"You can do whatever you want—I'm not forcing you to listen to me—but you should know I did not travel all the way over here just to lose you again."

The following moments seemed to take an eternity. It could've been part of his imagination, but the breeze stopped rustling the leaves in the treetops and the fog stopped swirling. His brother's back stilled as the younger of the two stood there contemplating Sleipnir's words.

After a long pause, Jormungandr finally turned around, his lips pressed in a firm line and his eyes blazing with anger.

"I am going to kill my grandfather," Jormungandr hissed, barely above a whisper. "And there is nothing you can do to stop me."

A thin smile slowly tugged on Sleipnir's lips. Finally.

Sleipnir stepped up to stand in front of Jormungandr for the first time in years, physically and metaphorically closing the chasm separating them.

"Then allow me to help."

Chapter Text

The trek through the swamp to his 'home' took too long for Jormungandr's liking. He had the area completely memorized and could find his way back with his eyes closed if he needed to. However, Sleipnir didn't have the experience he had. The older of the two kept tripping over roots and acted paranoid. Any little noise made him jump. He would have walked right into a patch of quicksand if Jormungandr hadn't grabbed him by the back of his fancy armour and dragged him away.

Really, how had anyone so stupid lived this long? Dumb horses and their stupid sense of superiority. They knew nothing of the real world.

The extra time, though, gave Jormungandr a chance to think. He might have been a little too mean to Sleipnir but Jormungandr had lived his entire life alone, and having a finely dressed boy suddenly show up and claim to be his brother threw Jormungandr off guard. He had no idea how to react, and it scared him, he tried to scare the boy off.

It didn't work, and now he had another mouth to feed in this already desolate swamp.

A few hours ago, he had been curled up on his favorite rock soaking up the limited amount of sun. Then an excruciating headache blinded him, causing him to jump up and slip off the boulder. The suddenness of it sent a rush of images he had no recollection of seeing before through his mind. And he lost it, too out of it to realize a burst of energy exploding from somewhere deep inside him.

He had woken up, smaller, scaleless, and naked. Confused, he scrambled back to his cave and shucked the clothes from the skeletal remains of an elf he had killed a year prior. He didn't even have hair a few hours ago and hearing another boy had the same problem made Jormungandr a little apprehensive.

The truth? He was lonely. The only people he ever saw were the occasional Alfheim hunter or a group of rowdy teens betting each other to see who would face the unholy abomination lurking in the swamp. He knew about the rumors swirling in the cities and about the stories parents told their children to keep them from wandering off.

Don't stray far or the serpent will eat you.

It's a woman-killer, the hunters said. Kill it before it kills your wives and daughters.

It'll tear the flesh from your bones and feast on your blood.

Monster. Spawn of demons. Vile creature. Blood-thirsty beast. Evil freak of nature.

Most of the time, he left the strangers alone and nobody had ever truly seen him. Except for some man from either Asgard or some other realm, who had managed to sneak up on him, probably on a dare or some stupid quest to prove his worthiness as a warrior. One swing from the man's sword left a nasty scar over his left eye, almost blinding him if it had been deeper. Jormungandr retaliated and sank his fangs into the man's stomach, letting the venom do its job.

Nobody else tried after that, except for the dumb teenage elf, whom Jormungandr had no pity for, because who spent their free time throwing rocks into his cave and didn't expect to die for bothering his nap?

The swamp had a reputation for being dangerous and Jormungandr knew he fueled the rumors behind it. Good, because although he practically ruled the swamp, he still didn't trust anyone who entered. He would have killed Sleipnir, too, if some part of his subconscious hadn't prevented him from doing so.

Jormungandr scrambled over a pile of rocks and shook away his feelings. He didn't want or need any help, and he only allowed the horse-boy to tag along because the other kid seemed truthful. The horse-boy wanted Jormungandr to help him find their supposed siblings, which, good for him. Jormungandr saw it as an opportunity to use Sleipnir to seek revenge on the man who abandoned him in the swamp.

He hadn't left the swamp since he came here, and he honestly hated it. Although he could go wherever he pleased, Jormungandr very much doubted he would be welcome anywhere else. Most people usually run away from the sight of a giant serpent. He had nowhere to go and no reason to leave until the horse-boy came along. So what if he wanted to use Sleipnir as an excuse to leave the stupid swamp?

The elves had a saying: explore the world, expand your mind. Frilly junk aside, he wouldn't mind traveling, even if Sleipnir tagged along.

Jormungandr shook his head and grumbled to himself. No, he didn't need a family. He had managed to survive on his own for a long time. After he killed his grandfather, he planned to ditch the horse-boy and find some other place to live by himself, away from people and where nobody could reach him. Migard, maybe? He heard the realm had vast oceans where the people couldn't live.

The mix of conflicted feelings almost made Jormungandr walk right past his cave before he realized he had already reached his sunning rock. It might have been a stretch to call it his home even though he had lived there for his entire life. He never really felt attached to the place and only stayed there because the cave offered protection from the weather.

To call it a cave would be an understatement since it looked more like an opening in the ground. The entrance sat below a tall, almost dead tree, its drooping branches and vines hiding the opening from those unaware of its presence. Large, moss-covered rocks dotted the land around it, making it difficult to climb over. Anyone could have passed by it without a second thought unless they knew what to look for.

The thin leaves on the tree allowed the sun in. The moss on Jormungandr's sunning rock, a large rock underneath the tree, had been worn down from use, which came as a lucky bonus to the already perfectly sized cave.

Jormungandr brushed aside the vines and branches and led Sleipnir inside. The cave, a lot more commodious than it looked on the outside, had a stone ceiling. The roots from the tree snaked around on the walls and floor. The only light came from the entrance, dancing in a puddle of water near the opening. The cave could fit Jormungandr's giant serpent body comfortably with room to spare.

Being at least several thousand pounds lighter and hundreds of feet smaller than normal, the cave suddenly made Jormungandr feel very small and insignificant. A shiver traveled down his spine and he hugged himself against the damp air.

Sleipnir stepped into the cave with less confidence than Jormungandr, although he warmed up to it better. The older of the two looked around apprehensively, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"It's kind of dark, isn't it?" Sleipnir asked, his voice echoing against the stone.

Jormungandr shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite feeling trapped. He could sense the horse-boy's nerves, Sleipnir had a sword and could take him down a lot easier without his scales to protect him anymore. "I can see in the dark."

"Oh."

Sleipnir awkwardly rocked on his heels and glanced around, seeming very nervous. Maybe Jormungandr had scared him too much.

Trying to say something to break the awkward silence, Jormungandr walked over to his stack of animals he had caught and saved for snacking later. He picked up a dead swamp rat and offered it to Sleipnir.

"You hungry?" Jormungandr asked, attempting to be more polite.

Sleipnir's face suddenly paled. His hazel eyes landed on the pile of dead animals and quickly glanced away.

"Um, no thanks. I-I-I'm vegetarian," Sleipnir managed to mumble. He avoided any eye contact with Jormungandr.

"You're boring," Jormungandr said. Jormungandr waited until Sleipnir looked back at him and purposely took a large bite of the rat, fur and all, chewing slowly. It caused the horse-boy to gag and turn away in disgust.

Jormungandr smirked at the boy's weak stomach. However, the small amusement of teasing Sleipnir faded as his appetite disappeared. He stopped chewing and tossed the rat onto a pile of bones he claimed he would clean out one day.

"Are we going to do anything?" Jormungandr asked. The wet stone made his bare feet cold, too cold for his liking. He felt cold all over and would have sat on his sunning rock to warm up if the sun hadn't already started setting.

Sleipnir hesitated when he turned around. "I don't know." He looked up out of the cave. "We don't have much daylight left to do anything productive."

Jormugandr shrugged. Already, the cave had gotten darker from the lack of sunlight.

"Are we going to kill our grandfather tomorrow, then?" Jormungandr asked.

Sleipnir didn't look too happy about the prospect of murder but he nodded. "Eventually, yes. Right now we need to get some rest. It's been an eventful day."

-oOo-

Darkness came upon them a lot faster than Sleipnir expected. He had been trying to start a fire for the last thirty minutes after gathering a pile of dry sticks and anything else deemed flammable. So far, he hadn't accomplished much from rubbing two rocks together.

Jormungandr sat off to the side, watching with an amused smile on his face. The smile seemed out of place on his shivering form.

"I thought you said you knew how to do this?" Jormungandr teased, his teeth chattering together. Having nothing on except for a thin, sleeveless shirt and pants didn't certainly didn't help keep him warm.

"I said how hard could it be," Sleipnir snapped back, becoming irritated. He had watched many soldiers start a fire easily with other items and he assumed he could replicate it. He realized now, he had no idea what to do.

"Why haven't you tried to start a fire before?" Sleipnir asked, looking up from his pitiful pile of fire-less sticks.

"I didn't have hands, dimwit."

Sleipnir sighed and tossed the rocks away. His stomach rumbled. He didn't dare to eat anything in the swamp because he didn't trust the plants here and he didn't eat meat. He should've grabbed something at the market earlier when he had the chance.

Giving up on trying to start a fire with rocks, Sleipnir stuck his hand in the center of the sticks and closed his eyes. Concentrating, he imagined a bright fire, warm and inviting. He had never tried anything like this before and he had a feeling it wouldn't work but he had to try. Seeing Jormungandr sitting there, shivering made Sleipnir's heart hurt. Personally, Sleipnir didn't feel cold, but he wouldn't let his brother freeze to death in the middle of a swamp.

A flame suddenly shot up, almost catching Sleipnir's sleeves on fire. Letting out a yelp, he pulled his hand away as a warm fire blazed across the pile of sticks.

Sleipnir cried with joy and held his hands over the fire as the red and orange flames flickered and crackled. Jormungandr scooted over and did the same, his posture relaxing while he warmed up.

"How did you do that?" Jormungandr asked.

"I don't know. It just...came to me," Sleipnir replied. He added more sticks to the fire and watched the smoke curl up out of the opening of the cave and into the starry sky.

Jormungandr gave a hum of approval and laid down on the hard, damp floor of the cave. His shivering had slowed down yet he still shook enough to worry Sleipnir.

Sleipnir wanted to lay next to him to share body heat; Jormungandr might bite him if he tried. Instead, Sleipnir shrugged off his vest and laid it across Jormungandr's shoulders. Jormungandr curled up under the vest, and slowly, Sleipnir watched his brother's chest rise and fall.

He suddenly felt like crying.

He was so close, so close to finding his family. Tears rolled down his cheeks, blurring his vision.

Somehow he had a feeling Jormungandr would be tough to get close to. The younger of the two had had a hard life, living alone in the swamp. All those years would make it difficult for Jormungandr to adjust to any other way of life. The future looked uncertain yet more promising than it had been a day ago.

If Sleipnir knew one thing, he would search for his family across the entire universe, even if he died trying.

Chapter Text

The sun shone right into Sleipnir's eyes, waking him up from his restless slumber. Sleipnir groaned and pushed himself to sit and stretch out his back, trying to work a crick out of his spine. The hard ground of the cave left him feeling sore all over, making it impossible to get a good night's sleep.

Jormungandr rolled over to his side and hugged the vest closer around his shoulders. His eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep.

The campfire had gone out a long time ago, and Sleipnir didn't bother trying to reignite it because they wouldn't be coming back here for a while. Sleipnir had planned to leave early to find their other siblings and he didn't need to relight it since he had nothing to cook. His stomach growled again, reminding him he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning in the stables.

Sleipnir strapped his sheath around his waist again and gently poked Jormungandr's leg with his foot.

"Time to get up," Sleipnir said. He backed away just in case Jormungandr lashed out.

Jormungandr groaned and, as predicted, aimed a weak punch at Sleipnir's leg. He missed and finally decided to give up on getting any more rest. He slowly sat up, the vest still clutched around his shoulders.

"What now, oh fearless leader?" Jormungandr yawned, his eyes still half-closed.

"Unless you want to eat something, I suggest we leave right now," Sleipnir replied.

Jormungandr rubbed his palms against his eyes and then spread his arms wide. "Where? In case you haven't noticed, we don't even know where your siblings are."

Sleipnir tried to ignore the wording of the response. Jormungandr apparently didn't consider himself as Sleipnir's brother and it hurt. Nevertheless, Sleipnir decided to move on; Jormungandr would come around eventually—it would just take some time.

"I found you easily enough. I think all I need to do is concentrate and we will find them," Sleipnir replied. "We are looking for a wolf pup and a little girl, it should be easy."

"There are a lot of wolves and girls in this universe," Jormungandr pointed out. "We'd probably die of old age before we find them."

Sleipnir frowned, realizing he might have underplanned this. Jormungandr was right, they had nowhere to go, and the chances of finding their younger siblings only decreased with every option. Finding Jormungandr might've just been pure luck. The others, however, could prove more challenging.

"When are we going to kill your grandfather?" Jormungandr asked. He had finally stood up and handed Sleipnir his vest back.

"We will get there in time," Sleipnir said. "We just need to get back to Asgard and then we can continue from there."

Sleipnir paused as he suddenly realized he didn't know the name of the new gatekeeper, and thus, had no way of getting back to Asgard. They needed the Bifrost to travel, and without it, they were stuck here unless they found help in one of the elvish cities.

Pushing the thought aside, he tried to act confident. He needed some space to think. The cave made him anxious and anxiety wouldn't help with giving him ideas.

Climbing out of the cave, Sleipnir breathed in the fresh air. Well, as fresh as the air got in a mushy swamp. Jormungandr followed and sat down on a nearby rock, swinging his legs impatiently.

"I thought you said you had a plan," Jormungandr said, his patience visibly wearing thin.

"Maybe if I focus," Sleipnir thought out loud.

"Focus? What, am I annoying you?"

Sleipnir turned to face Jormungandr. "I have noticed...I possess the ability to create...gateways between space and time. It has been a while since I have tried it but maybe if I focus on our siblings, then perhaps I can find them."

"You can create portals?" Jormungandr asked, his interest piqued. "Why didn't you say it before?"

Sleipnir picked at his left hand in nervousness. "I am severely out of prac—"

Jormungandr jumped down from the rock. "It doesn't matter! As long as I can get out of this damn place, I'm willing to help. Just try it!"

"It's rather dangerous…"

"I don't care. If I die, then I die. Life hasn't exactly been the nicest to me."

Sleipnir sighed and gave in, running out of options. If he died here, the universe wouldn't care. Nobody cared for them anyway, just like Jormungandr had said. None of this would've happened if someone cared enough to stop the king from separating them in the first place.

Taking a few steps back and closing his eyes, Sleipnir focused his mind on Asgard. Images of the golden palace shimmering in the sunlight, a luscious garden filled with colorful plants and flowers, and the open pasture of the stables filled his mind.

Suddenly, memories of the little girl and the wolf pup took over. Sleipnir tried to focus on Asgard but the memories of his mysterious past overwhelmed him and he lost control.

Before he knew it, he fell.

The wind rushed past him, cementing his eyes closed. Beside him, he could hear Jormungandr let out a startled yell.

Struggling against both himself and gravity, Sleipnir forced his eyes open and tried to catch sight of Jormungandr. If the air hadn't already left his lungs, it did now.

They were plummeting straight towards a garbage-covered ground. Above them, junk fell out of the sky from several wormholes. An obnoxious and colorful city stood out like a sore thumb amid acres of trash.

Jormungandr flailed his arms and legs and let out a high-pitched scream. Sleipnir reached out to grab hold of his brother but his fingers slipped through and he gripped nothing as they plunged right into the middle of the mounds of trash. Debris flew up into the air as Jormungandr disappeared behind a pile of broken metal parts.

The impact knocked the wind out of him, and slowly, he lost consciousness as the world turned black.

-oOo-

The darkness slowly switched to a bright array of colors and an ear-splitting whine. Sleipnir blinked and attempted to rub at his eyes, and found something stopped his arm from moving. Looking down, Sleipnir realized he sat strapped to a chair, metal cuffs holding his ankles and wrists down.

An unseen feminine voice started speaking, most of her words lost as Sleipnir began to feel dizzy. The colors switched from planets to a shadow of a man then to the city he saw earlier. It went by so fast that the colors started to blend and, once again, Sleipnir felt like throwing up despite not having eaten anything in hours.

Just as he was about to let out a cry of pain, the colors and voice stopped. The sudden halt gave Sleipnir whiplash and it took the remainder of his strength to keep the meager contents of his stomach down.

"Ooh, look at him. He looks a little, ah, sick," a man's voice said.

Sleipnir opened his eyes, and blinking away the spots, saw an older man sitting on a fancy chair. He wore a golden robe shimmering in the bright light reminiscent of silk pajamas. Gray hair and tanned skin, his painted blue nails matched the color around his eyes and the streak of blue from his bottom lip to his chin.

A woman in black and dull bronze armour stood next to him, a stern expression on her face and hair slicked back so tight it made Sleipnir wince in sympathy.

A large window looked out over the city from the spacious room and the ceiling arched up far above their heads. Several guards in strange armour stood around wielding nasty-looking weapons.

"Ooh, aren't you two just lovely," the man said, his hands moving to accentuate his words.

Two?

Sleipnir looked to his right and saw Jormungandr sitting strapped down in a chair like his own. Jormungandr appeared to have handled the strange color show a lot better than Sleipnir did since his face never broke from his stoic glare.

"Mmm, so young, and, ah, innocent. Tell me, how did you get here?" the man asked.

"Where are we?" Jormungandr questioned, his voice low and threatening.

"Oh, didn't you listen to the presentation at all?" the man said. He threw his hands up in mild frustration and turned towards the woman. "What good is having the presentation if no one listens to it?"

"Maybe tone it down a bit," Jormungandr suggested sarcastically. "It felt like an acid trip or something."

"Ooh!" The man shivered in fake nervousness. "He's got a mouth on him, doesn't he? Feisty." He feigned a few punches. "Most likely a fighter."

Jormungandr tugged at his restraints. "Go screw yourself!"

"Oh, I already do that enough already."

Jormungandr rolled his eyes and leaned towards Sleipnir while keeping his eyes on the strange man.

"Is this Asgard?" Jormungandr whispered.

"No," Sleipnir replied.

"Good. 'Cause I wanna speak to whoever designed this place. All this color makes me want to puke."

"Asgard?" the older man jutted in. He had moved from his chair and now stood before the two, making Sleipnir jump in surprise at his sudden close proximity. "Where's that at?"

"Definitely not here, old man," Jormungandr retorted.

"Ah, ah, ah. I would watch your tone if I were you."

Jormungandr opened his mouth to say something but Sleipnir cleared his throat and gave Jormungandr a pointed look. Something in his gut told Sleipnir not to anger the strange man and letting Jormungandr run his mouth would most likely be stupid and dangerous.

"So," the man said, sitting back down and adjusting his robe. He crossed a leg over a knee and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me how you two are related. Friends? Enemies? Lovers?"

"Lovers?!" Jormungandr shouted angrily. He tried to lunge at the man; the restraints held him back so his chair only shook.

"Oh, I just assumed based on your clothing." The man waved an open hand at Sleipnir. "He's all fancy and has the look of a strong leader. And you," he pointed at Jormungandr, "well, ah, your clothes resemble those of someone of lower status, most likely a—"

"Finish that sentence, I dare you," Jormungandr hissed.

"We're brothers," Sleipnir interrupted, straining to stop Jormungandr from saying something stupid because he could start to feel the anger radiating off of the younger boy. If not for the straps, Jormungandr would've torn the man's head off his silk-covered shoulders by now.

Realization lit up in the man's face, unfazed about the threats. "Oh." He leaned forward and studied the two. "I can, ah, see the resemblance. Ah, yes, similar facial and body structure. Although, you," the man looked at Jormungandr. "Ah, you do have a bit more muscle than your brother."

"Let us go," Jormungandr commanded.

"Ooh, ah, I'm afraid that can't happen." The man turned towards the woman standing next to him. "They are rather young but they could prove to be, ah, vicious fighters. The one with green hair seems promising, doesn't he?"

The woman nodded, her eyes focused on Jormungandr. "Indeed."

"Perfect!" Turning back, the man clapped his hands and signaled towards the guards. "Take them down to the others. We should have an interesting show tonight with two, ah, new contenders."

Four guards stepped forward, one on each side of the brothers' chairs. Sleipnir yelped a bit when his chair spun around and glided down the hall. Jormungandr hissed in anger and tried biting the nearest guard who stood out of reach. Giving up, he leaned back in his chair and let the guards lead them through a maze of hallways and onto an elevator.

The elevator stopped on the lowest floor and they were led out. A small click rang through the still air when their restraints released. Jormungandr took this opportunity to punch the nearest guard in the jaw and aimed another punch at the other guard. A hand wrapped around his wrist and shoved him through an open door before he could land the hit.

Jormungandr fell with a grunt and scrambled to his feet as Sleipnir stumbled inside. The younger of the two lunged at the door, only for it to slam shut, leaving him to bang his fists in frustration.

"No!" Jormungandr shouted and let out a stream of vulgar curses.

"Woah, woah, hey," a cheery voice suddenly said. "No need for such language."

A strange creature made out of rock stood behind the brothers, an even stranger bug-like creature with knives attached to his hand beside him. The rock creature had a friendly smile on his face and his eyes tracked over the two brothers.

"It's a freaky door. Only opens when we go to fight," the rock creature said.

When neither boy responded, the rock creature placed a hand on his chest and stood up straighter. "Hi, I'm Korg. This is Miek." He pointed to his bug companion. "You must be new. Let me guess, you two are a lost couple who stumbled upon this place."

"Couple?" Jormungandr asked and took a step forward.

Sleipnir held out his arm to stop him from advancing further. "We're brothers. I don't know how we got here but we can't stay."

"Oh, nobody leaves," Korg said. "At least nobody I know. The Grandmaster controls this place, only those who win get more freedom."

"Who?" Jormungandr asked. He paused. "Wait, does he have gray hair and stupid blue eyeliner?"

"Why, yes, he does!" Korg answered, too cheerful for Sleipnir's liking.

Jormungandr threw his hands up. "Great. Just great! We're stuck on a dumpy, overly colorful...planet ruled by a spoiled grandpa in pajamas. What type of place is this?"

"Oh, this is a freaky place…"

"Yeah, you said that already!" Jormungandr snapped. "And nobody has told us where we are!"

Korg suddenly frowned grimly. "Well, newcomers, welcome to Sakaar."

Chapter Text

"Sakaar. What a stupid name," Jormungandr muttered. "It's fitting at least. A stupid name for a stupid place ruled by a stupid person."

Sleipnir rubbed his temples. His head still hurt and Jormungandr's incessant complaining only made it worse.

Holding up a hand half in question and half as a way to slow things down, Sleipnir asked, "What did the Grandmaster mean when he said we 'looked like fighters?'"

"Oh, Sakaar is a place where two things happen: parties and fights," Korg replied. "Sometimes, they're interchangeable."

"Parties?" Sleipnir asked.

Korg opened his mouth to say something then paused. Looking at the two, Korg's facial expression switched from mild happiness to confusion.

"How old did you say you were?" Korg finally asked.

"Does it matter?" Jormungandr snapped.

Korg paused to study the two. His eyes widened. "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I am certainly not going to explain what goes on at the Grandmaster's parties to such young ones as yourselves. The gladiator fights, however, are easier to explain. Although I wonder why he sent rather young fighters down here instead of letting you go."

"He sure didn't look like he wanted to let anyone go," Jormungandr stated, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

"Well, usually the fighters are a lot older…" Korg's voice trailed off and he looked down at Miek who nodded in agreement.

"Anyways," Korg piped up. "The fighters go out into the ring and battle until only one stands. If the Grandmaster feels the winner is worthy enough, he will have them face his champion. You don't want this, because nobody has won—or lived—after fighting the Grandmaster's champion."

"You've lived," Jormungandr pointed out.

"Oh, I just do the earlier fights to hype up the crowd and whatnot. I've never actually faced the champion," Korg said.

Korg continued to explain how the fights worked in a happier voice than one would expect for something so gruesome.

"Great. This is exactly what I wanted to spend my time doing," Jormungandr complained when Korg finished.

Korg's explanation of how Sakaar worked did not suit Sleipnir one bit. A full-blown battle to the death? Absolutely not. And here he thought Asgard had an overindulgence of warriors.

Jormungandr grabbed Sleipnir's arm and pulled him away from the rock-creature and bug-thing. One look at his brother and Sleipnir noticed the anger seething under the surface.

"This is all your fault," Jormungandr said, jabbing a finger into Sleipnir's chest. "If it wasn't for you, we would be on Asgard instead of this dump."

"I told you, I am severely out of practice," Sleipnir responded.

Jormungandr had a right to be upset, anyone in this situation did, but placing all the blame on Sleipnir didn't seem fair especially when he had no idea how his abilities worked.

"I thought I had it under control and then...something happened. I lost focus If it helps, I am truly sorry for this setback."

"Setback? This is more than just a setback!" Jormugandr shouted, his words bouncing off the walls. "We are stuck here, being forced to fight for pajama man's entertainment. If there's anything I don't like, it's being forced to do something for someone's amusement. I'm not a show!"

Sleipnir sighed. "I understand, I really do and I am as concerned as you are. My intentions were not to bring us here. Maybe if we work together, then we can find a way out."

Jormungandr scoffed and rolled his eyes. "A way out? Didn't you hear the rock man? There's no way out. We're stuck here to do the Grandmaster's bidding."

"Would you stop being so pessimistic?" Sleipnir muttered. "Negativity usually does not help when thinking of a solution."

"Then what do you have planned, oh intelligent one?" Jormungandr asked sarcastically.

Sleipnir paused, thinking. Finally, he spoke up in a quiet voice, "I don't know."

That did it.

The last string had snapped inside Jormungandr and he threw his hands up in frustration as he glared at Sleipnir.

"When you first showed up, I thought maybe I could hitch a ride with you to somewhere different. You were my ticket out of that damn swamp and you failed. Failed! I could have killed the man who left me there by now if it wasn't for you," Jormungandr hissed.

"I—"

"No," Jormungandr interrupted, barely under a yell. "No apologies because nothing you can say will ever help fix what a disappointment you are. First, I get abandoned by a father you want to go find. Then, you just came waltzing in, claiming we were 'brothers', and bossed me around like you owned the place."

"I didn't—"

"And now we're stuck here, waiting for a bloody end to the pathetic life I've lived."

"You're not pathetic, Jormy," Sleipnir pleaded. "And I'm sure our father will want us back. Our grandfather left us, not him. I've told you this already."

"No, just no! Stop with the 'ours' and the 'us.' There is no 'we.' You and I are not a team," Jormungandr growled. "Father, grandfather—what's the difference? If either of them truly cared, then they'd be out here saving our asses from your pitiful mistake. You might as well give up because your delusional fantasy of a 'perfect family life' is never gonna happen."

Korg, followed closely by Miek, rounded the bend and glanced at the two in shock. His rocky mouth dropped open and he looked rather confused by the tension. Jormungandr gave the rock creature a sidelong glance before turning back towards Sleipnir.

"And don't call me Jormy. It's Jormungandr. And whether or not we're related by blood, you are not my brother. When we go out there, to die, just expect one thing from me—I am not on your side and I don't care whether or not you survive. If it comes down to us against each other, I'm not holding back. Because you are dead to me."

Chapter Text

Disheartened and on the verge of tears, Sleipnir slid down against the wall. Jormungandr had stormed off to the opposite end of the circular dungeon, fuming mad and lost in his own thoughts.

Korg had tried to comfort Sleipnir but the Kronan's gentle words did nothing to fix Sleipnir's mood. He had come all this way to get his family back together and he messed it up. If he had known a single careless mistake would push Jormungandr away from him, then Sleipnir would have taken his time to practice before sending them hurtling through space and time to this rotten, junkyard of a planet.

Dejected, Sleipnir remained sitting and gave up trying to find a way out of the dungeon. Korg was right, there was no escape, so why even try? They were going to die in the arena, and he had no way of preventing it.

The dungeon and its occupants were silent while they waited for their doom, the only noise coming from Korg and Miek. The guards tossed everyone a bit of bread and a strange porridge Sleipnir would've passed on if his stomach didn't growl loud enough to echo.

Finally, after nearly three hours of waiting, the time came for the prisoners to get ready for battle. The guards broke everyone into smaller groups to lead up several floors to pick out their weapons.

Racks full of various and strange weapons lined up on one side of the multi-colored wall. A large fence made out of what appeared to be lasers cut through half the room, separating a bar area from the contenders. Armour and other battle gear lined the other wall opposite the weapons. Many contenders of different sizes and species Sleipnir had never seen before mingled about somberly as if they knew this could possibly be their last day alive.

Sleipnir followed Korg and Miek over to the weapons rack looking for a replacement sword. Surprisingly, he found it again, hanging up on the racks next to the other swords. Even more so, he found another one just like it, possibly from another Asgardian who befell the same fate as he did. He added a navy blue cape to match his armour's design and complete his look.

Sliding the swords into their respective sheaths strapped to his back, Sleipnir looked around for Jormungandr. He eventually found him near the armoury, picking out a pair of black boots, silver arm guards, and a sleeveless leather top more protective than the torn, silk shirt. He also had a black cape pinned from his left shoulder, across his back, and to his right hip. He looked surprisingly intimidating when he hefted a double-edged battle-axe.

Sleipnir wanted to talk to him, hoping to reconcile. The guards called the contenders over and split them into groups before Sleipnir could walk over to his brother. Korg and Miek were sent off to a group consisting of veteran fighters. Sleipnir and Jormungandr were ordered into the same group as each other, much to Jormungandr's dislike and Sleipnir's dread.

If it came down to the two of them, would he have the guts to fight Jormungandr and would Jormungandr live up to his promise of killing him? Brothers shouldn't have to worry about things like this. It's not fair.

He didn't have any time to mull over the answers to the burning questions because the guards led their group away from Korg through the winding, colorful halls to the arena. Sleipnir tried to memorize the directions for future reference but the trippy designs on the walls jumbled his focus.

They eventually made their way to the arena, hearing it before they could see it from the crowd's cheers. Half the group peeled off in another direction to spread out the combatants. Looking around, Sleipnir saw several others shaking from barely contained fear. The other newcomers, about a handful, glanced around nervously or stared wide-eyed at the gate in front of them leading to the arena—leading to their doom.

Only Jormungandr seemed normal except for the slightest clenching of his jaw Sleipnir wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been standing right next to him.

The Grandmaster's voice rang out through speakers embedded into the walls, hyping up the crowd.

"For the first fight of the night, I am excited to present a group of new fighters. Keep an eye out for two love—I mean brothers. They're young and fresh, but could prove to be viable contenders," the Grandmaster announced. "Keep an eye out for a black and a blue cape."

Sleipnir glanced at Jormungandr at the obvious mention of them. The younger only glared even harder at the metal gate in front of them.

The metal gate slowly opened, revealing gray-blue sand with red designs. Rows of seats circled the sandy ground, completely packed with an overzealous audience. People leaned over the railing, waved signs written in alien languages, and stomped their feet. Ships hovered in the air above the stadium, filled with even more observers. On one side of the arena, the Grandmaster sat in a glass box on a lavish couch. Several strangely yet nicely dressed people sat or stood behind him in the fancy suite, leaving him to sit alone in the middle of sofa—a king on a throne.

Sleipnir saw Jormungandr twitch at the sight of the Grandmaster enjoying the show.

At the guards' signal, the contenders were pushed into the arena and the gate closed behind them. A gate on the other side opened as well and the other fighters from their group poured out, armed and ready, waiting, anticipating.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The contenders rushed at each other, shouting and raising their weapons. Someone shoved Sleipnir roughly from behind, forcing him to fall onto his hands and knees. Looking up, he saw an all-out war. Already, a couple of contenders lay dead or dying on the ground.

A few feet in front of him, Jormungandr grappled with an alien bearing sharp claws and shark-like teeth. The alien slashed at Jormungandr, and Sleipnir flinched, but Jormungandr counterattacked with his battle axe and sliced an arm off his opponent.

Sleipnir looked away in disgust, barely noticing in time another fighter with scaly skin and spikes for hair lunging for him. Rolling out of the way, Sleipnir grabbed hold of his swords' hilts and caught the creature's gnarled weapon in an 'x' made from his swords, stopping the creature from slicing him.

He kicked the creature away and brought his swords around in a circle to disarm the creature, sending its weapon flying through the air and sticking into the sand away from Sleipnir. The creature chased after its weapon, leaving Sleipnir alone.

Staring at the violent battle and pools of different colored blood on the ground, Sleipnir realized the only rule in the arena: survive.

The roar of the crowd faded as Sleipnir's instincts took over, sending adrenaline through his veins. He only used his swords if an opponent got close to him; otherwise, he backed himself up against a wall to protect his blindside and faced the battle, waiting for others to come to him.

From his spot, clutching his swords with shaking hands, Sleipnir watched as Jormungandr sliced his way through the other fighters. Shocked by his brother's violent strategy, a strong, overpowering creature with biceps as big as his head tackled Sleipnir and he did the dirt hard.

Sleipnir kicked the creature off and tried to stand up when his arms were suddenly pinned together and raised above his head, dragging his whole body off the ground and several feet in the air. His swords clattered to the ground, laying uselessly out of reach.

The bicep muscle creature growled at him.

No, not at him—at something behind him.

Twisting against his restraints and kicking wildly in the air, he discovered another creature holding him in the air and out of reach of the bicep-creature. A slimy, brown alien twice the size of the bicep creature and tentacles for arms hissed back at the creature on the ground. It dragged Sleipnir with it, its arms holding Sleipnir away from its slug-like head to prevent Sleipnir from kicking it.

Sleipnir struggled to break free from its grip but its tentacles pulled on his shoulders hard enough to make his arms numb.

It slowly lowered him toward its open maw, ignoring Sleipnnir's struggles. Somewhere in the midst of it, Sleipnir caught sight of Jormungandr going down underneath a large troll-like being and not getting back up. The troll raised its metal club above its head and started beating Jormungandr with it.

A wave of anger and anxiety washed over Sleipnir, giving him enough strength to kick the creature straight in the teeth, breaking off several of its long fangs and sending a spray of yellow blood into the air. It let go of him and Sleipnir used the force of the kick to execute a perfect backflip and land right in between his dropped swords.

He scooped up his swords, sliced off the bicep creature's outreached arms, and sprinted towards where Jormungandr lay unmoving underneath the troll. The troll raised his club above his head again and pressed a hidden button, summoning hidden spikes to jut out of the spherical head.

Just as the troll readied itself for the killing blow, Sleipnir lept into the air, his cape billowing out behind him. He aimed a flying kick at the troll's arm, sending its club tumbling out of its hands. Sleipnir landed and kicked the club away before it could hit Jormungandr. The troll grunted and swept its arm at Sleipnir in anger. Sleipnir dodged its strike, spun around, and sliced off its head in one swift motion.

Breathing heavily, his swords pointed down, legs spread, covered in troll blood, Sleipnir watched the troll's body collapse onto the sand, staining the ground from the blood pouring out of its bare neck.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause at the spectacle.

Ignoring it, he bent down at Jormungandr's side, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Jorumgandr's lip bled and the skin around his right eye swelled black. Several cuts on his face and exposed arms trickled bloody rivelets down onto the sand.

It didn't stop him from sitting up and punching Sleipnir square across the jaw.

Sleipnir almost fell over more out of surprise than from the force. He caught himself and gave Jormungandr a glare as he held his aching jaw.

"I had it handled," Jormungandr hissed and struggled to his feet. He swayed and fell to his knees.

"He almost killed you!" Sleipnir exclaimed through gasps of breath.

"I don't need your help!" Jormungandr snapped and attempted to tackle Sleipnir.

Sleipnir rolled him onto his back. Jormungandr hissed, his golden eyes flashing angrily. His hand found the hilt of Sleipnir's sword and swung it up at Sleipnir's face. Too slow, however, because Sleipnir anticipated the attack and easily wrenched the sword away.

"I just saved your life!" Sleipnir snapped. "The least you can do is to not kill me!"

Jormungandr rolled his eyes and spat out a glob of blood onto the ground. He remained silent and stared at the ground, too hurt and embarrassed to try anything else.

The cheering crowd broke into the brothers' silence, and Sleipnir suddenly realized they were the only ones left.

Glancing up, various shades of blood and countless bodies littered the ground. The crowd picked up a chant over and over. Through the ringing in his ears, Sleipnir picked it out: Blade Brothers! Blade Brothers!

Further upward, the Grandmaster stood in his suite, clapping slowly and smirking.

They had won.

And survived.

-oOo-

The fight only marked the beginning.

The Grandmaster fed into the crowd's desire to see more of the Blade Brothers and scheduled more battles in the arena. Every single time, it ended when Sleipnir and Jormungandr were the last ones left. And every single time, Jormungandr would lunge at Sleipnir only for the shock devices implanted into their necks to send them both into a spastic fit.

As the days passed, their reputations grew. Jormungandr became quite feared among the other contenders, to the point where they would usually leave Sleipnir alone even though Jormungandr dared a few new contenders to attack Slepinir. Sleipnir, perfecting his fighting style, fought them off with ease.

Their popularity moved them a tier above Korg and Miek, to more veteran contenders. Sleipnir's fighting style grew more graceful as he learned how to fight hand-to-hand and learned several sword tricks. He was more flexible than his brother; and thus, could perform more defensive moves allowing him to win. He never killed anyone other than the troll from the first fight, usually shoving opponents away for others to handle.

Jormungandr's fighting style, however, focused on offensive and violent maneuvers too wild for anyone to comprehend. It usually consisted of him brandishing his battle axe and slicing at opponents. He liked to get right in the middle of battles, sending Sleipnir into a panic more than once as he typically finished each fight covered in blood—mostly from others but enough of his own to make Sleipnir worry.

After each battle, they were sent down to the dungeons they shared with Korg and Miek. Jormungandr ignored Sleipnir the best he could in their circular dungeon. Sleipnir, at first, worried about sleeping in the same room as Jormungandr for fear he would be killed in his sleep but Jormungandr never acted on his threats, even though he tended to get uncomfortably close in the arena.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, although Korg informed them time worked differently on Sakaar. They were there for at least three Sakaaran months before they finally faced the Grandmaster's champion.

They had heard of the Grandmaster's champion. They had yet to see him because the guards dragged them from the arena after each battle. Korg said nobody ever survived and only the most experienced contenders—or people who angered the Grandmaster—faced the champion.

The day of their destined battle against the Grandmaster's champion started normally. The brothers watched Korg and Miek hype up the crowd with their usual group of small, fan-favorites. Only two contenders perished in the fight and were hauled away before the last fight of the night.

They had picked out their usual weapons since they grew comfortable with them. Stronger armour or sharper weapons would do no good if they didn't know how to use them.

Finally, after an hour of watching and pacing nervously—mostly on Sleipnir's part—the two were escorted to the gates. The crowd cheered louder than normal, shaking the whole building. Sleipnir suddenly felt light-headed but the gate opened and they were shoved through.

The screaming crowd made Sleipnir dizzy. Jormungandr spared him a glance and twisted his battle axe in his hands in a rare display of nerves.

Suddenly, the arena shifted underneath their feet and slowly raised upwards.

"What the f—" Jormungandr muttered under his breath. The arena had never done this before.

The voice of the Grandmaster rang out, not on his usual couch tonight.

"I present to you, your favorite duo: the Blade Brothers!"

The crowd chanted and stomped their feet hard enough to shake the ground.

The Grandmaster continued, "Tonight, they are going to—ah—face my reigning champion! You all know him! You all love him! The Incredible Hulk!"

The gate on the other side of the arena clanked upward to reveal loud footsteps coming down the dark hallway.

Sleipnir clutched his weapons tightly in his hands and braced themselves for an attack. A glance at his brother showed Jormungandr doing the same.

The champion burst out of the gate and let out a heart-stopping bellow. The crowd went berserk, screaming their lungs out and clapping their hands raw. Green smoke exploded in the air above the crowd and people waved their handmade signs of a green creature's face.

"Damn…" Jormungandr mumbled and lowered his weapon in shock, matching Sleipnir's overwhelming sense of fear.

The champion—the Hulk—stood nearly eight feet tall and probably weighed somewhere close to a ton, considering his large amount of muscles bigger than their chests. His green-skinned muscles rippled as he moved, his brown pants offering a perfect view of his rock-solid abs and chest. A large helmet and some armour on his shoulders gave him some protection he probably didn't need. Clanging his duel weapons together above his head, he shouted at the crowd as if had already won.

"By the Norns…" Sleipnir gasped as a growing knot twisted in his stomach. If those weapons weren't going to end him, the Hulk's strength definitely would.

Whipping around, the Hulk roared at the two boys and suddenly charged.

Too frozen by fear, they barely dived out of the way at the last second. The Hulk somehow managed to turn around quite quickly for something his size, and reached out toward Sleipnir.

All rational thought vanished from Sleipnir's mind and he ran away from the Hulk's outreached fist. Jormungandr, however, raised his axe above his head and arched it down to slice the back of the Hulk's calf.

The Hulk roared and spun around to face Jormungandr.

"Oops—" Jormungandr said. He gave the Hulk an apologetic smile right before he got punched in the chest. The force of it sent him flying backward, sending up a spray of sand.

"No!" Sleipnir shouted, gaining the attention of the Hulk who advanced toward Jormungandr.

The Hulk swiped at Sleipnir. He jumped over the large hand and used it to propel himself over the Hulk's shoulder to grab onto the Hulk's back. He grabbed the edge of his sword and held it against the Hulk's throat to hold himself in place.

The Hulk stumbled around trying to get Sleipnir off his back. Sleipnir shook about, trying his best to hold on but the Hulk got hold of his cape and hurtled him away.

Jormungandr, who had just gotten to his feet, fell back down when Sleipnir landed hard on top of Jormungandr and bowled both of them over.

"Get off me," Jormungandr growled and shoved Sleipnir off, just in time to save him from the Hulk as the large creature slammed his hammer-like weapon down on the younger boy. Jormungandr reached up and somehow caught it with both hands, stopping it from hitting him, his muscles straining against the Hulk's strength.

Sleipnir rolled away and sliced upwards with his swords as the Hulk pushed down on Jormungandr, cutting two gashes on the Hulk's chest. The Hulk let go of his weapon, freeing Jormungandr who let out a sigh of relief.

"If we want to survive this, we have to work together!" Sleipnir exclaimed, one eye watching the Hulk.

"Screw you!" Jormungandr hissed and scrambled to his feet right when the Hulk swiped at them again.

Sleipnir flung himself to the side. Jormungandr dodged the arm and kicked the Hulk right in between the legs.

The Hulk bellowed and staggered back a step. Sleipnir took the chance to disarm him with a twist of his swords around the Hulk's weapon handle.

Jormungandr rushed in and kicked the Hulk's knee from behind, dropping him down. The Hulk grabbed his abandoned weapon and swung it at Jofrmungandr's head. Jormungandr ducked, only for another hit from the Hulk's handle swung right back onto his temple.

Jormungandr staggered in shock, too stunned to notice the Hulk winding up a punch. Jormungandr turned to see a large, green fist flying right toward him, knocking him flat on his back and backward several feet.

Sleipnir tried to slice the Hulk again but the creature caught the swords and yanked them out of Sleipnir's hands, almost pulling his arms out of his sockets in the process.

The Hulk suddenly reached out and grabbed Sleipnir around the throat and squeezed—hard. Sleipnir let out a gurgle and slammed his fists repeatedly against the creature's tough skin. He struggled and kicked wildly, trying to free himself but the Hulk's grip cut off his oxygen forced his movements to slow.

Awake enough to meet his eyes, Sleipnir saw something deep beneath the anger. He could sense something—or someone—fighting against the Hulk's rage as if trapped inside the green beast. There was something more to the Hulk, just like how there was something more to Sleipnir than just being a horse and Jormungandr just being a snake.

They couldn't...they wouldn't...

The Hulk needed...

-oOo-

Jormungandr got back on his feet and watched Sleipnir struggle against the Hulk's meaty fist. He noticed Sleipnir pause and stare in surprise at the Hulk's face, despite going limp with each passing second.

Something stirred inside Jormungandr, something incomprehensible, as he watched Sleipnir slowly losing unconsciousness in front of him. His golden eyes flickered, the pupils going vertical something awakened inside him.

Jormungandr let out a shout, the hiss becoming deeper as he let the feeling wash over him. At first, the feeling came on slowly then it suddenly hit him like a wall.

The deafening hiss silenced the crowd.

His skin hardened into thick scales. His torso grew and grew, and his legs and arms disappeared into one long body. Fangs extended from his mouth and his tongue flicked out. The frills on the side of his head opened up and he let out a thunderous roar when he finally towered over the Hulk and the Grandmaster's viewing box.

It felt good to be back.

The dark green scales on the pointed tip of his tail flicked out to swipe a hovering ship out of the air. It spun to the ground and burst in an explosion of sparks when it struck near the viewing box.

Far below, the Hulk turned towards Jormungandr and threw Sleipnir to the side. Sleipnir let out a yell as he flew across the arena and landed head-first against the wall, knocking him out.

Jormungandr glared down at the Hulk, twisting into a striking pose.

The Hulk bellowed in response and picked up his weapons. The crowd remained completely silent at the sudden change, waiting on the edge of their seats to see what would happen. None of them cared about the fire blazing from the crashed ship in the stands.

They wanted a spectacle, they got one.

The Hulk chucked his hammer-like weapon towards Sleipnir, landing just inches away from where Sleipnir pushed himself onto his knees. He flinched and closed his eyes against the hit that never landed.

Jormungandr, however, didn't like how close the hammer landed and opened his mouth in outrage. Rows of sharp teeth lined his mouth behind two large fangs on the top of his mouth.

He lashed out, his mouth wide open and his fangs dripping with venom as he aimed straight towards the Hulk, intending for a killing blow.

The bite never landed on the green beast—

Sleipnir, shaken from the whole ordeal, pushed himself to his feet and sprinted towards the Hulk when Jormungandr coiled to attack.

"Wait!" Sleipnir yelled with his arms outstretched, sliding in front of the Hulk.

Jormungandr couldn't stop his fangs from sinking into Sleipnir's soft flesh, biting right through his armour. Horrified, Jormungandr pulled back and watched Sleipnir fall over. Behind him, the Hulk stood in muted surprise.

Realizing what he had just done, Jormungandr turned back to his Aesir form in a flash of green and black. He stumbled as he landed from a few feet in the air and ran towards Sleipnir's form.

"No, no, no!" Jormungandr cried and fell to his knees.

Hands shaking, he pulled the torn armour from Sleipnir's wound, the pale skin already turning black from the venom.

"I'm so sorry!" Jormungandr gasped, chest heaving.

Sleipnir groaned in pain as Jormungandr racked his brain trying to remember what to do. For the life of him, he couldn't remember even though he—of all people—should know how to treat venomous bites.

Hot tears rolled down Jormungandr's cheeks as he watched Sleipnir's eyes roll backward, his body going limp in Jormungandr's arms.

"Nooo!" Jormungandr shouted and buried his face into Sleipnir's chest, breaking into sobs.

Sharp pain in his neck from the obedience disk set fire to his nerves and eventually, he too fell unconscious.

Chapter Text

The darkness slowly faded, leaving black spots dancing in his eyes. The room refused to come into focus, forcing him to lay in pain alone.

No, not alone. Someone else held a cool, damp cloth to his forehead.

It felt nice amidst the burning sensation coursing through his whole body. The cloth existed as a haven—an oasis—amongst the searing pain shooting along his nerves. His ribs felt broken and his left leg tingled in barely-contained numbness.

The ringing in his ears and the smell of strange herbs and other fragrances flooding his nose flipped his stomach.

A muffled voice said something, the string of incomprehensible words floating down to him, and it took him a while to realize the person spoke to him.

Forcing his eyes open, he tried to find the source of the voice. The dark spots had decreased, helping him to focus.

Titling his eyes up, he found the hand holding the cloth and tracked it to a young woman's face. Her dark brown hair tied up in a crown twist braid left her golden-brown complexion free from any pesky strands. Her black dress bared her arms, free to apply some sort of healing cream to his chest.

"How are you feeling?" the woman asked and dabbed a different cloth against his forehead. She brushed a long strand of green hair out of his eyes and smiled sadly down at him, her brown eyes meeting golden-yellow.

He didn't mind staring at her. She painted a better picture than the walls of trippy designs of black and blue behind her.

Jormungandr groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Focusing on her face made the headache worse, and he could feel the electrical burn pulsing under the obedience disk embedded into his neck.

Reality suddenly hit him.

Bolting upright, Jormungandr gasped and almost collapsed from the pain flaring up in his chest.

Bare-chested and heaving, Jormungandr examined the room. Bowls of strange-smelling herbs surrounded him, enveloping him in a mix of not-unpleasant scents. A large opening on one end of the room offered the only exit aside from the window to his left. From his spot on the floor, he couldn't see much else, and only he and the woman were in the room.

"Where is he?" Jormungandr asked the woman.

She blinked and appeared startled by his sudden change in behavior.

"Who?" the woman asked, her eyes wide. She leaned away from him, clutching the cloth in both hands.

"Where is my brother?" Jormungandr repeated, hostility growing.

"I-I'm sorry. You need to lie down. You are not fully healed yet." The woman tentatively put a hand on his shoulder and tried to push him back down, so Jormungandr slapped her hand away. She yelped and lept to her feet.

Jormungandr shakily followed suit, using the wall as support, and advanced towards her. "You're avoiding the question."

The woman backed into a corner of the room, still clutching the cloth in cowardice. At least a foot shorter than him, Jormungandr towered over her in anger.

"Where. Is. He?" Jormungandr hissed through gritted teeth. He could barely stand upright, let alone focus on her scared face. His vision swam and he nearly stumbled as he clenched his fists and stepped in front of her.

"I-I-I don't know," the woman muttered, her voice trembling with her body.

Jormungandr's arm flew out and closed a hand around her throat. She let out a scream and dropped the cloth, her fingers clawing at his wrist.

"I think you know but you're not telling me," Jormungandr snarled. "Tell me or you might not make it out of here alive."

His fist pressed harder against her throat and she froze in place. She squeezed her eyes shut and finally opened them when she raised a hand in surrender.

"Alright!" she gasped out. Jormungandr loosened his grip but kept her pinned against the wall. "He might be down where the other contenders are."

"Contenders?" Jormungandr asked.

"You don't want to know," the woman replied, tears streaming down her face.

Jormungandr pulled back and slammed her against the wall again. "Try me."

Shaking from head to toe, the woman relented. "Nobody could find a cure for the bite so they sent him down to the morgue where they usually burn the dead or send them to other contenders as food."

Jormungandr's grip slipped off her throat and he stumbled backward. She fell to the ground, coughing. Staring down at her in shock, Jormungandr's voice wavered.

"Is he...is he dead?" Jormungandr muttered.

"Not when they brought him down there but we don't have an anti-venom that works," the woman answered between gasps of breath.

Both relief and worry rushed through Jormungandr and he flung out a hand to brace himself against the wall to stop him from collapsing.

Sleipnir could've made it; he could still be alive. He had a chance to save him, to fix his horrible mistake. But he didn't have much time. A single bite always sealed someone's doom. Nobody had ever survived a bite from him, and he had no idea how long he had been out. Sleipnir, despite being strong, couldn't last long without medical intervention, and from the sound of it, nothing was coming to help him.

"Anti-venom…." Jormungandr whispered. He looked at the woman through loose strands of hair. She sat a foot away, her back pressed against the wall and still too scared to move.

"Do you have a base?" he asked.

The woman tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"A base for the anti-venom," Jormungandr repeated. "Do you have it?"

The woman blinked as she thought and then slowly nodded. "We do have several anti-venom bases ready for use but we don't have the actual venom from…" the woman paused and stared at Jormungandr, "from you."

"Can you extract it?"

"I don't know how…"

Jormungandr chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I'll figure it out if you go get several vials of the anti-venom base for me."

When the woman didn't move, Jormungandr hissed at her and she took off running out of the room. Jormungandr mentally kicked himself for putting his trust in a woman he had just threatened to kill but he didn't waste any time on his part. Whether she came back or not, he could at least have extracted his venom and then go search for the base himself.

Grabbing an empty glass bottle from a pile near the bowls of herbs, Jormungandr sat down against the wall where he could watch the opening. Strange, he could just walk right out without anyone stopping him. Rather dumb on the Grandmaster's part.

Jormungandr twisted the cap off the bottle and rested it on the floor next to him. Concentrating, he emptied his mind. He had never done anything like this before. Sure, changing his form had come naturally to him in the arena but only changing a certain part of him might be near impossible.

Nevertheless, after several failed attempts and a lot of vulgar words spat out in frustration, Jormungandr finally felt his teeth shifting to reveal two pointed fangs, exactly like the ones from his serpentine form, except smaller to fit in his Aesir-like mouth.

Holding the empty bottle up to one of his fangs, he closed his eyes and pressed down. Mild pain pulsed at his gum line but he ignored it. Sleipnir probably felt worse.

Finally, he could feel liquid pouring through his venom canal and out the tip of his fang. He sat there for a while, filling up the bottle before switching to his other fang.

Just as he twisted the cap of the bottle back on, the same woman walked into the room, holding several vials full of clear liquid. She almost dropped them in surprise as she caught sight of Jormungandr sitting against the wall, shirtless with fangs sticking out through his closed lips and looking half-insane.

"Oh my—"

"Sorry," Jormungandr mumbled and closed his eyes again. His fangs morphed back into regular teeth and he opened his eyes again. "I wasn't expecting you to come back so soon. Or come back at all."

The woman slowly walked over to Jormungandr, keeping a wary eye on him as she handed him the vials. "I assume you found a way?"

"Yeah," Jormungandr muttered as he poured the venom and two vials of the anti-venom base into a larger glass bottle. The venom and base swirled around in the glass bottle, creating an anti-venom. Hopefully, it worked. Normally, when he bit people, he didn't have the intention of healing them, so he had no idea if he did this right.

Even if it worked, it would do no good if he couldn't find Sleipnir in time.

Standing up, Jormungandr threw his armour top on hurriedly and walked towards the open hallway.

"Wait!" the woman cried before he could take another step.

Jormungandr turned around in question. The woman held up a small rectangular device and pressed a button. Jormungandr heard a small 'click' and the obedience disk unattached from his neck. Holding the spot where the disk left an imprint on his skin, Jormungandr raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"The entrances to these rooms have an electrified barrier connected to the obedience disks," the woman explained. "It's a false sense of freedom the Grandmaster likes to dangle over his prisoners."

"Why are you helping me?" Jormungandr asked. He gave the entrance a wary glance.

The woman fumbled with the device in her hands, avoiding eye contact. "I-I had a brother who died in the arena. The only reason why I'm alive is because I work for the Grandmaster as a healer. My brother got badly injured in the arena one day after a fight with the Grandmaster's champion. I tried to save him but...nothing could bring him back from what the champion did to him. I understand what it's like to lose a sibling; I don't want to watch someone else go through it. I've seen the way you act around your brother. You act like you hate him but deep down, you care for him."

Jormungandr tilted his head and stared at the teary-eyed woman.

"I'm sorry," Jormungandr said quietly.

"It's been two years since he died." The woman shrugged half-heartedly. "Besides I either get killed by you for not helping you or get killed by the Grandmaster for helping you."

"He's going to kill you?" Jormungandr asked, startled.

The woman struggled to meet his gaze but she nodded. "I almost got caught stealing the vials and this," she held up the rectangular device, "It doesn't matter anyway. It's about time I join my brother in paradise."

When Jormungandr didn't respond, the woman waved her hand towards the open hallway. "Go! Your brother needs you."

Taking one last look back, Jormungandr gave the woman a sad smile and took off running. He had an inkling of where to find the morgue because he had seen countless dead contenders being dragged to a closed-off room near the gates of the arena.

Trying to navigate the winding halls of the building without getting caught by guards turned out to be extremely difficult. With his mind half focused on finding Sleipnir and the other half thinking about the woman who helped him, Jormungandr took several wrong turns and ran into too many people he cared to meet. A few citizens recognized him but he left before they could say anything or raise the alarm.

One time, he almost walked right into a room. And saw the Grandmaster doing something to a dark-haired partner. For some odd reason, the dark-haired figure seemed familiar, even in his drunken state. The Grandmaster laughed as the other man struggled in his arms and buried his face in the pajama-bastard's shoulder.

Spinning around, Jorumgandr noped out there real quick, wishing for a spell to erase the image from his mind. He did not need—nor want—to see the Grandmaster like that, especially with a partner who looked too out of it to give reasonable consent.

Picking up his speed, Jormungandr hurried through the halls. His left leg started hurting from the fast pace and his chest squeezed his lungs, making it hard to breathe from worry and broken ribs.

Despite the pain, Jormungandr pushed on, determined to find Sleipnir. He assumed he had been unconscious for at least half an hour because the dark sky looked the same as the one when he fought earlier. People, thankfully, started to go to bed so the crowds thinned out, making it easier for him to move unnoticed. He had to fight a couple of guards but a few, well-aimed punches rendered them unconscious.

Walking as silently as he could while wearing heavy, leather boots, Jormungandr eventually made it down to the morgue's floor, ducking behind anything he could find whenever he heard voices. It took him too long to make it down there but he wouldn't give up yet.

Finally, he found the door to the morgue and pried it open. The stence hit him before he could see, temporarily blinding him from the tears welling up in reflex. Ignoring the overwhelming rot of dead and decaying bodies, Jormungandr slowly adjusted to the dim light.

Dull lights hung overhead, barely lighting the path through the middle of the room. Surprisingly, the Grandmaster's horrid wall decor did not extend down here. The lack of wall art and color turned the whole room bleak and dismal compared to the rest of Sakaar.

Bodies lay on tables on both sides of the path, each of the dead contenders' names marked on a piece of paper hanging from the end of the tables. The path seemed to go on forever—the end disappearing into the darkness.

It was eerily silent. No guards were around. None of the dead bodies moved, which made it slightly better considering everyone here was supposed to be dead—everyone except Sleipnir.

Watching where he stepped to avoid making noise, Jormungandr quietly slunk his way through the morgue, checking each paper for names.

At the far end of the room, Jormungandr read the name of the body lying on its respective table. Even enhanced eyes couldn't read the horrible handwriting in the dim light, Jormungandr leaned closer to see.

Suddenly, the body's hand twitched. Jormungandr yelped and stumbled back, tripping over a nearby table and landing on the soft body of a dead contender. The movement sent the table banging into another and echoed in the room, no doubt sending up a signal for the guards.

Adrenaline pumping, Jormungandr scrambled to his feet and slowly crept towards the body. Looking down at the person's face, Jormungandr gasped.

Sleipnir lay shirtless on the metal table, his eyes closed and skin deathly pale. His left hand dangled off the edge of the table. Without a shirt on, Jormungandr could easily see the damage of the wound. The skin around the puncture hole had turned completely black and scaly from the venom.

It looked like someone had tried to treat it but gave up due to the irreparable damage. The wound had stopped bleeding, leaving a perfect view of a little pool of green venom puddled inside the wound. Sleipnir's veins traced up his torso and neck in black, webbed designs, the venom visibly working its way through his body.

Jormungandr pressed a finger against his brother's neck and couldn't find a pulse. Panic building, he hovered a hand over Sleipnir's nose and mouth and heaved a sigh of relief when he felt shallow breaths dance against his fingers.

"By the Norns…." Jormungandr whispered, his voice wavering. He had done this. He had hurt his brother.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as Jormungandr twisted open the anti-venom cap. He pulled the syringe the woman had given him from his pocket and pulled the plunger up to fill it with the anti-venom.

He turned Sleipnir's left arm over to face his palm up and slowly inserted the tip of the needle into the crease of Sleipnir's elbow. Pushing the plunger of the syringe down, Jormungandr injected the anti-venom into Sleipnir's bloodstream. When the plunger reached the bottom, Jormungandr pulled the syringe out and refilled it.

He hesitated because he had no idea how much anti-venom Sleipnir needed. Too much anti-venom could be harmful. Judging by Sleipnir's horrible condition, it couldn't possibly get any worse.

Jormungandr reinserted the needle and injected the second dose, wishing he had a skilled healer here to help because he didn't trust himself to not mess it up. However, he also didn't trust anyone else to touch his brother, so he summoned up the courage to push through the hesitation. Every second counted; Sleipnir needed him.

After the third full syringe and a long fifteen minutes later, some color had returned to Sleipnir's face. Some of the black in his veins faded, slowly but surely retreating down his neck and chest.

Despite the physical improvements, Sleipnir still hadn't moved or reacted otherwise to the anti-venom. Growing anxious, Jormungandr injected a fourth syringe and stared expectantly at Sleipnir's face. When no reaction came, Jormungandr fell to his knees and grasped Sleipnir's limp hand in both of his.

"No," Jormungandr whispered. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision in the already dark room.

Resting his forehead against Sleipnir's enclosed hand, Jormungandr let his emotions take over him and he broke.

Sobs racked Jormungandr's body as he cried for the second time in his life, strange feelings he had never felt before overwhelming him. Is this heartbreak? Is this longing for a life he never had and will never achieve? Why does having a brother hurt so much?

Even though he was kneeling alone on the hard floor of a dark room amid hundreds of dead bodies, Jormungandr's mind only focused on Sleipnir. The times when he had yelled at or attacked Sleipnir in anger replayed in his mind. At the time, the only reasonable choice was to target his anger on someone he knew would take the blame for his actions. However, looking back, he realized he had pushed away the only person willing to help him, who would care for him, who loved him.

The same person who gave Jormungandr a chance at a different, better, life now lay dead on the table before him. Sleipnir died because of him—his stupid, selfish, arrogant brother.

"Brother," Jormungandr whispered, the word foreign on his tongue. "I'm so sorry. I messed up; I messed up bad. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard to do something difficult without practice and then get upset at you for making a mistake.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you or blamed you for my problems; I just didn't know how to react. In the swamp, it's either 'kill or be killed' and I guess my instincts took over in the worst way possible. I've never had the chance to get to know someone on a personal level, and when you showed up, I just went insane. The sudden presence of another person scared me. I wanted someone to be close to but I didn't know how to achieve it without somehow ruining everything. It was so sudden and so new.

"I didn't know how to respond so I just acted out irrationally. I've never had someone to talk to, to connect with, to share my life's experience. All those I've met were either scared of me or tried to kill me. I thought you had some other motive so I told myself I wouldn't trust you. You were only a stepping-stone towards getting revenge on the man who left me to die in the swamp all those years ago. I planned to leave you once I killed him, but when we got stuck here, I lost it. My only chance at achieving my goal vanished. And I didn't know how to react.

"I-I just couldn't see past my anger. You never deserved such hate. You've only ever tried to help, and I pushed you away. You are the only one who has done such nice things for me, and yet I lashed out at you. The swamp is filled with hate and I thought I had to hate you to feel better. But I don't feel better. I feel horrible. I'm feeling different...things and I just understood how I'm supposed to react.

"My heart hurts for some reason and I don't know why. I know pushing you away is wrong now and maybe that's the reason why everything hurts. I-I don't know how to fix it."

He sucked in a deep breath. "You were right, Slepnir. We worked better together in the arena. Together we could take on anyone we wanted and win. I only focused on killing other contenders because I thought, by ignoring you, everything would go away and I could stop feeling. It didn't work. Only when I saw the champion choking the life out of you did I realize I need you. My anger took over and I acted too violently. You paid the price for all my faults; the price should have been mine to pay. You did nothing wrong. And I see that now. The only thing wrong is me.

"We're better as a team, as brothers. And I need you. Brother, I can't lose you. Not after finally understanding that the problem is me, not you. I ruined our chance at a better life, at finding our family. Brother, you don't deserve this. If anything, I should be the one lying on that damn table. I know you can't hear me but I want you to forgive me for hurting you. I never meant for things to end up this way. It's all my fault. You're my brother, and I—"

Jormungandr's voice cracked and he sobbed even harder than before. The overwhelming sense of loss felt like a stab to the heart. He murdered his brother in cold revenge, and he would have to live with the guilt forever.

Too lost in his grief, he didn't feel the small twitch in his hands until it happened again. Startled, his throat choked off mid-sob and he lifted his head to stare in shock at his clasped hands. It had to happen again.

Please, let it happen again.

And there it was.

Small and weak but definitely real—Sleipnir's hand, gripped tightly by both of Jormungandr's, squeezed gently.

Standing up while still holding Sleipnir's hand, Jormungandr looked down at Sleipnir's chest. The black veins had almost faded, leaving just a tinge of gray around the burned skin of the wound. His chest rose and fell fuller than before, and more color returned to his face.

Sleipnir's eyes were open. A tiny sliver and clouded over, yet open.

The anti-venom must have worked. Thank the Norns!

"Sleipnir?" Jormungandr asked hesitantly as if saying his name would cause him to fall unconscious again.

Sleipnir's lips twitched weak and futile. Instead, Sleipnir gave Jormungandr's hand another small squeeze.

"Don't say anything, just rest," Jormungandr said. He looked around the room and shuddered at all the bodies surrounding Sleipnir, and how close his brother had come to joining them for good.

Jormungandr gently set Sleipnir's hand on the table and gripped his black cape. Holding it in his teeth, Jormungandr tore a long strip of cloth off his cape and carefully wrapped it around the puncture wound in Sleipnir's side. He knew he should clean the wound again; this would have to do for now. Hopefully, the healer who attempted to save Sleipnir did a decent enough job to keep Sleipnir alive until he found someone other means of healing his brother.

Unfortunately, finding a different way to help Sleipnir meant he would have to leave the relative safety of the morgue. The night wouldn't last for long; he only had a few hours to find another location. He doubted the Grandmaster cared if they both died but Jormungandr didn't want to find out.

Moving Sleipnir proved to be a problem. The best option resulted in letting Sleipnir stay on the table while Jormungandr gripped the edges to slowly wheel him out of the morgue. Sleipnir twitched at the sudden movement but made no protests.

"Hang in there," Jormungandr said quietly. "I'm going to get you out of here—alive."

Heading towards the light from the open door to the morgue, Jormungandr listened for signs of guards or other people. Hearing none, he crept towards the door and peeked out through the small crack.

A sudden shadow fell into the light in the hallway, causing Jormungandr to step back into the morgue and lean against the wall. Breathing heavily from the slight scare, he silently hoped the person would leave.

Against his wishes, a hand pulled the door open and a figure stepped inside. Just feet away, Jormungandr kept a hand on Sleipnir's table and covered his brother's mouth with the other.

"Hello?" a quiet, feminine voice said. The voice sounded familiar and slightly scared.

Figuring the stranger didn't pose a threat, Jormungandr stepped from the wall and peered into the darkness.

The same black dress and hairstyle of the young woman from earlier relaxed Jormungandr's nerves.

"Are you looking for me?" Jormungandr asked and stepped into the light.

The woman yelped and whipped around in fright. After catching sight of Jormungandr and connecting him to the image in her mind, she placed a hand over her heart and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"What are you doing here?" Jormungandr asked.

"I wanted to make sure you found your brother," the woman responded.

Taken aback at the woman's response, Jormungandr looked back at Sleipnir's still form. "I did, but he needs help. The anti-venom worked; I don't know how much longer he can last without more medical attention. He can't get it here so I thought I should move him. I don't know where to go, though," Jormungandr explained.

The woman furrowed her brow in thought as she stared at the ground. Then, she looked up at Jormungandr. "I can help."

"What?"

"I can help you move him out of here," the woman said while nodding towards Sleipnir. "We can take him to my apartment. I have a lot of medical equipment there and nobody visits. It's the safest place we can go on Sakaar."

Jormungandr contemplated the woman's decision for a minute and then nodded. "Alright. I trust you."

"Good," the woman said. She held up her hand. In it, her slender fingers curled around the rectangular device and clicked a button to release the obedience disk from Sleipnir's neck. "Because you wouldn't have gotten far with that in his neck."

Tossing the disk aside, Jormungandr grabbed hold of Seipnbir's table and pushed it toward the door. After taking a couple of steps, he paused and looked expectantly at the woman.

"I never got your name," Jormungandr said.

The woman smiled. "Mia."

"Jormungandr," Jormungandr said and returned the smile. He motioned for Mia to lead the way. She took off and Jormungandr followed.

They wound their way back up several floors. Luckily, most people were asleep so they passed through the hall with ease. They had to take the elevator due to Sleipnir's table, and Jormungandr had to knock out a few more guards on patrol.

Otherwise, they were safe from harm and reached Mia's apartment in no time. She typed in an access code and the door slid open to let Jormungandr push Sleipnir's table through. The door sealed behind them with a hiss and mechanical click.

"Over here," Mia said, motioning towards a different room of the small apartment.

The walls in the other room were a soft color of light green and cream, giving a sense of safety mostly from the smell of herbs and medicines wafting from the cabinets and through the air. A small bed sat pushed to one side of the room, leaving the other side open for a kitchenette.

Together, Mia and Jormungandr lifted Sleipnir as gently as they could off the table and onto the bed.

Immediately, Mia began hooking up several machines to Sleipnir to monitor his heart rate and to help him breathe. She cut the black cape off Sleipnir and cleaned the wound properly this time. Throughout it all, Slepinir didn't even flinch when Mia's fingers brushed a rag over his wound to wipe away the remains of the venom.

Jormungandr stood by the door, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Do you need any help?" Jormungandr asked though Mia already stopped fussing over Sleipnir.

She took a few steps back and shook her head as she set down the vial of anti-venom on a table next to the bed.

"All we can do right now is wait," Mia said. She picked up a small electronic tablet and walked to the kitchenette.

Jormungandr waited a half-beat before deciding to follow her. From here, he could observe Sleipnir sleep on the bed and also watch Mia prepare two bowls of some sort of porridge. Hearing Jormungandr approach, Mia looked up and pushed a bowl towards Jormungandr.

"Eat up. You must be hungry," Mia said.

Sitting down on a chair by the island in the middle of the kitchen, Jormungandr stared down at his porridge. Mia sat down across from him. Sensing his worry, Mia rested a hand on top of Jormungandr's. This time Jormungandr didn't slap her hand away but instead looked up, a sad expression on his face.

"He'll be alright," Mia assured. She nodded toward Sleipnir's sleeping form. "Just give it some time. Medicine, no matter how advanced, takes time."

Jormungandr gave a small smile moved his hand out from under Mia's and dug into his porridge. Before he knew it, he emptied the bowl and leaned back in his chair.

"Tell me about yourself," Jormungandr said suddenly.

"Umm..." Mia muttered and swallowed a mouthful of porridge.

"How'd you get stuck here on Sakaar?" Jormungandr asked.

"It's a long story..."

"I have time." When Mia didn't answer, Jormungandr added, "It's probably not as depressing as mine."

Setting down her spoon, Mia sighed. "Alright. Unlike you, I didn't fall here. We got sold."

Jormungandr blinked, realizing maybe he didn't want to hear the story.

"You don't have to—"

Mia shook her head. "No, it's alright. It's about time somebody knew." She cleared her throat and continued, "My brother, Hayden, and I grew up poor in Knowhere. When it got too difficult, our parents sold us to a man called The Collector in return for a lot of money. He traded us to his brother, The Grandmaster, who took us to Sakaar. The Grandmaster forced Hayden to fight in the arena while I learned how to heal others. Hayden died, as you know, two years after we came here when he faced the champion. I've been on my own, barely surviving, ever since."

It was quiet for a while until Jormungandr spoke up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Mia shook her head sadly. "It's alright. You're the first person to ask me about it and honestly, talking about it makes me feel better."

"What about you? Where are you from?" Mia asked after another pause.

Jormungandr took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I honestly don't know. My father abandoned me before I could remember much, and I lived on my own for most of my life. I was separated from my siblings for years, so I don't know them very well. My older brother, Sleipnir, showed up one day and said we should find our other siblings. He tried to open a portal back to the land he came from but it failed and we ended up here. I suppose you can figure out the rest."

Mia opened her mouth to say something but a barely audible groan from Sleipnir's direction cut her off. Both of their heads swiveled at the same time. Pushing back in his chair, Jormungandr almost tripped when he shot to his feet. In a few short strides, he knelt by Sleipnir's side, Mia close behind.

"Brother," Jormungandr said, clutching Sleipnir's cold hand. More color had returned and Sleipnir's eyes were almost all the way open. His heart rate and breathing had improved greatly in a short amount of time.

Sleipnir's lips twitched at the corners, forming a weak smile. "J-Jormy..." Sleipnir breathed out, his voice weak and raspy.

Jormungandr broke out into a grin and released a sigh of relief. Sleipnir would make a full recovery, thanks to Mia's help.

"Don't talk. Rest up," Jormungandr said gently yet firmly. "I want a chance to make things right between us. To be brothers, just like how we're supposed to be."

Chapter Text

Slowly yet surely, Sleipnir healed. Mia let the brothers stay in her apartment as long as Jormungandr helped keep it clean. During the day, Mia left to keep up the pretense of not harboring two wanted fugitives.

The sudden disappearance of the 'Blade Brothers' made the Grandmaster furious. Through the window of Mia's apartment, Jormungandr watched his and Sleipnir's faces repeatedly flash on the holographic images above the city. Jormungandr usually closed the blinds to keep out unwanted eyes even though they were on the upper floors of the building and could only be seen by passing airships.

While taking care of Sleipnir, Jormungandr took it upon himself to clean up the apartment in gratitude for Mia's assistance. Sleipnir slept most of the day and didn't talk much other than jumbled ramblings when awake, Jormungandr practically had the whole apartment to himself. Much to Mia's astonishment and delight, with all the extra time, he learned how to cook.

So far, nobody suspected Mia of helping the 'Blade Brothers' disappear. It didn't stop Jormungandr from watching the door and the window, a kitchen knife gripped tight in case the Grandmaster's soldiers burst into the small apartment to drag him back to the arena. He rather enjoyed the thrill of the fight, but after almost killing Sleipnir, Jormungandr would never step foot in the place again—not if he could help it. He would die fighting if need be, all to protect Sleipnir from falling back into the Grandmaster's clutches.

By the end of the week, Sleipnir could get out of bed on his own and could actually hold a conversation. For someone who grew up alone, Jormungandr had gotten rather lonely whenever Mia left and Sleipnir slept. The horseboy, despite living in a stable for most of his life, knew quite a decent amount about almost anything, probably from listening in on the king and other people during their travels. Sleipnir answered every question Jormungandr threw at him, and although the older of the two could've been lying the entire time, something about the way he carried himself proved to Jormungandr that Sleipnir did not fabricate any of it.

Jormungandr helped Sleipnir take a shower—Mia didn't have a bathtub in her tiny bathroom—something he made his brother swear to never mention again. Sleipnir only smiled and thanked him, his hazel eyes holding no contempt when Jormungandr accidentally brushed against the wound.

After the shower, Sleipnir hobbled over to the couch, a hand on Jormungandr's shoulder for support. Easing himself down, he let out a sigh and rolled his head to the side to smile up at Jormungandr.

"That was risky, you know," Jormungandr said sternly, still standing. It had been Sleipnir's idea to walk to the couch and had gotten halfway there before Jormungandr ran over to help.

Sleipnir shrugged and stared out the window. "What's life without the risk?"

Jormungandr scoffed and sat down next to him, stretching out his legs. "You sound like me."

"I spend all my time around you and I'm bound to pick up some bad habits," Sleipnir teased.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jormungandr asked indignantly. He leaned into the couch and spread his arms out across the top of the backrest.

"It's merely a jest," Sleipnir assured. A small smirk tugged on his thin lips. "However, you could learn how to express yourself through means other than just anger."

Jormungandr snorted. "It's kind of hard to not be angry when the only view is that." Jormungandr motioned out of the window where they could see the junk-filled city of Sakaar. What a trash heap. He hated this planet.

Sleipnir let out a small laugh and then clutched his side as the motion jostled his wound. Jormungandr looked over at his brother in concern.

"It's fine," Sleipnir said, holding up his free hand. He took a deep breath and exhaled before adding, "In other words, you don't always have to lash out in anger whenever something happens. From my perspective, it seems you have a switch permanently on, and letting it stay on will do nothing for your health. You need to learn to relax because you never know what you're missing if you never look."

He pointed at a bird hopping along the rooftop of a nearby skyscraper, a bug of some sort clutched in its beak. Tiny bobbing heads peeked up from an intricately woven nest of twigs, calling for the attention of their mother.

Fine. It's cute. Whatever.

Who cares if Sleipnir has a point? He still hated the planet and wished to slice the Grandmaster's limbs off one by one. He still wanted to punch his father in the face and rip his grandfather's heart from his chest. He still would never forgive himself for almost killing his brother. He had reasons for his anger; something Sleipnir, living in a fancy stable, would never understand.

Glancing at Sleipnir out of the corner of his eye, Jormungandr watched his brother stare at the little bird family.

Family. Mooching off of others, tearing each other down—

Protecting each other when the other cannot...

"You know..." Jormungandr muttered, "When I found you in the mor—in the room way downstairs...anyone who gets close to me only wants me for one thing and I'm sick of it. They're all scared of me, and several have tried to kill me, so I killed them first. I guess...I'm angry all the time because it's the only way I know how to react. If I do anything different, it'll..."

Jormungandr paused and shook his head, feeling Sleipnir's gaze on him—not judging, just waiting. "You probably don't remember what I said down there, but I meant every word. I want to learn—to be a better person, a better brother. I just don't know where to start."

The room fell silent, and Jormungandr almost mentally kicked himself for letting the words escape his lips. Stupid, he shouldn't have said it. Sleipnir probably hated him.

"I'm sorry," Sleipnir said, breaking into Jormungandr's thoughts. "I had people caring for me, treating me like a celebrity. Everyone wanted a look at the king's special, eight-legged horse. They even offered to buy me sometimes." Sleipnir heaved in a deep breath. "It's different when you're alone. I could never imagine what you went through."

Jormungandr shrugged, trying hard to change the subject. All the talk of emotions and feelings made him uncomfortable. "It's fine. You can't change what life you had, same way I can't change mine. It's just...when I saw the Grandmaster's champion almost kill, I got so protective. Everything narrowed into one focal point, and that was you."

Sleipnir adjusted himself to face his brother, folding one leg under the other and picking at the fabric bunched around his knee. "I don't want to sound mean but you threatened to kill me several times. Why the sudden change? Why did you save me?"

The evident concern and confusion in Sleipnir's voice hit something inside Jormungandr.

"I never meant to hurt you," Jormungandr said. He closed his eyes and turned to face the window to stop Sleipnir from seeing the tears welling up. "After everything, the sudden shapeshifting, random memories, you showing up in the swamp, landing on this damn planet, I couldn't handle it. I blamed you for all the problems when in reality, you've been the only one to actually want to help me without having some secret agenda.

"When I saw you on the ground, because of me, I realized I needed you. You tried to be a brother to me and I thought I lost my only chance at having a normal life. I needed space to process everything, so I threatened you to keep you away because I thought it would fix everything. It didn't, but don't ever think I wanted you dead because I don't. And I'm sorry."

When Sleipnir didn't respond, Jormungandr turned to him. "Can I ask why you did it?"

Sleipnir looked up from the loose thread he pulled on his pant leg. "Did what?"

"Saved the champion," Jormungandr continued. "Why'd you save him? He tried to kill you."

Sleipnir sighed and stopped tugging on the thread. "I saw something in him, another persona—a man—trapped inside, struggling to out. Struggling to overcome his anger." Sleipnir met his brother's gaze, unflinching. "He reminded me of you. Both letting your anger control you, not realizing your frustrations were trapping you in a pit of hate. I thought maybe I could fix it, help him break free."

He resumed picking at his pants. "I guess I'm wrong. Or we'll never know."

"Wrong?" Jormungandr repeated. "If you're right about me, I'm sure you're right about him, too. At least you have someone to fix, 'cause I'm a broken mess."

"Oh, don't say that," Sleipnir said. "He seemed like a good man, just like you. You're a good person dealt a bad hand. Brother, you are not a mess."

"Not a mess?" Jormungandr's voice raised several dials and he scooted to the edge of the couch to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together. "I enjoy fighting in the arena, I get mad at everyone and blame others for my problems, and I've almost killed my own brother! How is that not a mess?"

"I forgive you," Sleipnir said quietly.

"Why?" Jormungandr questioned. He spread his arms wide, indigant. "Why? I don't deserve such forgiveness. I almost killed you!

"Maybe because I don't see only the bad in people. Maybe because I understand others act out in bad situations. Everyone makes mistakes—"

"And hurting you is just a simple 'mistake,' huh? Someone's going to take advantage of you if you keep trusting people like that."

"And you are going to miss out on a lot of potential friendships if you keep hating everyone like that," Sleipnir shot back, his voice quiet yet sharp. "I like to give people the benefit of the doubt because most people are inherently good. Bad things happen to good people and sometimes they just need someone to listen. A single gesture could unknowingly change someone's life."

"And what happens if they stab you in the back?" Jormungandr snapped. How could Sleipnir not see the danger of trusting people? Everyone has an agenda, a reason to get close to someone only to manipulate them. "What then? You're gonna get hurt by a lot of people."

"Then I will give them a second chance, just like you did for me."

Jormungandr blinked, his head reeling back in surprise. "What?"

"It's my fault we landed here, and not a day goes by where I don't regret it. I made a hasty decision, and it led to terrible consequences. Despite it all, you gave me another chance to make up for my mistake," Sleipnir explained, calm as ever.

Jormungandr's jaw dropped open, stuttering before getting enough out to speak. "But you're not the one who needs a second chance. I am."

"Everyone makes mistakes, brother. I hope you can forgive me for mine."

"But it's my fault, not yours! I pushed you too hard, and—"

Anything further got cut off as Mia burst into the apartment, winded and her dress bunched up in her hands, the strap slipping off her left shoulder. Her brown hair fell loose from its bun and she stared wide-eyed at the brothers.

"What's wrong?" Jormungandr asked, adrenaline sparking to life. He jumped from the couch and rounded it to come closer to Mia.

"The champion is missing!" Mia cried through gasps of breath. She let Jormungandr guide her to a chair. "The new contender went missing too!"

"The thunder guy?" Jormungandr asked.

Last night, a new contender showed up and almost won against the champion. Jormungandr wished he had seen the fight, but he couldn't leave Sleipnir by himself or risk showing his face in public. News traveled fast on Sakaar, so Jormungandr got the whole run-down from Mia.

"The Grandmaster ordered everyone to search for them. Apparently, he thinks they're trying to escape," Mia explained.

"But Korg said there is no way out," Sleipnir said from the couch. He stood a little hunched over, a hand clutched to his side from the effort of getting to his feet.

"There is, through the portals," Mia said. She pointed out of the window toward the sky where countless gateways dropped junk into the ever-growing piles. "Nobody ever makes it far; the guards shoot them down or the portals tear the ships apart. Only one ship in the Grandmaster's collection can make it through. And he never lets anyone near his garage unless he's there himself."

"So?" Jormungandr asked. He didn't see the problem. If people wanted to leave, good for them. He wanted to leave as well but in Sleipnir's current condition, they couldn't risk leaving the apartment right now.

"'So?'" Mia repeated, affronted. "The Grandmaster sent out more guards than he's ever had for anything else. They're still looking for you two, but the champion takes the highest priority. He ordered a public execution if anyone is caught."

The brothers looked at each other in surprise.

"What?" Sleipnir's face turned a paler shade.

"It's not safe here," Mia said.

"It's not safe out there either," Sleipnir countered. "If we step outside, we're dead."

Jormungandr shook his head, wanting to agree only for an idea to pop into his head. "Not if they're more focused on finding the other two. We've been missing for two weeks and he hasn't found us yet. If we want a chance to escape, now's the time."

Sleipnir pursed his lips in thought. Then he nodded. "Jormy is right, we can use this distraction to get out of here. Every day we spend on this planet only increases our chances of getting caught. I'm tired of staying here and doing nothing."

Jormungandr grinned and snapped his fingers to point at his brother. "What if we steal a ship, fly to the portals, and get back to Asgard just like what you wanted from the start."

"Unless you manage to steal the Grandmaster's Commodore, you will never make it through the portals," Mia pointed out.

"Who says we're flying through?" Jormungandr said, almost bouncing on his toes at the thrill of finally doing something other than lounging around all day.

Mia and Sleipnir exchanged confused looks. "You said 'through'," Sleipnir said.

"No," Jormungandr corrected. "We fly to the portals, not through."

Sleipnir motioned for him to continue. Jormungandr started pacing in excitement, letting Sleipnir's eyes track his movements while Mia stayed rooted in her chair.

"You have the ability to create portals, right?" Jormungandr asked his brother.

"You know how it turned out last time."

Jormungandr stopped his pacing and faced him, extending his arm to motion at the window. "What if you don't create one? What if instead we get close enough to one of those out there and you take control of it?"

Sleipnir opened his mouth, then paused. "It...it might actually work."

"I can show you where the ships are," Mia offered, finally agreeing on the plan. "Most guards are out in the city looking for the champion instead of in the palace. We should have a clear path."

Jormungandr clapped his hands together in confirmation. "Then it's decided! We leave now!"

He started gathering up their meager belongings and shoving them into one of Mia's empty backpacks. Mia stood up to rummage through the cupboards for some food to take on their journey.

Sleipnir walked around the couch, a hand dragging against the upholstery for support. "What if I can't take control? What then?"

"If you look even slightly sick, we're ditching the plan and finding a remote place to hide until you're strong enough," Jormungandr said. He flattened his hand to push a thick coat into the bag and yanked the drawstring shut around it fast enough to prevent the coat from slipping out. Satisfied with their supplies, he slung the bag across his shoulders and marched toward the door.

Sleipnir silently joined his brother as Mia, her own bag strapped on, opened the door. She poked her head through and looked both ways before motioning for the two to follow.

"We have to be careful, for his sake," Mia said, motioning at Sleipnir. "There's only one uninjured fighter here."

Jormungandr nodded and stepped behind Sleipnir to keep an eye on his brother. Mia led the way, keeping Sleipnir safe in the middle.

For all their previous excitement, the escaping took longer than expected. They had to take frequent breaks for Sleipnir because he couldn't maintain a quick pace. Mia tried her best to take all the least traveled routes, but they still ran into too many people. However, most of them didn't question their appearance and Jormungandr only had to fight off a pair of guards on the lower levels of the building.

Then Mia rounded a corner and ran right into a wall.

No, not a wall, a person.

Strong hands shot out to catch her on the upper arms as a deep voice apologized and set her upright.

Mia's eyes widened when she looked up and she exclaimed, "Y-You're the Lord of the Thunder!"

The man nodded.

Jormungandr hadn't seen the man before, and all things considered, no wonder the thunder guy almost beat the champion.

The man wore a sleeveless armour top, showing off his large, tan muscles. His blonde hair, cut short as all the contenders were required to, had a few triangular designs shaved into the sides. Jormungandr wasn't short, but the other man towered over him, completely dwarfing Mia's tiny frame. The Lord of Thunder looked like a god.

Behind the blonde, a slightly shorter man with long, jet-black hair, a slim build, and pale skin rolled his eyes, threatening the trio, "You better not tell anyone where we are or an unfortunate accident might befall you."

The Lord of Thunder held up his hand to wave away the other man's words. "Brother, please. They are only kids."

Jormungandr stepped out from behind Sleipnir and braced an arm in front of him. "Don't you dare threaten my brother."

"Jormy, stop," Sleipnir pleaded, never taking his eyes off the dark-haired man.

Something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar yet Jormungandr couldn't remember from where. It didn't matter right now, so he pushed the thought aside.

Sleipnir spoke up, "We are also running from the Grandmaster. Let us pass and we will not tell anyone where you are. We all want off this planet so if we all stay quiet about this, it will be better for all of us."

A smile crossed the Lord of Thunder's bearded face and he turned to the man beside him. "He reminds me of you, brother."

The other man rolled his eyes again and gestured for the blonde to move. "We don't have much time; we should leave, now."

The blonde nodded and gave the trio plenty of space when he walked by them. The other man followed closely but turned his head to give the trio one last glare before disappearing around the corner.

Once they left, Mia sighed. "Isn't he handsome?"

"Who? The thunder guy or the other one?" Jormungandr asked.

Sleipnir stood staring down the hallway, quieter than usual.

"The Lord of Thunder," Mia said. "It's like his muscles are made out of a form of metal fiber..."

"Whoa there, girl," Jormungandr interrupted. "He's way too old for you and we're getting off track. Besides, the other guy has a better fashion sense. Nice and dark."

He motioned for Mia to lead the way again. They had gone a few paces before they realized Sleipnir hadn't moved from his spot.

"Hey, horse-boy, get moving!" Jormungandr called. Sleipnir stirred and jogged to join them after tossing a glance down the hall over his shoulder.

"Did he seem familiar to you?" Sleipnir asked once they started walking again.

"Which one?" Jormungandr asked.

"Both," Sleipnir stated. "I have seen them before but I cannot figure out when or where."

"I saw the pale guy a while ago with the Grandmaster doing something I don't want to talk about," Jormungandr said. He shuddered at the image.

"The blonde said they were brothers," Sleipnir said, unaware of Jormungandr's desire to have someone erase all memory of the encounter.

Jormungandr scoffed. "They look nothing alike. If anything, the pale guy looks like you."

"Really? He looks like you."

"He looks like both of you," Mia said. "Once you're done discussing similarities, we should decide which way to go."

They decided to take the stairs since it seemed safer but Sleipnir almost fell them after going up two flights. Luckily, Jormungandr's fast reflexes caught Sleipnir on the arm just in time to stop him from tumbling down several flights of stairs. Mia suggested they take the elevator instead to give Sleipnir a break.

Once the doors slid closed, Sleipnir slumped against the glass as the elevator ascended to the Grandmaster's garage. Jormungandr positioned himself by the doors, ready to spring into action if needed. Mia looked out over the city as they rose, watching their backs in case a ship attacked them from the outside.

They reached the hangar floor without anyone breaking into the elevator.

However, when the doors slid open, Mia spotted several guards standing nearby, their backs to the group. Beyond them, the garage opened up into several rows of ships.

"Which one's the Commodore?" Jormungandr whispered into Mia's ear.

She peeked around the elevator door and shook her head. "It's gone."

A large gap in the rows proved her point.

Dammit.

Holding the door open, Mia leaned into the brothers, "Get to the nearest ship. Most of them are easy to figure out how to start. I'll distract the guards."

"Why can't we just fight them?" Jormungandr asked. He counted six guards. They could take them, easily.

"Because Sleipnir needs to save his energy to control the portal," Mia replied.

Sleipnir, bless his soul, tried to look like he didn't want to collapse. Sweat started rolling down his face and he didn't look like he could handle a fight.

"I'll fight them, then," Jormungandr offered.

Mia let out a tired laugh. "You? I'm sorry but it's six against one and you're tired, too. It'll be easier the other way."

"How are you going to get on the ship, then?"

Mia shook her head. "I'm not coming."

"What?" Sleipnir and Jormungandr exclaimed at the same time. Mia gave them a weak attempt at a reassuring smile before she turned and ran out of the elevator.

"Mia, wait!" Jormungandr whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth. "Mia!"

Mia either didn't hear or ignored them. She waved her hands to get the guards' attention, did a little mocking dance, and took off running into an opposite hallway, the guards in hot pursuit.

"Dammit!" Jormungandr let out a slew of curses and would've chased after her if Sleipnir hadn't grabbed his arm and guided him to the nearest ship.

A box would fit the description better. Silver and entirely square, the ship didn't seem the most practical. Out of options and running out of time, Sleipnir yanked open the door and climbed inside. Jormungandr stared down the hallway where Mia had disappeared, something churning inside his heart.

A hand landing on his shoulder startled him into motion, and he clambered inside. Swearing the whole way, Jormungandr found the cockpit and dropped into the pilot's seat.

The console, luckily, had labels on the buttons and levers, so Jormungandr located the ignition switch and flicked it on. He pushed the throttle down in a test. The thrusters fired and lifted them a foot above the ground. It took a few bumpy tries to get it to do more than hover but Jormungandr eventually moved forward out of the hanger.

If he left a few scratches on the Grandmaster's horridly painted walls, then good. Let the bastard complain about scuffed paint and a missing ship. Consider it a reminder of his desire to burn the entire place to the ground.

Looking out the small, rectangular window, Jormungandr noticed the guards run into the garage. One of them shook their fist while another lifted his gun to fire at them. Not spotting Mia amongst them, Jormungandr dodged the blast and flew right into the bright light of the open sky.

They clipped a couple of buildings and almost got hit by several falling chunks of trash in the process of weaving through the city skyline. Out in the open air, Jormungandr picked up speed and flew them towards the portals.

Turns out, they weren't the only ones trying to reach the portals. Up ahead, a multi-ship chase blocked the path and threw up blasts of fire and smoke whenever someone crashed. Countless ships pursued a round, orange ship speeding towards the largest portal.

Guess they found the Commodore.

"Get closer," Sleipnir said, resting his hand on Jormungandr's seat to keep his balance.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Jormungandr snapped. He barely swerved in time to avoid running into a large rock sticking out of the water.

Above them, the orange ship suddenly flew right into the largest portal and disappeared. The pursuing ships stopped and hovered in the air, confused about whether or not to follow.

"Huh," Jormungandr said. "That must've been the thunder guy and his brother. They did it."

"Focus on flying, not what others are doing," Sleipnir said. A sudden movement caused him to tumble against the wall.

Jormungandr yanked against the steering device, sending the box ship straight up. Sleipnir slipped to the back of the cockpit, clutching at the air in a failed attempt to keep his balance.

"Keep it steady," Sleipnir said, getting frustrated at the bruises.

"You fly then," Jormungandr retorted. A large chunk of metal from a spaceship plunged from the sky, narrowly missing the box-ship. "You getting the portal thing figured out yet?"

"I'm working on it."

Through the rearview mirror, because this ship had one for some reason, Jormungandr watched Sleipnir grit his teeth, spread his legs, and brace himself in the corner of the cockpit to keep him anchored. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a deep breath.

Trying his best to keep the ship steady, Jormungandr peered out of the window and saw the ships that had chased the Commodore turn around to face them. Jormungandr could feel their weapons lock onto the box, poised ready to shoot at an order.

Oh shit.

"Any time now!" Jormungandr shouted. His knuckles went white on the ship's yoke.

"Be patient," Sleipnir said, his eyes still closed. Around his outstretched hands, a dark blue light sparkled and danced.

Beyond the window, the same blue light appeared around the largest portal, the same one the Commodore flew into. Jormungandr watched, torn between staring open-mouthed at the portal stretching down from the sky and at the ships surrounding them.

Sleipnir let out a pained grunt and reached up with both arms toward the portal. The blue light increased in intensity, overwhelming Jormungandr's senses.

Through half-lidded eyes, Jormungandr saw Sleipnir's hands close into fists, pulling the portal towards them. It stretched out and out, and Jormungandr moved the ship slowly upward to meet it.

The other ships fired at them, and he swore everything slowed down.

The blast never came.

The blue light enveloped them and Jormungandr felt himself lift from his seat as an unseen force hurtled him through space and time.

Chapter Text

The giant wolf refused to lose.

Hit after hit, he caught the green beast by the leg and dragged him underwater. The beast roared when his teeth punctured the green flesh, blood billowing up in the frothy water. A thick fist walloped him on the jaw, knocking him backward.

He expected to hit the rocky bottom of the water. He never landed.

The force of the punch sent him over the edge of the realm, falling with the waterfall. He struggled to cling onto something but his paws were not made to grab hold of slippery rocks.

Water filled his nostrils and he choked, scrabbling at the rocks in the hope to catch himself before he fell off the realm and into the void beyond. Panic flared and he felt something burst out from deep inside just as he slipped the last few inches of sustainable rock.

Letting out a high-pitched cry in desperation, he flung out a hand and caught the sharp edge of a rock.

Wait, hand?

Looking up in shock, water streamed onto his face and he sputtered. Through the watery onslaught, he caught sight of a lightly tanned hand gripping a rock.

Weird, he had paws, not hands...

Trailing down the arm, he traced it back to his shoulder and then the rest of his body. It couldn't be his body, not his real one...

How?

The force of the water pushed him closer to the edge of Asgard and through the veil encasing the realm from the harsh elements of space. He reached up with his other hand and grabbed another rock to further secure his hold. Bracing himself against the slippery ledge, he kicked out his hind legs—no, two legs, not four—and found a foothold. Coughing and sputtering, he tried to climb back up, but the sudden emergence of opposable thumbs and the off-ness of his entire body felt strange. Everything felt off-kilter, odd, entirely new, and if not for the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the urgency to get to safety, he would've panicked at the sudden shift.

His armour, silver and orange, absorbed the water, weighing him down. Bruises from the green beast blossomed along his jaw, arms, and chest, making every movement strained and laborious.

The water, the fight, this whole new body—what was happening? Images sped through his mind, flickering at a hundred frames per second like the colors of the Bifrost above merging into one nauseating ride. The roar of the waterfall rushed by his ears and choked his lungs. Every movement hurt, and his arms shook from the effort of holding himself in place.

He couldn't do this. It's too much. Too much, too much, stopstopstopstopstop...

A voice yelled something, and he swore it could've been his imagination playing tricks on him from the visions in his head.

Then it came again. And again. And this time he heard it—a name. No, his name.

"Fenris!"

Dragging his head up against the constant pounding of water, he saw a boy around his age with green hair and dark armour floating under the water. He had anchored himself to a rock with his feet and had his hand extended towards him, motioning for Fenris to grab on.

The boy swam back to the surface to refill his lungs and shouted, "Fenris! Focus!" He dived down and reached out towards him again.

Fenris shook a lock of soaked hair out of his eyes and started to climb faster, his energy renewed at the prospect of rescue. He took a deep breath, reached up, and closed his fingers around the other young man's wrist. The boy dragged him up and over the edge, heaving with effort.

Gasping for air, he sucked in a mouthful of water and choked. The other boy's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. Fenris clung onto him and dropped his head against his shoulder as the boy swam them away from the edge. They stopped at a pillar holding up the rainbow bridge and grabbed onto it to take a break.

"What?! Ah! Wha—" Fenris stuttered. His lungs hurt, his face hurt, his head hurt. Too much. Too much.

He dug his knuckles into his eyes to clear his vision and shook his head. Maybe it'll all go away. Maybe it's all a dream. Maybe he'll wake to find himself all alone in the dark, surrounded by hundreds of warrior corpses...

He felt a hand on his jaw and opened his eyes to see the other young man's golden ones staring at him.

"Hey, calm down. You're fine." His black cape billowed out behind him, floating along the surface of the water.

Something smoky filled his nose, and Fenris gazed past him to find a blazing fire engulfing the city. His jaw would've dropped open if not for the hand on it, and he gasped and thrashed.

The other boy wrestled him, trying to stop him from slipping off the pillar and sinking below the water.

"Would you stop it? I'm trying to help!" the green-haired boy shouted.

"It's Surtur!" Fenris yelled and pointed a shaky finger at the fire demon dragging a gigantic sword through the city. Dark spikes jutted out amongst the flames and flew up into the air as someone attacked Surtur from the ground.

The other boy turned around to follow his finger, his eyes widening.

"We're gonna die! We're gonna die! I don't wanna die!" Fenris pleaded. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he sobbed, clinging to the other's armour.

A slap across the face jarred him from his panic. Fenris recoiled more from surprise than pain and held his cheek as he stared wide-eyed at the green-haired boy.

"I need you to focus," the boy said, this time more gently although his eyes flashed in annoyance.

"I don't know you," Fenris muttered. One moment, he slept under the palace, and then he woke up to find a woman summoning an army of the undead. Then the whole situation with the Asgardians and the green beast and the waterfall and almost drowning and—

The boy gripped Fenris's shoulders and stared him right in the eyes. Up close, Fenris noticed a vertical scar across the bright golden-yellow left eye. His whole body shook but the boy's grip never wavered.

"My name is Jormungandr," the boy said, his voice calm amidst the horrors happening in the city. "I'm your brother."

-oOo-

Sleipnir crashed into the middle platform of the Bifrost and landed hard on his knees. The force of it jostled his wound, and he let out a cry as he clutched his side.

Close behind him, Jormungandr shot out of the swirling colors and slid across the decorated floor on his rear in the same position he had been sitting in the pilot's seat a moment earlier.

"Ow," Jormungandr complained. He rubbed his sore bottom and rolled to his feet to stare out of the Bifrost. "Is this Asgard?"

Never had he been so grateful to see the piles of junk scattered around the edges of the golden dome. It's good to be home.

"Yes," Sleipnir said and rested his forehead on the cool surface of the platform's steps to catch his breath.

"Is Asgard usually on fire?" Jormungandr asked.

"What?!" Sleipnir exclaimed. His head shot up and he peered past the steps and the rainbow bridge toward the city.

Sure enough, a large fire demon stood right in the middle of the wrecked palace. Fire raged around him and smoke billowed up into the air in a thick cloud. Jagged spikes jutted out of the ground in twisted edges. More sailed through the air, striking the fire demon. One landed, and the demon stumbled into a building. In the distance, a ship sailed away from the wreckage.

"Wha—" Sleipnir shouted, fumbling around to grab onto Jormungandr's arm. His knees gave out and he collapsed in Jormungandr's arms.

"What'd you do?" Jormungandr asked, shifting his stance to support Sleipnir's weight.

"It-it's...no...my home..." Sleipnir murmured. Tears pooled in his eyes and painted tracks down his pale cheeks. He gripped Jormungandr's arm tighter and looked up at him. "Jormy, our brother and sister are in there!"

"Where? If they're smart enough, they wouldn't be in the middle of the fire," Jormungandr countered.

"Don't you see?" Sleipnir asked and pointed to where the spikes seemingly flew out of thin air and attacked the fire demon. "Someone has to be making those."

Squinting, Jormungandr stepped out of the Bifrost and closer to the mess of a city. In the distance, a shadow of a figure stood atop a shard rising out of the water.

"Are you sure?" Jormungandr asked. "It could be anyone."

"I can feel them here!" Sleipnir cried. "They have to be here!"

Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the air. In unison, they whipped their heads toward the sound. Jormungandr ran out of the Bifrost first and stepped onto the bridge.

"There's someone down there," he said and motioned toward the waterfall.

A bright orange cape fluttered in the water, dangerously close to slipping off the edge and into space.

Sleipnir looked over at Jormungandr expectantly, earning a sigh from the younger.

"What's his name?" Jormungandr asked.

"Fenris," Sleipnir answered. "Our sister is Hela."

Jormungandr took a deep breath and shook himself out. "I got him. You go get her."

Without a second thought, Jormungandr jumped off the side of the bridge and executed a perfect dive into the water. Sleipnir waited until he saw Jormungandr pop back up and swim over to the edge before he took off sprinting—hobbling, more like—down the bridge.

Too caught up staring at the towering demon, Sleipnir barely noticed the giant gap in the bridge. He skidded to a halt, slipped, and landed on his backside inches away from the edge. Still sitting down, he stared at the chasm and contemplated whether or not he could jump across it.

A frustrated yell coming from his right stopped any further thoughts.

Amid the wickedly sharp spikes, a woman clad in black and green chucked more and more shards at an increasing pace. Her helmet hid her hair and most of her face and she stood far off, but Sleipnir recognized her instantly.

"Hela!" Sleipnir shouted, hoping to get her attention.

Hela, too focused on attacking the fire demon, didn't hear. Surtur sliced his sword through any building he could reach, laughing despite the barbs protruding from his torso.

While trying to get her attention, Jormungandr caught up with Sleipnir. A sopping wet boy with curly dark hair had his arms wrapped around Jormungandr's waist, breathing heavily, shaking, and looking around wide-eyed.

"I got him, now what?" Jormungandr asked. His hair dripped water down his face and a puddle started forming where the two stood.

"We need to get close to her," Sleipnir said and nodded in Hela's direction.

"Why? She's crazy!" Jormungandr exclaimed once he located her.

"No crazier than you," Sleipnir said.

Jormungandr looked offended and opened his mouth to speak. Sleipnir took a deep breath and laid a hand on Jormungandr's shoulder.

"Who is he?" the curly-haired boy, Fenris, asked Jormungandr, staring unblinkingly at Sleipnir.

"I'll explain later," Jormungandr said to Fenris. "All that matters is—what are you doing?"

"Sending us over there," Sleipnir said simply. The blue light sparked to life once more and Sleipnir tugged on his magic, locking his target destination in place.

"W—"

Jormungandr's shout cut off when a portal swallowed the trio. The other end of the portal opened up right where Sleipnir had placed it, and the trio landed on the slippery surface of a spike.

A few feet away, Hela gritted her teeth and let another blade fly from her hands, having yet to notice their sudden appearance.

"Hela!" Sleipnir called and stepped forward.

"What are you doing?!" Jormungandr hissed. "She might kill you!"

"I'm used to it!" Sleipnir hissed back and stepped closer to her while calling, "Hela!"

This time, Hela's concentration broke and she turned. A shocked expression crossed her face, melting away the murderous look she had on mere seconds ago. She seemed to de-age right in front of them, reverting to a younger age instead of the mature woman.

"What's happening? Who are you? Where am I?" she muttered, blinking rapidly.

"Grab my hand!" Sleipnir called and reached out to her. Jormungandr grabbed hold of Sleipnir's other hand and pulled Fenris closer protectively.

Hela gasped and glanced back toward the fire demon. Surtur spun his sword over his head and clutched it with both hands, right before sending it straight down toward the group.

Hela let one last attack go, stared straight at the sword, and quickly grabbed Sleipnir's hand.

Sleipnir quickly squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. He had never opened a portal this fast before and the blinding pain from doing so almost knocked him out.

Blue light burst out, enveloping them in swirling energy. Something tugged on Sleipnir, urging him to follow, and he let it take control.

Seconds before Surtur's sword sank into the ground, the siblings vanished.

-oOo-

A sonic boom pulsed through the walls of the throne room and a portal opened up to let the quartet tumble through, all landing rather ungracefully. Luckily, only one person saw their clumsy entrance.

A man with a dark beard and light blonde hair looked up from where he sulked at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne. He clutched the stairs for support as the ground shook and stared in shock at the newcomers.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the man demanded. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, he stood out of place in the middle of the ornate throne room.

Sleipnir, despite the pain flaring in his side and his heart fluttering at a hundred miles an hour, got up first. He brushed himself off and glanced down at his younger siblings. Hela sat with her arms curled around her knees, crying and muttering something to herself as she slowly rocked back and forth. Fenris had never let go of Jormungandr, his eyes still wide open, probably frozen that way. Jormungandr had a grimace on his face and looked slightly sick.

Figuring his siblings were fine, Sleipnir looked around the throne room, his mouth dropping open at the splendor of it.

Tall pillars of beautifully carved marble stood proudly at the edges of the hall. The ceiling matched the pillars, both cream-colored with silver flakes embedded in the stone, standing out against the dark floor.

Balls of fire set in silver bowls connected to the pillars lit up the area in a soft glow. The walls matched the pillars and had tall windows overlooking the garden. Green silk curtains pulled back from the large, almost floor-to-ceiling windows, letting in the natural light from the outside. Vines twisted around the pillars and flowers hung daintily from the ceiling.

Marble steps led up to the throne, dark silver shaped into a high-backed chair with armrests and dark green leather padding looking surprisingly comfortable. Simple and proud, it seemed to invite people over but still cast an air of authority.

From where he stood, he couldn't see the other end of the throne room.

"Where are we?" Sleipnir asked the man who had already gotten to his feet. The man stood aggressively and stared warily at the group, his light blue eyes blazing with suspicion.

"Valhalla, why?" the man questioned, his voice thick with an accent Sleipnir couldn't place.

"And where is that at?" Sleipnir asked.

"Part of the Afterlife," the man said. He blinked and raised an eyebrow. "And usually people don't randomly show up here unless you're dead."

"We're dead?!" Fenris shouted. Jormungandr had just helped him to his feet but collapsed. Jormungandr caught him under the arms before he could fall.

"I don't think so," the man said. He tried and failed to sound reassuring because Sleipnir could hear the doubt in his voice. "How else could you get here? Valhalla is in the Afterlife, the place everyone goes when they die."

Jormungandr glared over Fenris's shoulder at Sleipnir. "I thought we were safe. What happened? Did you mess up again?"

Sleipnir held up his hands and took a step back. "I thought I got us out of there in time! I've never done something that quick before. We were out of the way!"

"Well, blondy over here," he jabbed a finger at the man, "says the only way to get here is if you die! How else would we wind up here?!" Jormungandr stood up, leaving Fenris to sit alone on the floor. "Face it, we're dead!"

"We're not dead," Hela spoke up from the floor. Tears ran down her pale cheeks, painting tracks of black mascara. She stared at the floor, her voice shaking in time to her rocking. "We're here because of me. All of this my fault!"

Hela collapsed into a fit of sobs and everyone except Fenris stared at her. The bearded man moved to come closer, but Jormungandr squared his shoulders and snarled at him, stopping him in his tracks.

"What does that mean? We're here because of her?" Jormungandr asked. His eyes never left the blonde man, and Sleipnir swore he saw the stranger whiten from Jormungandr's silent threats.

To his credit, the blonde man's voice sounded sturdy when he answered for Hela. "She's the princess of the Afterlife. I guess her presence affected whatever you tried to do."

"She's the princess?" Sleipnir asked.

"How do you know this?" Jormungandr questioned, not as calm as Sleipnir.

"I'm her boyfriend and the prince of this realm," the man answered. His blue eyes fell onto Hela's sobbing form and furrowed in sympathy.

"She has a boyfriend?!" Jormungandr shouted, a vein pulsing along his neck. Sleipnir even saw his left eye twitch, a tell-tale sign Jormungandr would lose his temper if Sleipnir didn't de-escalate the situation soon.

The blonde man seemed intent on arguing and making everything worse.

"And what is wrong with that?" the man snapped, his blue eyes flashing. "I don't know who you are. As far as I know, you could have kidnapped her! A few days ago, she disappeared into a portal, only to return in a similar one. How do I know you didn't do something bad to her? I mean, she's crying!"

"We're her brothers, you jackass!" Jormungandr shouted, taking a large step to close the gap between him and the stranger. He rose to his full height and snarled, "Don't you ever assume we would hurt her. She's our little sister!"

Fenris's whimper caught Sleipnir's attention, and he felt the youngest boy brush his back to clutch at his cape. Sleipnir turned to see terrified brown eyes staring up at him, his bottom lip quivering.

"She doesn't have any brothers!" the man snapped back, squaring up against Jormungandr and switching the attention back to himself.

Jormungandr let out a fake laugh. "Oh, puh-lease! Why would we lie?"

"Because maybe you did kidnap her. We were just sitting there, playing a game, when she got a headache and disappeared into a portal very similar to the one you just came through!"

"I'm not the one who's in charge of that. Maybe you're the one who messed with her. I've never seen her until now!" Jormungandr boomed, his voice bouncing off the ceiling and echoing down the hall.

"Prove it!"

"I don't need to prove anything to you!" Jormungandr hissed.

The argument devolved into chaos, increasing in volume as the two opposing sides resorted to insults and accusing each other of being a whole slew of words Sleipnir did not care to repeat. With each passing minute, Fenris pressed further and further into Sleipnir's side, clutching Sleipnir's cape in place of a safety blanket.

Sleipnir tried to reason with them, but the other two drowned out his words and he couldn't do more than stand to the side in a stupor. Then Jormungandr's shoulder twitched, signaling an incoming punch, and Sleipnir stepped forward to stop the fight from turning physical.

He didn't have to because Hela stood up, clenched her fists by her side, and shouted: "Enough!"

Her single shout silenced the room to the point where even the fire stopped flickering and glowed stone-still. Sleipnir's arm, out-stretched to intercept Jormungandr's raised fist, froze. Together, he and his brother lowered their arms and stared at Hela in shock.

"Why are we arguing?" Hela muttered, her voice raw from crying. Still shaking slightly, tears slipped through her mascara and rolled off the bottom of her chin. Her long, dark hair, now free from her helmet, fell around her shoulders in a tangled mess.

"Pietro, please," Hela said, addressing the blonde man. "I don't blame them for anything. You have a sister, Pietro, you should know. I always felt something missing in my life, like a puzzle piece I couldn't find to complete the picture. When I had the headaches, I would see images—flashes of memories of a life I never had. And for some strange reason, I also saw these three," she gestured at Sleipnir and his brothers, "I have never been to Asgard until now."

A lot quieter now despite his stance betraying his alertness in case Jormungandr lashed out, the blonde—Pietro—frowned. "Hela, how do you know, absolutely know, they're your brothers? If you've never been to Asgard, how can you tell you're related to them?"

The same way Sleipnir just knew, even though he never met Hela or the others later in life. Images of a wailing baby wrapped in a warm blanket flickered into his head, and he winced at the memory.

"She was just a baby," Sleipnir said. "She wouldn't remember but we were separated shortly after she was born. Separated for reasons I have yet to understand."

He cleared his throat and met Pietro's gaze head-on.

"You may not trust us but please know we are not here to hurt anyone. We are all confused and a little scared of this new situation," he continued. "If anything, maybe knowing our names will help. I'm Sleipnir and I'm the oldest. Jormungandr is the second oldest and although he may seem...difficult, he means well."."

Jormungandr rolled his eyes at Sleipnir's introduction and earned a glare from Pietro.

Sleipnir reached around to guide Fenris to stand in front of him his cape still fisted in the younger's hands. He placed a gentle hand on Fenris's shoulders and gave them a small squeeze. "This is Fenris, he's next. Hela, as you surely know already, is the youngest. We mean no harm. All we want is to find the truth of why we were separated."

"Abandoned," Jormungandr corrected. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and narrowed his eyes, daring Pietro to do something stupid.

Pietro nodded and relaxed ever so slightly, still wisely keeping an eye on Jormungandr. Backing away with his hands raised to show he meant no harm, he joined Hela's side. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her, his chin resting on top of her head.

"I think I know what might've happened," Pietro said. "There's an old man who showed up here shortly before Hela disappeared. He's waiting for a trial because his fate is not decided yet. I talked to him. He mentioned the same things you did but he thinks he never did anything wrong. I'm not completely sure but I think he's your grandfather."

Jormungandr met Sleipnir's eyes, the vein pulsing in his neck again. Jormungandr's jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists.

Sleipnir's lips thinned. He knew they would eventually come to this, one way or the other. All the emotions of having his life messed up because of one man simmered down. He originally thought he would lash out in anger like Jormungandr, cry in frustration, or curl into a ball in grief. Right now, however, he felt nothing. Nothing other than the numbness of exhaustion washing over him.

"He's dead?" Jormungandr asked, cutting through the melancholy thoughts plaguing Sleipnir's mind. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

"Because you were yelling at me!" Pietro complained. His mouth slammed shut when Jormungandr glared at him, and he sputtered out a suitable correction. "I'm not sure but maybe his death caused your blocked memories to come back. Vincent said you were cursed," Pietro said to Hela. "I don't know how curses work but maybe Odin's death caused some side effects. I mean, a flood of Asgardian souls came in just recently. The reapers are having a hard time trying to sort them out."

"It's not him," Hela whispered. She raised her head and met the group with sad eyes. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and she pushed away from Pietro to hug herself. "It was me. I killed all of them! I wanted the throne of Asgard and they stood in my way so I wiped them out. Innocent lives, children! How could I?!"

She descended into sobs, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Pietro reached out to Hela and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Hela, babe, it's not your fault. You didn't know what you were doing."

Hela's arms dropped to spread wide in indigence. "I knew exactly what I was doing! Most of Asgard is gone because of me! And if Asgard hadn't been destroyed, none of them would've escaped. Asgard is in pieces and it's all my fault! Their home is ruined! Asgard is ruined!

"I'm a princess and queen of the Nordic realms, and now I have to deal with their souls. What would they think of a queen who kills her own citizens? I slaughtered them! My people, I murdered my people!"

Hela's knees gave out from under her and she collapsed. Sleipnir wanted to reach out to her, to comfort his little sister; however, he knew no amount of words would ever fix it. Pietro beat him to her side and knelt to hug her but she pushed him away.

"No!" Hela cried. "I don't want to hurt you, too!"

Pietro, who looked heartbroken, gently grabbed Hela's wrist and pulled her to her feet. She tried to break free; Pietro hung on despite her strength and walked her away from the group. Halfway across the throne room, he looked over his shoulder at the stunned brothers and gave them a sad smile.

"I'm taking her somewhere else to calm down," Pietro explained. "Feel free to make yourselves at home. The guards can show you to your rooms."

Pietro led Hela, still sobbing, through the large double doors of the throne room, leaving the trio to stand in silence. The doors banged shut and shook the room in a slight tremor reminiscent of someone hammering in the final nail of a coffin.

A few minutes passed before Jormungandr spoke up, "Well, I'm going to find our grandfather and beat his ass."

He spun on his heel and strode down the hall. He got a third of the way before Sleipnir came to his senses and called after him.

"You're not talking to him alone," Sleipnir said, stopping Jormungandr in his tracks.

"I never said anything about talking," Jormungandr hissed over his shoulder. "Maybe I'll learn necromancy so I can kill him myself."

Sleipnir shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're not going right now."

Jormungandr scoffed and turned around, spreading his arms wide. "Why not? He deserves it."

"Because you might do something irrational and we are all too tired to think right now. Rest up, eat something, and we'll talk to him tomorrow, together."

Jormungandr rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine!" He started down the hall again.

"Don't do something stupid."

"Oh, is going for a walk against the rules now? Who put you in charge?" Jormungandr shouted. "I'm going for a walk because if I don't, I'm gonna break things, starting with your face."

Sleipnir watched Jormungandr leave through the same double-wide doors and slam shut behind him, the angry noise warning Sleipnir to stay away. He understood why Jormungandr wanted to confront their grandfather. He wanted to talk to him, too, to find answers to the questions burning in the back of his mind ever since he gained awareness in the royal stables. However, seeing Hela distraught and Fenris frozen in fear made Sleipnir realize they needed a break.

They had just come from a realm on the brink of utter destruction. And that occurred after he and Jormungandr barely made it through the portal from a gladiatorial planet where they almost died on numerous occasions. Ever since the repressed memories were released, they had been going nonstop from one frenzied situation to the next.

Honestly, Sleipnir felt like passing out. His side throbbed and he knew he couldn't listen to their grandfather's side of the truth when his entire body yelled at him to rest.

Almost on cue, two guards marched into the throne room, their armour strikingly similar to the ones on Asgard except for a green and silver color scheme instead of black and gold. The pair stopped at the remaining brothers and pounded the end of their spears into the stone floor.

"The Queen welcomes you to Valhalla, noble princes," one guard said. He and the other clasped a fist to their chest and gave a small bow.

"Princes?" Sleipnir asked. He looked down at Fenris, who had returned to press himself back into Sleipnir's side.

"Yes, you are the Queen's brothers, are you not?" the guard asked. "Word travels quickly here in the Afterlife. She sends her apologies for her lapse in hospitality as she is otherwise occupied. Come, we will show you to your rooms."

Sleipnir gladly obliged and followed closely behind through the winding halls. Fenris held onto Sleipnir's hand and kept close to his side the entire time, his grip shaking ever so slightly.

Green and silver banners draped from the walls fluttered when they walked past. More vines and flowers twisted around the pillars and adorned the windows. Tall potted plants stood sentry against the numerous doors. It felt like a garden had taken over his home, even though Sleipnir barely remembered being inside Asgard's palace.

Finally, the guards stopped in a wing off the main hallway. The guards let the two brothers choose their rooms and left them alone after giving them the Asgardian salute.

Sleipnir chose a room to the right and led Fenris through the door. Immediately, Fenris rushed by and hopped onto the plush four-poster canopy bed. Large enough to fit two people comfortably with room to spare, the autumn-brown sheets and comforter offered a nice addition to the soft pillows. The thick canopy, tied against the dark wooden posts, had a nice light tangerine color. A large bay, arch-top with a soft window seat looked out over the palace's entrance. The same color of floor length, orange, translucent drapes fluttered in the light breeze from the slightly ajar window.

On the left side of the door, across from the bed, sat a fancy dark-wood desk and matching chair. Left to the bed, one door led into a large, walk-in closet while the door on the right led to the bathroom. A braided square, brown rug sat in the front of the bed. Empty bookshelves and picture frames decorated the rest of the walls. A chandelier in the shape of a longboat cast the room in a soft glow.

"I suppose you would like this room a lot better than me," Sleipnir said, noting Fenris's orange cape.

Fenris didn't say anything. Instead, he tugged off his boots and tossed them carelessly aside before curling his knees into his chest and rocking back and forth on the bed.

"Are you hungry?" Sleipnir asked, standing near the door. Not sure what to do, he picked at his left hand.

Fenris nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

Sleipnir turned around to leave to grab food when Fenris spoke up, "Don't leave me!" His terrified eyes had yet to blink. "Please."

Sleipnir, his hand on the door handle, sighed and grabbed the chair from the desk. He spun it around, sat on it, and crossed a leg over a knee.

"How am I supposed to get food if I cannot leave?" Sleipnir asked, staring expectantly at his youngest brother.

Fenris didn't answer.

Sleipnir sighed. "Alright, why don't you go take a bath and I will find some food. You will feel better after a bath and a meal, I promise."

Fenris reluctantly agreed. He slipped off the bed and padded over to the bathroom. When the door clicked shut and the lock turned, Sleipnir pushed his chair back to its place and went in search of food.

He found a few maids in the hall and asked them where to find the kitchen. They led him there and Sleipnir grabbed a tray full of delicious-smelling food to share.

Once he returned to the bedroom, Fenris already sat on the bed, dressed in a loose pair of brown pants and a gray silk shirt. He had once again assumed the position of hugging his knees to his chest, his bare feet tucked under the comforter. The position made him look small and afraid. At least he had stopped the rocking.

For a giant, god-eating wolf, small would not fit Fenris's description. The younger boy had twice the muscle mass as Sleipnir in a broad-shoulder athletic frame. His skin had a nice, sun-kissed tan, bringing out his sharp, square jawline. Water droplets clung to his damp, curly hair, framing his face in dark locks. His wide, chocolate eyes shone with sadness, making him look like a lost puppy.

"How are you feeling?" Sleipnir asked. He set the tray down on the desk. He grabbed a cup of water and a bowl of steaming beef stew to give to Fenris.

"Better," Fenris said. His eyes lit up at the prospect of food, and Sleipnir made a point not to notice his brother's stomach growl in anticipation. He moved to sit cross-legged and balanced the bowl on his lap, digging in immediately.

Sleipnir didn't pry any further. He could tell Fenris wasn't in the mood to talk. Eating would be a better use of their time so Sleipnir grabbed a bowl of fruit, yogurt, and a salad for himself.

The two brothers ate in silence, Sleipnir in slow, contemplative bites and Fenris in hurried, eager mouthfuls. By the time Sleipnir finished his apple, Fenris had already wolfed down his entire soup, bread, and almond tart.

He looked up at Sleipnir, the empty dishes on his lap and not a crumb on the bed, expectantly.

"More?" Fenris asked, the bowl aloft in his hands.

Sleipnir called the maids over and got Fenris three more servings until his brother finally felt satisfied.

Leaving their dishes on the tray, Sleipnir stared out of the window. The sun began to set, casting the room a pink glow. Odd, he didn't think the Afterlife would have day-night cycles, but he didn't mind the familiarity of watching a sunset. He would have to learn more about the Afterlife if they were to stay here for the time being.

On the bed, Fenris spread out on his back and stared at the top of the canopy. Stomach full and exhausted, Sleipnir slipped off his boots and set them on a small rug near the door. He grabbed Fenris's discarded boots and arranged them in a neat line next to his.

"I'm going to take a bath. Let me know if you need anything," Sleipnir announced.

Fenris nodded, looking a little less sad now after the meal.

The bathroom shared the same soft light flickering from torches set into the walls. A round bath in the middle of the bathroom sank a few inches lower than the floor. Water, clear and cool, flowed out of little marble fountains set around the edge of the stone bath. Tall potted bushes stood watch in the corners of the bathroom, filling the air with the fresh scent of nature.

Norns, he missed his pasture.

As much as he wanted to soak in the water and ruminate over the last few days, Sleipnir bathed quickly because he knew Fenris might want him back in the room soon. Nevertheless, it felt refreshing to slough the dirt and sweat from his skin and hair.

Drying off and combing his hair, he found a pair of loose black pants folded on a little shelf near the wash basin. A silk shirt similar to Fenris's sat next to the pants, surprisingly fitting him. Sleipnir draped his armour on a wooden bench and picked up Fenris's abandoned clothes to tidy up the bathroom.

Fenris already ducked under the covers but turned his head when Sleipnir walked in.

"Can you stay, please?" Fenris pleaded, clutching the blankets close to his chest.

Sleipnir sighed and sat down on the bed next to Fenris, resting against the headboard and bending his knees upward. "Alright," he said and gave Fenris a reassuring smile.

"We're safe, right?" Fenris asked suddenly.

Sleipnir blinked at the question, thinking maybe it was said in jest. One look at Fenris showed the younger's seriousness.

"Of course, why do you ask?" Sleipnir asked. Nothing could reach them in the Afterlife—at least not anything alive. If what the guards said were true, then they were considered royalty and would be treated as such, which meant guards posted at every entry point and heightened security around the entire palace grounds.

"Because he's scary," Fenris muttered, a small pout on his lips.

"Who's scary?"

"The green-haired guy, J-Jor…"

"Jormungandr?" Sleipnir asked and received a nod from Fenris. "Oh, don't mind him, he means well even if it mostly comes off wrong. He is still having difficulty adjusting to being around other people. Give it time, and he will warm up to you."

Hopefully. As far as he knew, Jormungandr might put Fenris through the same threats of violence and verbal—and physical—attacks he had done to Sleipnir before finally calling him brother.

It seemed to do the trick because Fenris gave a hint of a smile. He stood up to spin around on the bed, stomping his feet into the mattress to form a small indent. Then he plopped down, curled into a ball, and pulled the blankets up to the bottom of his chin. Soon enough, his breathing evened out and soft snores escaped his partly opened lips.

Sleipnir smiled fondly down at his brother, his long eyelashes dark against his skin.

Pulling back the blankets while being careful not to disturb Fenris, Sleipnir slipped under the covers and lay down. Fenris instinctively moved closer to Sleipnir, pressing into his side, his hair the only thing visible from this angle.

Sleipnir wrapped an arm around Fenris's shoulders and slowly joined his brother in the world of dreams.

Chapter Text

The garden matched the detailed splendor of the palace. Flowers of many colors, shapes, and sizes lined the winding stone pathway shaded by immense trees. A three-tiered fountain flowed into four separate pools in the center of the garden.

Vegetables of different varieties were planted in separate beds, surrounded by finely trimmed hedges. The back of the palace loomed over the garden, the stone path leading up to the double doors at the top of the steps. Two guards stood like statues on either side of the door. Several people mingled about in the garden, and on one side, a gardener trimmed a few low-hanging branches.

Jormungandr ignored them, lost in his thoughts as he trudged along the path.

For some reason, a vague memory of a similar garden came to mind.

Jormungandr sighed and allowed the memory to take hold:

The blanket felt soft against his scales and he curled up to watch a small wolf pup bounce through the flowers chasing an indigent raven.

Beside him, a young man sat reading a book, his jet-black hair ruffled slightly against the cushion he used as a pillow.

Father. His father. The same man who looked remarkedly similar to the one in the Grandmaster's palace.

Sleipnir lay next to the young man, his head resting on his shoulder as he seemingly read along with the boy. His way too many legs were tucked under his body in a position that couldn't possibly seem comfortable, at least to Jormungandr.

Another young man with blonde hair also lay on his back, tossing a silver ball up into the air and catching it as it came back down.

"Fenris, come here," the young man—Father—said to the wolf pup.

Fenris, whose face pressed against the ground in search of something, glanced up at the mention of his name.

Father continued. "Your grandmother will kill me if her flowers are ruined."

A smudge of dirt landed on Fenris's nose and he sneezed as he pranced over. Father laughed and reached out to wipe the dirt away.

The raven from earlier landed on a bench, and Fenris's head whipped around to stare directly at it. He yipped and darted after the startled bird. It took off into the air and shot for a branch where it screeched in annoyance at being chased.

Fenris didn't let the tree stop him. His paws scrambled along the bark and he got about halfway up the trunk when he slipped back down. Shaking his head, he sat on his haunches and stared at the bird, his pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

Both Father and the blonde man—Uncle—laughed. Uncle sat up to toss his ball in Fenris's attention, sending the pup off on another adventure.

Jormungandr couldn't remember anything else; he must have fallen asleep then, soaking up the sun.

Jormungandr chewed on his lip in thought. Hela hadn't been in the memory, so she mustn't have been born yet. Sleipnir probably knew more.

And his father...

Father. The word sounded strange in his head. The memory smudged his previous notion of a man too selfish and cold-hearted to care about his children, and yet...

And yet, the man in his memory lacked the cruelty of someone capable of abandoning his flesh and blood in the middle of a swamp. In the memory, Jormungandr felt safe, content, happy—nothing like the dreadful solitude of growing up alone and ostracized in the swamp.

If what Sleipnir and Hela's boyfriend said were true, then maybe Father never abandoned them in the first place. But, surely if Father knew about them and actually loved them, wouldn't he be scouring the realms in search of his children?

Anger flared up again, overcoming the sense of longing. His perfect life had been ruined. Why did he miss out on a normal life full of silly moments like watching his brother chase a bird in a garden? What did he do to deserve this—to be treated like a monster, discarded like the junk on Sakaar by his family, and forced to survive on his own?

It wasn't fair. Serpent or not, he was a prince, royalty, not a heap of garbage to be forgotten.

Too distracted, he bumped into another person and stormed away, not even gracing the stranger with a raised fist. Screw them, if they didn't care, then neither will he.

"Jormungandr?" a familiar voice called, stopping Jormungandr in his tracks.

Jormungandr turned around and almost collapsed. "Mia?!"

Indeed, Mia stood before him with a similar shocked expression. She seemed unhurt yet her eyes filled with tears as she raised her hands to her mouth in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Mia asked, her voice wavering slightly.

"What? Me?" Jormungandr squeaked. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm visiting Valhalla on my journey to see all realms of the Afterlife," Mia said. She tilted her head, frowning "You never made it off Sakaar, did you?"

Jormungandr's eyebrows furrowed. "What? Yes! No! I mean, yes, no—" He cleared his throat and started over. "We made it off Sakaar back to Asgard. Turns out, the place went up in flames, so Sleipnir dragged all four of us through a portal and we landed here."

"You made it to Asgard?" Mia asked. "And what do you mean by 'four?' How did you...you know...die?"

Jormungandr shook his head and kicked a pebble into the grass. "Oh, we're not dead. Our little sister did...something," he waved a hand in the air, "to Sleipnir's portal, sending us here. I don't really understand it, so it's hard to describe..."

"Wait," Mia said. She held up her hands to slow the conversation. "You are not dead?"

"Yeah. Why? Are you?"

Mia's gaze slipped to the side and she bit the bottom of her lip. The tip of her shoe dragged along the path as she slowly swung her upper body, one hand clasped on her upper arm.

Then it clicked, and Jormungandr's eyes widened.

"Oh sh—"

"It's fine," Mia said. She ducked her head and shrugged. "The guards caught me. Guess the Grandmaster didn't like me betraying him, so...I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

The thread holding onto the last bit of his sanity snapped, and he whirled around to punch the nearest tree. Bits of bark splintered off and cracked from the force, almost toppling the entire thing from one blow.

"Jormungandr, please..." Mia said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He brushed her off and met her sad eyes. "I should've stayed or stopped you—"

Mia shook her head. "Don't blame yourself. I made my decision. Your brother needed you more than I did."

"No, Mia, I dragged you into this mess—my mess!" He tugged at his hair. "I threatened you and when you offered your help, I got you killed in return. How is none of it my fault?"

Mia picked at her sleeve, not meeting Jormungandr's eyes. "I hated it on Sakaar, and I knew I could never escape. Here, I finally met Hayden again." She looked up, a smile tugging on her lips. "It's peaceful here, the people are lovely, and the queen and princess do their best to consider everyone. I made my decision, and if given the choice, I would do the same thing over again."

Jormungandr faltered, his brain working overtime to comprehend her words. Digging his nails into his palms, he brought himself back to reality.

"You didn't deserve this, Mia," he said, focusing on the sharp pain in his palms instead of the aching in his heart. "You did nothing wrong, I did."

"It was my time to go, Jormungandr, and dare I say it was worth it?"

"The Grandmaster shouldn't—" He straightened, his body tensing. "I'm gonna give him a taste of his own medicine."

Jormungandr turned around, planning on going back to Sakaar to rip the Grandmaster's heart from his chest to give the bastard a taste of what pulsed through Jormungandr's body down to the tips of his toes.

Mia's hand flung out and caught him by the wrist, anchoring him in place and breaking into the barely contained blinding rage shaking Jormungandr to his core.

"Don't," she said, her brown eyes blazing with newfound energy. "He's not worth it."

Jormungandr opened his mouth to protest but she continued, "I'm with my brother; I'm right where I want to be. Killing the Grandmaster wouldn't change any of it. If you can't stop because of yourself, stop because of me. Stay, please."

The anger welling up inside Jormungandr faded at the sight of Mia's deep eyes pleading with him to listen. Heaving out a sigh, his shoulders dropped and he let the tension melt away.

Standing there, unafraid of his outbursts, Mia smiled. Her light pink dress sat off her shoulders, revealing the tiniest glimpse of her collarbone, and flowed down to her ankles. The ends falling loose from her dark brown updo wisped against her shoulders. Her almond complexion glowed in the sunlight streaming through the branches of the trees.

Not for the first time, a strange sensation tugged at his heart when he looked at her, and his knees went weak.

"I don't know how you do it," Jormungandr said. He lifted a hand to clutch briefly at his chest and then dropped it just as hastily when Mia gave a shy smile.

"I guess it's a talent," Mia said, stepping to close the gap to mere inches. Her hand slid down his wrist to intertwine their fingers. "I don't know why you let me help you when you so stubbornly insist on pushing everyone away."

"It's...you..." Jormungandr's throat went dry and he swallowed when Mia's breath brushed against his cheek. "You can see right through me."

Jormungandr's eyes tracked down to their joined hands. His pale skin stood out in stark contrast to Mia's golden brown. The top of her head also barely reached the bottom of his chin.

His stomach flipped and his vision whited out for reasons he didn't fully understand. Maybe because Mia, for some reason, actually trusted him.

Or maybe because of the way Mia stood there, more intoxicating than any alcohol with the breeze blowing the hair off her bare shoulders.

"The better question is, why did you decide to help me," Jormungandr muttered, feeling anything above a whisper would disturb the moment.

"You're not all bad," Mia said simply.

"I suppose not."

Neither of them realized how they leaned into each other until their lips locked. Jormungandr closed his eyes and brought up his free hand to cup Mia's chin toward his bowed head. Mia stood on the tips of her toes and rested her other hand on Jormungandr's shoulder to keep her balance.

Jormungandr pulled back and tilted his head to the side to kiss Mia better. Mia did the same, her closed eyelashes fluttering. In this new angle, Jormungandr's hand left her chin and slid down to wrap around her waist. He gently drew her closer and arched her back to meet her in the middle.

Mia brought their clasped hands up near their faces and let Jormungandr hold her. Her other hand found the back of his neck and she attempted to tangle her fingers in his short hair.

Lost in the sensation and taste of each other, the surroundings faded away. Time slowed down, locking the two of them in place to finally let everything flood out. All of his worries slipped away, leaving behind only the comforting warmth of their bodies pressed together.

Jormugandr would have preferred to stay like that longer, to soak in her warmth, to bask in her presence, to taste her lipstick.

However, it would not last, all thanks to an upset voice rudely interrupting. "Mia? What are you doing?"

The noise jolted the couple out of their little world and they quickly separated. Jormungandr turned to glare at the perpetrator only to find a man with a temple fade haircut and the start of a small goatee on his chin staring at them. He looked exactly like Mia with the same shade of skin and similar facial features. Hayden—Mia's older brother.

Hayden glanced between the two, clearly upset to find his younger sister making out in a public garden.

"Seriously, Mia? I leave for a few minutes and you're…" He gestured towards Jormungandr and glared, his sentence trailing off. "With a stranger, too?! Honestly, I thought you had more sense than this."

"Please, Hayden, he's not a stranger. We met on Sakaar," Mia said, giving Hayden a pointed look. She glanced down at their adjoined hands and let go, much to Jormungandr's disappointment.

"Wait," Hayden held up a hand, the other on his hip, "he's the snake boy?"

Jormungandr's eyes narrowed in annoyance at the nickname. "You got a problem with me?" He crossed his arms over his chest to prevent himself from doing something stupid to Mia's brother. She probably wouldn't like it if Jormungandr punched the frown off Hayden's face.

The sun had already begun its descent from the sky, casting the garden in ever-increasing shadows. Lights around the garden started to glow, sparkling like stars amongst the flowers and trees.

His stomach rumbled, and it might've been the haziness left over from the taste of Mia's lips, but he suddenly felt tired. Maybe Sleipnir had a point about resting. If anything, he hadn't eaten anything for nearly a whole day and a nice, big meal sounded pretty good right about now.

"It's not every day you find your sister making out with someone you've never seen before," Hayden said, ignoring Jormungandr's hostile tone.

"I know, right?" Jormungandr replied, oddly finding some connection to the man.

Discovering he had a sister came with more than a few surprises—her having a boyfriend being one of them. Already, despite knowing her for less than a day, he could feel the beginnings of a protective urge welling up whenever he thought about her. Queen, princess, or otherwise, Hela was his little sister, and dammit if he didn't want to shield her from whatever life threw at her.

Although Jormungandr usually didn't discriminate, he still felt Hela could do better than a human boyfriend. At least it came with the lessened chance of Pietro doing something physically harmful to her. So, Jormungandr couldn't blame Hayden for being upset at him when he, himself, wouldn't trust Pietro around his sister instantaneously, even if the two knew each other long before Jormungandr came into the picture.

When Hayden didn't respond, Jormungandr uncrossed his arms and quickly changed the subject. Hayden's unwavering stare started to get on his nerves, especially combined with his stomach's increasing efforts to protest the lack of food.

Mia's shoulder softly touched his didn't help either. With her standing so close to him, it made it hard to focus and all he wanted was to kiss her again even if Hayden watched.

"Nice meeting you," Jormungandr said, extending a hand for Hayden.

Hayden didn't shake it.

Figures.

"It's getting late. We should go," Hayden said to Mia, though his eyes never left Jormungandr's. He reached out to grab Mia by the wrist and pull her away from the Asgardian.

Jormungandr watched her leave and gave her a wink when she flashed him one last smile and a quick wave. Maybe he could see her again, considering Hela basically ran the place and could send him wherever he wanted.

Feeling lighter now and a little dizzy from the whiff of Mia's perfume clinging to his clothes, Jormungandr strode into the palace. The guards showed him to his quarters—which, apparently news travels fast and he's royalty here—where he immediately collapsed on the soft bed while he waited for the maids to bring a meal.

Once full and satisfied, exhaustion from the day's events finally caught up to him and he closed his eyes. He told himself to rest for a bit before taking a bath, but the night took over and he fell into a peaceful sleep with dreams of Mia in his mind.

-oOo-

Sleep evaded Hela like a mouse running from a cat. No matter what she tried—taking a bath, different sleeping positions, getting up at one point to do a quick workout—nothing worked because every time she closed her eyes nightmares and flashbacks plagued her mind:

When the headaches finally culminated into one, final push, she found herself in an open field with two strange yet familiar men and memories that weren't hers.

She vaguely remembered the nauseating trip through the Bifrost and killing two men who opposed her once she stepped onto Asgard. She wanted the throne for reasons unknown to her—her birthright for a land she never stepped foot in before.

She wanted revenge, for what, she didn't know. Revenge on some old man who claimed to be her father. Instead, she looked more like the strange yet familiar dark-haired man in the field who summoned the Bifrost.

She had sent them far away, knocking them out of the Bifrost, because she knew if she let them stay, they would either stop her or churn up foggy memories. She didn't want to deal with them since their presence only made her more confused and the headaches worse.

Asgard's army stood in her way of claiming her throne. They were nothing more than a pesky roadblock and she didn't need their assistance to conquer the Nine Realms, so she wiped them out. Asgard gave her strength, allowing her to leave the battle unharmed and rejuvenated. She basked in the glory of being the one to end the miserable lives of those who opposed her. They were weak, useless, mere pebbles in her powerful river. She killed them and enjoyed every minute of it while something deep inside screamed at her to stop.

Her heart almost broke when she found Fenris lying comatose far underneath the palace, surrounded by armor-clad corpses of past Asgardian soldiers from when Asgard used to bury the noble instead of sending them off in a burning boat.

With help from the Eternal Flame, she woke up the soldiers and Fenris. Fenris towered over her, uncharacteristically calm for someone whose mind must be questioning his entire existence like her. His eyes blazed green, original brown eyes now only blazing in anger.

The rest of her time on Asgard passed in a blur, only coming into focus when Sleipnir showed up and broke her from the side effects of the curse.

Everything she had done caught up to her and Hela broke down crying. She had murdered her people in cold blood and for what, revenge and a throne she never wanted? She already had a throne here in the Afterlife. She ruled over the Nordic realms as queen and under her mother, she was a princess of the Afterlife. The people respected her—loved her—and she threw it all away.

It all felt wrong and yet, on Asgard, it seemed right. It seemed honorable to wipe out the entire Asgardian army, leaving the citizens defenseless when she unleashed her army of the undead. The thrill of ordering a woman's execution had tingled down her spine. She had relished in the fear-stricken faces, and only when Surtur burst from the palace and sent Asgard up in flames did she stop to consider everything she had done.

Finally giving up on sleep, Hela tossed the covers aside and swung her feet over the edge of her bed. She rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin with both hands as she stared at the floor.

Most of the soldiers slaughtered were young and had long lives ahead of them. They could have been married or looking after an elder. They probably had hopes of settling down after fighting many more noble battles. None of it would ever come to fruition now, because when she stepped onto Asgard, she had sealed their fates.

She didn't blame the two brothers in the field for trying to stop her on the rainbow bridge. She had hoped maybe they would show up again—and they did, this time with an angry green beast and a rare Valkyrie.

The Valkyries, she thought, were wiped out ages ago, long before she became queen of Valhalla and the other Nordic realms. And yet, she thought she massacred them all. It didn't make sense. Whoever killed the Valkyries must have been powerful and old but it couldn't have been her. She had been here in the Afterlife, working beside her mother the entire time, although surely she would have remembered a whole legion of warriors entering Valhalla if she had been queen.

Memories of riding into battle came rushing forward but she had never been in combat before. She had trained with a few Einherjar and with her mother, not on a giant wolf who is actually her brother. Nothing made sense and trying to think made her head hurt.

She couldn't stay in Valhalla like this. She couldn't rule as queen when she knew she had been the cause of death for a considerable amount of souls. The people would hate her and want her gone. A queen should be gentle and kind, not harsh and murderous.

As if sensing her innermost thoughts, a knock on the door startled her from her silent ruminating. Hela didn't have time to stand up to answer it when the door flung open and a black-clad figure strode in.

Lady Death, her robes sweeping the floor and her green crown tucked into her dark hair, rushed into the room. No doubt, she had felt the sudden uptick of souls entering the Afterlife from a realm supposedly full of healthy, durable beings. And the much-anticipated return of her daughter.

"Mama..." Hela cried.

Death spread her arms and Hela stepped forward to fall into her embrace. Strong arms enveloped her, and she buried her head into her mother's chest.

"Shh, my little marigold. I'm here," Death whispered. Her fingers combed through Hela's hair. "We have been looking everywhere for you."

Death guided her to sit on the bed and pulled her tight. Death began to hum, her fingers gently petting Hela's hair in time to her soothing rocking.

Emotions overflowing, Hela clung to Death's silk robes and sobbed, safe in her mother's arms.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next day bordered on awkward.

A few guards posted along the edges of the dining hall saluted them in greeting, otherwise stayed silent. Hela hadn't shown up yet, probably off doing whatever she does, but Pietro had returned to join the brothers.

The large dining table, decorated with shiny silverware and metal plates, already had their places set. A bowl of fruit boasted grapes, apples, cherries, and pears. Breakfast consisted of honey bread, sausage, and porridge topped with blueberries, strawberries, and a few walnuts.

Fenris, once he and Sleipnir entered the dining hall, beelined straight for the table and sat down without waiting for anyone. He had already wolfed down sausage links by the time Jormungandr and Pietro arrived, each through separate doors and a pointed glare when they noticed each other.

Jormungandr positioned himself far enough away from Pietro while also keeping an eye on the man. Pietro, to his credit, didn't wither under the constant scrutiny. He just sipped something he called coffee and ate his porridge in silence.

Sleipnir thoughtfully ate while trying his hardest not to scold Fenris for forgetting his table manners. Considering how the impressive speed at which he ate, Fenris could easily choke on all the food he seemed to inhale. Guess the phrase "wolfing down food" came from somewhere.

To stop himself from telling Fenris to slow down, Sleipnir crunched into an apple. Unlike himself, Fenris hadn't had the experience of being around other people and the understanding of social expectations. He would let it slide—for now—at least until Fenris adjusted to being around others.

Only Pietro seemed disturbed by Fenris's frantic eating. Jormungandr, who still looked half-asleep, tore into his sausages, pointedly shunned the fruit, and slurped his porridge like a savage animal on the brink of starvation.

By the Norns, these two...

"Why are you so quiet?" Fenris asked between bites. He looked around the table, expecting an answer.

"Is our lack of conversation not to your liking?" Sleipnir asked, truly not intending for it to sound sarcastic. It's just...Norns, the chewing sounds.

Fenris took a sip of water and pouted. "Maybe. It's too quiet and it's bothering me."

"If you want to talk, then talk. No one's stopping you." Jormungandr waved a hand in the air, an unofficial approval.

"If you say so," Fenris said, and, Norns, what a wrong thing to suggest.

Sleipnir could feel the regret in Jormungandr's eyes as Fenris took off blabbering about anything and everything, not a single hint of the quiet, shyness from yesterday.

Fenris went on and on about the fancy palace and how he wanted to explore it when they had some free time. He also flat-out told the others what he thought of them, which could have been rude but his unabashed honesty was almost kind of endearing. He only paused to breathe, filling in the silence singlehandedly with a one-sided conversation until the others finished.

Jormungandr looked about ready to punch Fenris in the windpipe to shut him up by the end of the meal. Sleipnir decided to step in and remind him about their plans to talk to their grandfather, which redirected Jormungandr's anger to something a little more productive than possible fratricide.

Pietro, much to Jormungandr's noticeable disdain, offered to show them the way to their grandfather. Grateful to have someone who knew the way around the Afterlife, Sleipnir gladly accepted Pietro's assistance and motioned for him to lead the way.

Fenris trotted next to Pietro, talking his ear off while munching on a slice of bread he swiped from the table. The youngest brother distracted, Jormungandr slowed down to match his pace with Sleipnir's and leaned closer to talk to him without Fenris hearing.

"What'd you do to him?" Jormungandr asked, keeping his eye on Fenris's joyful figure up ahead.

"What do you mean?"

"He went from a sad, scared puppy to that," he waved a hand at Fenris's cheery back, "in the span of a night. How?"

Sleipnir shrugged, also surprised at Fenris's change in mood. "I have no idea. Maybe a good night's sleep and some food helped?"

"Yeah, well, I'd like to know the secret."

"Acceptance?" Sleipnir suggested. "He has either moved on or he is faking it."

"Or he's drunk," Jormungandr said, and held up his hands when Sleipnir glared at him. "What? Only drunk people and children are honest, and he's not a little kid. He told me I'm scary, right to my face."

"Well, you did almost attack Pietro and you are not exactly the nicest when angry." Which is almost all the time, but he didn't say it out loud.

"Pietro accused us of hurting Hela!" Jormungandr protested. He glanced over at Pietro, but Fenris did a great job of occupying the man. "Besides, finding out your sister has a boyfriend is always a shock."

"Oh, it's not like you don't have experience in the area of romance," Sleipnir pointed out.

He didn't know Jormungandr could blush.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Jormungandr asked, his reddening face betraying his failed attempts to reign in his expression.

Sleipnir gave Jormungandr an innocent look. "You. Mia. Something was going on between you two. You hear a lot when you're confined to a bed."

Jormungandr gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "That's not...we're not...we aren't..."

Sleipnir playfully shoved Jormungandr, knocking him out of his daze. "Relax, brother, I'm jesting."

Sleipnir suddenly paused, thinking about the last time he saw her on Sakaar. "I wonder where she is right now."

Jormungandr looked away and tried to focus on the delicate patterns of the walls. Sleipnir noticed his brother's sudden change in mood and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Sleipnir asked.

"No, I'm fine. She's fine. She's with her brother," Jormungandr replied quietly.

"Well, that's good—" His head reeled back as something clicked. "Wait, her brother did, did he not? How could she be—"

"Guess the Grandmaster got her." Jormungandr's shoulders tensed and his fists clenched. "I found her in the palace garden yesterday and we talked."

The increasing pink spreading across his pale face proved they did something more than just talk.

"She's happy now, finally at peace. I would leave her alone about it."

Sleipnir's shoulders dropped and he looked down at the floor. Everything she had done for them, and she got killed for helping them. She didn't deserve it.

"It's not your fault," he said to Jormungandr. He could see the guilt clouding his brother's eyes.

"I dragged her into this mess," Jormungandr protested.

"She made her choice; we couldn't stop her," Sleipnir said gently. "Besides, I assume we will stay in Valhalla for a while, so you can talk to her whenever you want."

"Yeah…"

Pietro announcing their arrival interrupted whatever they had to say next. Jormungandr straightened up and glared at the closed door. Two guards stood outside, their spears pointing straight up. Pietro talked with one of the guards and they parted to let the group inside.

Earlier, Pietro had explained the building, nicknamed the Judgement Hall, contained souls who were undecided or very close to ending up in either paradise or eternal damnation. The souls waited for trial by jury, overseen by the queen of the Afterlife as the judge.

The building, located in the capital realm of the Afterlife, lacked the jovial nature and inviting atmosphere of Valhalla. Here, the vines and plants seemed more sinister and judgemental—a reminder of the fleeting beauty of life and how quickly neglect could turn dangerous.

The doors opened and Pietro led them down a hallway and to another set of doors guarded yet again by more armoured soldiers. The guards saluted and let them pass uncontested. Inside, the room spread out into a vast array of couches, tables, and chairs.

Only three people sat in the room, leaving most of the furniture empty. Two men played some board game, while another old man sat reading a book. Pietro strode right into the room and past the first two men, one of whom muttered "Oh dear, not again" when the group passed.

The man reading glanced up when the group walked over. His white hair fell against his red shirt, his beard just as thick. A leather patch covered his right eye, but his other narrowed at their approach.

"You have some guests," Pietro said, all stoic and stern despite a slight twitching of a vein in his forehead.

"I have nothing better to do," the man sighed, folding a corner of his page to mark his spot, must to Sleipnir's mild annoyance. He motioned at the sofa across from him. "You are welcome to sit."

All four of them squished themselves onto the couch, Jormungandr and Pietro on the ends. Sleipnir sat between his brothers to step in case Jormungandr lost his temper or Fenris needed a hug.

"Um," Sleipnir muttered, trying to find something to start the conversation. He had played the scenario out a hundred times the night before but now, the words refused to come together.

This wasn't how he imagined meeting his grandfather would go. At least, so far, Jormungandr hadn't launched himself at the man and thankfully kept his promise to listen before resorting to violence.

Their grandfather didn't look like much, and if not for the memories of carrying the same man on his saddled back plenty of times before, Sleipnir could not have picked him out of a crowd. Gone were the days of the king dressed in the finest regalia and commanded respect from every person and realm. No more would Sleipnir be the man's loyal steed. Even though he knew full well of the former king's power, the simple appearance masked his true nature in clothing plainer than the servants who accompanied the king during his travels.

Suddenly nauseous and at a loss for words, Sleipnir picked at his left hand and shot Pietro a silent plea.

Pietro nodded to show he got the signal and turned to the old man. "I suppose we should start with introductions." He first pointed at the old man, and then the brothers. "This is Odin, the former King of Asgard. Odin, these are your grandsons."

Odin sneered. "Do they come here to yell at me as you did? If so, I do not waste my time with such trivial matters."

"How about the truth," Jormungandr snarled, his voice verging on hostile. "Is the truth 'trivial'? Is my entire life a 'waste of time'?"

Sleipnir stuck out an arm to brace against Jormungadr's chest and block him from leaning further forward.

"It certainly was a waste of your father's time and talents, producing atrocities like yourselves because he could not control his impulses," Odin replied.

Jormungnadr hissed, and Sleipnir grabbed across his chest to grip his upper arm to anchor him in place.

"Who is our father?" Sleipnir asked, hastily pushing the conversation forward. "What did he do to earn such contempt?"

Odin shook his head. "To call you siblings would barely fit the definition. The only one who ties you together is Loki. Father is also a loose term, because of his shapeshifting abilities, Loki managed to turn himself into a mare and spawn the first of his hideous offspring: an eight-legged horse."

The world dropped out from under him, and if not for the soft cushions of the couch and his brothers pressed in on either side, Sleipnir would have slipped right onto the floor.

All these years, all those times he served obediently under the king, and he got it all wrong. The king never cared for him—the pride and the flaunting of Sleipnir's abilities—it was all a show. A show to prove how the king had conquered the foul beasts. Somehow, the reveal of the king's true feelings toward his loyal stallion hurt more than any betrayal.

"My entire life, I served you," Sleipnir muttered. Tears stung his eyes, and he swallowed around a lump forming in his throat. "I have only ever been loyal to you, I proved my worth to you time and again. And all those years, you hated me? Why? Is my mere existence a stain on your reputation, or is it outright detestment of myself and my siblings because of our father's actions?"

Sleipnir couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, rounded the couch, and started pacing behind it. Wiping his hand against his eyes, he shook his head.

"I don't believe this. We are Asgardian, the same as you."

Odin leaned forward. "No, Loki is Jotun. None of you are Asgardian, and his inability to control his magic resulted in your creation. A serpent with a dragon. A wolf with a Frost Beast. A daughter with Death.

"Loki was young, and I tried to hide his mistakes because if the public knew, they would further turn against him. It worked for the most part until Jormungandr came along. And then Fenris and then Hela. Hela's birth almost brought Death's wrath down on Asgard and only through an agreement did I manage to divert her fury.

"To protect Asgard, I had to break you apart and erase your memories of each other. Loki does not remember any of this, and for good reason, because if he knew, he would only continue making brash decisions."

The room fell silent. Sleipnir continued pacing, the tears falling freely now. On the couch, Fenris's face looked white while Pietro stared at the wall over Odin's head, his entire body tense. Jormungandr shook in silent rage, his chest heaving as his temper rose and Sleipnir knew his brother was on the brink of rupture.

A vein in Jormungandr's neck pulsed, once, twice...

And there he went.

"You bastard! I don't give a damn about Asgard and agreements and all the utter shit spewing from your stupid mouth. Call it what it is—you ditched us!" Jormungandr shot to his feet, standing inches away from Odin as he jabbed an accusing finger into the former king's chest.

"You were scared of us, scared of us being different, and you didn't like it because it ruined your spotless reputation you spent centuries crafting.

"You left me to die alone on Alfheim. You locked poor Fenris in a dungeon full of corpses. You treated our own grandson like a regular workhorse. I don't know much about Hela but I guarantee she's not happy about any of this. You messed her up so badly because she believed your made-up story of how she's your daughter. Well, guess what, Asgard's gone, Hela's blaming herself for everything, and you're dead and we're not, so how is any of this better?!"

"I did not intend for the memory block spell to have after-effects once it wore off," Odin said, his voice annoyingly calm.

"I did what was necessary to ensure Loki could live worry-free," Odin continued, and Norns, Sleipnir wouldn't mind if Jormungandr decided right then and there to beat up the former king. "I thought he had more sense than that, but more damage would have ensued if I had not stepped in."

"Why?" Sleipnir asked, his voice betraying his full-body trembles. "Why blame us? What have we done? We have done nothing and yet you use us as an excuse for your actions."

"You can ask Loki that question," Odin replied. "It was his fault after all."

"His fault?!" Jormungandr hissed. "From what I remember, he tried to fight you to keep us together."

Odin finally snapped and drew himself to his full height. Even behind the couch, Sleipnir took a step backward but Jormungandr stood his ground and matched the king's glare.

"Loki doesn't care about you, not anymore. He has changed drastically and even if he remembered you, I doubt he would want you back. You will be nothing but an annoying obstacle in his life."

"You're lying," Sleipnir accused. He looked over at Pietro for reassurance but the blonde looked away, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"You wanted the truth and I told you," Odin said, blunt.

"And we're supposed to believe what you're saying?" Sleipnir questioned. "What could have possibly happened to change his opinion about us? He cares about us and—"

"Because your father is a murderer!" Odin bellowed. His voice boomed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing in the space to silence the group. Sleipnir swore he felt the air shift. "Loki is wanted in several realms and has a long list of crimes because he is a reckless, selfish man. No wonder his offspring are such despicable creatures."

Jormungandr clenched his fists at his side, shaking from head to toe. Fenris whimpered and started crying, so Sleipnir came over to rest his hands on his shoulders.

"It's not true," Jormungandr whispered hoarsely. "Say it's not true."

"Often, the truth can be worse than a lie," Odin said.

"You vile, miserable, geriatric, self-serving coward!" Jormungandr shouted. He raised his fist and punched Odin so hard across the jaw that the old man fell backward into his chair. The force of it tipped the chair over, and he tumbled to the ground.

Sleipnir braced a hand on the couch and lept over it but Pietro had already gotten to his feet and tried to hold Jormungandr back. Being much stronger, Jormungandr shook the human off and advanced on the king. He got in a good kick to Odin's stomach before Sleipnir joined Pietro to loop their arms around Jormungandr's and pushed him away.

"I wish I could've killed you myself!" Jormungandr yelled, struggling enough that Fenris had to step in to help restrain him. "Hope you burn in Helheim, you—"

Jormungandr let loose a slew of insults so vulgar Sleipnir had to tune him out as they dragged him out of the room. Only when they were finally out into the hallway did they let him go. Jormungandr shrugged them off and huffed, suddenly rounding on Pietro. Fenris ducked behind Sleipnir again, sensing the shift.

"You know," Jormungandr accused, his finger stabbing into Pietro's chest. "You know what our dad did, don't you?"

Pietro sighed, looking very worn out, and nodded, avoiding Jormungandr's glare. "I do."

When Jormungandr growled and tensed up, Pietro added, "I don't know all the details, but it made international headlines."

"What did he do?" Sleipnir asked. His nerves buzzed and his vision swam, threatening to knock him out if he didn't find somewhere to sit.

Pietro shook his head but Sleipnir insisted. "If we've come this far, we should know the whole truth. Everything, no secrets. We want to know."

A minute passed as Pietro contemplated. Then he sighed and dropped his shoulders in defeat. He stared at the ground, avoiding their questioning gazes.

"In 2012, Loki showed up on Earth and led an army of aliens. They attacked New York City, one of the largest cities on the planet, trying to take over Earth and crown himself king. Many people died, a friend of your uncle, Thor, included.

"I wasn't there so I don't know everything or his side of the story. All I know is you shouldn't put your complete trust in him. He's not the man you thought you knew."

Tears slid down Sleipnir's thin cheeks. Fenris sobbed behind him. Jormungandr growled and punched a wall, cursing the stone broke off and cut his knuckles. Pietro stood there, looking completely and utterly defeated.

They had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. It seemed like the whole universe plotted against them, throwing everything it had to barrel them over. Nothing could fix the gaping wound piercing his heart—it only grew wider with each revelation.

The events of the past days finally caught up to him and he flung out a hand to find his balance. Unable to stand anymore, his knees gave out and he slid against the wall. Forget about being the stronger, older brother. None of it mattered anymore. Why should he try when everyone wanted them gone?

As much as he wanted to wrap his siblings in a hug and shield them from the truth, Sleipnir could barely face it himself. He couldn't do this anymore. Everything he did would only be pointless.

Just when things couldn't get any worse, a trio of young women walked by, their not-so-hushed voices frantic and worried.

"Didn't you hear? The princess is calling for a special conference."

"It can't be true."

"Oh, but it is. She's going to announce something."

"She just returned; it's probably a celebration."

"I don't think so. The queen isn't too happy about it. They're planning something; something big. And I don't think it's going to be good."

The trio walked passed, their voices fading away when they turned a corner.

Then a young man ran up to the group and saluted, his ragged breathing and sweat-soaked hair proved the hastiness of his message. "Your royal highnesses, the princess requests your presence back in Valhalla. She expects your attendance at the conference."

Too tired to think of anything else, one response popped into his head:

Uh oh.

Chapter Text

Everything already started to go awry. People buzzed about, flitting from place to place like a hive of busy bees determined to fix something before the storm came.

None of the guards knew anything. The maids spread baseless rumors and speculations, some more outlandish than others. Most assumed it would be a celebration of Hela's return, but the heaviness in the air proved otherwise. Even the queen, Hela's mother, remained silent and Hela hadn't left her chambers yet to address the mounting concerns.

Once they received the declaration from the messager, all thoughts of their confrontation with Odin vanished and Pietro and others rushed to the throne room hoping to find Hela there.

Instead, an average-sized man in a fancy, dark, Victorian three-piece suit stood at the throne's base, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The tailcoats reached down to his calves and he faced the throne in deep thought. A black top hat covered his brown hair, and Pietro recognized him instantly.

"Vincent," Pietro called out, shaking the man from his thoughts.

Vincent turned and unclasped his hands at the mention of his name. A faint smile of recognition crossed his bearded face and he gave a small bow.

"Your Highness," Vincent said. When he straightened, the smile vanished, replaced by a concerned frown. His eyes scrutinized the brothers but he said nothing. "I don't suppose you have seen Hela?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," Pietro replied. He hadn't seen her since last night after he went home to his parents' place. "Do you know what the conference is about?"

Vincent sighed and clasped his back behind him. "I am afraid it is difficult to discuss what her plans are when she is yet to be found. She is usually not like this and it worries me."

"Same," Pietro said. Hela normally didn't seclude herself when upset, nor hold most of her royal proceedings in secret. She believed in transparency and liked surprises if they preluded to something exciting and lighthearted, so this sudden dynamic could only mean trouble.

"Who's this guy?" Jormungandr asked. His eyes narrowed at Vincent, and Pietro saw his fists tighten.

Damn, did he ever quit? So untrusting.

"Oh, you haven't met yet," Pietro said. "Vincent, these are Hela's older brothers: Sleipnir, Jormungandr, and Fenris."

Pietro motioned in Vincent's direction. "This is Vincent, the lead reaper of Valhalla and Hela's advisor. He also brought me to the Afterlife when I died in 2015. If you need anything, he's the right guy to ask."

Vincent bowed in turn to each of the brothers. "Welcome to Valhalla, my royal princes. I apologize for not greeting you properly earlier; things have been rather hectic around here and I had only just been informed of your arrival."

Sleipnir gave a small nod of acknowledgment. He still looked pale and uneasy from their earlier encounter with Odin, but he seemed well enough to pull himself together. "Thank you. I know it is confusing and sudden, and we are still trying to figure everything out ourselves. We hope our first impressions were not...terrible."

"Rest assured, they were not. I can only claim to understand what you three and Hela have been going through," Vincent replied. "Family matters are always difficult to work through and yours certainly appears to be no exception."

"We're fine," Jormungandr said, despite still being tense, like a snake coiled and leary of an attack.

"I imagine so."

The conversation dwindled and the group stood in silence. Fenris slid his hand into Sleipnir's and stared down at the floor. Jormungandr crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head.

"What are we supposed to do?" Jormungandr asked. His fingers tapped his forearm impatiently.

If Wanda could see this guy, she'd take back everything she said about me being impatient, Pietro thought. He didn't quite trust the green-haired prince, mostly because he feared any little thing could set him off.

"I am afraid there is not much we can do until this evening," Vincent answered, a hint of worry in his usual somberness. "Hela, as much as she enjoys being around others, is perfectly capable of disappearing when she wants to be alone. I do not know what happened on Asgard but the fact she has yet to talk to me is quite distressing."

"So we're supposed to wait and do nothing. She needs us," Jormungandr protested.

For once, Pietro agreed with the strange golden-eye, scar-faced, green-haired, intimidating young man. Hela liked going on walks, dancing, playing games, listening to music, or reading by candlelight to calm down after long days of performing her royal duties. She was a social butterfly, total solitude couldn't be helping her right now. Although he had no idea what happened in Asgard, he felt a little hurt being left in the dark about his girlfriend. When Hela crowned him prince and gave him royal responsibilities, they promised to keep no secrets, and up until now, they were completely transparent about almost everything.

Perhaps she needed a little time to sort through whatever had happened.

"If she wanted help, she would have made it known," Vincent stated calmly. "I could check her usual hiding spots but doing so might upset her and make it worse. There is reason for concern but we need to understand what she is feeling right now. Waiting it out is our best option."

Vincent turned to leave then stopped and faced the group again, his face blank.

"I suggest all of you go prepare yourselves for this evening. I assume you already know she requested your presence." He strode out of the throne room, leaving the group to stand there in silence.

The group reluctantly heeded Vincent's suggestion and dispersed to clean up, grab something to eat, and ruminate over the whole Odin ordeal.

These next few hours could not go by quickly enough.

-oOo-

There is a nice little spot near a waterfall behind the palace. A small cave had been carved out from centuries of water erosion pouring down the cliff in the mountain. Leaves from a tree growing straight out of the rocks covered the entrance, hiding it from view. The waterfall and the river could be seen through the leaves and the cave's position offered a perfect view of the forest, the palace, and the bridge beyond.

Calling it a cave might have been an overstatement because it resembled a small cavity in the mountainside. It could barely fit a grown person, but Hela, being flexible, could squeeze herself into it far enough to avoid the spray of the waterfall. Up here, she could watch the birds fly by and the people walk around like little specks of color amongst the greenery.

No one except Hela, Mama, and Vincent knew about the little hidey-hole. Hela had first discovered it in her younger years when she managed to escape the ever-watchful eyes of the countless guards. The forest and the waterfall required some hiking and cliff-climbing, but being an adventurous little girl, nothing slowed her down until she stumbled upon the little cave during her attempt to get a closer look at the source of the waterfall.

She had been missing for a few hours before Mama managed to find her. Mama scolded her for disappearing and worrying her, but eventually, as Hela grew older, Mama became more lax in letting her daughter wander around by herself. Now, Hela only ventured out to the special spot when she wanted an escape from the stressful life of a young queen. Vincent, thankfully, also tended to leave her alone, always understanding when silence and the beauty of the view could soothe any emotions swirling inside.

Of course, she had other hiding spots in each of the realms, but this one always calmed her down the most and became her favorite. Part of it could've been the natural urge to spend time in the Nordic Afterlife realms, the realms of her unknown father's home. Or it could've been because of the space only allowing one person to sit up there alone.

It had gotten tighter as she grew, but it still offered the same sense of comfort and safety. The rush of the waterfall always drowned out her stressful thoughts, and she would always imagine tossing her worries into the stream to watch it plummet far below and wash away to places unbeknownst to her.

It was probably childish to run away from her problems. Normally, she would find something active and social to distract herself, but right now, any thought of being others sent her into a panic. What if she lost her head again and hurt someone? Even in the Afterlife, being the daughter of Death, she wielded enough power to cause some serious damage to the souls entrusted in her care.

She just needed some time alone, to let the water work its usual magic.

Maybe then she could forget about the sudden announcement about a special conference. Sleep-deprived and barely functioning, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and it still did. Even so, the guilt of suddenly dropping such a huge declaration on her people ate at her.

Her people. They didn't know what she had done, and if they did, they would resent her for all eternity. If anything, she prided herself on being a truthful monarch, and the people, whether they liked it or not, deserved to hear the full story. Let them make their own decisions once they learned about her family, why she had disappeared, what she had done…

If the rumors hadn't already spread from the Asgardian souls entering Valhalla and the other Nordic realms, then everyone in the Afterlife would know by this evening. They would know she had murdered hundreds of innocent Asgardians—women and children—and what if it happened again?

She couldn't bear to rule as their queen any longer, and if the rest of the Afterlife didn't want her as their princess, then so be it. She had been thrust into her position from birth, a decision she never made herself although only she—aside from Death—could maintain the sacred balance simply by existing.

Mama had done her best to raise her, but in doing so, refused to answer any questions Hela had about her father aside from saying he came from Asgard and royal blood. Vincent filled in the role of father figure and he had been by her side ever since she could remember, comforting her whenever Mama got too impassioned about her duties to the sacred balance.

Having her brothers show up awakened something inside her. On one hand, it felt nice having someone around her age to share experiences. On the other, it came all at once at the worst time of her entire life, and if she hadn't left the palace, she would've completely broken apart.

Sitting with her knees to her chest to squish herself into the cave, Hela stared down at the notebook spread across her lap. The gray script of the pencil filled up several pages.

Gray. What a gloomy color.

She liked dark colors and usually only wore shades of black, gray, and green—something she and Mama shared. Now, however, the dark colors reminded her of how quickly her life blew up into a whirlwind of confusion, bloodshed, and maniacal anxiety.

She had been happy. She had a caring boyfriend—the perfect combination of a charming personality and handsomeness. The people loved her, the sacred balance stayed well within the lines of Mama's acceptable parameters, and the Afterlife flourished. She had just finished a huge project of adding a new section to Fólkvangr, much to everyone's approval.

All of it changed when she changed. The joy, the confidence, all of it vanished leaving behind a shell herself—a shell full of insecurity and a cloud of regret following her wherever she went no matter what she did to dispel it. She used to make jokes and involve herself in people's lives as much as possible. Now, she could barely look at someone without wondering if she had driven a sword through their heart.

Mama used to say to not worry about how someone died but only how they lived. Some ended in violence, others in sadness, most of them in peace. Despite Mama's hands-off approach to letting people pass away, she still occasionally got involved whenever something threatened the integrity of the sacred balance.

Everyone who perished in Asgard, however, died as a direct result of her relentless desire for revenge. Mama wanted the other gods to let things happen naturally, and there were often several hoops they had to jump through if they wanted to get directly involved as well as severe punishments if the proper protocols were ignored. Asgard was far from natural, and Hela would fully understand—even wish for it—if Mama decided to throw her into the deepest pits of Tartarus for a few centuries.

Sighing, Hela looked out over the forest and at the silver palace gleaming in the distance. Having the palace silver instead of gold had seemed like a good idea at the time but now it seemed cold and mocking. The little joys in her life had been sucked out and completely squashed.

Maybe, once all of this blew over, she would buy a nice cabin in the woods and retreat from society—become a hermit or something. Pietro could come if he wanted or not; she would completely understand if he wanted to break up with her after everything she had done. Honestly, the fact he hadn't left her yet surprised her.

The sun had already begun its descent in the sky, reminding her of a ticking clock or a countdown to the final hour before a storm. She should start heading back to the palace to clean up and change. Although many people had seen her in her off-duty clothes, her announcement required something more professional to mask the disarray in her head.

Unfolding her knees, Hela slipped her unfinished speech and pencil into the satchel she had brought and started to climb down the side of the cliff. Showing up late would leave a terrible impression.

A small, hysterical laugh escaped Hela's lips. It didn't matter what the people thought of her anymore. They shouldn't care about a murderer, so why would it matter if she showed up late or not at all? After today, she doubted anyone would care about her, not when they were about to hear the truth.

As she picked her way down the mountain, she figured she couldn't turn back now. Let the people decide. It's out of her hands now.

-oOo-

The courtyard was packed.

Guards around the perimeter tried their best to keep everyone under control. Excitement and worry permeated the air, intermixing with the sweet aroma of the flowers blossoming along the marble railing and the columns holding the platform above the crowd. A stone podium stood in the front-middle of the balcony. Intricately designed arches connected the balcony to the palace.

Beneath it, the courtyard extended far out underneath the open, star-studded sky. Not an empty spot could be seen as the people stood shoulder-to-shoulder in every available space. Some had even climbed trees or hung out on the rooftops of nearby buildings to get a better view.

The queen's officials were lined up along the side of the columns, sitting in wooden chairs and conversing with one another. Vincent, as Hela's lead advisor, still dressed in his tuxedo, stood on the left of the podium, his hands clasped behind his back. Pietro, as Hela's designated prince, stood on the right side, dressed in a light blue and gray suit, looking a little uneasy.

Sleipnir, Jormungandr, and Fenris stood on the right of Pietro, all dressed in royal adornments. Fenris wouldn't stop shifting from foot to foot in worry. Jormungandr kept staring at the back of Vincent's head. Sleipnir, the physically calmest one of the three, studied the expansive crowd.

Off in the wings and out of view of the crowd, Hela paced back and forth.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Mama asked. She wore a black dress and flowing cape, her green crown tucked into her updo.

"I don't have much of a choice," Hela replied. She had also put her hair up into a braided bun and changed into a black, floor-length gown. Her silver crown glimmered in the pale light.

"You always have a choice; you are royalty. Every decision is yours to make and the people will have to accept it."

"It wouldn't be fair to leave them out of it. It's my fault and they shouldn't carry my burdens or suffer through more of my mistakes."

Death flung out a hand to grab her daughter by the arm to stop the pacing. "Hela, darling, listen to me." She reached up to cup her cheeks with both hands, prompting Hela to meet her mother's eyes. "Whatever you did, was all the result of a curse cast by that bastard Odin. I do not blame you for what happened."

Hela shook her head as much as the hands on her cheeks could allow. "Don't play favoritism, Mama. I wielded the swords. I struck those people down. I ordered their executions. Curse or not, it is still me who should take the blame, and the people will agree."

Death frowned, and her brown eyes became sad. "Oh, my little marigold..."

"This is my decision, Mama. Let me make it."

Death's hands dropped from Hela's cheeks. "Very well. As your mother, I may not always agree with you, but I cannot force you to change your mind. You have autonomy separate from me, and whether you believe it or not, you have been a wonderful queen. If only you could understand what I see, then you would never have thought of this."

She spread her arms in invitation. Hela stepped forward and dropped her head against Death's shoulder as her mother's arms wrapped around her.

"I will support you no matter what happens. None of this changes how much I love you," Death whispered into Hela's ear.

"I know, Mama," Hela whispered back.

Hela broke the embrace first to smooth out her dress. She wiped a finger under an eye and sniffed.

"Best we don't keep them waiting," Hela said, nodding at the gathering outside.

"Very well." Death looped her arm through Hela's.

Together, flanked by two guards, they stepped out of the shadows of the wings and onto the moonlit balcony.

A hush fell over the crow as Hela and Death entered from the right. As the duo walked up to the podium, the people quietly bowed in respect.

They stopped at the podium, and Death turned to clasp Hela's hands in between them.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Death asked.

"I'm sure, Mama," Hela replied.

Death frowned but leaned forward to press a kiss along Hela's hairline. Then she peeled off to stand by Vincent's side, leaving Hela alone behind the podium.

The guards took up positions behind Hela, their spears gleaming in the sunlight. Pietro shot Hela a subtle look of question but she ignored it. Instead, she pulled her notes from a fold in her dress and smoothed it out on the podium.

Taking a deep breath, Hela exhaled and looked out into the crowd. Eager faces stared back up at her, waiting patiently for her to start. Some looked excited, others worried, only a few frowned in anger.

Odd, they should all be throwing rotten tomatoes or something in protest of her presence.

Hela chewed on her bottom lip and leaned closer to let the spells pick up her voice to disperse over the courtyard. Out of all the speeches she had given, this one—no doubt—was the hardest. She placed her hands on either side of the podium to keep her balance, starting to feel rather dizzy.

"First of all," Hela spoke, her voice wavering. Her eyes burned as tears welled up. She had sworn to not cry—at least until she returned to her chambers—and fought against the salty sting.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Hela continued. "I know I haven't been present lately and I wanted to address certain issues some of you may already know…"

Hela sniffed and looked down at her notes. She could feel everyone's eyes on her but Pietro's hurt the most. She tried to put his look of pity out of her mind and focused on the handwritten notes in front of her. She would talk with him later when she finished, and then let their breakup pile onto her growing list of things she personally ruined.

She knew she was stalling and quite frankly, she didn't care. She needed the extra time to gather herself.

Her mouth suddenly felt really dry and she leaned over to ask Vincent for a glass of water, which he relayed to one of the guards. Aware of the crowd patiently waiting, she took a sip and let the cool water slide down her parched throat. It did little to dispel the lump of unease.

It's now or never. You can't keep them waiting forever.

Hela dug her nails into the wooden podium and forced herself to continue.

"I would like to thank you for being patient with me. Things have been rather difficult and I admit I'm having a hard time," Hela said.

Pietro, sensing Hela's stress, placed his hand on the small of her back in an attempt to comfort her. Usually, it did, but this time Hela flinched and he drew his hand back.

"Maybe I should stick to my notes…" Hela muttered, earning a weak laugh from the crowd. Unlike how she normally opened her speeches, jokes would only sour the mood. If she wanted to get her thoughts across, she needed complete honesty.

"As queen of the Nordic realms and princess of the rest of the Afterlife, I must be honest with you. So I'm going to tell the whole truth about what happened in the past couple of weeks. It is a difficult topic to discuss and I understand if you have questions, so I hope I will answer them and give you a solution to the problem," Hela said.

Holding up her notes in one hand, Hela took a deep breath and pushed herself through the sudden knot in her stomach.

"For months, I was plagued by headaches as they gradually got worse. The worst one finally broke me and I disappeared in a manner I had no control over. I woke up on Midgard feeling...different. False memories I never had took over my mind and I made my way to Asgard.

"Anger and the desire for revenge consumed my every thought. I wanted the throne of Asgard and nothing could stop me from reaching it. Even if it included taking out... taking out...the entirety of Asgard's army…"

Hela wiped her eyes with a tissue and choked back a sob. The crowd stared back at her with wide eyes.

"I-I took the throne of Asgard but I didn't want to stop there. I wanted to continue my conquest to the rest of the Nine Realms and beyond, completely forgetting my home here in the Afterlife. I believed I was the daughter of Odin, Asgard's former king, the All-Father. I used my powers for conquest and if not for my previously unknown brothers, I would have continued.

A gasp rippled through the crowd at Hela's mention of her brothers. Hela sadly smiled and nodded.

"Yes, apparently I am the youngest of four and I did not know of their existence until they saved me from the wreckage of Asgard. Odin is not my real father. I still do not know who my real father is, and probably never will, but I know for certain I have no relation to Odin.

"My mother, your queen, believes my brothers and I were cursed and separated because of Odin's deep hatred of us. I had no memory of this because I was just an infant at the time. Although the circumstances of our reunion are truly horrendous, I would like to thank my brothers for bringing me back into reality—and back home.

"Many have tried to persuade me that I had no control over my actions on Asgard. Whether or not this is true, I will certainly take the blame because it is by my hands, so many of you are here. Asgard is destroyed because the brave heroes who stood against my rampage were forced to release Surtur to stop me from conquering the entirety of the Nine Realms."

Hela's throat locked up. She tried to smile through the overwhelming pain inside her, pushing through the urge to break down into a fit of sobs.

"Too many people here are dead because of me. I cannot imagine how they feel having me as their queen. I-I am a murderer and I cannot rule as queen anymore.

"I-I h-have come up with a s-s-solution to who will take over the throne of the Nordic realms and even my role as princess. A vote will be held and counted this week. Each official from every realm is in charge of making sure everyone votes and is responsible for keeping everything honest. Everyone ages eighteen and above must submit a vote."

Hela took a deep breath before continuing. "If even ten percent of the votes are against me, I will relinquish my crown."

Chapter Text

The apartment Mia shared with her brother offered a spacious interior and a nice view of the street below in one of the other realms in the Afterlife. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a shared kitchen, a balcony, a living room, and a small study all fit inside the apartment with plenty of space to walk around.

For how short she had been there, Mia had already decorated the living room to her taste, and Norns, did she go crazy. Flowers and other potted plants added a fresh scent and vibrant colors in almost every available shelf space and corner. Smaller knick-knacks and books filled the rest of the shelves. A decent-sized herb garden grew on the balcony, which overlooked the street.

Nature, Jormungandr noticed, seemed prevalent in every part of the Afterlife. Trees shaded the street, vines grew on the outside of the buildings, and flowers adorned every lamppost. Everything smelled wonderful and natural, much better than the stink of Sakaar's trash or the musky scent of the swamp on Alfheim.

Mia and Jormungandr sat on two chairs in the middle of the balcony's herb garden. Mia, with her smaller size, drew her knees up to her chest and rested her feet on the chair's seat. Jormungandr, taller and longer-limbed, propped his feet up on the balcony's railing and crossed his arms over his chest as he slumped in his chair.

A small breeze ruffled their hair and brought up the pleasant smell of the herbs. Below, people went about their day on the street, passing each other. The wake of Hela's announcement left the entire place subdued, and it reflected in the hushed tones of the people walking about.

Up on the balcony, Jormungandr brushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. They had been sitting there for nearly an hour, most of it spent in silence.

Jormungandr first showed up at her place after getting directions from a note Mia had previously left him. She answered the door, no questions asked, and led him straight to the balcony with some tea, somehow understanding he needed time to work himself up into talking.

The silence, Jormungandr found, felt soothing, especially while sitting next to Mia and simply enjoying being in her presence. Here, he could almost forget the dread hanging over the Afterlife ever since Hela disappeared after dropping such a huge announcement. All of the Nordic realms, and the others outside of Hela's queenly domain, would shut down for the week in preparation for the vote.

An eagle soared by, ruffling the leaves of the herbs in its wake. Mia brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at Jormungandr.

"Nice weather, isn't it?" Mia asked.

"I guess," Jormungandr said. He hadn't seen it rain anywhere yet and wondered if the Afterlife got seasons, too. "Anywhere's better than Sakaar. Hell, the swamp's a lot better than Sakaar."

Still didn't mean he missed anything other than his sunning rock, though.

"On Knowhere," Mia said, "you couldn't walk ten feet without getting pickpocketed so Hayden never let me go anywhere on my own. The mining operations there brought a lot of shady people. My father worked at one of the mines; didn't make much, racked up some debts neither he nor my mother could pay off. Guess children make more money when sold to the Collector."

Jormungandr let the words hang in the air, unsure of how to respond. He knew some of Mia's upbringing and how she came to Sakaar, and every added detail only made it worse. Now, thinking about it, compared to her childhood, he didn't mind the swamp and the solitude.

"I can see why you prefer it here," Jormungandr said, watching the eagle circle in the blue sky.

Mia nodded. "It's peaceful. And I'm glad I no longer have to look over my shoulder or worry about a mistake leading to being sold again." She tightened her grip around her knees. "I haven't been here long, but I can tell your sister really cares about us here, which is why I don't understand why she would give up her throne. I mean, royals usually don't do that. If someone has power, they want to keep it."

"So you think the vote is a waste of time?" Jormungandr asked, glancing at her.

Mia shrugged. "I think, by letting the people decide, it proves how genuine your sister is. If your sister only cared about power instead of the people, the thought never would've crossed her mind, let alone actually go through with it. Yes, what happened on Asgard was tragic, but I can tell the princess has a good heart for wanting to put the people first."

"Some people might disagree and put all the blame on her anyway," Jormungandr pointed out.

"And those people may have reasons for it, but I don't think they'd see the bigger picture. What proof is there of the curse? We have only heard one side of the story."

Jormungandr shoved down a flicker of anger. Once again, she's right and so far, only Hela gave her side of what happened on Asgard. Even with the sudden appearance of her brothers, the people might not believe everything coming from the royal family. Maybe if they got the person who cast the curse to speak...

"I talked to my grandfather…" Jormungnadr's voice trailed off. He hadn't taken the time to process all of that yet, and the thought of seeing the one-eyed man's smug expression sent a fire churning in his belly.

"And how did it go?" Mia gently prodded.

"It's a long story," Jormungandr said. He concentrated on his fists and forced them to uncurl from the armrests. His fingers lifted from the dents in the metal, and he could feel Mia's gaze watching him. She didn't comment on the damaged chair.

"I have time."

Jormungandr leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared up at Mia through his hair, his golden eyes shining like two suns. "He separated us almost right after Hela's birth. Some spell altered our memories of each other, and only when he died, did it wear off. Our best guess, the side effects of the spell messed with something in Hela's head, making her believe in a false reality. And you know how the rest of it turned out."

"Did your parents do anything about it?" Mia asked, her brown eyes widening.

Jormungandr stifled a half-hearted laugh. "Odin thought by separating us, he could protect Asgard from us. From what I can remember, my father did try to fight it and lost. According to Pietro, he went crazy and attacked Midgard a few years ago, sooo..."

Mia took the resulting silence to refill their tea cups. She waited until Jormungandr swallowed most of his before asking, "Can you talk to your dad?"

"I don't think I want to," Jormungandr muttered.

"May I ask why?" Mia asked, hesitant.

Jormungandr gritted his teeth, torn between moving around to release some of the tension or sitting in silence to calm the ache. Then he let out a deep breath and slouched in his chair. "Odin says he's a criminal, and if what Pietro said is true, then Midgard probably would say the same thing. Besides, he might not like us anymore. He sure hasn't tried to find us after the curse wore off so why would he care? If he did, we would've heard from him by now."

Mia unfolded her legs and leaned forward to rest a hand on Jormungandr's wrist, causing him to look at her.

"From what I'm hearing, this Odin guy is not entirely trustworthy. I would take his word with a grain of salt. If he separated you and your siblings and lied about it, lying about your dad wouldn't affect him very much."

"Pietro agreed with Odin, at least with the criminal part. My dad seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Murderers don't care about their kids. He's probably too busy trying to take over other planets to even think about us. So much for having a normal family."

As if feeling the longing in his heart, Mia brought her chair over to sit in front of him and spread her arms in invitation. She waited until he deflated and leaned forward to bury his face into her shoulder. He didn't return the hug, but Mia didn't seem to mind holding him. Fabric bunched in his fist from where he clung onto her dress. His knuckles turned white from holding on so tightly, trying to hold onto something solid, something real.

"Jormungandr, I am so sorry," Mia muttered.

Jormungandr's eyes welled up with tears. He gave up on trying to hold them back and let them soak into Mia's dress while she sat in silence.

All of this felt like a fever dream, one he couldn't wake up from—a nightmare come true. His father was an infamous genocidal maniac, his grandfather hated them, and his sister was slowly losing her sanity and faith in herself—would it ever end?

Why couldn't they get a break? Why? Why them? Just when he thought he had already hit rock bottom, another chasm opened up underneath and swallowed any hope of climbing out of the pit. The hole kept getting deeper and deeper, the shadows replacing the ever-fading light.

Their whole family was cursed—doomed to an eternity of misery.

-oOo-

The rest of the week, nobody could find Hela. She didn't answer any questions, and every announcement or direction came from either Vincent or Death herself. Neither of the two gave any insight into Hela's whereabouts, much to the people's disappointment.

Guards constantly patrolled the palace and kept everyone who didn't work directly with the royal family, out of certain areas such as the dining room, bed chambers, the throne room, and Hela's office.

Tension enveloped the Afterlife like a thick blanket of snow, suffocating everyone and everything, and grew worse as the day of the vote approached. The officials in every realm worried about missing something and did their best to calm everyone's concerns.

Rumors spread like wildfire and the chatter among the people varied from full support of Hela to complete outrage about her existence. People working in the palace who did not direct the voting procedure were also sent home to prevent further gossip.

Jormungandr and Mia kept getting together to hang out and talk to relieve some of the stress. Sleipnir and Fenris barely left the garden, except to eat or sleep. Fenris needed to get outside and move around and typically wanted Sleipnir nearby for company. Pietro tried several times to talk to Hela, but the guards always turned him away. Only Death and Vincent could enter Hela's chambers, much to Pietro's disappointment.

Crowds gathered outside the palace almost every hour of the day, and sometimes even during the night, for a chance to see a glimpse of the royal family. It got to the point where Pietro and the brothers couldn't go anywhere without a few guards accompanying them.

Just when the Afterlife felt on the verge of breaking from all the stress crushing it, the day of the vote finally came. Trillions flooded the voting areas, eager to finally do something to ease the anxieties and to pull the suddenly reclusive royals from out of the shadows.

The brothers spent the entire day stress-eating, holed up in the secured dining hall. Vincent wouldn't stop pacing in the throne room, and Pietro had to briefly leave to station some guards at his parents' place to prevent anyone from bothering them.

The ballots had a simple 'yes' or 'no' for whether or not to let Hela remain in power. Despite the simplicity, it took far too long for the results to come in due in part to the sheer amount of people voting.

Finally, the results came in.

Once again, the courtyard filled to overcapacity, and every realm had a few officials there to report on the results. A smaller version of Hela's throne sat beside a larger, fancier seat on a lifted platform several feet behind the podium to oversee the balcony and crowds. The same palace officials and other important deities lined both sides of the balcony and smaller roped-off areas at the front of the courtyard.

Two guards stood on either side of the podium, their faces expressionless and shaded by their gleaming helmets. More guards led Vincent, Pietro, and the brothers onto the platform, all dressed formally. They walked to their assigned positions and remained standing while Vincent stepped up to the podium and eagerly looked off to the left towards the wings.

The crowd immediately went silent as Hela stepped onto the platform, her arm intertwined with her mother's—their first appearance since the original announcement.

Both women wore dark green, floor-length dresses and had their hair up in elaborate buns. Hela's silver, crescent moon necklace sparkled against her neckline as she glided over, shaking ever so slightly. Noticeably, this time, only Death had a crown on.

Despite the previous outrage at Hela's announcement and the ensuing effects, everyone still bowed respectfully as she passed to stand in front of her throne. Together, both women sat down on their respective seats, and the other officials followed after waiting a half-beat.

Hela folded her hands in her lap and stared at the platform's floor, avoiding the thousands of eyes watching her every move. Beside her, on his own seat, Pietro rested his hand, palm up on her armrest in invitation. She glanced at it and then slid her slim fingers between his, a tiny smile on her rouged lips.

Vincent cleared his throat, bringing the attention of the crowd onto him. He leaned forward and spoke:

"As you all have known and most likely experienced, this has been a very stressful time. Not too long ago, Queen Hela of the Nordic realms and Princess of the Afterlife announced her desire for a vote which would determine her position as queen and princess. All of those eligible have answered the call."

He paused and glanced back at Hela, who bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Pietro offered her a tissue, and she gladly took it to dab at the wound.

On the other side of the throne, the strength of Fenris's grip on Sleipnir's hand forced Sleipnir to struggle to keep a pained grimace off his face. Jormungandr scanned the crowd and spotted Mia seated in the third row with Hayden. They locked eyes and Mia gave him a reassuring smile.

"I am not going to keep you waiting any further," Vincent said, his voice wavering. He shuffled through his notecards and pulled an envelope from the stack. He opened it and slowly unfolded the paper before taking a deep breath. Looking at the crowd, he noticed every leaning forward in anticipation.

"The results..." Vincent said, reading straight from the letter. "The results are in." He paused again and then pushed through. "According to the majority, ninety-eight percent of voters, Hela will remain as queen!"

A deafening cheer ripped through the crowd. People threw their hats and other items into the air and others hugged while letting out whoops and hollars.

Vincent stepped away from the podium and collapsed into an open chair, his notes scattering along the floor when his hand went limp. Death broke out into a barely contained grin, her hands flying up to her lips to hide her surprise from view.

Hela clamped a hand over her mouth, her other hand squeezing Pietro's hard enough for her knuckles to turn white. Tears rolled down her cheeks, this time not running through her lack of mascara.

Pietro gasped and immediately started coughing from the sudden rush of air. Jormungandr jumped up and punched the air in glee. Fenris finally let go of Sleipnir's hand and instead pulled him into a crushing hug. Slepnir sighed in relief, both from having feeling turn to his hand and from hearing the results, and hugged Fenris back.

"Hela, darling," Death finally said. She reached out to pull her daughter's hand away from her mouth and gripped it in both of hers. "Why don't you make a speech."

Hela adamantly shook her head 'no', still trying to process what happened.

A chant slowly worked up through the crowd until it shook the courtyard: Hela! Hela! Hela!

Hela let out a strangled cry and turned to her mother. She buried her face in her chest, staining the fine silk. Pietro, still holding onto Hela's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze while Death rubbed circles up and down Hela's back.

Death motioned for Vincent to speak on Hela's behalf instead, so he forced himself from his seat and returned to the podium. The cheering crowd quieted down enough to let him speak.

"The royal highness will not be giving a speech at this moment nor will she be receiving visitors. An official statement will be released later this week, but I speak for the entire royal family when I say thank you. Thank you for your understanding and patience as we work through this difficult time. It has not been easy, and we will do our best to learn from this and grow to become better representatives of the Afterlife. Again, the royal family would like to thank you and all questions will be addressed. Thank you."

The crowd went wild again as Vincent waited for Death to make the first move off of the balcony. Death stood, and with Hela between her and Pietro, strode back into the wings. At Vincent's beckoning, the brothers trailed closely behind, followed by Vincent and the officials.

Death led Hela deeper into the palace, Pietro, Vincent, and a dark-skinned woman close behind. Unsure of what to do, the brothers stopped in the throne room and let the others leave.

The guards posted themselves outside of the doors, leaving the brothers to stand alone in the echoing throne room.

"We're okay," Sleipnir said. His knees gave out and he dropped to sit on the stone steps. "Everything will be okay."

"You're damn right," Jormungandr said. "I knew she'd win. The people love her—"

A loud rumble suddenly shook the palace; the lights flickering and windows rattling.

"What—" Fenris asked.

As if someone had flipped a switch, all the joy evaporated. Dread overtook the brothers, and a chill simultaneously raced down their spines.

"The crowd?" Jormungandr suggested.

"They wouldn't do something..." Sleipnir said, then trailed off. "The guards should—"

"It's something else. I can sense it," Fenris whispered. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang to attention and he sniffed the air.

An overwhelming scent of mint flooded the room and Fenris sneezed. Sleipnir and Jormungandr winced at the sudden onslaught and wrinkled their noses.

"I know that smell..." Fenris said. His head whipped from side to side, trying to pinpoint the source. Then he froze and locked onto a spot a few feet away from the bottom of the throne's steps.

In a trance, he reached out and moved to step forward only for Jormungandr to grab him and pull him back.

"Don't—" Jormungnadr said, his fingers digging into Fenris's thick bicep.

Another wave of mint pulsed through the room, quickly followed by a flicker of green light gleaming exactly where Fenris had stared.

The spot of green grew into a fissure, casting the room in an ever-increasing glow. Jormungandr drew a dagger and shoved Fenris behind him, his stance widening in anticipation. Sleipnir shot to his feet and prepared himself for the worst.

The fissure grew into a thin line long enough to reach the floor. Then it suddenly expanded outward and blinded the group in a flash of light.

When the light dissipated, the fissure had disappeared replaced instead by a slender figure.

The figure stumbled forward on wobbly legs and flung out both arms for balance.

"Who are you?" Jormungandr hissed.

A beautiful woman with long, light brown hair and a dark blue healer's dress stood breathing heavily. Her violet eyes widened as she finally noticed the trio, and she jumped on unsteady feet.

"Who are you?" Jormungandr repeated angrily, his dagger raised.

The woman turned toward him. "Is this the Afterlife?"

"It is," Sleipnir answered. He tilted his head and studied the woman. "You are not dead; how did you get here?"

The woman stared nervously at Jormungandr's sharp dagger and wrung her hands. "I am so sorry for startling you. I mean no harm. Loki sent me."

"Loki?" Jormungandr hissed. "What does he want?"

"You know him," the woman said, a statement more than a question. She raised her hands, palms down, in an attempt to placate him. "I understand the hostility; he is not the most liked person in the Nine Realms. But he sent me here to protect me and told me to ask for Hela. He said she would help. Is she here?"

"Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't," Jormungandr snarled. "Why's it matter to you?"

The woman frowned, her violet eyes turning somber. "Asgard is gone and Loki believes our people, those who are left, are in danger. He needs Hela's help."

Sleipnir reached around his brother to push Jormungandr's dagger down. Jormungandr glared at him but didn't fight it.

"How do you know us?" Sleipnir asked.

"My memory is still a little...distorted," the woman said. "When Odin died, suppressed memories came back, and Loki said he felt the same way—felt stronger. I remember a curse and how much it hurt, both inside and out, when Odin separated us. If you see Hela, please let her know Loki does not blame her for what happened on Asgard. Instead, he wishes to make things right."

Sleipnir raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance at Jormungandr over Fenris's head. "You know about the curse? And Odin?"

The woman nodded. "I do not...remember every detail yet, but I remember seeing Odin separating an infant Hela from her brothers."

"'Her brothers'," Jormungandr repeated. "You mean us?"

The woman's eyes widened even more. "Yes! I apologize for not recognizing you three immediately; it has been far too long."

"That's nice," Jormungandr said sarcastically.

Sleipnir gave him a disapproving look before turning towards the woman. "I am sorry but could you explain who you are?"

The woman gave a small nod of her head. "Of course. Loki and I are...well, it is...complicated...right now, but we have been courting, and once promised each other betrothal." She placed a hand on her chest. "My name is Sigyn, and I am here on Loki's behalf."

Chapter Text

Sigyn cautiously watched the trio. Out of all three, the one with the green hair scared her the most. His sharp dagger and the way his wrist moved when he held it aloft reminded her of how Loki wielded his preferred weapons.

The older of the three, she noted, also shared in Loki's quiet resolve and diplomatic tendencies in the way the young man stepped in before the green-haired one could argue. The youngest watched them all with wide eyes behind the thick curls of dark hair shading his face.

Through the foggy memories, Sigyn noticed the resemblance of the trio to Loki. If her memories served correctly, she hadn't seen them in Asgardian form before, and yet, she could almost accurately place them in the context of the images.

The quiet, oldest, matched the reserved personality of the eight-legged horse, Sleipnir. The green-haired, angry one fit with the serpent, Jormungandr. The curious one had yet to show the outgoing and bubbly nature of the wolf pup, Fenris, Sigyn remembered, but she knew it would surface eventually.

Studying them further, she also noticed the hints of Loki's facial features scattered amongst the trio. All of them, except Fenris, had slender builds and pale skin. Although Fenris had a more athletic and broader build than his siblings, the dark, curly hair resembled Loki's hairstyle in his youth.

"So you were there when Odin separated us?" Jormungandr questioned. Although Sleipnir had forced his hand down, the green-haired one still twirled his dagger over his fingers, the light catching on glint of metal.

"Yes," Sigyn said. "I am assuming Odin did not want anyone who knew about Loki's children to spread rumors. At the time, we did not know how much it would affect us. You do not have to trust me, but I want you to know your father did everything he could to fight it."

"If he really cared, he would be here," Jormungandr said, stepping towards Sigyn. Sleipnir put a hand on Jormungandr's shoulder to hold him back.

"It is difficult to get even one living person here, let alone two," Sigyn replied calmly. "Loki sent me here to deliver a message, and to protect me. He wanted to stay with his brother and the other refugees who fled Asgard. I am sure he will try to visit once he believes the threat has passed."

"What threat?" Sleipnir asked. "You say Loki—Father—wanted to protect you. Why?"

"Loki did not give me a name," Sigyn explained. The whole ordeal still rattled her, the way Loki pleaded, on his knees, to send her somewhere safe. In the entire time she had known him—a few thousand years—she had never seen him so terrified. "I wish I knew because then maybe we could help, but it all happened quickly."

"Did he describe the threat?" Sleipnir pressed.

Sigyn shook her head. "He did not say much, nor explain why he sent me here for Hela's help."

The group looked at each other nervously.

Fenris cleared his throat and stepped out from behind his older brothers. "Would Vincent know?"

Jormungandr and Sleipnir looked back at him, and then the younger of the two shrugged while the older pursed his lips.

"Maybe. We could have to ask," Sleipnir said. To Sigyn, he added, "Hela is a little busy right now. The Afterlife is going through a...difficult time right now, so I'm not sure how soon she will return to her duties."

"I understand," Sigyn said. "I wish I could be of more help."

"It's alright," Sleipnir said. "I assume you're staying? I could show you to a room; might as well make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," Sigyn said with a small bow.

Sleipnir nodded in return and beckoned for her to follow. Fenris and Jormungandr remained behind in the throne room, their conversation fading the further they went into the palace. Sleipnir led her to an empty bedroom deep inside the palace. Sigyn thanked him and went to close the door when Sleipnir hesitated.

"Yes?" Sigyn asked, instantly noticing his desire to ask something.

Sleipnir picked at his left hand, and the similarities of how Loki did the same thing hit Sigyn hard enough to force her to blink several times to regain her focus.

"May I talk to you?" Sleipnir asked. He stood rigid, yet Sigyn could sense the nervousness radiating off of him.

"Of course. Come in," Sigyn said and stepped to the side to let Sleipnir into the bedroom.

When the door clicked closed, Sigyn opened her mouth to speak when he cut in first.

"I want to start by saying I'm sorry for Jormungandr's behavior," Sleipnir said. "It's...he is not used to being around others so he is typically hostile towards new people. He is learning but it is taking a while, so I apologize if he scared you or anything—"

Sigyn waved a hand in the air to dismiss the rest of his apology. "Oh, don't worry. I do not know what happened so I can only assume, but I suppose life has not been easy, has it?"

Sleipnir scratched the back of his head. "No, I suppose not. It's-it's...different for each of us. I had the stables and the people around me, and I couldn't claim loneliness despite my obvious differences. Jormungandr and Fenris: they had nothing, nobody. It seems like Hela had a good life, until Asgard and everything..."

Sigyn placed a hand on his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sleipnir looked at her hand and then up at her, some tension leaving his hazel eyes at the touch.

"If it is any consolation, I never liked Odin," Sigyn admitted. And oddly, it felt good to say, as if the words alone affirmed her inner thoughts and solidified them into a truth. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?"

Sleipnir started picking at his left hand again, and Sigyn removed hers from his arm to let him think.

"I…we…the others...well, not Fenris...may take a while to agree with me, but…I trust you. Right now, things have only started going well again, and everything might get better eventually but it's still a lot to process. Especially for Hela. Ever since we came here before Asgard...exploded...she has..." Sleipnir took a deep breath and paused to collect his thoughts. "What I'm trying to say is, Hela's having a tough time and we're not entirely sure how everything will turn out. Even so, it's nice having someone else here to help out even if we have to worry about more threats."

"Oh," Sigyn muttered. She hesitated and then caught sight of the bed. Walking over, she sat down and patted the spot beside her invitation.

Sleipnir, on the verge of a breakdown, gladly accepted and dropped heavily beside her. All the previous poise disappeared and he visibly deflated next to her.

"Tell me about Loki—Father," Sleipnir muttered. "What is he like? How did you meet? Why did he attack Midgard?"

Sigyn sighed and stared at the floor. Her worn-out shoes stuck out from the hem of her dress. She needed a new pair, but in Asgard's destruction, all of her clothes and possessions evaporated alongside her family home.

A lump formed in her throat at the thought of never seeing the beautiful sunrises on Asgard, sitting beneath her favorite oak tree, walking in the palace garden, reading the numerous books in the library, eating delicious foods bought at the market, dancing under the stars, or...

"I am sorry; I do not why he attacked Midgard," Sigyn admitted, shoving away the thoughts of all the things she could never do again on Asgard.

As for the attack on Midgard, she had first found it strange and uncharacteristic for someone who usually avoided conflict. Of course, the news of the attack had upset her and she initially didn't think of it beyond the surface-level facts of all the deaths Loki had caused. Once the anger and betrayal had faded, then she started noticing hints of something else hidden beneath Loki's carefully crafted exterior—hints only someone who had known Loki as well as she did could notice.

Hints like a slight hunch in his shoulders, flashes of something in his eyes, a wariness underneath his smirk and feigned confidence...

"Loki typically preferred to keep to himself, reading or studying. Yes, he played pranks and sometimes it went too far, but he never intentionally wanted to hurt someone. He always went for the diplomatic approach before resorting to a fight. The attack," Sigyn explained, "nobody predicted it, especially since we all thought he had died."

Sigyn swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry at the memory of hearing Loki's presumed plunge into the Void after fighting his brother. At the time, the news stabbed her in the heart, and her parents, who never liked Loki much, tried their best to distract her from wallowing in grief.

And then Loki came back, attacked Midgard, landed himself in prison, escaped, and 'died' again on Svartalfheim. By then, Sigyn claimed she would let him go and move on, but nobody else could fill the hole in her heart. It had felt like a piece of her soul had shattered, and the man she once knew no longer could fix it.

At least, until he declared his love for her on the Statesman and promised to atone for his transgressions before opening a portal and sending her to Valhalla.

"We first met in our youth during our lessons. Being a prince, he had the best tutors but my parents, despite being farmers, wanted me to have an education. We saw each other occasionally and initially did not talk much, but we eventually grew fond of each other. We did not start officially courting until he asked me to join him at a spring dance," Sigyn explained, a fond smile crossing her face. "He is very romantic."

The room fell silent for a moment, letting Sleipnir soak in the information and Sigyn relive the feeling of Loki's lips against her during their first kiss under the light of the moon.

"Are you two going to get married?" Sleipnir asked, breaking Sigyn from her reverie.

Sigyn blinked, thrown off by the question.

"W-W-Well..." Sigyn sputtered. "It-It had been the goal. Now, I'm not so sure. Our relationship is a little complicated at the moment...why do you ask?"

"I do not know what to call you," Sleipnir admitted. "Is 'Mother' or 'Mom' too weird?"

"I-I'm not your mother, Sleipnir," Sigyn said.

"But if you and Father intend for marriage, then you will be. And from what I can tell, from the way you talk about him, the love you two have is real."

"If you want to call me 'Mother', I suppose you could," Sigyn offered. The request—albeit, a strange one, for lack of a better word—tugged at her heartstrings. She supposed it made sense if she and Loki married and she became his children's step-mother, for them to call her as such. Even so, having Sleipnir request it less than an hour after meeting her, reminded her of his and his siblings' tumultuous childhoods.

The children never had parents, in the common sense of the term. They didn't have a normal childhood. The curse had ruined all of it, and if Sleipnir considered her a mother figure, then Sigyn would do everything she could to fulfill the role.

In her spotted memories, she knew she had loved Loki's children as if they were her own, and nothing had changed. It would take some time to get used to the new circumstances and all the traumas created by the curse, but if Loki ever found a way to defeat the looming threat and repair his relationship with her, then perhaps they could be a family.

Sleipnir smiled, even though it looked weak. Sigyn rested a hand on his shoulder and nodded at him, trying her best to comfort him. She could see his exhaustion in his sad, hazel eyes ringed by dark circles and his slumped shoulders.

"If you ever want to talk or need anything, it's alright," Sigyn offered. "I am here."

-oOo-

A few days after Sigyn's arrival, word spread of Xandar, the home planet of the Nova Corps, falling victim to a besiege. Along with a powerful relic disappearing into the hands of the attackers, half of the people perished, hopelessly outmatched.

Hela, who finally returned to her role as queen, and Death immediately sent out a team of reapers to find the souls of the dead. Several council meetings discussed the being who attacked the planet and brainstormed ideas of what to do in case the being's warpath reached other planets.

The council decided to wait despite the individual possessing lethal weapons with full intentions of wiping out anything standing in the way.

Thanos—Death's old flame.

Hela had met Thanos on several occasions and never liked him. She didn't understand her mother's fixation with him, especially since his plans to use the Infinity Stones to wipe out half the universe's population would completely wreck the sacred balance.

Mama had called it off with Thanos when he tried to make moves on Hela centuries ago. Even star-struck love or obsessive-level mania couldn't stop Death from protecting her little marigold and dumping his sorry, purple, ugly-chinned face. Hela hadn't missed him one bit, and when Mama let her throw the Soul Stone onto Vormir and cast a spell on it to prevent it from falling into his hands, she relished the opportunity to get back at him.

Perhaps Mama still had some feelings for him, which might have been the reason for her decision to make the council wait until Thanos escalated things before reacting. Maybe it had been a stupid idea to leave Thanos alone and believe the spell on Vormir would stop him from achieving his goals.

Hela rarely saw her brothers outside of the meetings, but she knew they, and the new lady, Sigyn, were doing everything they could to help.

Sigyn, as a healer, knew how to calm people down and tried to help the new souls settle in. Those who came into the Afterlife were terrified, barely spoke of their experiences, and struggled to adjust to the sudden change.

Sleipnir, Jormungandr, and Fenris helped out wherever they could, mostly moving things around to make room for the influx of people. Vincent and Pietro were stuck in meetings all day long, on top of trying to coordinate the reapers' schedules to fit in the rush of souls almost constantly flooding the Afterlife.

Then things went from bad to worse.

A week after Xandar, Thanos and his devoted followers, attacked the Asgardian refugee ship, the Statesman. Again, half of the refugees died, the ship exploded, and the other half of the remaining survivors barely escaped. A team of reapers went out to collect the souls.

One of the souls hit harder than anything else. Vincent, himself, who rarely collected souls anymore, brought the soul into Valhalla, already signaling the importance of this particular soul.

Then Vincent summoned her and her brothers, Sigyn, and Death, and brought the soul straight in front of the gathering in the throne room.

Loki.

At first, Hela didn't understand why she should care about a dead prince of Asgard. Sure, she had fought him on the bridge and something about him seemed familiar, but she had been too preoccupied with other responsibilities to worry about her family tree beyond her newfound brothers.

So she didn't care when Loki, accompanied by Vincent, appeared in the throne room, his shoulders slumped and staring at the floor. His shoulder-length, black hair covered his face but she could see a frown on his thin lips.

At Vincent's prodding, Loki glanced up, looked around, and locked eyes with Sigyn.

"Sigyn?" Loki gasped. "You made it."

"Oh, Loki!" Sigyn cried, and practically dove into each other's arms.

Then Loki, over Sigyn's shoulder, noticed Death standing beside Hela, and his teary-eyed expression immediately soured.

"You—" Loki snarled and broke away from Sigyn's embrace. "I know you!"

"Hello, Loki," Death said. She stood calmly as Loki summoned a dagger and jabbed it in her direction.

Affronted at the blatant disrespect to her mother, Hela moved to intercept the fight but Death brought out an arm to block her.

"I never wanted to see you again," Loki hissed, his dagger pointed accusingly at Death's cloaked form.

"And yet, here we are," Death said. She spread her arms, her long sleeves brushed against her skirt. "Welcome to the Afterlife, Loki. It has been a while."

Loki let out a humorless laugh. "A while is far too soon."

"Mama, what is going on?" Hela asked. Nearby, her brothers looked just as confused.

Death sighed, placed a hand on Hela's shoulder, and motioned with the other at Loki. "Hela, darling, meet your father."

Hela zeroed in on Loki and gaped open-mouthed at the man standing before her. He met her gaze and his eyes softened ever-so-slightly.

"You have grown so much—" Loki said.

"You left me!" Hela shouted. "Why?!"

"Ask your mother."

"Mama?" Hela muttered. Her heart fluttered at a hundred miles an hour and a wave of dizziness washed over her.

A soft smile tugged on Death's painted lips and she reached up to cup Hela's cheek. "I have loved you ever since you came into existence. I kept your father a secret because it would do neither of us any good to ruminate over the past."

Loki let out another strained laugh. "Are you serious?!" He lifted his dagger again. "This bikkja—"

Hela shot him a threatening glare but it bounced off him, unfazed.

"Intercepted a spell, locked me in her palace, forced me to marry her, used me like some pathetic breeding stock, and wouldn't even let me hold my own daughter!" Loki accused.

"You stole her from me!" Death snapped.

"A small price to pay for all the things you put me through," Loki retorted. To the rest of the room, he added, "It's her fault I couldn't see any of my children! Hers and Odin's."

"What?" Jormungandr hissed. His eyes fixed on Death, an unwavering glare.

Fenris and Sleipnir stood slack-jawed. Vincent remained stoic and impassive although a tiny fidgeting of his fingers tapping against his thigh betrayed his discomfort. Sigyn tried to hold Loki back from lunging at Death.

"It's not true!" Hela shouted. "It's not true, is it, Mama? Say it's not true."

Death said nothing and wouldn't even meet Hela's eyes.

"Mama?" Hela muttered, hoping Death would put Loki in his place for disrespecting her. "Mama?!"

"I wanted an heir," Death began, "and I got one. I could not have asked for a better daughter, and I would not change anything."

Loki scoffed and threw up his hands. Then he noticed Vincent. "You were there." He jabbed his dagger at the reaper. "What happened? Run back to your precious queen?"

Hela turned to face her trusted advisor. He had been the only father figure she ever had, taking care of her whenever Death got too busy. She could turn to him whenever she and Death got into disagreements. He never wavered, always stayed steady. He couldn't...

"Vincent?" Hela asked. This couldn't be happening. Loki, father or not, fabricated the whole thing. Her mother's mistakes, Hela could accept, but Vincent...

"I officiated the wedding, at the behest of your mother, yes," Vincent admitted. His hands were clasped behind his back. "Your mother swore me into secrecy as punishment for assisting in your father's escape attempt."

Another wave of dizziness came over her and she backpedaled to collapse on the steps. Through the ringing in her ears, she thought she heard Vincent mutter "I'm sorry" and Jormungandr let out a quiet "Oh damn".

All these years, growing up, she wished she knew her father. Mama only gave small hints about her parentage such as him being Asgardian and the reason why she took over the Nordic realms once she came of age.

Her entire life, everything she had ever known, the betrayal of not only her mother but her beloved advisor...she couldn't take it anymore.

Hela shot to her feet and strode right out of the throne room despite several protests.

Feet moving blindly, she found herself at Pietro's house before her mind caught up to her body. The door opened after a single knock, and she brushed past Pietro's father and headed straight to his bedroom.

She found Pietro sitting on his bed, a stack of papers spread around him.

"Hela?" he asked, glancing up from his work.

Grabbing a stack of paper, she set it on his desk, shoved more off the bed, and broke down into his arms.

Chapter Text

Being the oldest, Sleipnir felt he had more responsibility than his younger siblings simply because he had lived the longest even though Hela technically had the most experience being an actual leader. Nature, though, determined his preconceived role to take care of others and help guide others when they strayed. It also meant the others might view him as a role model, and he couldn't fail them now, not when their father had died and their whole worldview once again shifted on its axis.

Sleipnir had tried to remain hopeful, making himself believe it could only get better from here. All those stories and rumors about Loki, if anything Sigyn said proved true, were spread by people intending to tear him down. Like Odin—the former king had completely ruined Loki's reputation more than once and seemed resolute in his perception of his adopted son.

The newly added information of Death taking advantage of Loki to give birth to Hela further jumbled Sleipnir's already conflicting thoughts.

The entire confrontation ended with everyone parting ways. After Hela had run off, Loki stormed away in a flurry of rage, Sigyn close behind. Death flung her cloak wide and strode out of the throne room, her robes billowing out behind her. Vincent disappeared in a flash of white light. Jormungandr expressed his desire to stab Death through the chest and left seething when Sleipnir called it a 'stupid and dangerous idea'. Fenris went out to the garden 'to get some fresh air' while Sleipnir holed himself in the palace's library for no apparent reason other than to sit in silence.

Loki's death had hit Sleipnir a lot harder than he expected. Any vision in his head about how he would meet his father had vanished the instant Vincent called him to the throne room. For all the previous conceptions of having a chance to sit down and talk to his father, he never once considered Loki might've been dead when they first met.

Granted, being the Afterlife, all prior ideas of death and reuniting with loved ones had changed. Death—the state of being, not the person—didn't seem so final anymore, especially since his sister could keep her throne and he gained royal status. Nevertheless, despite the beauty of the Afterlife, he didn't want to stay here forever. And now with Loki's death, they couldn't live anywhere else and have a happy, normal family.

Loki would have to stay in the Afterlife. Sigyn could leave, too, and they could visit Loki whenever they wanted, but it wouldn't be the same.

Sitting at a table in the library, Sleipnir tapped a pencil against the wooden top. An open notebook beside a thick tome sat on the table in front of him, little notes and ideas scribbled down in his neat handwriting. Sleipnir had tasked himself with researching the history of the Afterlife and had only gotten to the point where Death had joined all the realms into one conglomerate a few hundred years after the existence of the first beings containing souls.

Mind too distracted for any further thought, his eyes roved unseeing over the text. Being new to the Afterlife, he didn't participate much in the council meetings and he still hadn't figured out where all his royal duties fell, so he had a lot of free time. Time like this, however, he currently loathed because it let his mind wander on unpleasant thoughts.

A quiet creak of the door opening and then closing whispered through the silence, and he thought nothing of it because people came and went every time he visited the library.

Shifting his tapping to his chin instead of the table, he adjusted his elbow on the wood and flexed the fingers of his left hand before resettling his cheek against his fist. Sighing, he resigned himself to rereading the page for the fifth time.

"What are you working on?" a voice above Sleipnir's shoulder asked.

Sleipnir jumped and dropped the pencil. It rolled off the table and fell onto the stone floor out of reach. While seated, Sleipnir fumbled around for the pencil and couldn't find it because it had rolled out of his sight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Loki duck his head and step to the side.

"Sorry for startling you," Loki said. He bent down, picked something off the floor, and offered it to Sleipnir. The pencil rested in Loki's open palm, and Sleipnir took it with a small nod of thanks to set it back on the table.

"It's alright. I haven't accomplished much anyway," Sleipnir said, avoiding Loki's gaze.

What kind of son couldn't even look his father in the eyes? Perhaps the power radiating from Loki naturally caused Sleipnir's aversion simply out of respect. Perhaps the exhaustion dragging him down into a haze made eye contact seem too daunting. Perhaps a mix of fear, confusion, betrayal, and a whole host of other emotions forced a wall between the two.

Sleipnir's wound throbbed under his shirt, strangely more noticeable in Loki's presence, probably from the sudden motion. He hadn't gotten around to asking Sigyn about it. It hadn't healed completely and it still hurt if he moved too quickly, so having a healer look at it seemed like a good idea. He tried to ignore the dull pain and stared down at his half-empty notebook page.

"Would you like company?" Loki asked. He stood a respectful distance away to give Sleipnir some space while also not isolating himself from the conversation. When Sleipnir didn't say anything, Loki continued, "I'm sorry. I needed to stretch my legs, and I wanted to see if the library had changed since I came here last, and I just saw you sitting here alone. I can leave if you want."

Sleipnir shook his head, never looking away from the notebook. "No, it's fine."

Loki took the offer and sat in the chair across the table from Sleipnir. He looked at the notebook and attempted to read it upside down.

"Been thinking?" Loki asked.

"Nothing impactful has come to me," Sleipnir replied.

"Not everything has to have meaning," Loki said. "Sometimes studying is just simply studying, nothing more, nothing less. Knowledge, though, has power, and can often help you more than any amount of strength ever could."

Staring at his father full-on for the first time, Sleipnir started to see the resemblance. Loki had a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, just like Sleipnir. Loki's piercing green eyes shone out against his pale skin and his dark hair framed his face. Loki would have looked intimidating if his shoulders weren't slumped and if he didn't have dark circles under his eyes.

Loki, Sleipnir realized, looked extremely exhausted, as if he hadn't slept well. Even though Loki had a guarded expression and appeared fine on the surface, Sleipnir noticed a hint of pain in Loki's eyes.

"Do you think knowledge will help us stop Thanos?" Slepinir asked.

At the mention of Thanos, Loki flinched, ever so slightly but Sleipnir caught it. Leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest, Loki stared at the wall behind Sleipnir and nodded.

"I don't know. I would like to think it would, but perhaps this is the one time where strength works better than knowledge. I tried to outsmart him several times before and none of it turned out well..." Loki's voice drifted off.

Sleipnir had no idea how Loki and Thanos were connected besides the obvious cause of Loki's death. Something, though, told him it ran deeper than one interaction.

"Why did he kill you?" Sleipnir asked carefully and after a lot of hesitation.

Loki flinched again but he nodded and switched his gaze over to Sleipnir. "I never thought he would do something like that. He always said death was too merciful. I suppose I no longer served a purpose," Loki shrugged, his nonchalance forced and stiff.

"Oh," Sleipnir muttered and quickly filed the information away for later. Thanos and Loki had a history, and from what Sleipnir could gather, Loki didn't seem too keen on bringing up his past. And it seemed worse than the relationship between Loki and Death. All he knew, Loki fell into the Void after fighting Uncle Thor years ago and came back completely changed. Sigyn had a hunch about Thanos playing some role in Loki's change, and Sleipnir found himself believing it, too.

"Sigyn said you talked to her," Loki said, suddenly switching the subject.

"Yeah," Sleipnir muttered, too distracted by attempting to read Loki's facial expressions to bother giving a better answer.

"I understand if you are a little hesitant to trust me. My reputation precedes me, or so I heard. If you need to trust anyone, trust Sigyn," Loki said.

"I do," Sleipnir admitted, and he meant it. Something about Sigyn filled some hole he hadn't known he missed. Mothers, or someone resembling one, he supposed, could do that. "It's just...I'm still trying to figure everything out. It's a lot and—"

"I understand. Having everything you've ever known and learning it's all a lie," Loki said. He clasped his hands on top of the table and gave Sleipnir a weak smile. "I know this probably isn't the way you imagined we would meet. It's certainly not how I envisioned it, but we cannot change the past. I wish to make up for it...if you want."

Sleipnir stared at his notebook and sighed. Tears pricked at his eyes and he heard himself speaking before he could process it. "I don't know what I'm doing. The others...they expect me to have all the answers and I don't. I can't even keep my family together, but it feels like I'm flailing—like my life is the Bifrost and I'm just along for the ride, not knowing where I'm going or how to control it."

"Maybe you should work on helping yourself first. It's not selfish to take care of yourself; everyone needs a rest because everyone has a breaking point. Do not push yourself too hard and do not feel upset when you cannot solve everyone's problems. You are still young, you shouldn't have to deal with this.

"If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I brought this upon you and although I wish I could go back and change it, I can't. Odin should have never interfered in the first place and I should've done more to stop him. Parents should never let their children go through what they have; this never should have happened to you," Loki said, sounding extremely regretful and sad. "Hopefully, when all of this is over, we can focus on being a family again. Even though I'm stuck in Valhalla, you and your siblings can go with Sigyn, if you want, and visit me. Again, only if you want to, I'm not forcing you to do anything because you deserve the freedom of choice. I certainly never did."

Sleipnir furrowed his brows. "You don't want to have a home here? We can stay here and…"

Loki shook his head. " You don't belong here, Sleipnir, and you know I cannot leave. My soul is tied here and this is where I'm going to be for the rest of eternity. You deserve much better than this—a life outside of the Afterlife. Maybe you can go with my brother and find somewhere to live on Midgard. We were planning on building a village on Midgard before we were attacked. Even though I cannot be there myself, you can."

"Why can't we live together, as a family? Are we destined to suffer like this forever? You can marry Sigyn and then we can all live together with Hela and Fenris and Jormungandr as a… as a family—a normal family!"

"Sleipnir, I physically cannot go anywhere. The Afterlife will always be here and in time you will return. Go out and see the universe—experience what it's like living," Loki insisted.

Sleipnir reached across the table and grabbed Loki's hand. Loki flinched a little at the sudden touch but didn't pull his hand away.

"I don't want to!" Sleipnir pleaded. "I need you, Father, I need you!"

Loki blinked, let out a long exhale, and placed his other hand over Sleipnir's. Tears finally streaked down Sleipnir's thin cheeks, and Loki said nothing as everything came rushing out. Sleipnir knew it'd only be a stupid waste of time to attempt to change something that couldn't be changed but he couldn't help but plead.

"I cannot make any promises and we will have to see what happens after we sort out this threat first," Loki said. He gave Sleipnir's hand a gentle squeeze. "I assure you, son, I am done hurting you. I will not do anything you wouldn't want but eventually, you will have to learn how to let go."

Sleipnir sobbed and rested his forehead against the table. Although his father sat directly across from him and held his hand, it still felt as if Loki was a whole galaxy away, drifting away along with Sleipnir's dreams. After everything they had been through, he thought surely they had suffered enough. Why did he have to lose his father right when they met?

Loki's cool hand anchored him to the truth—the truth Sleipnir didn't have enough strength to face. However, for the first time in centuries, Sleipnir didn't have to face it alone—didn't have to face it alone. He had siblings, a mother figure, and his father who he'd been trying so hard to find and finally meet.

For the first time in centuries, he actually had the beginnings of a family, and they were going to face the hardships together.

-oOo-

Jormungandr spent the whole day rethinking everything he had said and done during the meeting in the throne room. Sure, Jormungandr knew he had issues acting around people—strange people, which, apparently, included his father.

His father had suddenly appeared, accused Hela's mother of a whole load of stuff neither she nor Vincent denied, and didn't even acknowledge anyone else.

Jormungandr had stood, like an oaf, and only interjected when Death admitted to playing a role in Odin's curse. Naturally, Jormungandr wanted to stab her, and if not for the ever-sensible Sleipnir, Jormungandr would've gone through with it.

He didn't know what to think of Loki. Honestly, he hadn't had much time to even talk to the man, so Jormungandr had left to go punch something to calm himself down after the whole debacle.

And damn, what drama. As if his entire existence couldn't get any worse, Loki showed up, threw all order and peace out the window by letting out a thousand and some years of pent-up irritation, and left the palace in utter chaos.

If it had been anyone else, Jormungandr would've sat back and watched the drama unfold. However, being thrust into the middle of a millennia-old family dispute only upset him further.

From his perspective, Jormungandr realized he might've misjudged his father before he even met the man. Perhaps he should hear Loki's side of the story instead of basing his father's reputation on the people around him. It's the least he could do because he wouldn't trust his father without doing his research.

Somehow, Jormungandr found himself out in the garden again. It had become a favorite spot of his and he would usually meet Mia there. The smell of the flowers occasionally bothered his senses and he thought the gardeners overdid with the foliage, but Mia liked the garden and so he liked anything she liked. Mia, however, couldn't meet him today, so Jormungandr absent-mindedly wandered the garden alone, lost in his thoughts.

Instead of focusing on Odin and Death's deal, he kept revising what he would say when got the chance to confront Loki. It took some thinking for him to decide to get straight to the point right away to avoid any distractions or let his emotions run wild. He'd have to stay calm and control his temper, something Sleipnir said he needed to practice.

Well, Jormungandr would prove he wouldn't let his anger get the best of him because he's calm, collected, and ready for a peaceful, civil conversation.

All of his planning went straight down the drain when Jormungandr tripped over a loose rock and stumbled. He'd gotten used to having limbs, but it still took some focus—focus he currently didn't have—to control his motions.

Before Jormungandr could fall flat on his face like a dumbass, a hand reached out and steadied him. Jormungandr looked up to see Loki staring back at him.

"Back off!" Jormungandr shouted and yanked his arm from Loki's grip.

So much for staying calm.

Loki took a step back and held up his hands in surrender. "What did I ever do to you?"

"How about what you didn't do? That's the real question," Jormungandr snapped. "Odin says I'm part dragon. How in the Nine Realms did you accomplish that?"

Loki shrugged. "I tried my hand at healing magic. It worked a little too well."

Jormungandr let out an unamused laugh. "Sure, because you're sorcerer who can't control his powers and enjoys causing chaos, including in my life."

"Jormy…" Loki muttered.

"Don't call me that! Only Sleipnir gets to call me that," Jormungandr hissed.

"I gave you that nickname!" Loki exclaimed. He sucked in a deep breath, visibly reigning himself in. "I think you should calm down."

Jormungandr shook his head and reached for the dagger on his belt. He unsheathed it and lunged at Loki, all thoughts of peace evaporating.

Loki sidestepped Jormungandr and caught him by the wrist. The sorcerer twisted the younger's wrist, forcing Jormungandr to drop the dagger. It clattered onto the stone pathway and Loki kicked it into a nearby rosebush.

"You tense up when you are about to strike," Loki stated calmly, still holding onto Jormungandr's wrist. "Most enemies will notice."

"I don't care!" Jormungandr shouted and tried to elbow Loki with his free arm.

"I do not understand why you are so angry," Loki commented as he dodged Jormungandr's attack. He kicked Jormungandr's feet out from under him, dropping the younger onto his rear.

"Because you left me to survive on my own!" Jormungandr hissed through clenched teeth as he got to his feet.

"I thought we already established I didn't have a choice?" Loki asked. And if Jormungandr didn't already want to punch him, his father casually folded his arms in front of his chest and stared sternly at his son.

He had fought in the arena on Sakaar and won several times—Jormungandr wouldn't let his pathetic, cowardly father defeat him in a stupid brawl.

Jormungandr advanced towards Loki, attacking in a flurry of punches. Loki caught and deflected every one of them as if it were an annoying task he had to accomplish. The onslaught forced Loki to back up into the grass, but he stayed calm while focusing on Jormungandr.

"You know what lives in a swamp? Nothing. I practically lived on the brink of starvation every single day, wondering if I'd make to the morning," Jormungandr shouted out between punches. He tried to kick Loki but just ended up tripping. He stumbled a bit before catching himself and going right back to throwing sloppy punches at Loki. "How could you tell me you didn't have a choice when I didn't ask for this?!

"I've had to endure living alone for most of my life! Then I had to fight in an arena for some creepy, old man. Sleipnir almost died because of me! I didn't ask for this. I wish I'd never been born!" Jormungandr's hand finally connected and he flattened his palms to shove Loki away. Too blind from rage, he turned his back towards his father, breathing hard from both exertion and the hammering of his heart.

"Don't say that," Loki said from behind Jormungandr.

"I did and I mean it," Jormungandr muttered, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as he tried to focus. His vision blurred, either from anger or from the burning sensation in the back of his eyes.

"We're nothing but products of your mistakes—mistakes you made not once, not twice, but four times! It would've been better if you had learned the first time because our lives are a living hell."

"I didn't have a choice, Jormungandr, no say in the matter. Yes, the circumstances of your births were not the most pleasant, but I would not undo it if given the chance. You are my son, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

"I asked Vincent to take care of Hela, and he did. If I had known where Odin planned to send you, I would've fought harder. I did fight, and I lost. And for that, I am truly sorry, because I failed a father—failed as your father," Loki said, sounding tired.

"How am I supposed to believe a murderer?" Jormungandr questioned, hostility lurking underneath. "Or are you going to tell me you 'didn't have a choice' either when you attacked Midgard?"

"Midgard is...complicated, and not something I wish to discuss right now. I only want you to know I chose to let you live, and I made my choice because you were too young to make it on your own. Yes, I made mistakes, plenty of mistakes, but for you, I take full responsibility. If you want to blame me for what happened, go ahead, I will not stop you. I tried my best to give you and your siblings the best life I could, and it did not work out the way any of us wanted.

"Because of Odin, I missed out on so many life experiences parents get to have with their children. I never got to hold Hela past the first day she came out of her mother's womb. I missed her first words and first steps. I missed out on teaching you how to read, watching you make friends, teasing you about your first love. We both missed out on so much, and we will have to live with it. You have so much potential, and if not for Odin, we would have shared in a glorious life.

"Whether you trust me or hate me, just know I love you and I would do anything to set this right."

Jormungandr gritted his teeth, his chest rising and falling until his temper became unbearable. Whipping around, Jormungandr socked Loki straight across the jaw. Loki stumbled backward from a mixture of force and surprise, only to be hugged immediately after by Jormungandr.

Jormungandr buried his head into his father's chest and sobbed. "I'm sorry…"

Loki slowly hugged Jormungandr back, embracing his son in a gentle yet firm hug—the beginnings of a bridge closing the gap between father and son.

"You are not the one who needs to apologize. I do," Loki muttered. "I never wanted this for you."

"Tell me everything," Jormungandr whispered. "I want to know everything, about you, about what happened on Midgard, about what Odin did. I want to know the whole truth. I want to trust you."

"I will tell you everything, in time, but there are some things parents must keep from their children."

"I know, Father, I know."

-oOo-

Fenris found a little spot by the lake, and after shucking off his boots and socks and rolling his pants up to his knees, he waded into the water. Little fishes swam around his ankles, darting to and fro whenever he moved and created ripples across the surface. He tried catching one, but being small and wet, they slipped right past his fingers.

He didn't go out too far because the last time he found himself in water, he had almost fallen right off the surface of Asgard.

He didn't blame the giant green beast for fighting him. The creature had been doing his job of defending the people, and if not for the green beast's interjection, a lot more Asgardians would've perished.

Previous water encounter aside, Fenris liked the openness of the lake and the way the sun glinted off the silvery surface. The bridge split the lake into two, kind of like the one on Asgard except the mountains on one side had more foliage, the sky looked blue instead of star-filled black, and the lake didn't drop off into an edge of nothing.

Fog obscured the far end of the lake, the side away from the city. Fenris had no intention of going out far enough for his clothes to get wet, so he contented himself with watching the fish swim curiously up to his feet and hurry away when he wiggled his toes.

A gentle, cool breeze blew across the lake, ruffling his hair. Despite not having a thick layer of fur, he didn't feel cold. He actually preferred the cold, probably something due to genetics by being part Frost Beast.

Sometime in the afternoon, Loki joined Fenris and they played catch on the shore with a small ball Loki summoned using his magic. Fenris had stared open-mouthed as Loki pulled the orange, rubber ball out of nowhere and had asked Loki to do more magic.

Initially, Loki refused, saying he would save it for another time. Fenris also noticed a dark bruise forming on Loki's jaw but he didn't ask about it, deciding he shouldn't push it.

Together, they played catch in white sand, the sun reflecting off the water. Loki let Fenris ramble on about whatever, talking about everything from their favorite snacks to being locked in a dark room surrounded by dead bodies and suddenly being transported into an entirely different realm with siblings he didn't know he had.

Loki had apologized several times, though Fenris didn't blame him. It happened, they couldn't change it, and so he moved on. All he cared about was being with his father again.

They had gotten past all the sentiments and were now laughing as they played catch. Loki had taken off his cape and draped it on a boulder so he could run better to catch Fenris's long passes. Out in the sun and running around, it started to get a little warm and Fenris pushed his sweaty hair out of his face before hefting the ball.

"Go long!" Fenris shouted.

Loki obliged and backed up several feet as Fenris threw the ball. It sailed through the air, briefly disappearing in the sunlight.

Loki looked up to catch it, only for the sun to blind him. The ball hit Loki right in the face. Loki let out a small yelp as it bounced off his face and dropped to the ground.

Jogging over, Fenris picked up the ball from the ground and tried to hold back his giggles. "Sorry."

Loki waved his hand, dismissing the apology. "It's alright, I'm used to it. My brother tended to be a little rough whenever we used to play together. Getting hit in the face with a rubber ball is nothing compared to Thor's idea of harmless fun."

Fenris laughed and tossed the ball up into the air. Loki held his hands out, silently asking for the ball.

"We should probably get cleaned up. It's almost time to eat," Loki said.

"Can you do more magic?" Fenris asked. He grabbed his boots and socks, not bothering to put them back on as they trekked back to the palace.

"Oh, I don't know..."

"Please?"

Loki chuckled and held up the ball. He lightly tossed it into the air, and in a flash of green light, it shifted into a butterfly. The orange butterfly fluttered down to flit around Fenris's head before landing on his nose.

Fenris giggled and sneezed at the feel of the tiny legs tickling his nose. The butterfly lifted into the air again and settled on Loki's outstretched finger. Then Loki rotated his wrist and the butterfly vanished in another flicker of green light.

Fenris met Loki's smile and pressed into his father's side. Sweaty head resting on his father's shoulder, Fenris gave him a one-armed hug and Loki slung an arm over his shoulder.

"Thank you," Fenris said, letting the simple sentence speak for everything.

"You are very welcome, my little snowball."

-oOo-

It wouldn't take long, just a quick in-and-out to grab some clothes and supplies from her bedroom before returning to Pietro's place.

Nobody would notice her. Mama wouldn't find her. Vincent wouldn't see her. Her brothers wouldn't question her.

She, apparently, forgot to account for her father.

One moment, she walked alone down the empty hallway, a satchel slung across her chest, and the next, she rounded the corner and spotted someone she did not want to see.

The tall, slim figure with long, black hair had his back turned toward her and wouldn't have noticed if she didn't let out a small "dammit".

The single expletive caused him to turn around and glance in her direction right when Hela spun on her heel to slip back the way she came.

"Hela?" Loki asked. From his hurried footsteps on the stone floor, she could hear him following her.

Hela picked up her pace, not quite running yet but not strolling along either.

"Hela, wait!" Loki called, finally jogging to catch up. His height allowed him to outmatch her stride, turn around, and walk backward to face her while never slowing down. "May I please talk to you?"

"No."

Loki didn't take no for an answer. "I know this is a lot to deal with right now, and I cannot imagine how you are feeling, but I truly am sorry."

"Apology not accepted," Hela said. She brushed past him, pushing him into the wall to slow him down.

His hand flung out and caught her by the wrist when she strode past, catching her midstride.

Seeing red, she whipped around, yanked her hand free, and opened the reservoir of energy sitting within her. Curling her fingers into an upturned claw, she yanked on his soul, forcing him to contort in pain.

"In case you have forgotten, you are dead, and therefore, you are in my domain now. Watch yourself, silver tongue. I don't have time for trivial apologies." Hela released him with a flick of her wrist, and he gasped out a groan, clutching at his chest.

"Will you...at least...give me...a few...minutes..." Loki choked out, still feeling the aftereffects of having his spectral body almost torn apart. "Please?"

Hela contemplated making him beg on his knees but then thought against it. As much as she hated everything his presence brought to light, she wouldn't do it to the man who gave her life.

"No petty tricks or clever words. I've had enough of deception," Hela said. She crossed her arms over her chest, rested her weight on her right leg, and stared at him.

Loki forced himself to stand straight against the slight tremor occasionally racking his body. "Thank you." He cleared his throat and gave her a once-over. "You were just a baby...My, have you grown."

"No thanks to you."

"Bring it up to your mother. If given the choice, I would have done everything to keep you from her."

Hela's eye twitched at the thought of not living with her mother. Yes, Death could be overbearing sometimes, and the sudden revelation of her birth resulting from a one-sided affair tainted their relationship. Still, she couldn't bear to leave her mother. After all, Death raised and treated her well, and the love they shared was plenty real.

Parents make mistakes, some more forgivable than others. She might not talk to her mother—or Vincent—for a while yet. Loki, however, perhaps she could spare him some leniency.

"What exactly did Mama do to you?" Hela asked, not sure if she wanted the answer. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Sometimes, the 'not knowing' hurts more than the truth. Both were equally parts bad.

Loki's eyes shifted to the side, something flickering in them at the memory. The angle of his head displayed a faint bruise on his jaw, and Hela wondered where he got it.

"Your mother wanted an heir, and she picked me because she thought my sorcery could pass down to you. She manipulated a spell to send me to the Afterlife, trapped me here, and forced me into a marriage after threatening to kill Sigyn if I refused. You can figure out the rest."

"So you never wanted me," Hela said. It made sense, why he would hate her. Their relationship ran deeper than the attack on Asgard—deeper than she ever realized.

"I never said that," Loki corrected, meeting her eyes. "The circumstances were...unpleasant, to say the least, but once I held you for the first time, I vowed to love you. I never got the chance."

"Because of Odin and Mama," Hela finished.

Loki nodded. "I tried to escape with you and Vincent. I didn't get far. Mothers are protective of their children, and Death is no exception." He shrugged. "I suppose your birth finalized Odin's anger towards me, and he decided to wipe our memories. Vincent promised he would take care of you. Has he kept his promise?"

Hela chewed on her bottom lip and uncrossed her arms to settle her hands around the strap of her satchel. "He has. And Mama isn't all bad. I like it here."

"I am glad to hear it." Loki scratched the back of his head. "Do you have any friends?"

"A friend," Hela said, then corrected herself by throwing in a reaper. "Two friends."

The conversation dwindled to a halt, and they stood there awkwardly in the middle of the hallway. Hela shuffled the tip of her shoe against the stone floor, staring at it instead of the man standing in front of her. Loki also glanced around the hallway, scanning the plants and banners adorning the walls.

"I never visited Valhalla. I couldn't leave the capitol palace grounds," Loki eventually said. "If one thing is true, your mother has a love for plants."

"She's the original Green Witch; it's a part of the life cycle," Hela added. Then a thought popped into her head. "How exactly did you send Sigyn here? It's difficult for living beings to pass into the Afterlife."

"And yet, your brother apparently did the same with four people," Loki pointed out teasingly.

Hela rolled her eyes. "I still don't know how he managed it. Perhaps he shares your powers."

Loki nodded. "Possibly. After Odin passed away, I felt stronger. I think he blocked a part of sedir in my youth, perhaps at the same time when he separated us. I am not sure why, but I do believe he worried about what I could do if untrained and uncontrolled. Spells going awry did lead to you all four of you being born, so if I had more control over my sedir, then none of you would be here."

Hela reared her head back in shock. "So we're mistakes?"

"No, not once did I ever consider you or your brothers a mistake. A surprise, perhaps, but never a mistake."

"Instead we just lost our damn minds and murdered people for the hell of it. Guess it runs in the family."

Hela spun on her heel and stomped off, not caring if Loki followed.

He did. This time, however, he followed a few steps behind instead of trying to slow her down.

"You had no control over it. Stop blaming yourself," Loki said, sounding genuinely heartbroken. "I understand what it's like not having control of your mind. It's difficult, intrusive, confusing...painful. You cannot trust yourself because you do not know what is truly yourself or something someone else fashioned."

"Is that what happened to you with Thanos?" Hela snarked over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

She must have struck a nerve because he fell silent for a few minutes. It got to the point where she glanced over her shoulder to find him rooted to a spot in the hallway, his gaze somewhere in the middle distance.

Stopping, she turned fully around and raised a questioning eyebrow.

He felt her gaze and looked up, a frown on his thin lips. "Did you know him? Thanos?"

Something about his demeanor and the haunted expression in his eyes made Hela soften. She came closer and tried to relax a bit instead of acting standoffish.

"Mama dated him for a while," Hela admitted.

The Afterlife had possession of the Soul Stone ever since the stones' creation. Death later threw it onto Vormir as revenge when she dumped him. Death never quite got over him though.

"They split. She didn't like him getting handsy with her unconsenting daughter," Hela added.

"Ironic," Loki scoffed.

And Hela wouldn't even begin to unpack the implications of that word.

"If it's any consolation, I never liked him," Hela said. She hesitated before adding, "I assume you feel the same way?"

Loki let out a small laugh. "I suppose you could say that. Thanos...I realize now, the attack on Midgard is still my fault. I let him exploit my emotions and let my resentment blind me. If I had fought it—fought him—more, then perhaps none of this would have happened."

He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the thick locks. "I wanted revenge, and Thanos granted me access to an army." He paused, sucking in a deep breath and heavily exhaling. "I cannot undo it, but I still cannot help wondering if I could have done something more to prevent it."

Another loll in the conversation silenced the hallway. Outside, the sunlight streaming through the windows began to fade. The air felt heavy and slightly suffocating, almost like a sudden recession of the waters along a beach before a tsunami struck.

"I apologize if this is not how you envisioned our reunion," Loki eventually spoke.

"It's less than ideal, yes," Hela admitted. Honestly, she had no idea what to expect. Her childish fantasies of a beautiful celebration of her father's return withered into nothing more than wishful thinking.

Reality, she realized, couldn't always be whatever she wanted. High expectations often lead to disappointment.

As a child, she used to envision her father bursting into the palace, sweeping her off her feet, and twirling her around before pulling her into a warm embrace. They would go out to eat a bunch of junk food and she would show him all her favorite places. Then they would throw a huge celebration, Mama would finally commit to him instead of messing around with whomever she pleased, and they would live like a normal, happy family.

Now, she knew the man in front of her would never forgive Death, and she couldn't blame him. She couldn't quite trust him, yet, but she also couldn't quite hate him. Rather, she felt numb like her entire body preferred to shut down instead of confronting everything head-on.

Loki picked at his left hand, glanced down then up at her, and after much consideration, spread his arms in invitation.

Hela dismissed the hug by shaking her head. "Excuse me if I'm not forthcoming with unadulterated faith in a stranger. Having someone you love lie to you your whole life will ruin any hope of trusting newcomers. You will have to earn it."

"I understand."

Anything they wanted to say further was cut off by a sudden rumble erupting through the air. It shook the floor, rattled the windows, and threw them off balance.

Hela lost her footing, only to collide with Loki, who caught her before they both tumbled onto the floor.

Pushing herself to her feet, she threw out a hand to support against a wall. The sturdy walls vibrated beneath her palm, blurring her fingers from the rapid motion.

"What is happening?" Loki asked, struggling to his feet. He stumbled on a particularly rough quake, slamming into the nearest column.

"I don't know," Hela gasped. "We should find the others."

Hela took off running the best she could while the whole ground shook beneath her feet. Loki kept pace, only crashing into one unsuspecting guard when they rounded a corner.

They found themselves in the throne room again, the entire stone floor cracking from the force of the tremors.

In the distance, screams echoed above the ruckus of the palace walls raining down dust and chunks of stone. A particularly large one landed right on Hela's throne, denting the intricately forged metal.

Stunned, she didn't notice another clump detach from the ceiling directly above. At the last second, Loki pushed her out of the way and it struck the stone hard enough to send up a plume of dust.

Coughing, Hela felt Loki's hand grab hers and they ran through the palace, dodging falling stone.

The bright light of the sun no longer shone in the sky. Only when they exited the palace did Hela finally notice a blend of dark colors swirling above, casting odd shadows onto anyone outside.

In the courtyard, Hela spotted Death standing in the middle of the courtyard, her robes flapping in the wind, staring at the turbulent sky.

Breaking free from Loki, she ran over to join her mother, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

"Mama, what's happening?" Hela gasped.

Death didn't move a muscle aside from a small furrowing of her brow.

"Mama?!"

Death inclined her head slightly at Hela's shout, and uttered two terrifying words: "Thanos won."

Chapter Text

Five Years Later

Half of the entire universe's population…gone. Disappeared with the snap of a finger.

The ramifications of complete and utter chaos still sent shockwaves throughout the universe. The combination of Thanos using all six Infinity Stones for the first time since ever cracked the Veil surrounding the Afterlife and splintered the connections between the realms.

Souls trapped in the Veil—the limbo between life and death where ghosts presided—could travel easier into the land of the living, unhindered by the thick protective walls sealing them in. Where previously only a few strong enough to push themselves through could leave the Veil and terrorize the living, now ten times as many could break the barriers.

Demons, monsters, and other hell-beasts also pounced on the opportunity to escape their eternal damnation, tormenting anyone who stood in the way.

The Afterlife worked overtime to patch the cracks imprisoning the damned souls, but the sheer amount of splinters in the barriers and the uptick of opportunistic souls pouring out of the Hell realms outpaced any efforts to fix it. They couldn't compete because nothing like this had ever happened before and they were wholly unprepared. Corralling the surge of ghosts escaping the Veil took a backseat compared to the highest-priority, militant approach to blocking the holes in the Hell realms.

To make matters worse, Thanos used the Stones again to destroy them—something most thought impossible.

Five years later, when things started to wind down enough to think about the possibility of tracking down escapees, the Avengers used the Stones to bring everyone who had turned to dust back to life. The force of it once again ripped out the patchwork of spells, formed new cracks, and undid all the previous attempts to stop more souls from breaking loose.

Then, Tony Stark wiped out Thanos's army, and at this point, it seemed futile even to attempt to repair the damage.

Four snaps in five years was four too many.

The Afterlife hoped things would calm down once the Stones returned to their rightful timelines. The utter chaos and sheer amount of power from repeated uses strained all the resources and severed the links between the realms. Never before in the history of ever had the Afterlife been so vulnerable and disorganized.

They couldn't handle the outpouring of souls, the constant battles trying to shove the wretched beings back into their realms, and the mayhem caused by the devastating effects of the full power of the Infinity Stones unleashing upon the universe. For all her previous fascination with Thanos's plans to restore stability, Death now realized it only disrupted the sacred balance between life and death.

And she hated it.

All the times she and Thanos shared a bed—shared dreams of having half the souls come to the Afterlife and fall under her authority—never once did she think about the ramifications of such a catastrophic goal. Perhaps she should have listened to her daughter because not one—not one—of the dusted souls appeared in the Afterlife. They just vanished, torn out of all reality and completely out of her reach.

To top it all off, the aftershocks of the Infinity Stones ripped all her hard work to shreds by blasting holes into her carefully crafted realms and layers upon layers of protection and containment spells. The Afterlife lost souls day by day, hour by hour, only able to slow the tide but not able to fully contain or stop it yet.

It infuriated her to no end, which led her to this drastic decision.

Death burst into the bedroom without knocking, Hela in tow, startling the couple who sat on the balcony overlooking the streets of Valhalla.

"You," Death said, ignoring the woman and pointing straight at the man she once loved. Well, love might've been a vast overstatement. The man she once cared enough for to let him leave the Afterlife after stealing her newborn daughter and ruining her plans of raising a powerful family to rule the Afterlife—there, that described their situation better.

She respected power, and Loki was anything, if not formidable. She and Hela already had a lengthy conversation, and Death could put the past aside for the sake of her daughter if it meant letting Hela finally develop a relationship with her estranged father.

"What do you want?" Loki snapped. He wrapped a protective arm around his woman, Sigyn, and glared at Death.

"I'm here to make a deal," Death said. And she did not miss the constant complaining and snarky replies.

"I'm done making deals with devils," Loki sneered.

Death stepped forward, her dagger flashing into her palm. A hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks.

"Mama, please," Hela said, her hand tightening. "We talked about this."

Death huffed but let the dagger slip back into its sheath.

This is for Hela, Death reminded herself. And for the sake of the Afterlife. Calm down.

"I am sure you have noticed the current state of affairs," Death said, doing her best to prevent her resentment from surfacing.

"So, you're desperate and you need my help," Loki observed, quirking an eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest. Beside him, Sigyn looked confused and a little worried.

Death grimaced at the admittance. "The Afterlife is unstable. We cannot control everything so I have devised an offer. Hela agreed to it and I come here today to explain it to you."

Loki glanced at Hela and when she nodded, his eyes shifted back to Death. He jutted out his chin and looked down his nose as he relented. "Go ahead."

Death swallowed a huff of annoyance at his attitude. "Most of the monsters and ghosts seem to reemerge on Earth. You, Sigyn, and your sons will finally leave the Afterlife and go to Earth. There, you and your family will track down as many monsters and souls as possible and send them back to their rightful place."

"And what's in it for me?" Loki asked, standoffish as ever.

"Sigyn and your sons are still alive, and their presence here is throwing off the sacred balance. I only let them stay at Hela's request, but now, in the midst of all this, it's too much to handle. You are dead, and therefore, will remain tethered to the Afterlife, even if you somehow managed to escape. By agreeing to locate the monsters, I will give let you walk free—start a new life—alive."

Loki and Sigyn shared looks, both visibly shocked. Then Loki glared at Death again, his surprise short-lived.

"So first you kidnap and assault me, let Odin tear apart my family and erase our memories of each other, and now you expect me to work for you?" Loki snarled. "A life controlled by you is not worth living."

Hela interjected before Death could speak. "Consider it recompense for your crimes. Valhalla doesn't punish misdeeds but most Afterlife realms do, so it is only fair to compensate for any wrongdoing. I spoke on your behalf, and I find it fair."

Loki's lips thinned into a pale line as he thought. He glanced at Sigyn, then Hela, then Death, and back to Hela. "Why are you not coming to Midgard?"

Hela gave a small, fond smile that did not reach her eyes. "I promise to visit whenever possible, but the Afterlife takes priority. I cannot abandon my duties here." When Loki didn't respond, she spread her hands and pouted, a habit Death had yet to force her to break. "Please, Father, at least think it over. I know you deserve a happy ending, and this is a great way to start over—to have the family you always wanted."

"I will not interfere unless you have made no progress," Death promised. "Your life is yours to live, and you will only work for me until we have most of it under control. Hela will act as your representative and if she thinks you have done enough and we no longer require your assistance, then you and your family can live however you choose."

Loki still said nothing, a change from his usual constant talking and sassy remarks.

"Think it over. In three days, we will reconvene, and by then, I expect to have an answer," Death said. She swept her arm, her robes swishing from the movement. "Come, Hela, we have work to do."

-oOo-

Sleipnir had never been to Midgard before. Well, at least not since he could remember.

Before him, a house stood atop a small hill in a gated community, far enough away from others to have an unobstructed view of the horizon while also situated relatively close to the larger city of some North American place called Seattle, Washington.

Why they didn't choose Norway or some other Scandinavian city, Sleipnir had no idea. Perhaps it had something to do with hiding from the population of Asgardians and other alien beings seeking refuge in New Asgard, but Sleipnir didn't pry. He went along with his father's declaration of purchasing a home on Midgard and didn't ask any questions beyond the location.

The large yard had plenty of trees to block out prying eyes while also having enough space to run around. The estate stood proudly, boasting a blend of white and dark brown in some kind of Midgardian style. Sleipnir kind of wished it would've resembled a traditional Asgardian design more, but considering the sheer size of the mansion, he supposed he couldn't be too picky. Anything more extravagant would draw too much attention. Besides, their arrival on Midgard already happened under secrecy, and he didn't want to risk signaling everyone to their whereabouts

Sleipnir didn't know all the details of how they finally came to leave the Afterlife, and he didn't mind it as long as he got the chance to start living together as a real family.

All he knew, Loki made a deal with Death—a resurrection of sorts—where he would work to locate the escaped monsters to earn his eventual freedom to live his own life.

It sounded like a deal made in heaven, which, in a sense, it was.

The best part about it, Loki decided to take everyone with him including Sigyn.

Slepnir liked Sigyn, and so far, both Fenris and even Jormungandr grew to like her, too. So what better way to begin again than to move into a new home with his family? Sure, he would like to have Hela stay more often, but he wouldn't complain because hope, for once, finally started to pay off.

Fenris stepped out of Death's portal first and dashed straight into the yard to roll around in the grass. Sleipnir and Jormungandr came next, and for the first time in ages, Sleipnir heaved out a sigh of relief. As much as he enjoyed Valhalla, something about being in a place not full of dead people felt refreshing.

Behind him, Loki and Sigyn walked hand-in-hand followed by Hela and Death.

"Is this ours?" Fenris stopped—Sleipnir could only call it frolicking—long enough to ask.

"Yes," Loki said. From where Sleipnir stood, the tiredness in Loki's demeanor did not reflect the glimmer of something akin to hope in his father's vivid, green eyes.

Fenris let out a whoop, ran into Jormungandr, and took off again, teasing his brother over his shoulder. Jormungandr gave chase, and soon the two disappeared around the side of the house, their rambunctious shouts fading.

Sleipnir wanted to join them, but he held back to listen in on his father's conversation.

"This is such a lovely place," Sigyn said, surveying the mansion.

"I already had the perimeter and all entrances warded to prevent unwanted visitors from trespassing," Death explained. From her robes, she pulled out a set of keys. They jingled, the sunlight glinting from the surface of the metal. "Here, these now belong to you."

She set them in Loki's upturned palm—a transfer of control and an unofficial peace offering.

Hela stepped forward, a thick tome held in her hands. Wisps of black smoke curled off of the leather binding. A few feet away, Sleipnir could feel the power radiating from it. Hela handed it off to Loki, who raised an eyebrow in question.

"Consider it a housewarming gift. From both of us," Hela said, nodding at her mother who gave a thin smile. "It is a book of all the monsters you may encounter and ways to trap or kill them. It will help you with your work."

Loki read the book cover and then met Hela's eyes. "Thank you." To Death, he gave a curt nod.

Death pursed her lips. "What I have done for you is a rarity. You have a new life, Loki, do not waste it."

"I will try not to," Loki said.

Death turned on her heel, moving toward the portal.

"Thank you," Loki said before she could leave.

Death glanced over her shoulder and dipped her head. Then, she disappeared back through the portal. It closed behind her, leaving the group alone.

By this time, Fenris and Jormungandr returned to join them, their hair tangled and faces slightly flushed from expending energy.

Beside Sleipnir, Hela exchanged a smile. Fenris and Jormungandr wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders, waiting for their father. Sigyn watched them all fondly. Standing here in the yard, surrounded by his reunited family, Sleipnir felt a weight lift and he grinned.

"Well," Loki said. He tucked the book into the crook of his elbow and clutched it to his chest. With the other hand, he swept an arm out at the mansion, the keys dangling from his fingers as he looked them each in the eye.

"Welcome home."

The End.