A/N-Hey I'm posting a thing! Not gonna lie I'm actually quite proud of myself given that I finished this in just a month (which is a lot for me.)

The whole fic is complete, I just need to post the other two parts which will be up shortly!
Many thanks to my amaaazing beta who is v knowledgeable and wise.3

I hope you enjoy it :D

The title is from Beautiful Lies by Birdy.

Tell me beautiful lies

Cover my eyes with your hands
Just pretend we're better

Turn out the light
There are no more surprises to come

Let's be numb together

When Thor gets banished to Midgard, realm of the mortals, he is not alone. He has his brother by his side.

It's dark, night time probably, and the stars here seem so much more insignificant and muted than back at home. He's not been here two seconds and already there is sand in his heel, irritating and itching his sole. He doesn't care for it. There is nothing. A barren wasteland.

So this is where father sent him to learn his great lesson.

As ever, Loki looks the epitome of composure; not even a single inky black wave out of place on his head. The expression on his face, however, is a foreign mixture of shock and somewhat amusement.

"I told you we shouldn't have gone to Jotunheim." He says pointedly, just a little belatedly. And Thor has the urge to punch him, but it's never worked before.

For once, though, he ignores him. He does not let himself be goaded into another battle of wits he doubtedly won't win. And hey! Perhaps this is a sign he's learnt his lesson! He can come home now, right?

Of course Odin will not see it-he doubts even the AllSeeing Heimdall can.

Instead of answering, he continues to gaze around the darkness, looking for even a hint of horizon. The atmosphere here is hot and sticky and dense, and it makes the air hard to breathe, not unlike after a good fight. Reflexively, Thor's fingers twitch and itch for his hammer.

But...he feels none of the static connection that comes with it's call-only silence.

It's a reminder of just how good father has made of his promise. He is so mortal now, too mortal. Probably won't last a day in this dessert. Alone.

No-not alone. Not truly.

"Well," Loki hums beside him, "An apology would be nice, since I'm stuck here too, apparently."

Which... is true.

Wherever Thor goes, Loki will follow. Because it's not as though he has any choice in the matter. So yeah, maybe Thor does owe him an apology, and maybe it would be the mature thing to give one. But Thor's still more than a little angry. Things can't possibly get any worse, so Loki will have to wait until he's simmered down a little. At least then, the apology might be a little sincere.

As of right now, however, Thor can only grit his teeth, grunt and wallow in his self-pity.

"Oh!" And he hears Loki clicking his teeth together in that irritating way he does so often, "The Frost Giants definitely had help. Which means it was an inside job." He says, voice buzzing like an insect waiting to be struck, as though Thor actually cares.

Yeah, he's learnt his lesson. Look at all this patience he's showing! Can he please go back now?

"Ha!" Loki snaps his fingers loudly, and it doesn't even echo because there's nothing for it to echo off of. Ugh. "The plot thickens. What do you think, Thor? Heimdall? Surely Not! Much, much too loyal to Odin and you. Hmmm..."

Not even ten minutes in and Thor has tired of this. Can he at least have his hammer back so he can smash something? Anything? Or some sort of company other than him.

"Or Sif? She always did question your choices. Not that I can fault her considering our current predicament... how about-"

"Shut up, Loki!" Thor snaps, finally. Honestly, if it isn't his weak mortal heart and the heat, it is Loki that's doing his head in. "Can you please just shut up?!"

"Please?" Snickers Loki, unfazed as ever, "Finally some manners in the prince."

"Look brother, today was supposed to be my day." And he wants to grip Loki's shoulders tight and shake him until he sees Thor's side, because Norns damn it, it's true! "Don't you understand that? I was to be King! And now I'm here. On this desolate plane, in this stupid realm, without even Mjolnir, or my strength, with my life reduced to that of a gnat, all alone."

"Thor-"

"Don't you dare, Loki. Don't tell me about how I am not truly alone, like you're even here. We are not children anymore. I am not a child anymore. Besides, your voice must be so grating on my ears, I'd sooner you gone too. I cannot believe father would do this to me. His son. I could die here! And I was well within my rights as a warrior of Asgard, no less a prince, to defend my honour!"

"Thor, wa-"

Thor wants to say something like "What", or "Stop interrupting me" but he can't. Because suddenly amidst the darkness is a flash of light (two lights, his brain notes faintly) and a screech.

Oh. He thinks to himself. Oh.

There is a great, hulking metal beast approaching swiftly which whines lowly, and Thor has none of his divine strength to hit it with but he'll be damned if he's going to be taken out by some snivelling creature within the first hour.

He prepares his stance, ready for battle.

Then, strangely, the belly of the beast opens. Three figures clamber out. Mortals.

Not a beast then, he concludes, a carriage. A horseless carriage. How… unique.

They are talking loudly and rushed, in excited tones. Perhaps they know they are in the presence of a god, even in this diminished form. Perhaps because they are all too aware of what insignificant, short lives they lead and are all too eager to fill them.

Still, it must be some sort of sign. Because he'd been presented with a way out.

"Greetings, mortals!" He shouts, and suddenly, now that he is not alone, the wind seems to be louder now. But he is the mighty Thor, God of Thunder, he is not bested by a breeze. So he pushes past whiplashing currents frantically and stumbles over as fast as his legs can carry him.

"Hello!" He says again, this time quite a bit closer.

The mortal nearest gives a loud scream and something that sounds like "holy fuck!". And then it's strange. Thor usually is the one wielding the lightning, but there's pain at his side, stupidly left open-Sif would have his head for that-and suddenly his mind goes static and blank.

Oh, the irony of it.

Loki, for all he seems to follow Thor around, is nowhere to be seen.

Typical.

"What do you think death feels like?" Thor asks his little brother, resting his head against the oak of the table.

His brother copies him the way younger siblings often do, resting his own head beside his. He scrunches up his face.

"I don't know why you would ask me that."

"You have a brother?" The Lady Jane asks, sipping her tea with one hand, and still writing with the other. She's a pretty girl, Thor thinks, and very clever. Loki would like her.

"Yes. His name is Loki. I think he'd like you."

She smiles kindly but it also looks as though she does not particularly care. "Thank you," she says, nonetheless.

He wonders what happens with Loki when Thor cannot see him. Where Loki goes. (Well, he amends, not where.) What does he do? (Not what, if.) But he knows Loki will always return; as brothers always should.

Thor is young, only about four centuries, and he's having dinner with his family. Father, Mother and his brother, Loki. It's a joyous scene. Idyllic really. It's roast venison tonight, with potatoes and turnips and parsnips. Father laughs and offers him a tiny sip of his mead.

"For your health!" he says, and Frigga allows it. Just.

"Not too much," warns his mother.

Thor hums eagerly and leans over to his father's side of the table, pleased he's being treated like a grown-up. At this rate, he'll surely grow into a fine warrior!

Father holds the golden chalice to his lips and Thor takes a gulp that is perhaps a little too eager. It's... he doesn't like it. Too spicy down his tongue and down his throat and not nearly as sweet or scrumptious as the peach juice in his cup. But father likes it; so he forces his face not to screw up and pushes it back to Father with haste. Warriors drink mead, he tells himself sternly, and he is a warrior.

Across the table, his parents look to be holding in laughter, so he licks his lips in exaggeration and offers a wide smile.

"I loved it!" he says, and thinks they've bought it, because it matters so much what they think. And always will.

Perhaps, he wonders, warriors drink it to prove their mettle against such a poisonous tasting thing? After all, how can one choose it for enjoyment? Yes, that must be it.

He glances over at Loki, who's sitting next to him watching them all with sparkling eyes. Strange, Loki is only quiet around dinner, really.

"You should give some to Loki," he tells Father brightly.

Thor is not often one for mischief, he is very honourable, but this is harmless. And it's fine to indulge himself once in a while, right?

"Thor," says Loki, who seems even quieter though he's actually speaking now, "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Ha! The coward.

Mother exchanges a glance with Father and tilts her head at him questioningly. "Loki?"

"Yes. Brother should try some. Surely he is just as worthy to try it!" He cannot wait to see Loki's face at the taste, payback for yesterday when he got Thor into trouble for wandering and did not get into any himself.

Father smiles slowly, unsure. "Of course, Thor. For your brother, Loki," he says, and offers him the chalice. "Why don't you hold it for him?"

So Thor takes the chalice and turns back to Loki. Loki, who is studying Mother and Father with a cautious expression, pupils shifting between them warily.

"Well?" He says after a moment, looking anxious, "Hold it up then. Give us a sip."

He does, careful not to spill any, and waits with bated breath for Loki's reaction.

It's disappointing to say the least. Thor hands it back to their father and Loki whips him a sly grin.

"Delicious," he announces loudly to the table at large. Thor scowls.

"You're back," says Thor, looking up from what the Midgardians call the 'newspaper'. He's looking at a particular story which features the apparent health benefits of eating less sugar. He's never heard such a silly statement in his life.

"It would appear that I am," replies his brother vaguely, striding towards him and peering over to look at the article.

All the things in the paper seem really quite boring, including this, so Thor folds it up and puts it down on the table. "Why?" He asks bluntly, looking at him directly. He can't tell whether or not he cares for the answer, but there's not much else to do anyway.

Jane Foster, Erik Selvig and Darcy Lewis are all away at the moment. Something about groceries and talking privately, and Thor doesn't particularly feel the need to wander outside when he is so provided for here.

Loki shrugs despondently, "Why am I ever here?"

Which... fair enough. He can hardly fault him for that answer. Besides, what was he expecting? These non-answers are too typical for him. He huffs and rolls his eyes at his brother.

"Where were you?"

It's bright outside. They're still in the desert, in the measly, little, metal camp the mortals have set up. This brother ventures towards the window and looks out into the distance. Ever the flair for dramatics.

It must run in the family.

"My, you've been on this realm for no more than three days, and already you've grown a little more inquisitive. I'm afraid, I can't quite decide how I feel about it."

Snorting, Thor makes his way to stand beside him, trying to see what he's looking for, and trying to match him equally in theatrics. "Well?"

"Nowhere. As always." He hums before flicking his eyes up to meet his, the glinting green clashing with the vivid blue of the sky outside.

Thor's always wondered why Loki has green eyes. Not the deep clear blue of the family; or the tanned, sun-kissed, ichor-filled skin; or the fair locks of spun gold.

Nay, he has sleek black hair of coal which swallows the light; pale, snowy skin like moonlight or marble stone; and quick, clever eyes of forest, then sometimes emerald, green-though, when they were younger, he'd have sworn to see them shift red.

And Thor would never say it, but he's glad for it. Likes the differences of his brother just as much as he wonders about them. It's refreshing to have a companion so different, so other, even if not everyone can see.

"Come now," he says, smiling. "That's not a true answer, surely."

Loki studies his expression, like he always is, Thor assumes, but he's grateful Loki has allowed him to see It. He's never really sure what Loki is looking for on his face, in his eyes or the micro-movements of his lips. Hopefully he will find it.

"Oh, but it is." Loki turns back to the window, quickly. Too quickly. Thor adjusts his weight and tries to imitate him. Silly because of the differences in build. "Why? What would the great Thor like to hear?"

He finds himself smiling now, "Something more interesting than 'nowhere,' I'd expect."

He's waiting for the jest, for Loki to come back at him with something so witty he won't understand until later, or that will leave him dumbstruck with the blow. Or, even a grand story about finding dragons on Midgard of all places.

Instead, Loki just shrugs again. Tired. Resigned.

Thor hasn't realised until now just how much he's been relying on his little brother to return, clap him on the back and flash that wicked sharp grin and tell him not to worry, he has a plan. Because despite how it might often seem, Loki is usually the more stubborn out of them.

"I'm afraid," he begins with a small sigh, " The great Thor will just have to wait."

Thor is one and a half centuries old, and he doesn't have a brother. Not yet, at least.

Father is away, fighting the good fight. For it is Asgard's duty, he knows, to keep the safety of the realms. An Thor's papa is the Allfather and the King of Asgard. Those below them on Midgard cannot fend for themselves, too weak and puny, so Papa must lead their armies to defend them instead.

Thor knows this. He does, really!

Still, he cannot help but miss him. Which is all right. It's all right to miss him. Mama says it's natural, and let's him crawl up into bed with her, which he hasn't done since he moved to a separate room three years ago.

At least he isn't crying anymore. He stopped after the third day, and mother said she had to keep Asgard running. He'd been trailing her all of last week, but it had grown boring.

So now Thor is in his room, playing with the wooden sword Lord Tyr gave him for his birthday last year. It's nowhere near as fun without Father, but it's definitely much better that listening to Mama talk about stupid politics with the other adults.

There's a soft knock on the door, and Thor is tempted to ignore it, but he knows his mother would tell him off for being rude. Besides, the company might be nice, even if it's just a servant.

"Enter," he says primly, trying not to look too eager.

The door swings open heavily, and a maid peeks in. "Prince Thor?" She says, smiling kindly, "Queen Frigga requests your presence for dinner."

Thor huffs, but puts down his toys, eager to see his mother not in the company of the court. "Now?"

"Yes. Now, Your Highness."

"Very well then," he replies, and tries not to rush his steps. By the time they reach Mother's chambers, he is positively bouncing in anticipation.

They eat in peace: a simple meal of bread and roasted pork and potatoes. It's nice, even without Father there. After, Mama asks Thor to prepare for bed, and says she will read to him a story.

Thor senses Loki's presence naturally now, like the return of the function of a once missing limb. Instinctual. Both serving to soothe and prickle his nerves.

He speaks first today.

"I don't see why you're so intent on blaming me. I've done some thinking on the matter."

Loki doesn't look up, busy skimming the words in one of Jane's notebooks, flipping idly through the pages. "Oh, that's new." He replies in a dull tone. "Thinking, that is. Pushing the blame on others? Well."

Thor feels himself rise to the jibe but tries steadily to ignore it. "No, it's still my fault, but it's equally yours too, isn't it? Technically speaking."

Loki hums, puts the book down and goes in for another. "I rather thought we'd established by now there wasn't much difference between what faults are yours and which are mine."

The story is a new one-or at least one Thor hasn't heard before.

He's burrowed under the covers and tucked into Mama's side, feeling fresh from his bath and mildly sleepy, though it seems to be gradually increasing. There's a book in his mother's hand, thin but with bright, bold illustrations.

She opens it, and Thor sits up abruptly so he can see the pictures properly, banging the top of his head on his mother's chin. She merely smiles and kisses him lightly on the head.

The story starts with a hero, as always. Golden and honourable.

"Like Father," interrupts Thor, though he is mostly saying this to himself in a most assured manner.

The Queen smiles, though her mind drifts briefly to her husband and her banished, forgotten daughter. Thor does not know anything.

But the hero has a flaw, you see. They are tragically prone to anger and arrogance. It's not gotten to the ending yet.

"I don't like the hero anymore," says Thor, halfway to sleep already.

She shakes her head and frowns briefly, "The hero is good, not perfect, Thor." But Thor just shrugs and points to the next character in the picture.

"Who's that?"

It's a boy with pale skin, dark hair, and green eyes, almost Elvin features. He wears a small smile on his face, and a bright clever gaze.

"His brother," replies Mama, and continues to read on.

The brother is wicked smart and always has the hero's back. Loyal. He is much more interesting, a young Thor decides. A good and steady companion, with a skill with words. Perfect for the imperfect hero. He does not have much brawn but he does not need it.

"I wish I had a brother," murmurs Thor, eyes drifting.

Mama shuts the book and places it on the stand next to the bed before wrapping her arms around him, hugging him close under the covers.

"That's a lovely thought, Thor." She says, and kisses his cheek.

"Can I?" Asks Thor, plaintively. He looks to his mother with his bright blue eyes and quivers his lower lip a little. Because he is only one and a half centuries, and he's figured out by now that most people will do almost anything for him if he adjusts his face just right.

However, Mama only laughs lightly, and pulls him in tighter. And Thor scowls because he hasn't got a yes, but he's really much too tired to plead.

At least it is not a no.

Thor has friends now. He has Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg and Sif. He is happy.

Still, every now and then he inclines his head as little to the left, to mutter something to his brother. Who is not there.

"Come, Thor!" Shouts Fandral, further up ahead, "Alfheim awaits us, and the game will not stop for your heavy boots!"

Grinning, Thor replies "You call me heavy, Fandral?"

"Nay," Sif chuckles just a little in front, "He calls you slow, good prince."

"Then he must speak plainly," he says, and spurs his horse onwards from it's canter to a gallop, catching up to his companions from behind.

They race their way across the rainbow bridge to the gate of the Bifrost, a path that has been well memorized by now. Volstagg has not been able to make it this time around, for he has children, but they have all promised to save him the head of their best hunt.

As usual, Hogun is the first to arrive and is already making conversation with Heimdall, their AllSeeing Gatekeeper.

Thor has half a mind to ask the Gatekeeper if he sees Loki, but keeps his mouth shut. Asking did not go well last time.

"Greetings, Heimdall," he says instead, smiling cheerfully.

Heimdall turns his head and bows respectfully. "Your Highness."

Thor savours the feeling. It's nice, all the bowing and everything from those below him, and the rush which comes every time he realises he has power over those even as great as Heimdall. Loki says it gets to his head sometimes, and he should not feel so drunk on it.

But he's probably just jealous.

"You seek passage to Alfheim, no?" asks Heimdall, though he likely already knows.

They nod. "For the hunting season."

Heimdall nods, and blesses them with safe travels and a good hunt before going to stand at the Sword of the Bifrost.

The mighty roar of power fills his ears and the myriad of colours dance around him in blinding streaks of luminescence.

Happy hunting, indeed.

Out of the two of them, it's obvious from the beginning which of them is to be King, and sit on the throne, and which is to be the hand behind it.

All Thor's lessons are Thor's lessons, though Loki is present for almost all of them.

Besides, Loki waves his hand dismissively, Thor is the eldest, of course he is the heir.

Still, Thor wonders why Loki attends their lessons at all, even as he serves no more than a witness.

Odin sits Thor on his knee, on the throne, together. Loki stands at the armrest, listening so attentively.

"Thor," says Odin, in his solemn, serious face which he knows means this is a lesson he will have to remember, word for word. Something unshakable, to root into his mind and stick by as some fundamental truth.

"A wise king never seeks out war, but he must always be ready for it."

Odin speaks this quietly, firmly, tiredly. Like he has already said this many a time before. Thor knows he has not.

At their side, in their shadow, he sees Loki watching and listening eagerly, enraptured, drinking them in like water, as he does with all Father's words, so Thor does the same.

"And you must never forget that, my son." says Odin, and Thor nods.

He won't.

Father returns from the war with surprisingly little fanfare. Yes, there are feasts which last many days, and songs sung, and pyres burnt in honour of those passed on to Valhalla, but the actual return is quiet.

One might almost say intimate.

And though it is not what he expected, later, Thor will be relieved by it.

On the steps of the palace gates, Thor waits with Mother, fidgeting anxiously in anticipation. He didn't expect it to take this long, and most of the other warriors have returned. It's been forever. Only Father and a few generals must remain, maybe gathering up the bodies of the fallen for their families to properly mourn.

It does not occur to Thor that there is a chance his father might be among them, or his Uncles Prince Vili and Ve, or Lord Tyr whom gifted him his first sword. For they are as good as immortal in Thor's eyes. Invincible.

Mama clutches Thor's hand tight in her own, eyes searching, lips pursed. He wishes her to give him a hug, or to kiss him on the head or tell him a story to pass the time. It's taking for ages, and Thor can't quite deny the twinge of envy he feels when he catches sight of other children being reunited with their fathers and, on occasion, mothers.

Eventually, his own mother ushers him to wait inside. Winter in Asgard is not as perilous as in other places, but she does not want him catching a chill.

It's almost nightfall when Papa arrives. Finally. Thor, peaks open his eyes from where he's been dipping in and out of sleep, in the lounge of his parents chambers, permitted to stay up only for the occasion.

"Father!" He squeals in excitement, sprinting up and hugging his legs. "You're late." Thor scolds seriously, before stomping on his father's foot in annoyance. His papa chuckles, and passes a bundle of something to Mama's arms who stands next to them smiling softly at the scene, before scooping his son into his arms and hugging him tight.

"I've missed you, my son." He says, clutching him close to his chest. Thor hears his father's breath, which is rough and long, and thinks he might be trying to inhale him.

"I missed you too, Papa." He says, clutching on just as hard. He pulls back a little, just to study his face. And frowns. "What happened to your eye, Papa?"

Because there is a bandage around his face, covering one of his eyes-Thor forgets which is left and which is right sometimes.

Papa merely shrugs, and tells him not to worry about it.

"What's that?" He asks pointing the the squirming bundle of cloth in Mama's arms. She looks so happy she could cry. She beams at him, eyes watery and bright, before looking down at it and rocking it back and forth softly, cooing.

"A babe." She says smiling. "What do you think, Thor? What should we name your brother?"

"Brother?!" What brother? Thor tries to think of any stories of where brothers might come from, but can think of none. Where have his parents found a brother for him?

"Frigga-" Father says, in his tone that means it's a warning.

Thor leans over as far as he can without letting go of is father's cape. "Can I see him?"

Mother's smile tightens minutely for a moment. "Maybe later, Thor," she replies, angling her body away. He wants to protest but thinks better of it.

"Will you tell me about all your battle tales?" Thor turns back to his father, beginning to yawn and rub his eyes.

"Tomorrow," he promises, carrying him into his and mother's bedroom. "You must sleep first."

"But I want to hear them now," pouts Thor, though yes, he is very tired.

Shaking his head gently, Papa places him in bed, tucks the covers him around him and places a wet kiss on his forehead, stroking his hair lightly, tenderly. "Go to sleep, Thor. Your mother and I will join you in a moment."

Thor wants his parents to stay here so he can fall asleep between them, but instead he nods. "Where're you going?"

"To the healing rooms. We must speak with Healer Eir. But we'll be back soon, okay?"

A hazy cloud of sleep claims him before he can ask why, but he's too tired to fight it, content that his whole family is home around him. Just like they should be.

And he has a brother!

There are quite a few things Thor has learnt from his time on Midgard, though they are probably not what Father intended for him to learn.

For instance: doughnuts are very delicious jelly-filled wonders, and whoever invented chocolate must be a genius sorcerer, for they seem to be the treasures of the universe, and, if stirred in with a little hot milk, can be a delicious substitute for a sleeping draught. Also that Midgardians drink daily some sort of poison called coffee. It's just disgusting, even if it does smell rather nice.

Lady Jane as well as her friends seem to live on it, though. Which is strange, living on poison.

"It's basically her blood now," is what Lady Darcy says, sliding a mug over to her.

And that doesn't make sense, either. How is that possible? Surely that would kill her! Or maybe, that is why mortals live such little lives. "Oh?" He says, and because he does not want to seem unknowledgeable, so he does not ask her how. Instead he asks, "And what is your blood, my Lady?"

She snorts. "I dunno. Wine, probably."

The thinking is making his head hurt, though, so he stops. That's the boring stuff, which is what Loki is usually for, anyway.

(Even if that doesn't make sense as well. After all, everything Loki knows, theoretically so should Thor. They are supposed to be the same.)

"You should take a break," says Lady Darcy to Lady Jane, after her fifth distressed groan in the same minute. Once again, however, she is ignored and, at least this time, Lady Jane merely waves her hand in dismissal, too absorbed in her work.

That's another thing Thor has learned. Jane Foster seems to have an utterly insatiable thirst for knowledge, and she seems to build her entire being around it. The most curious being he may have ever encountered.

Also the most frustrated, perhaps. Frowning, Thor peers over the table to look at the numbers, letters and diagrams that seem to swirl all over the page. He doesn't understand a word of it.

Lady Jane scowls and rips the page out the notebook rather erratically, crunching it up and chucking it carelessly behind her. Her assistant winces, slides the coffee closer to her, goes to pick it up and, after a brief moment of deliberation, unfolds it and pins it to the wall, carefully smoothing out the creases.

"What are you working on?" He asks, this time hoping for an explanation instead of having to peek at the script he cannot make sense of, even with the Allspeak. There's no answer, only the sound of her stylus-a pen, apparently-scratching across the surface of the paper.

Behind her, Lady Darcy rolls her eyes and kicks Lady Jane's chair, snapping her out of her reverie. "Oi!" She yells, voice loud and commanding but not harsh. Lady Jane looks up and blinks at her, a bewildered expression on her face. Thor thinks it's rather adorable. "Drink your coffee. And Thor asked you a question. Don't be rude."

Her cheeks turn just a little rosy and he thinks she might be blushing.

Thor manages to stammer out an, "Ah, it is quite all right, Lady Jane. I do not want to interrupt your work after all."

"No, what did you want to ask?" She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ears.

He swallows, and Lady Darcy gives him an encouraging thumbs up. "What are you working on?"

It's very complicated, and to be completely honest he doesn't understand most of it. Or any of it. But he likes the way Lady Jane seems to flush with excitement and how passionate she is about whatever she is talking about or how she uses her hands to explain things with wild and seemingly inarticulate gestures. It's something about bridges, roses, worms, holes and equations, which doesn't seem to make a lot of sense-but then, Thor has learnt by now, not a lot here does.

About fifteen minutes in she is still talking avidly about space-time and something about warp-drives and some book called A Wrinkle in Time, when Thor hears a voice say, "She's a lot closer than I'd have expected."

Thor jumps about two feet into the air, whips his head around and gapes. "Loki!?" because he did not expect his brother to show up with all these mortals here.

"Calm down, it's just me." Calls Erik Selvig from the door, who seems to have appeared at the same time as well and is carrying some boxes which smell like food. "I come bearing Chinese." He yells after a second. "A thanks would be nice."

Across the table Lady Jane frowns, "Loki? As in your brother Loki?"

"Brother? You have a brother?" Lady Darcy licks her lips, and murmurs something under her breath like hot damn.

Carefully, Thor settles himself back down into his seat, glances at Loki who is just casually leaning against the counter, and tries to wrack his brain for an appropriate reply.

Loki puts his finger to his lips, smirking. "Shhh… Brother."

And he knows that. He can't say anything about it-in fact he shouldn't have mentioned Loki in the first place. It's never a good idea. Never ever.

"Sorry," he says, cringing at the tone of his own voice. He's never been good at lying, and though that ought to be good, it is a hassle when one wants to lie. "I was just reminded that…"

"My brother is very knowledgeable on the subject." says Loki, saving Thor's behind yet again.

"My brother is very knowledgeable in the subject." Thor repeats.

"And-" Loki's pacing now. "- if he were here, he would say that in order for the Bi- the Einstein-Rosen Bridge to work," to be perfectly honest, Thor is not quite sure if he's repeating real words. It all sounds a bit mumbo-jumbo-y. "You would need a source at both ends of the bridge. Especially at this realm, where there is little to no seidr to make a one-way bridge possible."

He finishes with a smile and a flourish, and sees Loki nodding, looking quite pleased with himself. And then thinks about what he's just relayed back to the mortals.

All three of them are gawking at him.

"Um," begins Darcy, looking confused and mildly suspicious at the same time, "You what?"

And damn it Loki! He's supposed to be helping Thor, not create more problems.

"I'm afraid I must excuse myself to go to the toilet." He says slowly, unsure, and then proceeds to dash over to the small shared bathroom. Very promptly.

It hurts, doesn't it? ...Being told you're one thing and then learning it's all a fiction.

It's much too hot to stay inside and reading is boring. As with most young boys (future warriors), Thor wants to go outside and play or fight with his friends.

But he can't.

And of all places to be, they're stuck in the library. The library! Can you believe it? Filled with the universe's most dullest objects and probably people, too.

All because Loki wants to read and study books. Stupid Loki. And Loki says Thor isn't allowed to leave him. Which is stupid. Why can't Loki just study and do his stupid reading by himself? Thor isn't even doing anything! What does Loki need him for?

Thor groans loudly for about the millionth time in a minute, tempted to start banging his head on the table.

"Tell me why you cannot just read alone, again?" He prods at his brother's arm, whining.

Lowering his book a little, Loki eyes him and sighs irritably. "You just can't, okay? Besides, the longer you pester me, the longer it'll take me to finish this."

That makes Thor snort. "Yeah, which is when you'll just get another book, and this will start all over again."

It's unclear why Loki doesn't like playing with Thor and his friends. Or well, he usually likes playing with Thor, but never his friends. He can't remember a time he's even seen them in the same room for more than five minutes. Loki's very good at disappearing. Much too good at it, really.

Thor drums his fingers on the table top rhythmically. A steady, bah-ta-ta tah, bah-ta-ta tah…

His brother sighs again, but continues flicking the pages.

This is so boring.

Why couldn't he have had a normal, cool brother who liked to play imaginary dragons and play with swords or liked hanging out with friends? It's not fair.

There's surprisingly other people in the library. No doubt other boring scholars and academics; what miserable lives they must lead. Not as miserable as mine, he thinks, at least they've chosen this existence. A woman, perhaps of Vanir heritage, stands up three tables over, an undoubtedly heavy collection of texts in her arms, and makes her way over to the Desk of the Masters.

She must be checking out a book.

And the idea comes to him like a beacon of light. "Loki," he begins excitedly, "Why don't you just bring the book out with you? Then I can go play with Fandral, Hogun and Sif, and you can read!" It is a most marvellous idea, and Thor wonders why Loki didn't think if it, considering the intellect he claims to have.

Loki shuts the book, gently but also loudly. Huffs and mumbles something inaudible to himself. "Fine. Let's just go outside then, shall we? Help me put the books back."

For some reason, he doesn't question why Loki doesn't take his suggestion, all too happy that he can play with his friends and his brother. It doesn't really seem to matter too much; the sky outside is bright and warm, and it's a most opportune time for playing.

"You will play with us this time?" he inquires eagerly, just as they're leaving the library, "Don't just disappear this time, okay Brother? You never seem to get to play with the others."

"I don't see why it matters," replies Loki, tone flat and guarded. He looks away, shrugging.

"Of course it matters. They're your friends, too, you know."

"My friends, too-" he stops himself. Frowns and seems to debate with himself. "In a way," he agrees slowly, cautiously, "I suppose."

They meet the others outside in one of the many courtyards on the palace grounds. Already halfway up a tree, Sif is pointing her wooden sword at the others like a general commanding their troops. There's an exaggerated grimace on her face and she stands on the branch, puffing her chest out.

Upon seeing him, they all break their characters, faces splitting into matching grins. Waving back cheerily, Thor rushes ahead to meet them.

"Friends!" he says by way of greeting, "What mighty quests do we venture today?"

"We are off to war," Sif says, jumping down from her stoop. "Slaying those beasts in Jotunheim and claiming glory."

"Yes," agrees Fandral, "What took you so long?"

Rolling his eyes, Thor jabs his thumb in the direction of Loki, who has taken to standing in the corner with a pinched expression. Norns, why does he have to have such a boring brother? "Loki wanted to stay in the library to read. Can you believe it? I managed to lure him out, though."

His brother is watching them now, rapt, his attention flickering to Thor then his friends. There is a resigned look on his face.

"Loki?" Fandral knits his eyebrows. "Who-" Hogun tugs on his sleeve and whispers something in his ear. To be honest, it doesn't bode well to Thor. He doesn't like his friends keeping secrets without him. "Oh." The blond clears his throat. "This again."

"What is it?" asks Thor, curious and more than a little annoyed now.

All three of them turn wide-eyed to look at him. "Nothing."

He shrugs then and allows the others to hand him another wooden sword and shield. The mission, according to Sif, is simple. Kill all the monsters, all the Frost Giants, defeat their king, and retrieve the treasure. What the treasure is yet, Thor does not know, but it is exciting nonetheless.

Jotunheim, they imagine, is dark and barren. A vast icy wasteland where no life may live, save the savages that somehow dwell there. Spiked, crackling chunks of ice, and a glassy sheen covering the land in fractured pieces. All the warriors stay vigilant, treading forward with sure but steady feet, back to back, with their Commander Sif leading the charge. Impossible odds, but they can make it. For they have conquered all their foes before, and though they are outnumbered, some blue brute king will be no match for them.

There! Red eyes reveal themselves amongst the shadows, between razor crystals of ice, Thor lunges for the kill but Hogun gets there first. Another! Coming for the back of his comrade, how dishonourable these creatures are! This one is Thor's.

Adrenaline surges through their veins, and they feel the rush of a good battle curling them. They are in perfect synchronization. Sif quick and sharp and skilful, Fandral moving with grace and vigour and grinning wildly, Hogun slashing with the most precision and efficiency, and Thor who has fire-no, thunder-in his eyes, giving them Hel and forcing his wrath upon them. They know no fear.

"Let us finish this!" roars Sif in a battle cry, raising her sword.

The prize, in the end, is lunch apparently, because Fandral's mother comes to tell them she has a veal pie and some sweet fruits for them, and that they should follow her before it gets cold. Fandral's mother makes good pie, Thor knows, so he finds he doesn't mind the quest being interrupted. They can continue later, anyway.

Thor turns to Loki, to remark about how much more fun this was compared to staying holed up inside, reading a book all day, and finds his side where his brother should be standing empty.

Come to think of it, he can't remember Loki playing at all.

An odd feeling settles into his gut. "Did anyone see where Loki went?" he asks his friends. "Or when, actually. He promised me he would play with us."

His friends exchange nervous glances, and Fandral's mother gives him a sympathetic little sigh. "Who's Loki?"

"Thor's brother," tells Sif, but there's a tone in her voice which Thor finds he does not like.

"Don't question it, Mother." Fandral says quickly, before she can reply. She raises her eyebrows delicately but keeps her mouth shut.

Lunch is, as expected, quite good. They recite their adventure to Fandral's mother who smiles softly, and Hogun makes a game of catching berries in his mouth which he always seems to win. They talk about how boring their lessons are (except their warrior training) and complain about their masters and let Sif ramble on about the Shieldmaidens of Vanaheim.

And nobody answers his question about Loki.

Dinner is a little more quiet and subdued than normal.

Today has been a… good day? Disappointing one? To be honest, Thor can't really decide. On one hand, he's had a really great time with his friends and it's been such a merry day; on the other hand, he hasn't seen Loki since this morning. And he promised.

He thinks back to the secretive whispers of his friends when he mentioned Loki, and the looks they thought were subtle. Perhaps his brother was right to stay away, since Thor's so-called friends seem to dislike him so much.

He must be upset. What if he thinks Thor prefers them over him, and then he frowns-does he? After all, the things Loki is interested in just seem so… trivial, mundane, hardly worthy of attention.

Maybe he's just being a bad brother. He should apologise.

Only… Loki is not even here, at dinner. And their Mother and Father do not even seem to be questioning it.

"Who's Loki?" Fandral's mother had said.

Nothing seems to be making sense.

Thor wipes his mouth with his sleeve roughly, pushes himself off his chair and strides towards the door without so much as a word. He can feel his parents watching him. He doesn't care.

"Thor." Father's voice echoes through the room, quiet but hard and demanding. "Sit down. I would like to speak with you."

He doesn't sit down. Stays on his feet with his back to his parents and his hand around the handle of the door. Pauses.

"Where's Loki?" He asks instead, and for some reason he finds his voice shaking. The lighting in the room seems much too bright, all of a sudden, and he wonders briefly if they always were this bright, and if it had just taken him this long to notice.

"Odin…" he hears Mother say gently, in the tone she makes when she is trying to smooth something over, gloss and cover it up.

"Where. Is. Loki." The frustration in his voice surprises Thor. He's not used to taking on this tone with either of his parents. But he grits his teeth, forcing himself to remain.

From the other side of the room, Father sighs loudly, ignoring him now, apparently. "No, Frigga, this has gone on long enough. Thor, come here."

Of course it works. It always, always does. There is something about that particular tone in his Father's voice which seems to make his body follow automatically. Perhaps it is some kind of enchantment-it would make him feel better about it, but more likely it has just been ingrained into him for so long now he cannot help it.

In any case, his feet stumble back to the table blindly and he finds himself in front of his father before he even realises he's moved.

"Loki," begins Father, soft yet coldly, "Loki is nowhere, my boy. Loki is in your head. Stop this foolishness at once. I thought you might have grown out of this childish game, now that you have real friends, but seeing as you haven't, I implore you to, now."

Everything is just so confusing. What does he mean?

"I-" Thor licks his lips, fidgets anxiously with his tunic. "I don't understand."

Father's knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on his knife and fork. He drops them carelessly and they clatter onto his plate with a clang. He takes a long, measured breath.

"There is nothing to understand, Thor. There is nothing. You- the-" For the first time in his life, Thor sees his father struggle with his words. His father. The King. Odin Allfather. "Cease this delusion at once. If you want more friends, then I shall provide you with the means to make them, but do not go around playing make believe that you have a brother."

Make believe? What is he talking about? He does have a brother.

Next to Father, Mother sits looking down into her lap, her hand shaking around her wine goblet. She looks quite unwell. Pale.

Father however, is red in the face. "Do you know, this afternoon Astrid the Gentle, your friend Fandral's mother, came to me telling me her son was concerned for your sanity? And where is Loki? You ask. Where is your brother? Your brother is-"

"Odin," Mother says again, but this time her tone is harsh, her eyes look glittery and watery, "Don't."

"Mother what…" What is happening? He wants to ask. Why does nobody know who Loki is? It is like some convoluted, disturbed dream; or an elaborately twisted prank, which is not funny.

A hand on his shoulder brings him to focus. Father is staring into his face, gravely. "Are you unwell, my boy? Do you need to speak with Healer Eir? Is your mind intact? Has it been addled with, or poisoned at all? Answer me this, and I shall answer you. You have no brother, Thor. Where is Loki? Well, he is all in your head, and your head only. And you are too old for these games."

Around him, everything seems to be slowing down now. Father's movement and breaths no longer seem so ragged or sharp, but more deep. And Mother has stilled completely.

It's a bitter contrast to Thor's mind, where his frigid thoughts fly in shards and fragments so quick he can hardly catch them, and when he does catch them, they cut.

How cruel.

How could Father say such a thing to his son about another? How can a parent just dismiss his own child like that?

Thor lets his eyes wander over to his Mother, and searches her for anything. Any sort of comfort. Anything other than this bloodied lie his father is telling him.

Because it is. A lie. How could it possibly be true?

"Oh, Thor," he hears Mother's voice call distantly, kind and gentle and cutting. He feels her arms wrap around him tightly but softly. Feels her press kisses to his face.

He hears her telling him about how she understands, how he must be lonely sometimes in the palace and how much it must be nice to imagine having a brother. He hears her telling him soothingly about how it's okay to pretend once in a while, but he must not forget reality, and he feels it wash over him like a tide before going back out to sea.

He's not listening. Not really.

Just like, apparently, Loki (his brother) isn't real. Not really.

Mother's hand strokes his hair, and he feels himself relax into it involuntarily.

"Okay," he hears himself whisper. "I'm sorry."

Thor walks back to his chambers slowly tonight. He half expects to turn a corner and for Loki to jog and catch up with him, or for Loki to jump out of the shadows and frighten him into next year. He doesn't. When he opens his doors and flicks on the light, he thinks that maybe Loki will be already there, lying on his stomach on Thor's bed, reading through scrolls and books and manuscripts. He's not.

For a while, Thor finds himself staring numbly out of his window. Alone. It's raining, a stark difference to the bright sunny day earlier. He snorts. How fitting. Loki would have appreciated this.

If he were real.

He bathes and changes into his nightwear, and looks at himself in the mirror. Pure cerulean blue eyes blink back, and Thor tries not to imagine any green. How could he have dreamt up a brother? A whole, other person? He rubs at his eyes furiously.

When Thor settles down into his bed for the night, bundled up in his covers, swaths of silk and linen and thick, soft quilts he thinks he sees a flash of black hair in the darkness. His heart seizes in his throat and he thinks maybe-

But he's not.

"You know, I can't help but wish we weren't in this situation so often," says Loki in a bored voice, "For one, as much as everyone seems to swoon over you, Brother, I really do not want to see anything below your torso."

It's too cramped in the bathroom for two people. But it's enough for one.

Grunting, Thor zips up the front of his trousers (made up of some thick sort of scratchy material called jeans, apparently) and flushes the toilet. At least those seem relatively the same here as on Asgard.

"You know, I think, if given the appropriate materials, that your Lady-Lady Jane is it? The one that you're sweet on-might actually be able to do it-build her very own Bifrost." Loki contemplates thoughtfully.

He seems to be in one of those moods again. One of those being annoying.

Thor turns the tap on and begins to wash his hands, lathering the soap into fragrant white bubbles in his hands nicely.

"Of course," his brother continues, and begins to drum his fingers on the basin of the sink, nails making the tapping sound effective, "Even if she did successfully build one, she'd need to know how to use it. How to navigate as to transport the right things to the right places. She is probably better thinking up some new means of travel." Thor turns off the tap, it's a little squeaky and rusted. He feels a headache building already. "It's dreadfully complicated, more so for Midgard than Asgard I imagine, since they reside in the middle of the world tree, so the trajectories must be-"

"Loki!" Thor slams hard on the sink with a loud clang. For once he is maybe grateful he does not have his full strength, for it would undoubtedly have broken if not for it. "Why did you make me say those things?!" He's speaking a bit too loudly perhaps, and maybe too harshly, but he doesn't care. Because he's sick of Loki's very existence ruining everything. Why him? Why is it Thor that has to see him? Of all people, the crown Prince of Asgard. He breathes heavily and tries not to growl, though he can't quite keep it out If his voice. (It's not as though Loki can choose, after all.) "If you were trying to help, then you failed. Now what are the mortals going to think? How will they trust me now?"

There's a soft knock at the door.

Thor stops. Looks at Loki, whose widening eyes travel slowly towards the door, and then stares at the door as well.

"Thor?" It's Lady Jane. "Are you- are you okay in there?"

"I am fine, my Lady." Thor calls out distantly, and hopes he does not sound as strangled as he feels.

His brother's eyes meet his. Such a vivid piercing green, venomous almost.

"You're talking to yourself again," says Loki, voice flat and toneless. Thor finds himself standing alone, once more.

A/N- I hope you like it. Thank you for reading. The other two parts will be up shortly! Until then you can find me on Tumblr mercialachesis

Thank you3

(Ps- reviews fuel my writing car, which emits no CO2 so everyone wins!)