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Thor is seven years old. Loki is four.

Spring was swiftly approaching, but winter had not yet relinquished its hold on the small but prosperous town of Innsmouth. The sun chased away the near ever-present humidity that usually clung to anyone who dared enter the port, especially so after the heavy rains of the last few days. Thor would have been grateful had he been aware of such a fact. As it was, he was merely walking beside his Mother, holding her hand. Loki was walking as well, preening over the fact that Frigga no longer felt the need to carry him. 

Thor suspected that the only reason their Mother let him, despite her initial protestations, was because Father’s office was very close. Loki’s pestering them during their short carriage ride had annoyed Thor greatly. There had been no reason for Loki to sour the mood with his incessant whining. He had been so excited to visit their Father’s workspace and admire the colourful sailing boats, visible just across the road. Even if it was only for as long as it took for their Mother to shop. 

In spite of that, when his little brother began dragging his feet upon the pavement, tired all too quickly but too prideful to admit it, Thor felt bad for him. So he talked to Loki, regaling him with a vivid retelling of his favourite tale; the one of the search for the Holy Grail by King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. That achieved the desired result; Loki was sufficiently distracted. 

Thor had barely begun the story when they entered the office. It was rather spacious, devoid of any furniture except for a single large oak desk, situated at the far end of the room, and a few chairs that forlornly awaited a guest’s attentions. The effects of humidity and time were visible on the desk, the dark wood was covered with discoloured blotches that even the strategically placed papers couldn’t hide. The paint on the walls had suffered much the same fate; it was flaking. Mould had made its peculiar circular colonies in the corners of the ceiling, just above the window, which now laid open, one of its panels slightly tilted, a fatality of rusted hitches.

Odin was standing in front of the aforementioned window, his hulking form hiding the view. His left hand was cupped in what looked like a protective gesture, its purpose becoming obvious should one pay attention to the cigar nestled between his fingers. 

Thor’s grin widened and he took a step forward. The floorboards creaked, protesting under the added weight. “Father!”

Odin took a drag of the cigar and then he breathed out towards the window. For a fleeting moment the smoke formed a perfect ring, before its shape was immediately distorted by the sea breeze. To Thor, it seemed like a bubble; perfect for as long as it lasted.

Odin pressed the cigar to the white windowsill, extinguishing the ember. He smiled crookedly at his wife’s reproving glare. “The place is already a mess. A scorch mark won’t change its selling price.”

Frigga’s gaze softened. She let go her children’s hands and crossed her arms. “We owe Mr. Marsh a great deal. I’m not sure at the wisdom of indebting ourselves further.”

Odin pushed himself away from the window and took Frigga’s hands in his own. “Obed has proven himself a true friend. You shouldn’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

Frigga nodded. If doubt coloured her features, Thor didn’t notice. 

“My boys,” Odin said, opening his arms.

Thor ran towards him. Father enveloped him in a tight hug, lifting him up. Thor giggled, wrapping his short arms around Odin’s neck and squirming to find a more comfortable position.

“Come on, darling. Don’t be shy,” Frigga said, and Thor realised that Loki had not moved, clinging instead to their mother’s skirts.

Odin sighed, putting Thor down. He went on to ruffle his youngest son’s hair. Their parents’ hushed chatter provided Thor comfort.

He took his brother by the arm. “Loki, let’s go see the sailing boats!” 

His little brother seemed decidedly bored. Thor ignored that, pulling him forward, until he felt a sharp yank at his shirt. “Thor, tell me the story about the sword!”

Thor frowned. “You mean the one with Excalibur? Why not finish the previous one?”

“I like the Ex-xa-calibur one better,” Loki exclaimed.

“That’s only because you like Merlin,” Thor scowled.

“Yes! Why shouldn’t I like Merlin?”

“Because he’s a wizard. That’s boring. Why you don’t like King Arthur or his knights?”

“Because they’re the ones that are truly boring!”

With a longsuffering sigh, Thor sat to the floor next to his brother. “But afterwards, we’ll see the boats.”

Loki pouted. “All right.”

Thor smiled assured of his triumph. “Once upon a time...”

Thor is eleven years old. Loki is eight.

Thor chanced a glance outside. The sun kissed garden was beckoning, frustrating all his attempts at studying.

He sighed again and shot a glare at his brother. “If you were older, like me, you would have more studying to do,” he accused teasingly.

Loki had finished his homework about half an hour before. Now, he laid half-curled on his side on the couch, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes not straying from the pages of his new book.

“If you say so,” Loki mocked, a boyish grin spreading on his face, “although, I still doubt I’d be half as slow as you.”

Thor’s eyes narrowed. “You say that now,” he huffed. 

A heavy thud on the door echoed through the halls.

“You go,” said Thor, a newfound smugness tinting his words. “I am studying.”

“That’s unfair. I study too.”

“You’re not studying . You are reading for entertainment purposes.”

It was Loki’s turn to glower. “Unlike you,” he said sullenly, closing the book, “I’m not an oaf. I enjoy learning.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“I’ll go, if you come too.”

Thor groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. Yes, you do.”

At least that way, he would take a break from math. “All right.”

Loki’s face brightened and he sprung to his feet. “Let’s go then, before Father gets mad.”

Thor maintained his pout all the way to the door. Obed Marsh stood at the other side, looking rather impatient. His expression warmed only barely. “You took your time,” he remarked sternly.

“We apologise for the delay, Mr. Marsh. We were studying,” Loki lied.

Obed cocked his head and stared inquisitively at him. Thor decidedly didn’t like the way he regarded his younger brother.

“You are Loki, right?” Obed asked and Loki nodded. “How are your studies progressing?”

Loki’s eyes lit up. “I am doing rather well. Mr Johnson says I’ll soon catch up to Thor.”

Obed’s smile made the hairs on Thor’s neck stand up. “That’s good to hear. Now, if you don’t mind, I have business to attend with your father.”

If it was up to Thor, their interaction would have ended there. But Loki could not leave well enough alone. 

They had nearly reached Odin’s study when Thor spoke softly. “I’m not sure that eavesdropping is a good idea.”

“Why? Are you scared?” Loki whispered.

Thor flushed. “You know am not,” he growled, as quietly as possible.

Loki gestured sharply for him to be quiet. “They’ll hear us.”

That was enough for Thor to shut up. He wasn’t afraid. He was brave. Braver than Loki, surely. He was the older one. He repeated that like a mantra in his head, as they reached the door and lowered themselves to the floor next to it, careful to not produce any noise. The voices from inside were barely audible.

“-I’m uncertain whether that idea is viable in the long-term.”

“I don’t care, Odin.”

“Obed-”

“You won’t deny me this. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

“Of course I won’t. But please, reconsider this-”

“There is nothing to reconsider.”

Thor didn’t have the time to wonder at what he heard, odd as it was. The sound of footsteps nearing shook him off his trance. He scrambled to get up, pulling Loki with him. His grip on his brother remained tight, as they raced away.

Thor is twelve years old. Loki is nine.

Fall had arrived, but the temperatures had yet to make their customary decline. The few trees that decorated the edges of the street that led to the port already wore the fiery colours of the sunset. 

Thor’s loud voice distracted Loki from his thoughts. “Did you get it?”

Loki grinned, slipping his hand in his pocket and fishing for the coins. “Here,” he said proudly, presenting the one dollar and sixty six cents to his brother. “Father won’t even notice they’re gone.”

Thor’s face brightened like the sun. “Great! That’ll be enough!”

This Sunday, the harbour was particularly crowded. Families were taking their peaceful strolls near the sea, the faces of the parents serene as little boys and girls hopped around and chased each other. Thor led the way as they cut through the cheerful crowd.

They reached their destination shortly– a small shop nestled between two larger, more popular ones. It was in a pristine condition despite its relative lack of customers. They settled behind a sweet old lady and waited impatiently for their turn. All the while, they squabbled over what kind of caramel they would purchase. Loki held firmly his position, that soft, salted caramel was the best choice, while Thor insisted that they buy a more chewy butter caramel.

In the end, as always, Loki caved. He was chewing on his candy grumpily, when Thor proposed they return home through an alleyway, which purportedly would shorten their walk. Loki was tired enough to agree without much thought. The sunset cast long shadows by the time they arrived to the alley. The streetlights were unlit, and a peculiar odour emanated from the concrete, akin to the smell of a fish market on a hot summer day.

“I’m uncertain how wise an idea this is,” Loki said, wrinkling his nose. He thought he wasn’t afraid, but his voice wavered at the end of the sentence.

Thor frowned at him. “You are not scared, are you?” He sounded disappointed.

“No!” 

Thor regarded him seriously. “Then there aren’t any problems. We take the shortest route.”

Loki pursed his lips, but when his brother stalked away, he dutifully followed. Thor was but a few paces ahead when Loki heard muffled voices. He turned around, trying to locate the sound. The hushed words seemingly came from a small and deserted passageway which intersected with the alley. With one last look to his brother’s receding back, Loki determined –with only the slightest trace of bitterness– that he would not be missed. 

With newfound stubbornness, Loki strayed from the alleyway and slipped into the darkness. Whatever Thor thinks of me, I am no coward. 

The voices got louder with every silent step he took. Once the people came into view, Loki pressed himself to the wall to keep himself out of view. He was, after all, far more discreet than his boisterous brother. The stench had grown as he crept closer, and this near to the people the smell was nearly overpowering, but his curiosity held the fear at bay.

“Are you entirely certain?” a woman clad in a black dress asked.

“He’s a lunatic. No one will even notice he is gone,” replied the man that was leaning against the wall before her. His features, except for his bulgy eyes, were obscured by the scarf he was wearing. 

What surprised Loki most was the fact that the man had gone so far as to even wear a scarf and gloves, while the temperatures were still mild.

“It’s done then,” the woman declared.

The man nodded, his scarf slipping down slightly, revealing grey, scaly skin. Loki barely held back a scream. Unthinkingly, he spun around, running away as quick as his feet would carry him, until he collided with someone.

“Where have you been? I couldn’t find you anywhere!”

Loki stole a glance behind him, before grabbing Thor’s hand and pulling him towards the far end of the alley, back into the thinning crowd.

“What’s the matter?” Thor asked, but – for whatever reason – didn’t press more. Loki was grateful for that.

Loki did not stop, not until they reached the garden of their home. Once inside the freshly painted fence he lurched into a halt, not letting go of Thor’s arm. “I saw a monster.”

Thor looked at him, doubtful. “There is no such thing as monsters, brother.” 

Loki’s vision blurred. “I’m not lying!”

“I don’t think you are,” Thor sighed.

An unwilling sob was dragged from Loki’s throat. “It was a monster!” he repeated uselessly.

“Hush.” Thor’s hand came to rest on Loki's shoulder. “Don’t cry. I don’t know what you saw, but if it was a monster, I would never, never , allow it to harm you.”

Loki sobbed harder. He didn’t want his brother to fight the monster and die.

“Shhh,” Thor said softly. Then he enveloped Loki into a tight hug, until his sobs died down. 

“It’s alright, little brother, see?” Loki wiped away his tears, embarrassed. Thor drew back, clapping him on the back. “All is well.”

Loki nodded. All was well.

Thor is thirteen years old. Loki is ten.

That night had begun as any other, the four of them enjoying their meal in the dinning room. If anything was out of place, Thor, preoccupied with announcing his plans for tomorrow, didn’t notice.

“–and then we’ll go to the old fish market!”

Loki regarded him with a decidedly bored expression.

Thor sighed at the apathy displayed. “It’s a pity you can’t come with us, but you are too young–”

A distant scream cut through their idyllic night. Thor stared at his parents in question. Odin and Frigga exchanged a glance, and Odin sprung to his feet. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Minutes ticked by, and Father had yet to return. A tint of unease was pervading the atmosphere, as the commotion from outside grew louder and louder still. Beside him, he could hear the creaks of the chair as Loki shifted nervously. Mother casted glances at the door as though she feared it would come alive. Thor didn’t know what to do with himself.

The door opened with a resounding crack, making Frigga startle.

Odin had returned with a grave expression and a white face. He paid no attention to them, instead closing the door hurriedly. It took several attempts for him to get the key in the lock with his hands trembling, but he still managed to lock the door.

“Father?” Thor asked. He couldn’t fathom what could have happened to reduce Odin to such a state.

“Boys,” Frigga said, her voice taking an unusually stern tone, “go to your room. Now!”

“Mother,” Loki pleaded softly, “what is going on?”

Frigga’s expression softened, and she opened her mouth, but Odin spoke before she could. 

“Go! Now!” he barked.

Thor could see the thinly veiled fear beneath his anger. 

Thor took Loki by the hand to lead him to their room. As they climbed the stairs, Thor glanced at his parents. The image stayed with him; Frigga’s face was buried in her hands as Odin’s hand rested on her back, his eye glued on the window, watching stone-faced the events taking place before him. 

In their room, Thor and Loki huddled together in one bed, waiting anxiously for the sun to dawn, to dispell the strange occurrences of the night, for the pained screams and incoherent pleas to cease.

Thor is fourteen years old. Loki is eleven.

The night of the ‘epidemic’ was only a distant memory, when Thor decided he couldn’t take the confinement any longer. Even Loki, who could sit still bent over a book for hours on end, was climbing the walls with boredom. They were barely even allowed to go out to the garden anymore, and Thor hadn’t seen any of his friends for months. Thor wanted to assume that was because their parents no longer allowed them to go out either. He couldn’t help but still hope that was the case.

The morning sunlight was streaming through the curtains, as Thor planned their – temporary – escape. Their parents had already left, off to wherever they went every Sunday. Not to the church, not anymore at least, for they would surely have taken Loki and Thor with them. Thor would honestly rather not think about it.

Loki had agreed to go out, contrary to Thor’s expectations. As they journeyed through the town, they stayed clear of the alleys, at Loki’s request. Still, they jumped at each and every shadow.

Thor was surprised to see the streets were nearly empty. The thing that kept people off the streets may be fear, and of course that must be part of it, but Thor suspected that most people had simply ... disappeared. He didn’t share his grim assumption with his brother; Loki was ever a pragmatist, and Thor was almost afraid to hear his opinion on the matter.

They weren’t that far from the house, when Loki’s chocked whisper broke Thor’s reverie.

“Is that blood?” Loki’s face had gone pale and his eyes wide.

Thor eyed the rust-coloured stain on the wall carefully. There was no way to truly discern what it was, but he could still recall the events of that night, even as little as he understood them. “It’s just mud,” he said, hoping to soothe.

Loki didn’t appear convinced. No wonder, since Thor wasn’t either. They cut their stroll short after that. They had no desire to see whatever else this new Innsmouth had in store for them.

Thor is fifteen years old. Loki is twelve.

It was rather late, and Loki wouldn’t have been out and about, were he not hungry. There had been nothing wrong with the food at the dinner, but the tense atmosphere did little to encourage his appetite. Even Thor, who usually ate like a boar, had been very restrained tonight. Loki knew not what had gone awry, but the silence had been unusually heavy.

Loki descended the stairs, wondering what he could make in the kitchen and whether he should be polite enough to bring back something for Thor. The hushed voices of his parents were just loud enough to be heard, and the closer he came, the more words he could make out.

“-dangerous,” Father said.

“And staying here is safe?”

“Nothing is safe Frigga. You know that as well as I.”

“Don’t patronise me! You were the one to put us in this mess.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“We need to leave. I won’t allow our children to come to harm.”

“You think I would?”

“You already have!”

A heavy sigh. “I’m well aware of my mistakes. I don’t deny that we need to leave. Only that we need more time to prepare.”

“We are running out of it. Thor is turning sixteen. He’ll need to join us. We can’t–”

“I know.”

A sob.

Loki couldn’t bear to hear more of their argument. He slithered back to the shadows. That night, he went to bed on an empty stomach.

Thor was quite upset. More than that, he was right to be upset. Loki could be infuriating at times, more so when they were cooped on the same room for a long span of time. Small things could set off an explosion. An ungentle jab, an unkind tease, they all could be the beginning of a long-winded, rather impolite argument. Especially so when Loki was on a mood, a state of affairs which was way too usual as of late.

Thor missed his friends. Missed having his own space. He was nearly a man, while Loki was yet a child. An envious, annoying child at that. Thor was stewing in his anger, in the living room’s couch, for their room was still occupied by his impossible little brother, when the doorbell rung. Thor ignored it.

His mother gave an exasperated sigh and went to answer the door.

“How are you this lovely morning, Frigga?”

Thor froze at the sound of Obed’s voice. He had never liked the man, much less after his friendship with Odin fell apart.

“I’m well, Mr. Marsh. I hope you are as well,” Frigga’s voice was cold, in spite of her polite words.

Odin came to the living room at that moment. “Obed. What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“My, I merely wanted to have a word with your son.”

Both Odin and Frigga stiffened. Thor had to suppress a groan. He really didn’t want to.

Odin’s smile was as fake as his second eye. “Most certainly. Which one?” The question was needle sharp.

Obed grinned, almost as if he knew. Perhaps he did. “Thor, and privately, if you please.”

If this exchange took place in one of the comics that Thor had once been reading with his brother, Odin would be literally fuming. “Of course,” he replied flatly.

Thor stood up, slowly. Obed’s grin didn’t falter. “Come now. Let us go to your father’s study.”

Thor glimpsed his father’s glaring daggers at Marsh before following him obediently to the study. As the door closed behind him, Thor felt like a deer sitting at a table with a wolf, uncertain whether he were to be the meal or not. Obed took his father’s sit behind the desk. Swallowing his unease, Thor spoke up.

“Is there a reason I’m here? Besides angering Father?”

Obed tilted his head slightly, studying him for a moment, before breaking out a laugh. “Loki isn’t the only clever son, I see!” Thor felt mildly offended at that. “Yes. As you well know, you are turning sixteen in a month. That is quite an important age. An age in which you are mature enough to have a better understanding of the world. An age in which the mysteries of the universe could become stark clear, if you have the courage to reach for them.”

Thor stared at Obed doubtfully. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you ever wonder where your parents disappear to every Sunday?”

Neither of his parents was forthcoming about that, so Thor did indeed wonder. However, he wouldn’t let Obed know of his misgivings.

Obed’s smile widened a hair. “In a way, they do what they always done. They’re going to the church. My church.”

Thor frowned. “You are a priest?” Marsh certainly did not look the part.

“Oh, indeed I am! I worship God with all my heart and mind. And my God makes sure that I, and everyone else who is worthy, have nothing to want.”

Thor stared at him in question. He didn’t think much about God, but he was certain that pious people could suffer too. He was about to say as much, when, out of corner of his eye he saw something move. He glanced discreetly at the window. Loki’s black mop of hair ducked down to stay out of view. Thor wanted to sigh. Couldn’t his brother stay out of trouble just this once?

“There are things in this world that are beyond our comprehension,” Obed said, “your only choice is to serve or be consumed. I’m confident that you’ll make the right one. Even Odin managed that much. I see something in you. You could be so much more.” Obed’s smile was wide now, all teeth. He stood up, towering over Thor, his hands placed at the desk. “I’ll see you at your ceremony.”

Thor’s bemusement must have shown, for Obed laughed again, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. “You should really ask your Odin and Frigga about that. Also, say to your brother, that I send my regards, until such time as we meet again.” With these parting words, Obed left the room behind, as well as a confused Thor

Half out of fear and half out of spite, Thor knew for certain he wouldn’t take Obed’s advice.

The moment of wakefulness came abruptly. Thor had been in so deep a sleep, that he couldn’t remember anything past the moment he laid in the bed. Odin’s face loomed above him in the semi-darkness.

“Get up. Quickly. There isn’t much time.”

“What?” That was the only response his sleep addled mind could offer.

“Get up! Now!” Odin ordered, his voice never rising above the level of a whisper.

Thor cast a glance at Loki’s bed. His brother was already sitting up, staring blearily ahead. He moved to get up. The sun had yet to rise.

Odin had already left, giving way to Frigga. She helped them dress, as swiftly and quietly as they could. The candles were unlit, making the process harder than usual, but Frigga insisted they remain that way. When Thor asked what had happened, his mother was suspiciously tight-lipped. The family emergency that was mentioned was clearly nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse.

They had just managed to make themselves decent, when Frigga rushed them to the carriage waiting outside. Thor glanced at the house in which he had lived his entire life up to now, for what he suspected was the last time. Then uncertain, yet hopeful, he turned and climbed the steps.

Loki is twenty five years old. Thor is twenty eight.

The alleyway was empty and darkness spread but for a single point of light. A figure stood near the far end of the alley, blocking any potential path of escape. ‘As long as I don’t look, it isn’t real,’ Loki repeated to himself, as the figure lurched towards him. Its gloved hands were misshaped, more like fish fins than human hands really, its skin was grey and scaly and its eyes were huge and round and nearly popping out of its face–

Loki woke up screaming, drenched in cold sweat. With trembling fingers, he reached to light the candle. Ever since that fateful night thirteen years ago, he was plagued by nightmares. 

As starkly as some details stood out, most of his memories regarding that night were blurred. He could remember the exact expression of grim determination on Odin’s face when he asked them to get off the carriage, but not who (or what) was hunting them. He knew not what became of his own father, only the finality with which his mother said, at the end of that terrible night, as they were nearing the neighbouring town of Newburyport, that Father was gone.

She was never forthcoming about the years they had spent on Innsmouth, about all the small discrepancies in their family stories. Loki gave up asking after a point, knowing his inquiries would not be answered, not honestly at least. He didn’t hold that against his mother, even as that little cowardice in an otherwise brave woman troubled him. Deep down, he knew that something was deeply wrong in the port town of Innsmouth, even if he couldn’t place what that was. He could recall seeing a monster once, but that must simply be a child’s overactive imagination.

Loki often didn’t know how to spend these empty, night-time hours, when he stayed awake after these nightmares until the dawn came. Usually his first visit would be the kitchen, hoping to find a hot cup of tea, or sometimes his mother already awake, staring wistfully through the window, looking for something which Loki had yet to find.

However, this time he headed straight for the attic. For some days now, he had wish to go through their old stuff, to see if there was anything of their father’s that was worth presenting to Thor for his engagement with Jane; a brilliant woman, who after their many heated debates over philosophical or scientific issues, Loki could not quite bring himself to dislike. Mother was quite insistent to do so on her own, but Loki would rather spare her the trouble. She may be in good health for a woman her age, but her back was giving her trouble, and sitting on the floor or moving around heavy objects would undeniably worsen her condition.

Under the flickering candlelight, which paled in comparison to the moon much less the sun, the world seemed frightful, wrapped in shadowy forms and warped in a way that the daylight obscured. In the crowded attic, it was hard to take a step without stumbling upon one thing or an other. Loki set the candle on a shelf, and kneeled in front of the old, dusty chest. Its lid was heavy, but opened without much trouble. Inside there were clothes– all of them old-fashioned, things that Odin used to wear. Perhaps a nice vest would do. 

Loki went on until he touched something cold and metallic. Brow furrowed, he pulled the clothes out of the way. His frown deepened. A gun, and underneath it, a sealed paper. Loki took the gun in hand, studying it. He knew nothing of weapons, and he certainly didn’t know that his father owned one. He placed it next to the candle and focused on the letter. After much deliberation, Loki decided to break the seal.

The present statement is a binding agreement.

Obed Marsh pledges his protection and son to Odin Borson.

Odin Borson pledges his eternal devotion to Obed Marsh.

Loki is to remain with his adoptive family, until such time as he returns to the sea.

This agreement holds as long as both parties are alive.

The signees, 

Obed Marsh,

Odin Borson

Frigga’s visit had distressed Thor enough so, that he went to talk to Loki himself. When he reached the house the front door was open just a crack. Thor’s heart beat faster, as his mind raced to the worst possible conclusion.

He knocked and opened the door slowly, hoping to give Loki a warning. His brother sat on the loveseat, his head buried in his hands, shoulders trembling. A gun was laying discarded next to him, atop the short table.

“Loki?” he called.

Loki raised his head, as though he only now noticed Thor’s presence. “What are you doing here?”

Thor swallowed. “Mother came to me. She said you were... rather distraught.”

Loki’s laughter was just shy of hysterical. “Distraught? Was that the word she chose? After lying to me for my whole–”

“That’s not what happened–” Thor began, taking a cautious step forward. Loki’s hand immediately flew to the gun. Thor froze and Loki let go of the gun as if burned.

“What did she say?”

Thor hesitated for a moment. “That you are adopted. But Loki, you are my brother regardless–”

Loki stared up at him and laughed. “I think she forgot to mention a rather important detail. What do you remember of Innsmouth?”

Thor stiffened. “Not much. And I’d rather that way. The past is to stay in the past.”

“I’m well aware off your opinion,” Loki said. “If only you didn’t state it so often and so loudly.”

“Brother–”

“Don’t call me that! I’m not! I’m not even human!”

Thor opened his mouth but no sound came out. Only Loki’s panting breaths broke the silence. “Brother,” Thor said gently, while eyeing the gun, “why don’t we go back to my place? There we can discuss anything you want.”

“You don’t believe me, do you? You think me mad.”

“Not that, brother.” Thor inched forward bit by bit.

“What then?”

“Can you explain to me why you think that?”

“I always suspected something was wrong... Then, I found the... contract... I remember Innsmouth, and even if I don’t know what exactly was amiss there... I asked Mother and she didn’t deny it– You’ve made a promise to me. That if monsters were real, you would protect me. I made the same one, even if not aloud. And if I am the monster, shouldn’t I protect anyone, you, from myself?”

Thor reached out, squeezing Loki’s shoulder. “Anything but that! Anything but that, Loki.”

Loki’s next inhale shook. “I don’t want to die, but I fear I must.”

“You don’t have to Loki. Whatever is wrong, we will figure it out.”

Loki stared at him doubtfully, but he leaned into the touch. 

“Let us go to my house. With Mother and Jane, we will figure something out.”

“Are you certain?”

Thor breathed a sigh of relief. “I am.”