Thor cast a lingering glance back at those in Stark Tower, and the destruction that had been wrought, before following Sif to Loki’s apartment— the location of which had stayed a mystery up to now. If the apartment had been small before, it was positively minature when stuffed with five Asgardians.
He happened to be the closest to the door when there came a knock upon it, not a moment after they had all filed into the apartment. Adding a frown to his already grim countenance, he cracked the door open, unwilling to allow whatever mortal had decided to pester them witness the unusual company Loki was holding. His expression didn’t shift an iota as he eyed Summer. ”Yes?”
There had been no words spoken the whole trip to Loki’s lodgings. Frigga would steal glances at everyone but was too tired to actually do anything. She took comfort in her husbands intervention.
As they settled, the mother took her place by her sons side, keeping watch for any signs of pain or consciousness. Her heart was too broken to even notice her surroundings properly.
She did not even hear someone at the door, nor did she care much really.
The shadows of the room fell irregularly as the All-Father placed the body down gently, the warm light still shimmering around his form. He traced his wizened hand beside Loki’s cheek, just shy of touching it, brushing aside disheveled strands of hair in a slow, lingering motion. For a moment, Odin simply breathed.
“I’ve cast a form of the Odin-Sleep over him,” he addressed the rest of the room, his shoulders sagging as he supported himself over Loki’s body. “It should block the pain and keep him in stasis for now,” his brow trembled, an indication of the effort, “but I cannot hold this spell for long.”
His fingers hovered over his son’s still hand, a motion he remembered receiving when he himself had been struck down by the deep sleep. “I must not stay,” he drew his hand back, reluctant.
Freyja found herself in the small apartment complex without much announcement of her presence, wearing the golden helm representative of her duties. She stepped through the small shattered door and surveyed the room, feeling inside it a soul close to death. While the battle had happened on Midgard, she had still come to collect those who may have fallen, and it seemed she had come none too soon. She stepped gracefully into the bedroom, eyes cool as she looked down at Loki, laid low as he was. Her voice though, held still its usual notes of tenderness as she looked up and spoke to Odin.
“You may return; the boy will find his destination, where ever it lies.” Even in collecting the dead, Freyja could not shake herself of Love. She extended a hand, brushing it softly over Loki’s battered cheek, ice melting away from her eyes as she felt the breath still rattling through him.
—
Cat squirmed in Summer’s grasp, protesting in a high, strident voice. He paused when Thor spoke, staring at the God of Thunder out of startlingly familiar vivid green eyes.
Thanks to Odin’s spell Loki slept on, and the sleep was blessedly untroubled by either physical pain or nightmare. He lay unprotesting on the bed, still dressed in the tatters of his armour, bruises looking a little less dire under the golden glow of Odin’s magic.
All Sif could think in the crowded room was how she wished Loki could see them all and know the strength of friendship and family that surrounded him. He would name them all Friend of Thor, and no relation to him, but here they were.
To her, it was too crowded, too close. Too many bodies vying for the same small space. She felt raw, nerve endings frazzled, like the smallest sounds made her jump out of her skin and she could not breathe.
She sought Thor, her only true conscious friend in the room, in the world. “We may be in need of supplies,” she told him in a low voice, standing near the door, “I shall fetch them from — ” of course they would need supplies — the Odinsleep (Lokisleep) would be temporary, and she would not lose him to death again. Nor would Thor, she knew. “I shall fetch them.”
The master bedroom was crowded enough so Heimdall stayed in the living room, knowing that the first faces Loki should see first had to be his family’s and dearest. He looked up at the sound of the knock and gazed through the door to see a girl holding a cat. Knowing that she posed no threat, he turned his attention away from her. She had unusually timing and he hoped that the disruption went unnoticed by the others.
The moment the door opened, Summer knew /exactly/ what had caused that ill-at-ease feeling. Her mouth had been open to speak, and the force of all the swirling emotions within struck her like a blow, driving the breath out of her lungs. Only years of hard-fought control enabled her to wrest up shields like walls of adamantium, and the tingles running up her spine foretold trouble if she didn’t burn off soon.
Dragging in a ragged breath, she offered Macrowafter to the towering blond figure filling the door. “I … this is Loki’s cat. I’m his friend. Please, is he okay? Is there /anything/ I can do?”
Inane, ordinary, human question. She knew he wasn’t okay.