The Purging of Asgard

Chapter 5

"Say what?" You take a step back, the man's face is obscured by shadow, the nearest streetlamp lighting him from behind. A sudden menace settles in the pit of your stomach,
"Sigyn... That can't be you..." He steps forward, reaching for your cheek, but you slap his hand away and dart into your shop, locking the door behind you, "no, Sigyn, what are you doing? It's me..." You turn on the lights to ensure you could be seen from the outside. Maybe a patrol would come by soon. The man presses his hands to the glass of your door, the way he's built he could break through without much trouble, surely, but instead he just stands there, looking somewhat confused, and almost hurt, like you've slapped him. You run to the counter where you left your phone... You can't think of who to call, you’ve been a loner since you got out of foster care, so you really don’t have any friends, certainly not around here. Except…

The Collector. He could help. He said you could call anytime, right? 
As the phone is dialing and ringing, you’re wondering if you should hang up and call the police instead, but you feel like you want someone here that you know. The man steps forward into the light and you finally catch his eyes. 
The comic panel flashes to mind. Loki's eyes burning with anger.
That familiar pain shoots across your forehead again. No. Not now. 
"Hello?"
"Hi-- ow... This is Y/N, from the comic store... Ah, geez..." You can hardly think through the haze overtaking you, so you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to alleviate some of the pain,
"Are you alright, young lady? Do you need help?" 
"Yes! There's a man. Ah, my head...” The vice tightens around the crown of your head, “I'm at the shop... Left my phone... Agh..." You drop the phone in favor of grasping your head, you distantly hear pounding on the front door,
"Sigyn, what's wrong? Let me in! Let me help you!" You feel a drop of blood fall from your nose, and see it hit the floor in front of you. You drag yourself to the door, your phone forgotten on the floor. Grasping the bar across the door, you hold yourself up and look the man in the eye,
"I'm not Sigyn. I'm Y/N. And I don't know who you are." You know it's a lie. You know those eyes, even as they are clouded with concern, darkened, but in frustration instead of the hatred you saw in those books; the menace you saw in your dreams.
...friend... Your mind offers... Love... This doesn't make sense... Trust... No. Enemy. Danger. Stay away. But you just can't get yourself to think of him as a stranger.
"Get away from my store and don't come back. Help is coming, and if you're still here when they show up, you'll regret it." You know he wants to stay, you can see the reluctance in his eyes; a fear, but a fear for you, not of what may come. He steps back, slipping away into the shadows. You watch him, sweat beading on your forehead from the effort of focusing, until he disappears into an alley across the street and down the block. You sink down to the floor, exhausted, but your headache subsiding. You tell yourself you must stay awake, just awhile longer. Just a bit longer...

A loud rap at the window next to you awakens you with a start, "Miss Y/L/N, are you alright?" Your eyes take their time focusing, the Collector! It's still dark out, so you couldn't have been out long. It takes you a while to unlock the door, your fingers refusing to cooperate. When you get the door open, the Collector helps you to a chair, assessing any damage you may have endured,
"Your nose. Did he hit you?" He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and starts dabbing at the blood. You just shake your head. You feel mostly like yourself again, but your head is still swimming. 
"I got another headache..." You whisper, your mind starting to work, but the process is like running through molasses. One thing you knew: The familiarity you felt with that man scared you, you have seen him before, but only ever in your dreams or your books.
You know him. You know it was Loki. Maybe the whole thing was another dream, but then why would the Collector be here? 
"Can you stand?" 
"Hm?" You're so distracted, there is so much that feels like it should make sense that just doesn't fit, "oh, yeah, I'm sure I'm fine."
"Regardless, let's get you to the hospital, make sure you're alright."
He takes you to your hospital, where you have the same meetings with a different doctor. Nothing seems wrong. Nothing that could cause headaches like this. 
The Collector takes you back to your apartment, seeing you all the way to your door, keeping a hand near you elbow, at the ready should you feel another episode, as your doctor has taken to calling it, coming on. You can't thank him enough. Just having him nearby is making you feel safer. 
"Again, the offer still stands. If you ever need help, you can give me a call. Obviously I'll be there." He smiles, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You resist the urge to give him a hug... Then throw resistance out the window. You hug him tight, thanking him yet again. For a moment you feel at home. If you didn't know any better you could think this man was your Grandfather. He was young enough to be your father, but with his brown fedora and tan camel hair coat, he seemed more like a grandfather.
"Something is wrong," he says, reading your expression when you pull away. "What is it?" He presses you,
"I just can't stop feeling like something big is about to happen. You know that feeling before a big storm? The wind picks up, everything gets a little colder..."
"Then the sky falls on you." He finishes with a knowing smile, "It’s understandable. You’ve had a rough night. Fight those boogeymen tonight, Chicken Little, everything will feel better in the morning." He tips his hat at you and leaves as you're entering your apartment. 
He made you feel a little better, but you knew he was wrong. This storm was definitely coming but it wasn't going to pass you by, you knew the storm was coming for you.