Another Chance

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After his conversation with Sylvie Loki walked out of the building, sat down on the grass and forced himself to eat the apple. Not because he was hungry, not because Sylvie had given it to him.

No, he did it because he had to prove his point. He and the Loki Sylvie had met were NOT the same person. Sylvie didn't know him like she thought she did. And the thought of being so predictable gave him hives.

After eating (an action he would never admit that had taken up a good part of his remaining half hour break and made his stomach churn), he went back to his class. Yes, he found them deadly boring, but he was sure that skipping one of his classes (or several) would result in a call to Odin. And maybe, if he missed too many, he would lose his chance to be there.

So he, a centuries-old god, sat among nearly twenty Midgardian teenagers for the next several hours. And the next day. And the one who followed that one.

And suddenly, Saturday came. And Loki, who despite everything had gotten used to spending the morning and part of the afternoon among humans who ignored him, discovered that Saturday morning missing the constant noise of voices and pens scratching paper.

So he went to the second place that had occupied his time the most, after classes, during the past week: the library.

It turned out that SHIELD had quite a large and diverse library. Of course, it would be a shame compared to the Royal Library of Asgard. But for a Midgardian high school library, it wasn't bad. There he caught up with the blurred memories he had about that world. And he discovered something that he did not know how to interpret: Norse mythology did not exist.

The peoples of northern Europe, in that version of Midgard, had not changed their old animist religion for the Aesir and Vanir gods (because of their presence after the battle with Jotunheim). Because in that world, those events had not happened. Did that mean that Asgard, and the rest of the Nine, didn't exist in that universe? His chest ached at the possibility. As much as he hated Asgardians, he loved Asgard. He loved the golden palace and city. The woods he enjoyed wandering in, whether in his humanoid form or not (when no Asgardian ever decided to go hunting). And what about Alfheim, or Vanaheim? The idea that his mother's ancestral home did not exist was appalling. And that the universe did not know the warmth of Vanyrian seidr was...inconceivable.

He had to hide in the most remote corridors of the library so as not to risk any of the other students seeing the tears that struggled to slide down his cheeks. And he hated himself for it. Damn teenage mortal body. He had already been through that horrible stage (for hundreds of years!) once, for the love of all Norns. Why should he go through it again?

After that he went back to his bedroom, unable to concentrate on another reading. He considered stopping by the cafeteria before locking himself in, but he dismissed the idea when his stomach lurched at the thought. He thus went to his bedroom, luckily without crossing Thor, and threw himself on the bed without paying attention to the wrinkles that he was surely creating in his suit. He wouldn't be out of there again until the next morning anyway. Sunday. Thinking about it, he might not be out until Monday. Anyway, no one would miss him in that place.

Not even Thor.

He had crossed paths with his brother a few times over the past few days. Most of the time in the hall of the dormitories, and a few times when changing classes or in the cafeteria (on the rare occasions that Loki gave in to the need to eat). On each of those occasions Loki made an effort to ignore his brother. That would be the best for both of them, he had decided after that teasing in the garden. So he would avoid more disrespect. And Thor would not have to continue carrying his brother "the friendless one".