Valhalla || A Loki Fanfic

Chapter 12

~5 years later~

Thor has fallen apart.

He looks like a sack of potatoes.

It's kind of amusing honestly.

His past self would've died if he saw him now.

Or if he even got a whiff of himself.

I don't think he's bathed in years.

Of consumed anything other than beer.

I'm sitting on a cliff, watching the waves lap up against the rocks. There isn't much to do as a ghost. I can't even do pranks, it's very boring.

At least Val tries to keep my company a little bit, in the night when she has secret conversations. Once Thor told her about my... experiences with the Chitauri, she's been kinder to me. It's a bit annoying to be honest, I don't need her sympathy.

I'm watching the remaining Asgardians bustle around the streets when I see them.

In a broken down blue pickup truck, is Raccoon and the barbaric Hulk. Which means that the rest of them must be nearby.

I groan, standing up, walking over to Val, who's currently using her blade to cut the head off of a fish.

"You have visitors," I scoff, raising my eyebrows at the band of misfits, "And the Hulk is wearing a shirt, that is new,"

Val tosses me a look before stomping over towards the team, "You shouldn't have come!"

The Hulk- Banner? I don't even know at this point, smiles, opening his arms, "Ah, Valkyrie. Good to see you, angry girl,"

I snort at her nickname, that sums her up better than most of the words in the English language.

Val looks him up and down, trying to decipher the weird half-mix of his two personalities, "I think I liked you better either of the other ways,"

Promptly ignoring her comment, he introduces Raccoon, "This is Rocket,"

"The Raccoon I told you about," I say, staring at Raccoon with a feeling of... joy? I missed his antics.

Val nods as he says a welcome, leaning up against a barrel of fish.

She raises her eyebrows, staring at Raccoon once more before turning towards Banner-Hulk, "He won't see you,"

"It's that bad, huh?"

What do you think? He lost everything? And he's only been surrounded by two idiot aliens this entire time.

"We only see him once a month when he comes in for... 'supplies,'" she says, gesturing to the metal barrels of beer piled in a corner.

"It's that bad..."

I believe the mortal expression is, 'No shit, Sherlock.'

Minutes later, we are standing outside the shack with Raccoon pounding on his door.

With no response, Raccoon simply pushes the door open, wrinkling his nose as he sniffs, "What the... something died in here!"

I believe it to be Thor's pride.

It's also times like this when I'm grateful that I am a ghost, my Jötun sense of smell probably would've revolted.

I walk through Raccoon, listening to bottles clink as Green Banner calls out for Thor.

I grimace when I see Thor clumsily stumbling down the hall. He has grown out his hair, not for style, but from neglect. His once golden locks are dirty and reach his shoulders, the Lovelock he had for me after Álfheim was gone. A beard that goes below his collarbone. He is shirtless, with a rounded stomach with beer dripping down his pajama pants.