Radioactive | Bucky Barnes

THOR: CHAPTER SIX

Rhiley didn't offer to help clean up when she returned with Thor. She kept her distance, leaning against the wall near the exit, eyes flicking to her phone every few minutes. No signal. No call. She hated this lab; it was too bright, too sterile, too close to the past she wanted to forget.

The calm shattered with a booming voice that echoed through the space, rattling the glass.

Instinct took over.

Without hesitation, Rhiley snatched the nearest metal object—one of Selvig's instruments—and hurled it toward the intruder with a flick of her wrist. It flew with impossible force, only to be snatched mid-air by the towering man who'd stepped inside.

"Found you!" he grinned, utterly unfazed by the metal now clutched in his hand.

Darcy's jaw dropped as she looked from the man to Rhiley. "Did anyone else know she could throw stuff with her mind?"

Jane stood frozen, eyes bouncing between Rhiley and the new arrivals, her scientific brain scrambling to reassess everything she thought she understood.

"My friends!" Thor's voice boomed joyfully.

Jane dropped a plate, the crash sharp against the stunned silence. But Thor was already moving, sweeping across the room to embrace the newcomers like long-lost family.

"I don't believe it," Selvig breathed, recognizing them from ancient myth.

"Who are they?" Darcy asked, eyes still darting between Rhiley and the strangers.

"Lady Sif and the Warriors Three," Thor introduced proudly. "Surely you've heard tales of Hogun the Grim, Fandral the Dashing, and I, Volstagg the Svelte."

Selvig glanced at Volstagg's rotund figure.

"Well," Volstagg grinned, patting his belly, "perhaps I've gained a bit of muscle since I was last on Midgard."

"That would've been about... a thousand years ago?" Jane offered weakly. "Northern Europe?"

"Exactly!" Volstagg beamed. "Those herring-worshipping villagers loved us."

Thor clapped him on the back. "My friends, I am overjoyed to see you—but you should not have come."

Fandral's expression shifted. "We're here to take you home."

"I cannot," Thor said, voice firm. "My father is dead by my hand. I remain here in exile."

Sif's brow furrowed. "Thor... your father still lives."

Before anyone could respond, Darcy pointed toward the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "Um... was anyone else coming to the party?"

Rhiley's phone buzzed—then dropped to "No Signal."

Outside, townspeople gathered in the streets, their eyes drawn to the distant fire and thunder rolling closer.

Thor turned to Jane, voice low and urgent. "Leave. Get yourself and your friends to safety."

Jane stepped forward. "And you?"

"I stay. I fight." He looked to his friends, jaw set. "I am still a warrior."

"You're mortal now," Volstagg warned. "You'll be cut down."

"Or one of us will, trying to protect you," Fandral added.

Sif placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. "Get the mortals to safety. Leave this battle to us."

Thor hesitated. Then nodded. "You're right." He turned to Rhiley. "You are a warrior. Help my friends."