It was Sunday morning.
Papers were strewn around the coffee table; herbs and medicines were splayed across every kitchen surface. Loki was hunched over one of his books, sweating and shaking, occasionally taking small sips of his aqua drink.
Thor hadn't slept for more than an hour, the worry and stress periodically waking his body up to check on the youngest.
Heimdell kept the police and doctors away through Misting, a magical trick which can wipe memories and keep specific details of identities safely hidden.
"It says here that Leukemia is most prevalent in children," Loki mused sadly, tapping his bony fingers on the table.
He was losing weight daily and his sunken cheekbones and baggy clothes were a constant reminder.
Whenever he managed to eat something, he'd throw it back up again within the hour.
"Remind me again why you can't just cure him." Thor croaked from the sink. He'd been staring out of the window with a pensive expression all morning. "Just conjure a spell and get rid of it."
"It doesn't work like that," Heimdell sighed, shuffling over to the sink in his batman slippers, which would have been amusing in any other circumstance. "Its risky enough using the Mist and that doesn't even hold any directness to us. Those Fire Spirits are perceptive. They'll be able to sniff him out like canines if direct magic so much as breathes on him."
"They come, we fight." Thor replied evenly. "Anything would be better than watching this."
Loki sighed and turned the page of his book as the three fell into an uneasy silence once again. Its fine, he told himself. Just a few more weeks and the Battle will be over. You can return home, cleanse yourself of this stupid curse and get on with your sad, little life.
Fifteen minutes later, rain began poring from the skies with glorious purpose.
Thunder rolled around the clouds and forks of lightning erupted across the drained skyline.
"Are you doing that?" Loki asked innocently, gently folding the corner of his page and placing the book onto the table. "Thor?"
"It's not me," Thor shrugged, avoiding eye contact and remaining apathetic to his surroundings. Heimdell sighed and stalked his way to the front door moments before the bell rang.
"Mr Anders."
"Hello Mr Delta."
"Call me Heimdell."
"Okay, Heimdell. Uh, could I come inside? My comics are getting wet."
That familiar head of cropped blue hair popped into view and Loki smiled sweetly.
He rather enjoyed having Kieran around.
The comics he lugged around with him were quality entertainment.
"Kieran," he acknowledged politely.
The young man peeled off his tasselled jacket to reveal a plaid over-shirt three sizes too big and denim skinny jeans. His stick-like arms were pale and grossly hairy.
"Here you go, kid."
He dropped a pile of slightly damp comic strips onto the table and Loki contained a happy squeak. "Thanks!"
"Anytime,"
"The war has begun." Heimdell grumbled; amber eyes were fixed on a specific point in the sky. "Your father is fighting well, but the Fire Spirits-," he winced and closed his eyes for a moment. "They're angry because of your absence, little one. Rage gives them fuel."
