Following Our Own Script

Chapter One

Loki rolled over on his side, looking at Heimdall. "We're going to find something. We can't give up yet." He sat up, grabbing his bow. Attached was an arrow to a rope. He crouched at the edge of the boat, aiming into the water.

"Great, more raw fish."

"Because we have so many other options."

Heimdall rolled his eyes. Loki was getting snarkier by the day. What was worse, Heimdall's own jabs were affecting him less and less. Still, Loki did keep his optimism. His ability to find something to look forward to was a nuisance.

"Moron," Heimdall said.

"Shithead."

"Insignificant, self-serving brat."

"One-arm."

Heimdall sat up, eyebrows furrowed. "Low blow for something your dear daddy left me with."

"Sorry," Loki mumbled. He meant it. Heimdall spit overboard.

"Save it. If you're going to insult me, try to be creative."

The two sat in silence. The sun was slowly leaving the middle of the sky. Heimdall glanced at Loki as he fished. Somehow, even in all this water, life near the surface was scarce. They had better luck when the bird was around. All of Loki's conjuring were land animals. They struggled to keep their form too deep in the water. Heimdall couldn't exactly harp on him for his lack of abilities, as his own weren't exactly saving their skins. What good was foresight in the middle of nowhere? His gift felt much more like a curse when left alone with Loki. The brat thought as loudly as he talked.

Heimdall hated how genuine Loki had become. When they first met, war was all that clouded the half-breed's mind. Not real war, of course. A fantasy battle where Odin fell and everyone else turned to the side of good. Cities burned, but more for dramatic effect. Loki had grown fond of those he met in Asgard. But not wishing harm on someone and then having completed every step to set the end of the world in motion made him the worst kind of person. He couldn't see the path his intentions would take him on, the damage he could do. Worse, he still believed this was all to help others.

During the actual war, the brat had finally understood why his father was so hesitant. Even after Brok's death, Loki was still naive about the horrors that were to come.

But it was because of Loki that he lived. Well, mostly. The goat's head had initially saved him. Kratos had tried to spare him out of pity. Heimdall wouldn't allow that. Kratos snapped. Mimir had called some sense into him out of fear of who the God of War would become.

Mimir at least gave Heimdall the dignity of not caring if he lived or died. A loss was a loss, but he was no runaway. He fought until his vision blurred and the world went still.

Kratos had beaten his head into the ground. The choking stopped at the last possible second before he would have otherwise died. If he hadn't spoken that last 'monster,' he'd be in Valhalla right now.

Heimdall woke in a glorified closet at the dwarfs' home. Apparently, Kratos manhandled both him and Frigg's brother through Vanheim. The fact that the old bastard could accomplish so much after their fight destroyed his pride. Not only was Heimdall beaten, but Kratos recovered remarkably well.

"Do you miss him?"

Heimdall blinked from his daze. The All-Father, Loki meant. Seemed the brat was tired of the sweet silence.

"He betrayed his own people. Of course I don't miss him." Heimdall hated he was getting used to Loki's all-too personal questions.

"I think I miss him. Or, the version of him he was pretending to be. I wanted it to be real, you know?"