The Unquiet Thought, Interlude 4
Thor is not okay.
Interlude (Thor)
Ten steps.
Ten steps to the wall from the edge of his bed. Ten from there to the frame of the door. Ten from the door to the trophies adorning his walls. He walks.
He walks and he counts because if he is still then there is too much and he will think of- greeneyeswideandwetandpleadingbrother- he walks.
The tesseract had left him at the remains of the Bifrost; he does not look at Heimdall, he does not look at anyone he passes. He thinks he is greeted by some, is not sure. He does not think. Every step along the glowing pathway he counts, flickers of light around the fall of his feet, and then onto the stone. Then plated gold. Every stair. Every tile.
Oh really? He can hear the voice of his (not) brother who is not there. I hadn’t realized you knew enough numbers to go that high.
He does not go near the throne room. He uses the hidden pathways he only knows of because he followed the bright green eyes and curious fingers of another child when he was young. He uses them until he finds a small carving, scratched into the stone with a dull knife because I am real, I am here and then he slams himself into the wall in his efforts to get out.
It isn’t until he’s made it to his quarters that he collapses and heaves and, when the stillness is too much, he walks.
Ten steps. A circle, always always always back where he began and nothing changed.
At last, when it is all too much, the ache and the fear and the hunger, when he does not know how long he has been walking, door fastened shut, when he is alone and lost, he does what he has always done.
He goes to Mother.
Chapter 11
Interlude (Thor)
Ten steps.
Ten steps to the wall from the edge of his bed. Ten from there to the frame of the door. Ten from the door to the trophies adorning his walls. He walks.
He walks and he counts because if he is still then there is too much and he will think of- greeneyeswideandwetandpleadingbrother- he walks.
The tesseract had left him at the remains of the Bifrost; he does not look at Heimdall, he does not look at anyone he passes. He thinks he is greeted by some, is not sure. He does not think. Every step along the glowing pathway he counts, flickers of light around the fall of his feet, and then onto the stone. Then plated gold. Every stair. Every tile.
Oh really? He can hear the voice of his (not) brother who is not there. I hadn’t realized you knew enough numbers to go that high.
He does not go near the throne room. He uses the hidden pathways he only knows of because he followed the bright green eyes and curious fingers of another child when he was young. He uses them until he finds a small carving, scratched into the stone with a dull knife because I am real, I am here and then he slams himself into the wall in his efforts to get out.
It isn’t until he’s made it to his quarters that he collapses and heaves and, when the stillness is too much, he walks.
Ten steps. A circle, always always always back where he began and nothing changed.
At last, when it is all too much, the ache and the fear and the hunger, when he does not know how long he has been walking, door fastened shut, when he is alone and lost, he does what he has always done.
He goes to Mother.
Chapter 11