Chapter Text
From horizon to horizon, the sky was ablaze with stars. The quarter moon was just starting to descend from zenith, and the night air was alive with noise. Coyotes barked and insects whined, cattle lowed and horses shifted in their stalls. It was a well known symphony, a midnight lullaby that had been lulling the Norsson family to sleep for generations.
The ranch house lay at the top of an uphill slope. What was originally a small two room house had been expanded over time and now sprawled out over three levels. A small lantern burned on the porch, illuminating the tired face of Odin Norsson, leaning against one of the support posts.
His eldest boy was out there on a cattle drive, taking charge for the first time. Odin wouldn't have let him go if he didn't trust him, but he couldn't help worrying a little.
“Thor will be fine,” a voice spoke from behind him. “He's got wise heads to advise him.”
Odin didn't need to turn around and see the man in the lamplight. Heimdall was an old and dear friend. Sometimes Odin wondered just how Heimdall always knew what to say, but he figured he was better off not knowing. Whatever the trick, it had made the pair of them superb hands and now Heimdall and he ran the ranch.
He only wished that Heimdall had been able to warn him about the godforsaken mustang. Odin Norsson, who had never been bucked off any horse, had fallen off like the greenest of hands when the ornery beast had reared and lunged. To add insult to injury, the devil possessed beast had shattered his right femur with one kick, before Heimdall had driven it back with a whip.
He shouldn’t even be standing on the leg, he thought, and turned back towards the house.
Heimdall only slightly hid his smile as Odin turned. He'd probably sit out a while longer, Odin thought, limping slightly as he moved, feeling the bone deep ache start again.
He walked the halls of the house in darkness, sure-footed despite his injury. This was his home, his place, and he could always find his way around. His grandfather had started the building, his father and continued it, and Odin had done with same. Every stone, every timber had been laid with love and care.
He paused outside a slightly ajar door and smiled. Although he couldn't see it in the darkness he knew there was a sign nailed to the door.
Loki's Room.
Carefully Odin eased open the door, careful not to let it squeak. Loki's dark hair gleamed in the scant moonlight, his face serene and slack. Gently, Odin tucked the quilt more securely around his sleeping younger son.
There was a flash of silver from outside the window. Curious, Odin moved to look. Probably just the eyes of an overly nosy raccoon or prairie dog. He unlatched the screen door and stepped out onto the wooden deck that ran the length of the house. Nothing was there, but he still felt a trace of unease.
Silver flashed again, along with a dark shape that was far too large to be any innocent animal. Odin turned, but the sharpness of the movement aggravated the pain in his leg and he stumbled, unable to hold his weight. That saved him. The knife stroke aimed to take him straight across the throat took him across his left eye instead, from the top of his nose to the centre of his cheek.
Pain screamed through him, a fire that burnt from the inside out. The still barely healed bone of his leg added its voice to the pain chorus. Half blind, fearful and angry, Odin still threw himself at his attacker, fists balled tight.
His son screamed.
Loki screamed.
His son was in danger.
And then as the stock of a gun slammed into his head, there was nothing but darkness.