Miracles, Magic, and (Im)Mortals

A Baccano!, Thor Crossover Collection

A/N: A wild Amora appears! Also, she's a hell of a lot nicer, relatively, than canon typically has her as. There's still the blue/orange morality that comes with being a god and magic user. I figured since Movie!Verse appears to be a lot less dark -Odin for one isn't a total asshole, even if he does need some parenting classes- Amora can have some feelings for Loki that extend beyond what he can do for her and vice-verse.

-Round and Round and Back at the Start-

(Loop and Loop Part 2)

Claire remembers green and gold: the colors of magic. He remembers a woman with flowing yellow hair -hair he had stolen for her for some future favor- dressed in rich greens finding him someplace he had been locked far, far away. To think, and repent. But Claire was a god and he acted as he wished. Gods did not ask for forgiveness.

The woman had stepped through the Walls Without Doors, dark fondness in her eyes, and a smoking goblet in hand. There was something comforting about her presence. Like the stagnate air itself freshened with her passage.

My Prince, she had whispered it like a lover though he knew her to have never been his. My dearest apprentice. Would that I could break thy bonds, but the AllFather's magic is greater than mine own. It does not repay my debt to you, but it is all I have to offer.

And she stroked his cheek, cradling him close as a mother comforted a child, and tipped the goblet so that the strange, bitter liquid ran into his mouth. He swallowed it all, closing his eyes and resting his head against her breast. Would that you were my mother, Enchantress.

Hush, my Prince. Hush, and sleep. Sleep, my Loki, Sleep and do not dream. Sleep and do not wake. Sleep, and be reborn. I will find you, dearest apprentice, I will find you again. This, on my magic, I swear.

He sleeps, and does not wake. In another world, in a time since past, a baby boy with brown eyes that shine gold -sometimes red- is born. Gold is one of the colors of magic. Red is the color of blood and the legacy of giants.

It is Claire's birthday party. He does not often celebrate them, but his Father-in-Law is in town on business so that is a reason to bake cakes. Huey looks him over and gives a tiny, tiny smile when he sees the happiness reflected in his daughters eyes. It is approval of a sort and Claire beams and pops the cork on a bottle of champagne. His Father-in-Law has never been the excitable sort and he and Chane disappear into the kitchen.

His brothers are present of course, and Luck is sprawled out on a couch complaining about police sweeps and procedures. There are even a few Martillos in the back room setting up an obstacle course of jenga blocks around the poker players. Isaac and Miria couldn't come as they are in Norway trying to find and steal some special tree and didn't want to risk the increased airport security from the failed alien invasion, but they called in their well wishes and sent a package of stained stone chips with strangely familiar little squiggles on them. The two thieves seemed to think they were an example of ancient, foreign dominoes.

It is a rather rowdy party, and Claire is clapped on the back and has his hair ruffled more than he likes but he doesn't say anything about it. The invasion ruffled a whole hell of a lot of feathers, including his own, and there's been a crackdown from some new, global organization that is making more than a few immortals nervous. They weren't able to clear out all the bodies -one of which was sent to a taxidermist- and now that the dust has settled it has become obvious to authorities that someone other than the Avengers had been fighting. The borderline legal bullet casings littering the street may also have something to do with it.

But criminal organizations such as themselves make no small amount of business in identification forgery and smuggling, and Keith has been soothing concerns with his usual quiet, ruthless efficiency. If worse comes to worse, they can fake a death and establish their people elsewhere.

So, despite the light, relaxed atmosphere in the house, Claire isn't surprised when more weapons than he cares to count appear in immortal and near-immortal hands all trained on the singular blonde woman that steps out of the air and onto the bar. She raises one immaculately sculpted eyebrow as her gaze travels around the room. She stops on him, icy green eyes widening, and Claire freezes-

A city in the clouds. Golden towers. Raucous laughter. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.

-but Chane is there, and Berga, and Luck, and Keith, and even Old Man Martillo is appraising the woman with a gimlet eye. They are a family. But so is she. In a way. He does not remember much, not clearly, but such is the nature of dreams is it not? He remembers her holding him, telling him to sleep.

Her lips are a promise. Sweet. "I said I would find you, dearest prince."

Chane's hand is in his. "I do not want to wake up, mother."

"I would not ask you to." Her expression is inexplicably sad.

Slowly, guns and knives and weapons of all kinds are stowed away and Maiza offers the enchanting woman a hand down from the table. There will be questions, but for now it is Claire's birthday and they will sing and dance and eat cake and drink wine and celebrate living.