A/N. Hi guys! Oh my gosh I'm ALIVE :O I'm sorry it's been so long but I've just been absolutely SWAMPED. I haven't written in forever... but here's another drabble for you guys, slightly longer than usual. And also, I GOT A PROMPT WOOT! So now instead of this being the last chapter, there will be at least one more. Yay? Anyway, this is my first time writing Loki and I hope you guys think I did it at least semi-correctly. I don't think there are any spoilers for TTDW in here but maybe I missed something. If I did, it's not much. Or you can just think of this as totally AU and believe what you will. Once again, sorry for the delay, I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Enjoy! :D

Thomas Vidar Thorson - Thor/Jane = 13

P.S. I don't know how, but I think I may have made my OC OOC... but in my defense, I imagine that Thomas/Vidar would have a very different demeanor when he is on Asgard. He is royalty there, a prince, whereas on Earth he's still highly regarded as the son of a superhero/alien but he's also just Thomas.

P.P.S. Thomas is no longer going to be called Thomas Odinson and will now on be called Thomas Thorson. My bad. On with the story!

The blue pulled on his limbs in every which way, tugging at his cloak and hair. The colour was blinding, almost burning. His stomach was weightless – gone. The roaring in his ears made his head vibrate, no doubt rattling his brain some.

Then it was over and Thomas could breathe again. He inhaled deeply. The air was thicker here than it was on Earth. Heavier. The gravity was stronger and he could feel its weight bearing down on his shoulders. It would take but a few minutes to become reacquainted with the feel of Asgard, but Thomas, or as he was better known here, "Vidar," was patient – exceedingly so at only thirteen years of age. He was mature – mature enough to convince his parents that he was finally ready to meet his rumoured "uncle".

All his life, Vidar had heard stories of the famed Loki, brother of Thor. He'd listened to countless tales of woe and madness when it came to the frost giant and Vidar had to admit that his curiousity was undeniably piqued. So on his thirteenth birthday, his parents took him to Asgard to meet up with the royal family among others.

He was particularly excited to see the Lady Sif. Every time she appeared, his cheeks tinted pink ever so slightly. Not that anyone would notice – except his mother. That woman noticed everything. She had yet to mention it, yet her smirk warranted caution for the young teen.

The Warriors Three were also considered uncles, yet he never used their titles. His "true" aunts and uncles were back on Midgard, where he felt he had a real life to live. Here, he was simply heir to the throne – that which he would not take for many hundreds of years that Thor had left to give.

Shaking his head of shaggy hair, he marched forward to greet Heimdall with his father and mother not far behind. "Good evening!" He called out, stepping down from the platform.

The gatekeeper nodded stoically. "Good evening, my Prince." He bowed slightly. "How fairs Midgard?"

Vidar smiled. "You of all people should know, Heimdall. You tell me."

Heimdall chuckled. "Tis good to see you, Master Vidar. Welcome home."

"Yes, thank you."

And so the company crossed the rainbow bridge. It always dazed Vidar a little to gaze upon such beauty and walk upon such translucent flooring without fear of falling to his death – as Loki had supposedly done.

When they reached the other side, they mounted their horses and galloped off toward the palace. Golden walls and gates loomed over him and he was once again reminded of the breathtaking quality of Asgardian architecture. The guards opened the gates and allowed them entrance.

After dismounting, they were immediately ambushed by the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. Vidar was clueless as to why they were not called the Warriors Four, as it was much shorter, but thought nothing of it. If that was what they preferred, then it was no matter to him. After a giant bear hug from Volstagg, a clap on the back from Hogun, and a manly handshake with Fandral, Vidar blushed as Sif wrapped him in a one-armed hug.

As his father boomed in the courtyard of their adventures on Midgard (there were few), Vidar sneaked away into the shadows. His parents had promised him a meeting with Loki – but he wanted it alone.

With unpracticed ease, he leaped from the shade of one tree to the next, avoiding prying eyes. He did not know from whom he had inherited his skill for stealth. His father was much too loud and although his mother was quiet and often faded into the background, she was opinionated and outspoken and stood out when needed. Although the Prince was not technically related to Loki in any way, he could not help but feel that this side of him had been inherited thanks to the trickster.

He shrugged it off and entered the dungeons. The perks of being the heir to the throne allowed one to enter wherever they wished, no questions asked – even if he was only thirteen years old. He gathered his cloak about him and made his way along the cobblestone corridors. This place was a labyrinth. Perhaps it had not been wise to venture here alone.

Oh well.

He wandered the halls, observing through orange windows glowing with magic the many prisoners of his realm. Creatures from all different worlds littered the prisons. Gruesome things, they were. Vidar tried not to cringe at the sight of each horrifying thing but failed rather miserably. A couple monsters snarled at him. He continued his walk.

In the farthest corner of the maze, sat an Asgardian. Vidar was immediately drawn to him – fascinated. This must be the infamous Loki. As the heir approached, he noticed that his windows were different. Instead of two or more, like the others, there was only one and it was tinged green. Sitting against the wall on the far side, Loki sneered.

Vidar stepped closer. The traitor had long, jet black hair and piercing green eyes. He was pale, as if he were dying. He wore black leather and green and gold accents but everything was unkempt, askew. The beginnings of wrinkles tugged at the corners of his eyes and his forehead, drawing attention to his sunken green orbs and red rims. His limbs sagged. He looked a man who had lost all hope in this world.

The Prince shivered but lifted his chin. He had come to meet him, so meet him he shall. "I am-"

"Vidar Thorson. Son of Thor, son of Odin," Loki snarled, cutting him off. He tiled his head forward, causing a few strands of hair to fall in front of his long face and unusually pointy chin. "I know who you are. The resemblance gave you away immediately."

Immediately off-put, Vidar shifted his weight a tad, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Then you know why I am here."

There was a pause as Loki seemed to contemplate this, leaning his head back against the beige wall behind him – or perhaps it was white. The green glass did not help matters in terms of colour. Finally, the villain spoke. "No. But I suspect, neither do you."

"I have come to meet you is all. I have heard a great many things. I wanted to see for myself the Asgardian who could commit such crimes against his own kin."

A dark chuckle sent shivers down his spine and his grip tightened on his weapon. "If you have heard so many stories as you claim, you would know that I am not of your race. These people… aren't my kin."

"You are Jotun. I know. But this realm will always be your home, won't it?"

Something flashed in Loki's eyes and was gone. Vidar ignored it, passing it off as nothing. His magic had been taken away. He was powerless in this cell. "Asgard is where I live, but it has never been where I belonged."

"You brought that upon yourself." Vidar stepped forward, feeling suddenly bold. Perhaps it was the reminder that an unbreakable wall stood between them, creating a sense of security. Whatever the case, the teen narrowed his eyes and continued. "Had you never committed treason-"

"You know NOTHING!" In a flash, Loki was an inch from the glass, blue as a-

"Frost giant…" he whispered, slowly backing away.

The Jotun's eyes flared, almost glowing blood red. "Do not say such things as if you are wise! As if you know of what you speak!" He spat the words with a forked tongue, glaring at him in disgust. "You were not even born when I first took the throne! When I finally had what I deserved! I am the rightful king of Asgard! It is my place to rule! You are but a child. You are a stupid little wretch that has yet to see the horrors your own father has caused! Be gone! Your mere presence disgusts me." With that, Loki's skin returned to its pale complexion and he stumbled back, grabbing the edge of the nearby table for support. He fell into a chair, exhausted.

Vidar lowered the sword he had not even realized he had drawn. Tears stung his eyes but he blinked them back. Knowing full well that the wall between them was impenetrable, he struck it. The blade bounced off harmlessly. An echoing screech grated on the ears of everyone within earshot – even Loki, who flinched. Vidar swung again. "I am Prince of Asgard!" he bellowed. "I truly have the right to the throne! I have the only right!" Once more, metal clashed against magic. Loki winced. "You never wanted the throne, but when it was forbidden from you, you had to have it. I may not have been there but I understand perfectly well the predicament. And from this sprouted your hatred," strike, "your anger," strike, "your bloodlust." He cried out and slashed again and again. "And from all of this, what did you gain? Torture from the Chitauri, a life in a prison cell, no one who loves you. You are a fool, Loki Laufeyson. I do not have to be old nor wise to see that."

Laughter. Mocking, disbelieving, crazy laughter. Loki held his stomach and collapsed onto the floor, banging his head against the table in an effort to make it stop. When he looked up, Vidar could see in his eyes all the pain and suffering that this Asgardian- no, this Jotun had endured. Even at his own fault, no being deserved such horror as was inevitably hidden, buried somewhere in Loki's past. But at the very back, deep, deep in that meadow of emerald green, Vidar saw what he had hoped was just a myth.

The madness. It consumed him, crawled through every fibre of his being and controlled him in every way. This creature was a lost cause. He had evidently gone insane despite his surface of calm and collected. He was dying of a disease of "crazy". To quote Uncle Bruce, Loki's brain was a bag full of cats. You could smell the crazy on him.

Vidar sheathed his sword, made from a star that belonged in the same realm as Vanaheim. It was named Aere. It was his trusty weapon which he relied on as Thor did his hammer Mjolnir. Slowly, he backed away from the prison. He no longer believed in his inheritance of stealth from this frost giant. They were not related. They were just two beings who were destined to cross paths. Nothing else.

"I wish you luck for the rest of your days." With that, he bowed, cloak swishing around his feet, before turning and walking away, his boots clacking against the cold stone floor and Loki's laughter bouncing against the walls around him. Vidar hoped Loki had not many days left.

A/N. Next up is a prompt from xXMidnightBloom about Jim and his parents involving their conflicting interests with his career choice :) Stay tuned!