Chapter 16. Thor

Jane, like a little criminal, left a surprise at the door, knocked, and quickly ran away. But in her case, it was a pleasant surprise—the door belonged to a homeless shelter, and she had left behind boxes containing a bed, a generator, a fridge, and a microwave. On top of them, a note read: "Anonymous donation."

John and Jane watched from another street as the shelter’s delighted owner examined the gifts.

"I understand why you don’t want to leave your old stuff to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents," John said. "But don’t you think it would’ve been more practical to just burn it? We spent an hour delivering this."

"I’ll spend even more time if I have to!" Jane straightened her back, her voice firm. "Laziness and wastefulness are a crime! I won’t throw away a perfectly good item if it can still serve those in need!"

"You just like seeing their happy faces."

"Well, that too," she smiled. "I’ve always loved helping people."

[She absolutely deserves her Mjolnir. I don’t know anyone who could match her integrity and kindness. Jane is amazing, but damn, she can be difficult…]

"Now, are you finally done?" John asked tiredly.

"Almost. Got rid of the furniture. I have all the important things with me," she patted her skirt, which had multiple pockets. "Only thing left is a bottle of Asgardian wine. I don’t want to drink it, and giving it to random passersby would be wrong—it’s magic, what if someone gets poisoned? I think we should fly to New York and hand it over to the Sorcerer Supreme."

"I have a better idea!" He snatched the bottle and hid it in a bag.

[It’ll make a nice gift for Thor. Not Tenth Realm liquor, but better than nothing.]

"Now that everything’s settled," he glanced at Jane’s empty hands, "it’s time to visit Thor!"

"I’m not sure that’s a good idea," she looked away. "Last time, Thor yelled at me."

"That was years ago. He’s probably calmed down by now. He won’t kill you."

"Are you sure?" Her voice dropped slightly. "Because last time, he looked ready to take my head off."

"Relax, you won’t even be in his sight. I’ll do the talking."

"Oh? And why is that?" A sudden gust of wind lifted her golden curls, giving her a warrior’s look. "You think you’re better at diplomacy?"

"Yes," he met her gaze. "You’re like a perfect student—always proper, always teaching others to be the same. People don’t like that."

"Oh, really?!" She flushed and crossed her arms. "Well, then you’re a rude thug!"

"And a charming bastard," John smirked. "People like me more—admit it."

"We’ll see what you say when Thor goes after you!" Jane pressed Mjolnir to her chest and closed her eyes.

"What are you doing?" John raised an eyebrow. "Praying?"

"Shush! I’m trying to focus!"

She stood still for a few seconds, eyes closed.

"Done!" She opened them sharply. "I used Mjolnir to search for all beings connected to the lightning element."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

[She can do that? I hate to admit it, but she’s way better than me at handling an artifact.]

"Did you find Thor?" John asked, careful not to show his surprise.

"He’s in Las Vegas."

"What are we waiting for? At your speed, we’ll get from Ireland to the U.S. in five minutes!"

"Missed the helicopter?" Jane grinned as she spun the hammer above her head.

John silently unfolded a collapsible chair, hooked one end of a chain to its backrest, and the other to a belt loop on Mjolnir.

"Now this is more like it," he sat down, fastened the strap, and opened a magazine. "Fly, my loyal bird, while I read."

"Sometimes, you really piss me off!"

John did his best not to smile.

///

"Not bad being a prince of Asgard," John muttered.

They had landed on the roof of one of Las Vegas's many casinos. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of a café with an open terrace. Sitting at one of the tables was the son of a god—a tall, muscular man with long, golden hair. He wore nothing but black pants and heavy boots, a coin pouch hanging from his belt alongside a golden hammer—with an axe blade on the back.

"What’s that?" John pointed at the weapon. "I thought you were the only one with a magic hammer."

"That’s Stormbreaker," Jane explained. "I read about it in Loki’s scrolls. When Odin created Mjolnir and couldn’t lift it—"

John snorted.

[Now that’s funny! Another powerful sorcerer creating a weapon of cosmic scale only to be unable to use it.]

"—Odin made Stormbreaker as a replacement," Jane continued, shooting him an annoyed look. "It doesn’t have infinite energy or worthiness requirements, but it grants similar abilities."

"So basically, a cheap knockoff that runs on batteries," John summarized. "Both of you have hammers that control the weather. No wonder people credit all your achievements to Thor."

"I told you! I don’t care about fame! Helping people is enough for me!"

"If you say so." He kept watching.

Thor lounged in the café with two scantily clad women, shamelessly groping them.

Football played on the TV. Thor didn’t like the score—he downed his mug in one gulp, wiped his mouth with his hand, let out a loud belch, and hurled the mug straight into the screen.

The bartender opened his mouth to protest, but the next moment, his hands were filled with gold coins.

"What are you looking at?" Thor scowled. "Fix it, mortal."

Silently, the bartender went to remove the broken TV.

"He acts like a spoiled rich brat!" John grimaced. "And he expects to lift Mjolnir acting like this?"

"It’s not that simple," Jane shook her head. "You remember that he lived by Mjolnir’s rules for over thirty years? That’s half a lifetime for a human, but for an Asgardian long-liver, it’s a drop in the ocean. Thirty years of Donald Blake got lost in Thor’s two thousand years, but they didn’t disappear completely. That experience is enough to lift Mjolnir."

"I get it. The dumb hammer thinks it’s being lifted by Donald Blake, but it’s actually Thor using it. Clever trick!" John smirked. "Somehow, I doubt Odin came up with that. Feels like a Loki move—he could trick a rock."

"From our conversations, I also got the sense that Loki whispered this plan to Odin."

"So Loki came up with a way for his brother to lift Mjolnir, and then, a second before the finish line, he handed the hammer to you. Did I get that right?"

"I can’t understand Loki’s logic," Jane admitted.

"Neither can I."

[And that scares me.]

"Golden Boy is leaving the café," John nodded. "Time for me to go."

"What about me?"

"Hide. Thor spent thirty years working toward something, only to have the grand prize snatched away at the last second by some girl. I can understand his hatred for you."

"Thor will start a fight," Jane warned. "He may have the title of prince, but he behaves like a barbarian."

"I already figured that out," John gestured toward the broken TV. "No big deal. I can fight."

"I won’t even be able to help you. My lightning does nothing to him," she sighed. "Let’s just hope he doesn’t level the whole city. Have you read about berserkers? Thor is one of them."

"I leave the protection of the innocent to you," the Rider smirked and leapt off the roof.

No discomfort from falling five stories. A body reinforced by Zarathos’s energy felt no pain.

Thor had already lost his companions somewhere and was heading toward another casino. The guy was literally just drinking his way through Midgard while waiting for Jane to die.

[How do you get a god’s attention? From experience, sometimes the direct approach works best.]

"Hey, Thor!" John raised the bottle of wine. "Let’s drink!"

Thor eyed John’s outfit—the bone-plated jacket, the skull-like mask. The air crackled with electricity.

John didn’t move. He just gave the bottle a little shake, reminding Thor why he was here.

A long silence.

And then—thunderous laughter.

"Friend!"

Thor clapped him on the back so hard that John nearly smashed into a wall.

"It’s been too long since I drank Asgardian mead. The bars of Midgard serve only piss," Thor spat. "Come, friend, I’ll tell you a few tales…"

John imagined Jane, watching from above, slapping her forehead—and grinned.