Long ago, when he was the most widely worshipped deity in Norway and Iceland, the mortals wore their Thor’s hammers, the miniature visions of Mjollnir, to show their allegiance and draw on his power. It had always seemed the most remarkable coincidence that the Christians’ cross bore such a strong resemblance to the Thor’s hammer, that, or a sign of a deep interconnectedness among all things. Perhaps it was merely good fortune for the Icelandic and Norwegian pagans, Christians in name only.

It would remain a mystery, however, as those long-dead pagans could give no answer to the inquiry, if there ever had been an answer to give. It was a certainty that were a handful of rebellious pseudo-pagans found wherever they might lurk in Midgard now, with gaudy Thor’s hammers hanging from their necks, and gathered together to be told with utmost sincerity that they would do well to trade their hammers in for minuscule boken, preferably made of wood, that the statement would be met with confusion and no small amount of disbelief. Coupling that statement with the suggestion that donations of food to a tiny apartment in Japan would be far better tribute than the sacrificing of rats on Thursday nights, and the misguided, half-hearted worshippers of Thor, if they ever truly believed in that painfully honest protector of the common man, would certainly think him mad, or merely laugh and push him on his way.

Undoubtably the current state of affairs would elicit raised eyebrows and confusion from any with more than passing familiarity with the figure of Thor. Their confusion could only double if Narugami was actually brought forward, all young and stringy, with his stomach growling and one hand wrapped lightly around the boken balanced casually on one shoulder, and the teenager presented as that mighty thunder god of legend. If an unreliable source had told Loki before he met Narugami any of those things, he was certain that he would have viewed them with no small amount of skepticism.

Narugami, however, handled it quite well. He approached most everything in Midgard with his usual blend of cheerful enthusiasm, thickheadedness, and hunger. He always kept Mjollnir with him, too, just as he always had, even though the untrained eye would never see any similarity between the fabulous hammer with its short but thick handle and the solid, well-kept boken. When asked about it, Narugami’s face had been filled with obvious confusion, as though the question was beyond his understanding, before he had shrugged, saying: “Mjollnir is Mjollnir, always. He doesn’t abandon me, even if I look different, and so I won’t abandon him. It’s why we’re partners.” The answer was so definite that the question was never brought up again, and in time the grinning teenager with the boken was just as recognizably Thor as the huge bearded god with the hammer had been.

Mjollnir seemed to bring Narugami some measure of comfort in Midgard, too. It was a tangible thing for him to cling to, as he worked away to pay his rent and work for his food, that reassured him that someday he would be able to return home. It had yet to happen, however, btu Narugami kept working and smiling, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for his father’s forgiveness or understanding. He kept smiling, even when the Norns seemed to dictate that he would never be allowed to keep a job for longer than a week.

Th suggestion that, perhaps, crashing delivery vans and bikes did little to recommend one to an employer did not amuse Narugami. Neither did any of the other explanations – that burning your hand on the job wasn’t the best thing to do if you wanted to work the next day, that sampling the merchandise was frowned upon, or that anyone who spoke of food with such feverish dedication and adoration might be seen as a little bit crazy.

As a rule, however, despite any problems he had with previous jobs, he always seemed to find another, whether by virtue of his smile or boundless enthusiasm.

As a rule.

It had been two weeks since Narugami’s dismissal from the last job, though. He had either been working at a sushi shop or another pizzeria – they changed so quickly it was hard to remember what the last one was.

Narugami always put on a brave front between jobs, never seeming to mind the loss of one once it was out of his mind. But this was the longest he had gone without employment since his arrival on Midgard, and, without his work, there was nothing he could support himself with. Odin had quite cruelly sent his son to Midgard to assassinate Loki with no kind of accommodations or funds, suggesting that if he took so long in his assigned task to need them, he was not doing a job worthy of Odin.

Despite this, worry and concern for Narugami were not prominent until Mayura had arrived one day after school to . . . bless the detective agency with her presence and had mentioned, quite casually in between her usual cheerful bubbling, that Narugami had not been in class that day.

When Mayura had finally left, with the repeated suggestion that it was getting late and her father would be worried about her, Yamino went to work, and within half-an-hour, they were gone.

If the little fanciful Thor-worshippers would have been confused at the presentation of Narugami as their god, then going back in time and presenting the ancient Vikings with the image that confronted Loki and Yamino when they entered Narugami’s tiny apartment would have resulted in Thor being laughed at the instant he showed his face in Asgard again.

The apartment was tiny, tiny in comparison to Loki’s mansion, tiny in comparison to other small apartments, tiny in comparison to the memory of Thor. It was so tiny that there was really only room in it for a single futon, on which Narugami was currently lying, shivering slightly under a blanket. One arm was wrapped around Mjollnir, with the same fierceness a child would possess when clinging to a stuffed animal. Overall it left a lasting impression of pathetic smallness and inherent . . . wrongness.

Loki stood in the doorway, marvelling at idiot gods who didn’t think to lock their doors, while Yamino carefully set the hastily prepared food hamper in one corner of the apartment. Narugami just twitched and rolled onto his side, dragging Mjollnir and the blanket with him. Loki stepped back when Yamino was finished, feeling uncomfortable, and gestured to Yamino that there was no need to wake Narugami up. His son nodded quiet understanding, eyes full of relief at not being forced to confront the thunder god, even if he was currently ill.

Loki waited until Yamino was out of the apartment before murmuring a quiet “Get well soon, idiot” and shutting the door softly behind him.