I have nine parts outlined, and wrote this one in a couple of hours. I'm going to go ahead and write these, then put them on automatic posting. It'll last for a little while, as the more I think about it, the more struggles and moral dilemmas there are for the characters to face. :P
Since it's October, I'm going to try to do 2 a week. One on Saturday, and another on some other random day. Once October's over, I'm going to do one a week.
Also, I'm kicking around officially setting this in my pet project, Convoluted Chronicles. If I do, I'll likely go back through it and change Loki and Thor to fit more easily/naturally into that world. For the moment, I'm still considering this fanfiction.
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Vampire: Loki/Thor x Reader
Part Two
The faint pulse of the heart monitor acts as an oddly comforting catalyst to wakefulness. For a moment—the moment that jolted you from a fitful doze—the heart monitor had paused three beats too long.
Your fingers gently stroke your sister’s limp hand. “Hang on, Brenna,” you whisper. “Please.” Of course, there’s no response. Since the car accident, she’s been comatose. Since infection set in, she’s been hooked to life support. Her hair is scraggly and lank, in spite of your attempts to care for it. In spite of the nutrients she is being force-fed, her face is skeletal and pale.
Terribly stiff, you stand to stretch. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep sitting up, but you had.
The doctor enters the room. You glance at him, pained hopefulness straining your expression.
“Three days,” he says quietly.
You feel as if you’ve been sucker-punched. “That’s all? Even with the extra payments?”
He nods. “You’ve considered cutting off the life support?”
You shake your head vehemently. “I’m not killing my big sister!” You mean for it to come out fierce and strong. Instead, you choke on the word, “killing” and the last three words come out faint. “Not after all we’ve been through,” you add through the lump in your throat.
The doctor lays a hand on your shoulder. “I understand. Just consider all your options.” With a sympathetic smile, he leaves.
Your options aren’t many. This small country you’re sojourning in isn’t wealthy. It’s a wonder the town’s one-story hospital even had life support equipment. Your funds are low—gone, once the three days are up. Since trekking into the “forbidden” forest, most of the locals have written you and your sister off as cursed. Since the car accident on the “haunted” mountain road, not even the launderer has spoken to you.
Craving sustenance, you shuffle from the room. The familiar coffee machine waits where it always has, and beside it are cellophane-wrapped pastries. You set the pot to brew. Hopelessness crashes against you.
For a horrid moment, you wonder if you should just…let Brenna go. Your mind quickly goes down another track:
You could sell more plasma, or marrow, as you’ve done in months past. Maybe even sell a kidney. Anything…
Tears drip down your face. Only-half aware of approaching footsteps, you reach for your coffee.
A hand lays on your shoulder. Startled, you jolt and turn. “I’m sorry, I, coffee—”
This man isn’t a native. He’s tall, with an aristocratic air about him. His odd clothing—a black leather vest over a green shirt, pants tucked into knee-high boots, a long black coat, a tasseled scarf—makes him stand out against the sharp white of the hospital. When you show no sign of saying anything, he raises an eyebrow and says, “I see you’re as desperate as I am.”
“I’m…” You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “What? I mean, yes, but…what…” You can’t help but stare at him, unnerved by his gray-blue eyes. “What do you want?”
“I require a caretaker for my brother. You require funds for your sister.” He tilts his head to the side. “It seems we can help each other.”
Stammering uncertainly, you back away. The man sighs. “Wait, please. I apologize for my blunt entry. It…” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It has been difficult, lately.”
You realize his expression mirrors your own: haggard lines about the mouth, sleep-deprived eyes, a weary droop of the head. “My name is Loki,” he says. “Would you be willing to consider my offer?”
Again, your limited options flurry through your head. “What would I need to do?”
“My brother is sick,” he begins. Then, he hesitates. “It is a peculiar sickness.”
“One with no cure?”
“More or less, yes.”
With alarm bells going off in your head, you press for more specific answers. After the third question, Loki holds up a hand to stall you. “I realize that this is unconventional, and bordering on villainous, but I can give no specific answers. Suffice it to say that your sister will be cared for so long as you remain a caretaker.”
This doesn’t seem like a good idea. But at the moment, it’s your only option. You lick your lips nervously. “What if something happens to me?”
Loki nods, as if expecting the question. “Her needs will be met, however long she lasts, on or off life support.”
You put out a hand, shaking a bit. “It’s a deal.”
Loki looks amused.
You realize that you’re proffering the coffee. Before you can withdraw it, Loki sets down his case and pours himself a small bit of coffee. He tilts the paper cup in your direction. “To our agreement, then.”
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