Seeing himself shot dead in the mud was a wake-up call. A cold, brutal bucket of ice water.
Thor realized he was no longer a God. He was just a very large man in a flannel shirt.
The SHIELD agents he had casually tossed aside in his imagination? In reality (or at least, in the What If reality), they were deadly. One mistake, one slip of a finger, and he was worm food.
"No," Thor muttered, pacing the small room. "Charging in is suicide."
"In that other timeline, Hawkeye made a mistake. But what if a guard panics? What if a gun goes off?"
"Stealth is not my strong suit," Thor admitted. "But dying is even less appealing."
He couldn't just give up Mjolnir. That hammer was his life. His identity. Without it, he was just... Thor the Exiled.
But then, a deeper fear gripped him.
[Odin held on for a few extra years just to teach his son a lesson.]
"Held on," Thor whispered. "As if... he was fading."
He tried to dismiss it. Odin was the All-Father. He was eternal. He was the mountain that never moved.
But the memory of their last argument played in his mind. Odin didn't look angry. He looked... tired. Old.
The Odinsleep had been coming more frequently. His father's strength was waning.
"Is he... dying?" Thor asked the empty room. "Did I push him to his grave?"
The thought terrified him more than Hela. More than Thanos. More than losing his powers.
"No!" Thor shouted. "This mortal lies! My father is strong!"
But then, he remembered the other parts of the diary. The parts about the "test."
[This banishment was Odin's tough love lesson.]
Thor clung to this hope. Maybe it wasn't a punishment. Maybe it was a crucible. To forge him into a better King.
"If it is a test," Thor realized, "then I must pass it. I must prove I am worthy."
"And if my father is truly ill... I need to return. Now. Asgard needs me. Not Loki."
He chuckled at the diary's description of his brother.
[Talks the biggest game. Takes the hardest beatings.]
"Accurate," Thor grinned. "Loki always did love the sound of his own voice. And he always hated my fist in his face."
"This Lucas... he knows us well."
Thor looked at the diary again. It felt... magical. Not like Asgardian magic, but something older. Stranger.
With a thought, the book vanished into a speck of light, absorbing into his chest.
"Convenient," Thor noted. "High-level spatial magic. Bound to the soul. Whoever made this wasted incredible power on a gossip column."
He walked out of the motel room. The desert sun was blinding.
Jane Foster was walking towards him, holding a notebook. She looked beautiful in the morning light. Smart. Kind.
In another life, Thor might have stayed. He might have flirted. He might have learned about "science" and "pancakes."
But not now.
"You're leaving?" Jane asked, sensing his urgency.
"Yes," Thor said, his voice serious. "I have... family matters to attend to."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Jane," Thor bowed slightly. "I will repay your kindness one day."
"Wait," Jane reached out. "Just like that? You're walking into the desert?"
"I'm walking towards my destiny," Thor said dramatically (he couldn't help it). "Farewell."
He turned and strode away, leaving Jane standing in the dust.
"Seriously?" Jane huffed. "Men. Even the hot ones are weird."
Thor marched towards the crater site. He wasn't going to break in. He wasn't going to fight.
He was going to knock on the front door.
"The diary says this Nick Fury is reasonable," Thor thought. "It calls him 'Egghead'. And the video shows he looks exactly like an egg."
"I will speak to the Egghead. I will demand my hammer. And if he refuses..."
Thor clenched his mortal fist.
"I will ask nicely again."
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