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Chapter Text

Loki watched from the shadows as his younger brother paraded around the room, drinking and boasting and flirting with everything in a skirt. He shook his head fondly, making sure to keep out of sight of passing servants, hovering just out of view, as he always was.

Thor was in no way ready to be king. One thousand and five hundred as of a month ago, and still he had yet to grow up. When he approached his father with his concerns, Odin had told him crowning Thor so soon was a push, to force him to grow up. Loki worried it had only stoked the thunderer's ego to even more drastic heights, being crowned immediately after he came of age to legally ascend. Especially since Loki himself hadn't been allowed an official seat on the council, hadn't been officially named King's advisor, until he was one thousand, five hundred and eighty-seven. He knew his father's reasoning. Odin waited until Loki was ready, and was crowning Thor precisely because he wasn't. Loki understood. But he also knew how it seemed. He had heard the whispers.

Unworthy. Failure. Disappointment. Not a true son of Odin, or at least not a legitimate one.

That one stung. A lot. Worse so since Loki wasn't stupid. He knew his age. He was born two years before his father married Queen Frigga. Barely anything, in the scheme of time. But enough for whispers to travel across all the Nine.

In a way, it was a more generous reason for Loki to have been passed over in favor of his younger brother—he wasn't technically in line. Kinder than those who muttered words like 'ergi' and 'weakling' when Loki walked by, as if they didn't know he could hear them. And yet it meant Frigga, golden Frigga, wasn't his mother, and that hurt most of all. Loki didn't like to dwell on that fact. That he was an outsider, an intruder, the whelp of a woman who wasn't Queen. As if his pale skin, dark hair, and green eyes weren't evidence enough he never belonged.

Loki stopped calling Frigga 'Mother' in private as soon as he was old enough to understand, truly, in his seven hundredth century. It felt too pretentious. Too assuming. The fakeness, the claiming of something that didn't belong to him hurt too much. He hadn't called her anything but 'All-Mother' or 'My Queen' or 'Queen Frigga' in at least three centuries.

Shaking off his memories, Loki slipped away from the small crowd that followed wherever his brother went, to stand outside the Great Hall. Thor would come, soon enough. It was his big day, after all. The day he had been expecting since the day a six hundred year old Thor sent an eight hundred and fifty year old Loki sprawling in the dirt in the training rings. Loki didn't think he'd been by the rings in the daylight since.

Thor arrived minutes later, for once without an entourage in tow. "Nervous, brother?" Loki asked wryly.

"Have you ever known me to be nervous?" Thor scoffed, half-turning to face Loki more.

"There was the time in Nornheim," Loki supplied, hoping to coax some humility from his brother. Some sign that perhaps Thor was more ready for the throne than he seemed.

"That wasn't nerves, brother, it was the rage of battle," Thor smirked slightly, "how else could I have fought my way through a hundred warriors and pulled us out alive?"

"As I recall," the elder prince frowned, "I was the one who veiled us in smoke to ease our escape." He nodded politely to the servant approaching with a goblet of wine, again hoping that Thor wouldn't prove himself such an arrogant hothead.

"Some do battle, others just do tricks," Thor said blithely. Loki pressed his lips together, ignoring the serving man's muffled laugh as he offered the wine to the thunderer. Thor took it, drank in a single gulp, and hurled the cup to the floor. Loki internalized a sigh as Thor slipped on his absolutely ridiculous helmet—not that Loki's own towering monstrosity was any better.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Loki waited for the servant to depart. Upon his leaving, the dark prince spoke. "I've looked forward to this day as long as you have," though I wish I was still looking forward to it, much further in the future, "You're my brother and my friend. Thor, brother, never doubt that I love you." He placed a gentle hand on his brother's broad shoulder, giving a light squeeze before letting it drift off.

"How do I look?" Thor asked after a moment.

"Like a king," Loki replied honestly. And did he ever, Loki mused. In that moment, that one subtle instant of vulnerability, Loki saw through the arrogance and the battle-lust, the naive confidence and childish ignorance, to the king that could be. A blink, and again Loki saw the prince that was. But the king was in there. Loki would draw him out, too. Even if it took centuries. He would, because he knew his little brother. One day, Thor would be the greatest king the Nine had ever seen. Patience, Loki told himself. He would wait.

Just then, a horn sounded. Loki drew in a deep breath, drawing himself up to his full height. "It's time," Loki murmured, unnecessarily. He glanced toward his younger brother, expecting him to be heading for the throne already. Instead, Thor pursed his lips and gave Loki a sly grin.

"I'll be along. Go on," Thor said, cheer twined with a hint of cockiness. Loki could see his brother's plans as clearly as if they had been written in the air above his head. He dipped his head, and left.

"Where is he," Volstagg whispered, glancing toward the grand doorway.

"He said he'd be along," Loki replied mildly. Sif snorted, and Loki knew she'd caught on. She always was the smartest one of Thor's little clique. Not that it was a terribly difficult position to achieve, between the four.

"What?" Volstagg frowned, obviously still clueless.

Rolling her eyes, Sif shifted a hand to the hilt of her sword, letting it fall a moment later. "He wants to make an entrance."

"Well, if he doesn't show up soon, he shouldn't bother. Odin look like he's ready to feed him to his ravens." Fandral piped up, casting a quick glance up toward the All-Father, seated on Hlidskjalf and looking more than slightly displeased.

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I wouldn't worry," he placated. "Father will forgive him."

Anything more he could have wanted to say was interrupted by Mjolnir soaring into the hall, drawing the gaze of all in the room, before soaring back into the hand of its' master, accompanied by a resounding cheer that near shook the hall in its' volume. Loki watched with silent disappointment as his brother played the crowd, drawing them in with his charm and absorbing their adoration like a plant did the sunlight. The cheers escalated to an overwhelming roar, and the elder prince gritted his teeth, the headache he had been nursing the whole day exploding into white-hot pain at the sycophantic cacophony. His thoughts blanked out with the wave of pain, and so he barely heard the All-Father's speech, catching only snippets of words here and there. Even though the residual ache that blurred his gaze, Loki could tell when the oaths began. He knew the words like he knew his own heartbeat. As a child, when he was still too young to realize his place in the world, Loki would spend hours pouring over the histories of great kings past, memorizing every detail of their reigns. He studied the oaths given, and spent hours thinking on them. Thinking on what it would mean to be king. The weight of those short, precise oaths was heavy on a young Loki's mind. Many times could he recall standing in front of an imaginary crowd and delivering the oaths to resounding applause. Loki mouthed the words as they were spoken.

"Do you swear to guard the nine realms?"

"I swear," proclaimed a young Loki in times long dead.

"Do swear to preserve the peace?"

"I swear," mouthed a small, raven-haired boy, studying himself in the mirror with a critical edge strange in one yet so young.

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the Realms?"

"I swear," Loki whispered in unison with Asgard's golden prince.

He closed his eyes then, hiding from the moment. Pretending, with the naivete of a child, that if he couldn't see it, it wasn't true. It was funny, he felt, in some distant corner of his mind, that a day of supposed celebration felt so much like an execution.

But the axe was halted midswing.

"Frost Giants."

"It's unwise to be in my company right now, brother," Thor said heavily.

Loki surveyed the overturned feast with pinched lips. He said nothing, instead taking a seat by his younger brother's side.

"This was to be my day of triumph," the younger prince complained, eyes even still dark with rage.

"It will come," Loki soothed, "in time. Of that, I have no doubt." He bumped his shoulder against Thor's, a quiet show of support. "Likely within the month, if I had to wager."

"It was supposed to be today!" Thor jumped to his feet, hands curled into fists, chest heaving. "And those... those monsters took it from me!"

Loki groaned, quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. His headache was only growing as the day went on. What next, he wondered bleakly. Surely the Norns can not be so kind as to let things end here.

"Are you well?"

Loki jerked, startled by the question, eyes flying open. "I, uh," he stammered, entirely surprised by Thor's unusual perceptiveness, especially when he was so taken by rage.

Thor frowned. "I was right. You looked distant during the ceremony, and in the vault, and you never spoke up. Are you ill, Loki?"

"A headache," Loki admitted, bringing a hand up to his face and pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. "It's nothing."

"If it's so bad you can't focus on my coronation," Thor asserted, frowning, "you should be abed. Head to your rooms, brother, and I will send a healer for you."

So relieved was he by the prospect of getting to lie down, Loki didn't bother to question his younger brother. "Alright," he agreed, rubbing his forehead once more. "Don't do anything stupid," he cautioned as he left the room, already thinking longingly of his soft sheets.

Behind him, Thor's worried frown morphed into a grin of triumph.

Minutes later, Thor stood before an audience of the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, making his case. "My friends, have you forgotten all that we've done together?" Thor demanded, turning to look each of his adventuring companions in the eye, one by one.

"Who brought you into the sweet embrace of the most exotic maidens in all of Yggdrasil?"

"You did," Fandral admitted.

Thor beamed, and turned away. "Who led you into the most glorious of battles, and to delicacies so succulent, you thought you'd died and gone to Valhalla?"

"You did," Volgstagg and Hogun both agreed.

Finally, the golden prince spun to Sif. "And who proved wrong all who scoffed at the idea that a young maiden could be one of the fiercest warriors this Realm has ever known?"

"I did," the warrior maiden retorted, jutting out her chin, a spark flaring in her eyes.

Thor backtracked, quickly. "True, but I supported you." He quickly moved on to his point, before Sif could begin to lecture him. "My friends, trust me now. We must do this."

"What about Loki?" the normally taciturn Hogun questioned. "He will not let you do something so foolhardy."

Thor's grin took on a smug edge. "He won't bother us."

"Um," Fandral's eyes widened, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"I noticed he was feeling unwell and convinced him to retire to his bed, and sent a healer to him. He'll be occupied a while yet," Thor assured his friends, ignoring the twinge of guilt for taking advantage of his older brother's sometimes ill health. Loki was often plagued by fever or headaches, more so when he was younger, but still now. Thor could recall many a day he had run to Loki's rooms, wanting to play, only to find him flushed with fever, tangled in his sweat-soaked bedsheets and unable to wake. A dagger of fear pricked the golden prince's heart, a worry that perhaps Loki was suffering from more than a headache, that maybe Thor should check on him before he left, but he shook it off. He was lucky enough that Loki hadn't realized what he was planning, (and perhaps that spoke to how ill he truly was, a voice whispered) trying to fool him twice in a row was not something Thor was willing to attempt.

"I fear we'll live to regret this," Sif groused, folding her arms.

Loki sighed slightly at the knock on his door, already burrowed deep into his bed and piled with plush blankets and therefore unwilling to get up. "Come in," he called, keeping his face pressed into his pillow.

"Headache again, my prince?" Healer Rakel asked sympathetically.

Loki whined into his pillow, long past propriety around the healer.

"I think that's a yes," she laughed, her voice now closer than before. "Come, sit up, my prince," she coaxed, rubbing a hand over his back.

Loki flung an arm in her direction with a low growl, but he pushed himself up onto his elbows, anyway, flipped over, and then flopped back against his pillows. "Stop calling me 'prince'," he complained, laying a hand over his eyes to block the sunlight streaming in from the balcony doors. He had opened them before climbing in bed, hoping fresh air would soothe his aching head, but so far the only effect was the light aggravating his headache all the more. "I don't call you Healer," Loki added, forcing his eyes open to focus on her.

"It's respect, my prince," Rakel sighed, tossing her daffodil-yellow curls over one shoulder as she sat down on the edge of his bed. "Something this kingdom should show you a lot more of." Her hands lit with a lemony glow, and a tendril of her seidr reached out to brush against the dark-haired prince's temple. "Kajsa and Sigyn agree."

Loki rolled his eyes, and then winced, but he was thankful for the distraction. The feeling of another's seidr poking against his mind—even if it was only inspecting and not actually reading his thoughts—was altogether uncomfortable and Rakel knew he detested it. "You three are biased," Loki huffed, glaring slightly. "You've been my personal healers for centuries."

"And therefore," Rakel told him brightly, "we know you better than anyone else outside of your family and are entirely entitled to making such a judgment."

Loki snorted, but was secretly flattered. From the sunny way Rakel smiled at him, he knew she could tell. "Hush you," he grumbled anyway.

"As my prince commands," she winked. Rakel's playful smile morphed into a thoughtful frown, moments later. "You do have quite the headache, my prince. I'd recommend bed rest for the next three days, myself. If you try and push through, it'll only become worse. I'll send for some pain potions as well. Take one in the morning and one before bed for five days, no skipping."

Loki nodded dutifully.

Rakel folded her arms. "Don't think I won't tell Kajsa and Sigyn. I will. Your mother, too. Take the potions."

"Alright, alright!" he agreed, throwing up his hands. "I will, honest. Can I lie down now?"

Loki's bed was positioned to have a clear, uninterrupted view out his balcony, looking over the city. So he had a front row seat when, outside, the cloudless sapphire sky was split by the Bifrost's beam.

"Oh that despicable buffon," Loki breathed, throwing back the covers and scrambling out of bed, ignoring Rakel's protests. He strode out onto the balcony, sparing only a fleeting glance back toward his bedroom. "Tell the Allfather," Loki ordered, turning his gaze back toward the skies. "Thor has taken his friends and is marching on Jotunheim as we speak." With that, Loki vaulted over the balcony railing, his body shifting in seconds from Aesir to hawk, and up he flew. Swift wings carried him over the city, and he fumed as he flew, almost too busy cursing his brother to worry. That smug, deceitful, self-centered pig with brains of rock! Loki shouted inside his head, letting out his frustrations in a piercing shriek as he soared over the rainbow bridge. He tucked his wings and banked, pulling up at the last moment and coming to a stop inside the Birfrost observatory, back in his usual form.

"Why did you let him go?!" Loki demanded, glaring at Heimdall with an indignant fire the elder prince usually lacked. "How could you let him endanger himself this way?!"

"I, too, wished to know how the Jotuns found their way into Asgard without being seen," Heimdall responded, as solemn as ever.

"And you thought sending Thor was a good way to find out?!" Loki drew in a deep breath, tensing his shoulders as he visibly reigned in his fury. "No matter. Send me after him."

Heimdall nodded, and slid his sword into the Bifrost controls.

Once on Jotunheim, Loki resumed the form of a bird, this time a snow owl, to better blend in with the landscape as he flew. He soared over spires of ice and endless snow, following the intangible trail of lightning that his younger brother left in his wake—intangible to those lacking seidr, at least. A decrepit palace came into view, and Loki groaned internally. He dove through a hole in the palace walls, landing in the throne room in Aesir form, and just in time, if the way Thor was brandishing his hammer toward the king of Jotunheim meant anything.

"Thor," Loki snapped, barely holding back the urge to hurl a dagger at his younger brother, "we're leaving. Now."

Thor turned, surprise and guilt playing a clear war on his face. Loki hissed. "Oh, and we are going to talk about how you used me. As soon as we leave."

"I was just telling him to go, myself," King Laufey interjected, slight amusement colored his voice and slightly tempering his resonant growl. "Listen to your elders, boy."

"I am the crown prince! He should obey me! And I do not bow to Frost Giant scum!" Thor snarled, taking a challenging step forward.

Loki jolted as if stabbed, striding up to seize his younger brother by the arm. He smacked Thor upside the head, dragging him back, away from the throne. "So that's what you think of me, is it?" Loki's voice was soft, dangerous. Inside, he was boiling. "I don't care. We're leaving." He spun Thor by the shoulders, setting a hand on his back and marching him toward the Bifrost site.

"Run back home, little princess," A Jotun jeered.

Loki swore.

"Next!" the crown prince of Asgard smirked, welcoming his hammer back into his hand.

If they weren't about to fight for their lives, Loki would have stabbed Thor, brother or not. A Jotun lunged, and the fight began.

Loki whirled between enemies, daggers flashing bright and swift in the verdigris light of his seidr. Each slash was fueled by rage—at his brother for being so foolish, at his father for attempting to crown him king, at himself for not seeing this coming. Swipe after slash after stab split the air, following in the wake of the dark-haired prince, flying from his hands as if each blade were the winds of a hurricane and Loki the eye of the storm. He barely registered his brother or any of his companions, felt nothing but the roar of blood in his ears and the climbing agony of the headache he had near forgotten in his haste.

Spinning on his heel, Loki found himself face to face with a Jotun warrior. With one swift stab, he sent the monster crashing to its' knees, but before he could pull back, it grabbed him by the arm. Loki watched his armor shatter away, prepared for the pain, but none came. Instead, a soothing cool washed over his skin, his flesh bleeding from pale to a faded azure. Loki met eyes with the giant, reeling, and then stabbed it in the heart. Across the small battlefield, Fandral roared in pain. Loki latched onto the distraction with both hands, turning to face his younger brother.

"We must go!" Loki shouted, voice magically carrying over the ringing clash of battle.

"Then go!" Thor yelled in return, hitting yet another Jotun with his hammer.

Even in the midst of battle and with a raging headache, Loki found the time to be very, very disappointed in his brother.

A low growl split the air, accompanied by the sound of splintering ice.

"RUN!" Volstagg yelled. For once, Loki's opinions aligned with the overweight warrior. The beast stayed right on their heels as they fled for their lives, sprinting over jagged plateaus of ice. A lightning blast crashed down from the sky, and moments later the ground began to crumble behind the small group. Loki focused on running and nothing else, wishing fleetingly he could turn into a bird and fly away, but he would not abandon Thor's friends, idiots they may be. "Heimdall, open the bridge!" the burly man roared as they skidded to a stop, moments before plunging over a cliff and into the arms of death.

Nothing happened, at least for one nerve-wracking moment. Then the beast pulled itself up over the ledge. We're going to die here, Loki thought dizzily, stepping back. A flash of scarlet flew overhead, and the beast fell. Loki was reeling, his head throbbing as he fought to process the current events over the pain. There were warriors surrounding them, he realized belatedly—hundreds and hundreds of Jotun warriors.

Up above, a storm cloud brewed, and a rainbow tore open the sky.

"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, should possess the power of Thor."

"Why did you banish him?" Loki asked into the following silence.

"You were right. He should not have been crowned King. I thought the Kingship would force him to take up responsibility, and humility with it. I now see it was a foolish hope." Odin turned to face Loki, grief wrapping him like a shroud. His frown deepened as his eye set upon Loki. "Are you well, Loki? You look ill."

"Headache," Loki said tersely. "Healer Rakel will have my hide for being out of bed."

"Then return, and rest, my son. We can speak of your brother later."

"Is he?" Loki clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening. The pain must have addled my wits, Loki thought, panicked. But he couldn't take his words back.

"What do you mean?" Odin's singular eye narrowed. "Loki, my son, what troubles you?"

After taking a moment to fortify himself, Loki spoke. "Is he... my brother? When... when we were on Jotunheim, one of them grabbed my arm. But it didn't burn. It turned blue." Loki forced his hands to still, realizing he had been wringing them together almost frantically.

The All-Father sighed. "Loki, you are my son in everything that matters. But by blood, no, you are not my son. You are my grandson."

So thrown was he by three simple words (not my son), Loki nearly missed Odin's next words. "Grandson?" he questioned faintly, swaying on his feet. He lurched to the side, then, steadying himself before he fell and waving off his... grandfather?'s offered support.

Odin sighed. "This is not a good time to tell the story, when you are unwell and I am weary, but I suppose I must." The king paused for a minute, clearly gathering his thoughts. "I know you have always known that Frigga is not your blood mother. But you are not illegitimate, my boy, which I am sure you are also aware. There are mentions of my first queen in the histories still. Jord was a pretty maid from a noble family, and I wed her as I was bid by my father. She became with child, and gave birth, but died in the process, leaving me the lone parent of my new daughter. Hela.

"I made many mistakes, bringing up Hela. By the time I realized her bloodlust had expanded into a beast beyond my control, it was far too late. She slaughtered her way to the Bifrost, and fled. Some three years later, Prince Laufey killed his father, King Klaeingr, and took the throne. Two months after that, the Jotuns invaded Midgard. I saw my daughter's hand in the sudden ascent of Laufey, in the war tactics of the warriors of Jotunheim, and at the end of the war, I was proven right. Hela came to confront me, and we fought. I banished her to a place she cannot escape, and I took a battalion to Jotunheim. With my daughter out of the fight, I sought to crush the war at its source. I took the Casket. But that was not all. In the temple where the Casket was housed, there was an infant. Small, for a giant's offspring. I picked the babe up, and to my surprise, his skin shifted from blue to pink.

"The son of Hela and Laufey. I had failed my daughter, and was forced to lock her away for the safety of the realms. I would not fail my grandson. So I brought him home, and raised him as my own. Loki, you are that child. Blood-son of Hela and Laufey."

For a moment, Loki could only stare in an aghast silence. "So I am the monster that parents tell their children about at night?" He laughed then, rather hysterically. "No, worse. I am half monster and half traitor to Asgard. Why did you take me, All-Father? You were knee-deep in Jotun blood, ending a war your daughter had begun. You took the child of your two greatest adversaries for a reason. Why?"

"Did I not just tell you?" Odin's frown cut like a knife. "Loki, even if you were not of my blood, were a Jotun in full, I would not have left you there to die."

"No. You had a purpose. What was it?" Loki was shaking, now, tears streaming thick and fast down his face. He tried to step forward, challenging, but toppled instead, crashing down onto the gleaming golden floor. Odin stayed silent as he pushed himself up, did not offer to help. Loki looked into the eyes of the man he had called Father, and an anguished howl ripped out from the depths of his lungs."TELL ME!"

"You are my son," Odin said, and then he fell.

Loki stumbled to his side, panic rising in his chest. "The sleep," he whispered, hands hovering helplessly over his father's body. Arms turned to wings, and Loki flew for the palace. His landing was far from graceful, more of a collapse than anything else, but it caught the attention of the guards. "Get the All-Mother," Loki gasped out, dragging himself to his feet. He must look a sight, Loki realized distantly, trembling like a leaf, barely able to keep his footing, and with his face streaked with tears. He couldn't find the energy to care. "Thor is banished, the All-Father has fallen into the sleep." The guards exchanged looks, but Loki was already a bird again, taking to the air on struggling wings. He crashed down onto his balcony, head hitting the floor with a sharp crack, but still Loki forced himself to his feet, adrenaline fueling him to get back up and stagger into his bedchamber. The doors and windows slammed shut with a half-slurred word, curtains drawing themselves closed, and Loki allowed himself to fall to his knees.

Pure hate razed his very being, so strong he couldn't hear his gasping breaths over the roaring in his ears. He wanted to bleed, to hurt, to end, and then a sharp line of pain caught his attention. Loki forced his eyes to focus, settling on the thin red line he had drawn on his wrist with a knife he didn't remember calling. Another slash joined the first, and then another, as Loki rhythmically and frantically drew the knife across his skin, cutting deeper and wider and wilder with every flick of the blade. He felt sick to his stomach, dizzy, shattering inside. The only thing that kept him from retching was the feel of the blade scraping across his skin. 'Monster, monster, monster' Thor's voice chanted in his ears. Monster, Loki's thoughts echoed as he slashed himself again. He was shaking, burning, dying, and the world was spinning and crashing and it wasn't enough because his mind still wouldn't be quiet! His fingers slipped on the blade, barely able to keep his grip as shook with the force of his hatred for himself, emotion burring his vision until he could hardly see the make the next cut.

This was why. This was why he was so wrong, so different, so hated, so unworthy. This, this, this was what made him less. Because Loki had always known he was less, had known since the moment he met his little not-brother over a thousand years ago. He was less, he was muck, he was dirt staining the royal family of Asgard, a disease infecting the kingdom and making everything worse with his own sickening darkness. Loki bit his tongue, stifling a cry as the taste of blood burst in his mouth. By then he'd covered both his arms from wrist to the very crook of his elbow in deep, scarlet lines and it still wasn't enough. With the fingers of one hand, Loki scratched down his arm, nails snagging in folds of skin and ripping as he drew his fingers toward his body, curled inward like claws, and this time he couldn't stop himself from crying out, but it didn't matter, because finally, that action was what tore him from his own thoughts. 

Loki slumped to the floor, weak and shaky and sickeningly refreshed, even as his head was still in agony and his limbs still trembled uncontrollably, burning in pain. It wasn't the first time he had done it. Hurt himself. It was the first time he had started without exactly meaning to, but the sensation of drawing a blade through his own flesh was not foreign to him. Since his adolescence, when particular taunts or comments drove his fury toward himself into a near animalistic frenzy, when it seemed as though his heart might rupture for the force of his self-hatred, Loki would take a blade to his skin. Hurting himself, as shamed as Loki was to admit it—even in his own head—gave him a sense of peace. In a twisted sort of way, spilling his blood kept him alive. Kept him functioning, at the least. When cursing himself in his mind was not enough to drain the well of rage, the satisfaction of the sharp, quick pain was. At least, sometimes it was.

Lacking the motivation to stand up, Loki stayed slumped on the cold stone floors, eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing. He drifted in a clouded haze, sheltered from the world by the pain in his head that had graduated from 'agonizing' to 'unable to see' sometime during his violent outpouring. His thoughts stayed silent, for once, kept from his mind by weight of pure exhaustion. Even the horrendous ache in his skull and the screaming pain in his arms wasn't enough to keep him from falling asleep, though, since when his eyes flew open at a knock on the door Loki realized he was no longer sitting but was instead sprawled out on the floor. With a great deal of effort, he vanished the blood on the floor, placed an illusion over his arms (he wasn't ready to heal them quite yet, not to mention he wasn't sure he had the energy), and then called for whoever was knocking to enter.

Several hours later, after a bath, a change of clothes, and an unpleasantly short nap, Loki stood before the All-Mother and the council of Asgard, with the audience of the sleeping All-Father, and spoke the oaths he hadn't even dreamed of saying since he was but a child. His hands still trembled, and he leaned rather heavily on Gungnir for support once the spear was passed to him, but he did it. Loki was King of Asgard. He dismissed the council that was now his, and sank gracelessly into a nearby seat, letting the mighty spear of ancient kings slip from his grasp and clatter to the floor.

"Loki," Frigga said softly. He felt his light touch on his brow, and sensed her seidr in the air.

Loki moaned pitifully, tipping his head away from her cool fingers, and reached up a hand of his own, to rub his relentlessly aching head.

"Loki, my son," Frigga persisted, cupping his cheek with one slender hand, "you are unwell. Head to your rooms, and I will send one of your healers for you. No one will disturb you until after the midday meal tomorrow, I will make sure of it. Now, go and recover your strength, my darling."

The newly crowned King of Asgard gave a slight nod, forcing himself not to whimper when the Queen withdrew her hand. "Tomorrow," he muttered forlornly, "I will be king."

Chapter Text

"I need a horse!"

The lone Midgardian shopkeeper slowly lifted his head, seemingly uncertain. "We don't have horses. Just dogs, cats, birds..."

"Then give me one of those large enough to ride," Thor commanded. He preferred to ride a horse, to be certain, but he was not unaccustomed to making use of other types of mounts when necessary. Though unless it was the only option, the prince preferred not to ride a feline—far too temperamental for his tastes, no matter what the Ljosalfar might claim. Canine mounts were much more reliable, if more rare. Though anything was better than riding one of those giant lizards the Vanir used for travel in the mountains. Thor very much doubted the Vanirs' claims that it was safer than relying on a horse.

"Hey, you still need a lift?"

"I've never done anything like this before," Jane, the lovely Midgardian maiden, informed Thor. "Have you ever done... anything like this before?"

Thor grinned. "Many times." Often would he, the Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three, with Loki accompanying as well, take on some sort of fortress to reclaim a great treasure or rescue a fair maiden such as Jane herself. On Midgard, such a mission was sure to be laughably easy, even if Thor had been rendered mortal and was working on his own. "But you're brave to do it." Which was true. Jane was not like Lady Sif—trained in the art of battle—she was a young woman who had never seen bloodshed or war, as most were on Asgard. The woman's role was of keeping the home, her art seidr, and Jane's work, though different, did not seem dissimilar to the practices of women (and Loki) on Asgard.

"Well they just stole my entire life's work. I don't really have much left to lose," Jane responded, sounding much more sure of herself.

"But you're clever. Far more clever than anyone else in this realm," the thunderer remarked idly. So far the mortals had seemed... unimpressive. Their technology was backward and their ways... unusual, and they seemed to have forgotten who their betters were. But Jane... she had a spark. To try and understand the workings of the Bifrost, whatever name she called it by, was a feat Thor had never heard of anyone in Asgard attempting, aside from Loki of course. Jane was an outlier among mortals, it appeared. Perhaps there was Aesir in her blood, or Vanir or Ljosalfar even. Certainly, it would explain her delicate beauty.

Jane's response confirmed his thoughts. "Realm? Realm?" she said, sounding incredulous. If the mortals had indeed forgotten the realms which lay beyond their own, then as a whole they really could not have much intelligence to speak of. How else could they forget warriors of Asgard had walked among them?

"You think me strange?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Good strange or... bad strange?"

"I'm not quite sure yet." Jane gave him a sunny smile, and Thor beamed back. At least Midgard wasn't all bad, not with a comely, gracious maiden such as her on it.

And if there were others like her... once he reclaimed Mjolnir, Thor might have to return for more visits. Reestablish the presence of Asgard once he was king, perhaps? Loki has suggested that his coronation would be rescheduled within the month, and more often than not his elder brother was right about such matters, loathe as Thor was to admit. A month did not seem so long a time to wait.

While watching Thor, Jane swerved off the road, giving a tiny gasp and quickly correcting her course before beginning to laugh. Thor laughed with her, enchanted by her soft giggle. After a moment, they quieted.

"But who are you," Jane asked, growing serious. "Really."

Thor smiled. "You'll see soon enough."

 
"You made my men, some of the most highly trained professionals in the world, look like a bunch of minimum wage mall cops. That's hurtful."

Thor barely listened to the Midgardian who was speaking, consumed by his own thoughts. Mjolnir had rejected him. How? Why? He couldn't understand. How could he, the mighty Thor, not be worthy of his own hammer?

"In my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. Why don't you tell me where you received your training? Pakistan? Chechnya? Afghanistan?"

Thor let his mind wander, not knowing the places (he assumed they were places) the man was referencing, and not able to care. He turned his rejection by Mjolnir over and over in his mind, wondering what he had done wrong. Surely killing a few Frost Giants could not make him unworthy!

"Who are you?" the man continued. Finally, Thor met his eyes. "One way or another, we find out what we need to know. We're good at that." For the first time, it occurred to Thor to be afraid. He was mortal now. Where once, he would have simply laughed off the threats of the Midgardian standing before him, and silenced his tongue using Mjolnir without a second thought. Now, he had to take him seriously. The Midgardians could hurt him, if they so chose. It was a new feeling to him, fear, especially fear of a race so weak, with their mayfly lives and lack of knowledge of the other realms. Thor couldn't remember the last time he had felt fear, had been at the mercy of another. Even if he ever was in danger, Loki was always there, and so Thor always knew he was safe. Loki would never let any harm come to him.

Loki. Finally, the blond thought to wonder if he was alright. What had happened after he was banished. He had no way of knowing. The realization nearly stole his breath. There could be trouble in Asgard—the Frost Giants attacking, perhaps—and he would be unaware, and worse, useless. Why would you do this, Father? Thor thought, rage bubbling up inside of him. Send away Asgard's best defender because of simple disobedience?

Something in the man's pocket made a curious beeping noise, and he glanced toward it, quickly. "Don't go anywhere," he instructed, and left.

The door to the room swished shut, and in front of him was the Queen of Asgard.

"Mother," Thor gasped, sitting up straight, "what are you doing here?"

"I wished to speak with you," she said, standing regal and proud in the same golden dress she had worn for Thor's coronation. "I do not have much time, a long-distance speaking spell is difficult to maintain from one realm to another."

"What's happened?" Thor asked, dismay growing. His mother would only use such a draining spell if there was a real need. "Is there trouble? Have the Frost Giants attacked us again? Can you return my power, I must fight—"

"Quiet," his mother snapped. Silence fell. Thor's insides twisted nervously. The Queen of Asgard so rarely raised her voice, so rarely became angry, but when she was, it always made Thor feel like a child again. "The only trouble in Asgard is the trouble you have caused in your reckless arrogance."

"What?"

Never before had the thunderer seen the fire in his mother's eyes burn so brightly, her rage so clearly ignited. "Your father has fallen into the Sleep because of you. He may not recover. Because of your childishness, he may die. Your brother has taken ill and should be abed, but instead has been forced to take up the throne. Already whispers have traveled that Loki contrived to have you banished so he could steal the throne."

Thor ducked his head, shame burning hot in the pit of his stomach. He knew well that Loki would never do such a thing, and he said so.

"I suspect some in Asgard will attempt to stage a coup and remove him from the throne, bringing you home in his place even though you are but a mortal, especially since Loki is too unwell to reliably defend himself from attack. They speak against him in the open, without hindrance or fear of punishment, because of the example you have set for them with your treatment of your older brother." Frigga snapped back.

"Well that's his fault, not mine!" Thor yelled, jumping to his feet, fists clenched at his side, outraged at the suggestion and lashing out without though. "Loki is the eldest—the throne is his by birthright! If only he would be a proper prince, and give up his silly tricks and dusty books, he would be respected! If he was passed over, it is because he is not worthy of it, and I am! I am sure Father would give him the throne if he would only stop being so, so..."

"Himself?" And oh, Thor had thought he'd seen his mother angry before. He was wrong. "If he would stop being himself, what makes your brother who he is? Tell me, my son, what would you feel if I told you to hang up Mjolnir at every opportunity? If I told you that your interests make you unworthy, and if you would only change who you are you would be accepted then? If the whole of Asgard snubbed you and considered you to be inferior in your very being because you enjoy battle, and celebrated the use of seidr instead?"

"That would never happen! Asgard knows the value of honorable battle and strength of arm!" Thor shouted back. "To use magic... it is cowardly, the work of women!"

"Hmm. Do you consider me a coward, then?"

Thor didn't have an answer for that. He knew his mother, knew her strength—she was no coward. But it was acceptable for her to use seidr—she was a woman, after all. Loki was no maiden, whatever the gossips of court might whisper. "No," he said finally, hoping it was the right answer.

His mother nodded sharply. "Why, then, do you consider Loki a coward and name him beneath you? I see the way you treat him—you order him as a servant or slave, and he obeys because he loves you, yet you take it as your due." Her face grew grave. "It is the fault of myself and your father, that we have let you grow to such arrogance that you consider yourself to be above any wrong-doing, and those who are not your mirror and defective, and treat others as your personal belongings."

"I appreciate Loki!" Thor was insulted. How dare she say such a thing? "He is my brother, and no slave!"

"Know your place," Frigga articulated sharply. Thor flinched. She sighed. "Thor, my son, listen to me. There is nothing wrong with your brother or his interests, there is nothing inferior in him for not being as yourself. He does not read books or practice seidr to be difficult," Thor flinched again, how had she known he thought that? "but because he likes it. It is a part of him. You say you want him to be different. If he was who you wished he would be, he would not be your brother. Do you truly wish for another copy of you? I think you would find it quite boring.

"The people see the way you degrade him," she continued, "and they feel free to do the same, because they look to you. You are the epitome of all that Asgard adores, and all from the smallest child to the oldest elder wish to be as you—and so they act as you do. You are surrounded by those who feed your ego rather than acknowledge your faults and love you yet the same, as true friends should do. Long ago I should have stopped it, but I had foolishly hoped you were not letting it get to your head. Clearly, that is not the case. Strength or arm is not superior to strength of mind, as Asgard teaches. You cannot get through life with might alone, and absence of wits. How many times had your brother saved the lives of you and your companions on an adventure with his wits? Think on it."

The Allmother stopped in her tirade to draw in a deep breath, eyes still smoldering with righteous fire. "I hope you are pleased with yourself, my son. Asgard worships you unconditionally, and follows your lead in all things. The treatment of the people toward Loki is only a reflection of the way you yourself degrade him."

She took another breath, then, gaze unfocusing momentarily. "The spell is failing. I must go. Know that I am very angry with you and more disappointed in your actions than I have ever been in all my years as your mother, and I love you yet still."

"Goodbye," Thor whispered in the sudden silence, a single tear snagging on his eyelashes.

Thor didn't pay much attention to anything after his mother's brief visit. When the mortals talked him out of the prison they had held him in (pathetic prison, a partially squashed part of Thor scoffed), he almost missed his chance to swipe the Lady Jane's journal, intending it as a token of his gratitude. He barely spoke a word as the elderly Midgardian—Erik, was it?—brought him to what seemed to be one of their drinking establishments. The small building was a far cry from the pubs of Asgard—much quieter, strange music, and rather filthy—but there was alcohol, so Thor didn't much care. Even weak Midgardian liquor would affect him now, he mourned, pushing away the thought in favor of ordering a drink.

"I do not understand," he told the Midgardian suddenly, feeling a need to confide in someone. He'd always had someone to share his woes with before—another thing that had changed. Been lost. "I do not know what I did wrong."

"It's not a bad thing finding out that you don't have all the answers. You start asking the right questions," Erik responded after a moment's consideration.

Thor looked away, mind going distant. For a moment, he forgot he was in a crowded Midgardian drinking establishment, focusing instead on the realizations he'd had. "For the first time in my life... I have no idea what I'm supposed to do." How to get home. How to get everything back to normal.

"If anyone was ever going to find his way in this world, he'd have to start by admitting he doesn't know where he is."

Thor considered the statement. The way the man imparted it, it almost felt like advice, but the meaning hung just out of his grasp. "Thank you, for what you've done," he chose to answer.

"No, don't thank me. I only did it for Jane. Her father and I taught at University together. He was a good man. He never listened." Erik's expression was distant, reminiscing, his gaze clearly not on the present day, but in times gone by. A lifetime, for him. A heartbeat, for Thor.

Thor cleared his throat, uncertain how to respond. He'd never lost anyone in his life (was Jane's father dead?). His banishment was the first true hardship he'd experienced. Thor had a charmed life, and he knew it, even in the golden halls of his home. It was now, among mortals, that he had to wonder what it would be like to be ordinary, for there had been not a moment in his long, long life he was that. Ordinary. It wasn't a good feeling. Even the word tasted sour on the tip of his tongue, and with it, Thor longed even more for the eternal beauty of Asgard, for the brilliant night sky that the heavens of Midgard could not compare. For his friends, his family. The ties that bind had been cut into ribbon and tossed to the wind, sending him adrift in a world that was not his own. He had never felt so lost. He wanted his big brother. Loki will make it alright, a small part of Thor cried. Loki always makes it alright.

(If he was who you wished he would be, he would not be your brother, his mother's voice said.)

Before the silence could drag too long, Erik spoke up again. "I don't know if you're delusional, or if you're pulling some kind of con, and I don't care. Just care about her. You've seen the way she looks at you."

"I swear to you," Thor promised, after a moment of silent disbelief, "I mean her no harm."

"Good." Erik gestured toward the bartender, then, with a strange half-smile. "In that case, I'll buy you another round." Thor was about to thank him when he added, in a quieter voice, "you leave town tonight."

Reluctantly, Thor nodded his assent, and the Midgardian called for more drinks.

Thor knocked on the door of Lady Jane's rather... unusual... home, stepping inside as soon as she opened the door.

"Oh my gosh, is he okay?" she gasped, stepping back to give them room.

Thor smiled, trying to put her at ease as he walked in the door with Erik slung over his shoulder. It wasn't hard to carry him—frankly, Thor had wielded heavier weapons (of course not Mjolnir, she was perfectly weighted. And no longer his). "He's fine, not injured at all," the blond reassured.

Thunk. "Ohhh."

"I'm sorry, my friend," Thor apologized jovially, a pleasant buzz in his system from the liquor. It was very different from the meads and wines of Asgard, but not inadequate. Even if he'd have to drink everything that bar had in stock thrice over to get the slightest bit tipsy when he was his true self.

"What happened?" Jane demanded, still sounding worried.

"We drank, we fought, he made his ancestors proud!" Thor proclaimed happily.

"Ah, put him on the bed," Jane instructed, looking a bit uncertain. The thunderer obeyed. Somewhat clumsily, but that could be excused by the alcohol.

"I still don't think you're the god of thunder," Erik slurred, "but you ought to be." He grinned and patted Thor on the face.

Thor stood and backed away, then, heading for the doorway of Lady Jane's strange home. If it was her home. "Are these your chambers?" he questioned, slightly unsure.

"It's more of a temporary living situation," Jane responded, somewhat bashfully. Suddenly, something seemed to catch her attention, and she began cleaning up in a loud, clattering rush. "I'm sorry, I don't really have... guests. Actually, um, I never have guests." She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, quite obviously flustered. "...That's not the right place for..." and again she spun to begin cleaning. Thor was almost charmed by her nervousness around him. Even as a mortal himself, it appeared he still had the ability to make mortal maidens swoon. "Sorry, um... can we go outside?"

"Yes, of course." Thor followed her outdoors, through the building, and to a large metal basin on the roof.

"Fire pit," she explained, seeing his confused look. Suddenly, the ash stains and bits of wood still inside made sense. "I'll just... go get some matches. Stay—stay here, okay?"

While she was gone, Thor tended to the fire, using a pair of suitable stones he scrounged up from the ground to coax a flame into being. If he closed his eyes, it almost felt like just another adventure. Just another adventure, Thor told himself, not believing it for a moment.

"I got... did you..? Oh, oh, okay, then. Um. I got matches but... I guess we don't need them." She hid something small she had been holding behind her back as she spoke. "The rest of the wood is over there. In that box."

Thor opened his eyes, giving the maiden a friendly smile. "Thank you." He stood from where he had squatted on the ground in front of the fire, picking up an armful of the wood and letting it crash down onto the fire, reveling in the way the sparks flew up at the disturbance. He was showing off his muscles a bit, Thor had to admit to himself. He doubted she would have been unable to carry the logs herself, chopped into pieces as they were. But. Still. And from the slight blush when he caught her eye, illuminated by the honey-gold glow of the dancing and dipping flames, Jane didn't seem to mind the display.

After a moment of semi-awkward silence, Jane dragged one of the nearby seats closer, gesturing for Thor to take the other. He complied, watching the firelight's reflection in her eyes and not saying a word, letting the crackling and snapping of the fire and the distant chirping of some sort of... bug? maybe?—fill up the quiet. "I come up here sometimes when I can't sleep, or when I'm trying to reconcile particle data or when Darcy's driving me crazy." Jane started off in a low voice, trailing into a more fond tone. "I come up here a lot, actually now that I think about it," she laughed. A slight pause, and her tone grew serious once again. "I'm really glad you're safe."

"You've been very kind to me," Thor confided honestly, basking more in her smile than the heat of the fire. "I have been far less grateful than you deserve." (And Loki, what about all he does? What of him?) Jane's light response dragged him from his thoughts, and again he was grateful, though his quiet laugh was more of obligation than humor. Before the moment could become tense once more, Thor pulled Jane's book from his jacket and passed it to her. "I believe this is yours?"

"I don't believe it!" Jane's eyes lit up as she pulled the book toward her chest, opening it and flipping through it near frantically.

"I'm sorry it's not more."

"No, no, this is great! This is... I don't have to start from scratch now!" She met his eyes, and the look on her face made Thor's heart do something strange. It didn't feel like love, though, not exactly. More... he was happy he could make her happy. Could help. A kind of warm glow, differing from the glorious rush of battle, but not unwelcome. "Thank you."

Thor watched her for a minute, forehead creasing in confusion as he studied her face. "What's... wrong?"

"SHIELD, whatever they are... they're gonna do everything in their power to make sure this research never sees the light of day," Jane told him softly.

"No, Jane, listen to me. You must not give up. You must finish what you've started," Thor entreated.

"Why?"

"Because you're right. Here," Thor leaning over, snagging Jane's notebook and a pen, before flipping to a page filled with sketches of planets. "Your ancestors called it magic, and you call it science. Well I come from a place where they're one and the same thing." He beamed at Jane, caught up in the moment, and she smiled back. When her grin dropped, turned uncertain, he looked back to the notebook he held in hand. Extremely conscious of her eyes on him, he sketched out the path of Yggdrasil from memory. As he worked, he could almost hear Loki standing over his shoulder, correcting him in that soft, teasing tone that never made Thor feel stupid, no matter what he said.

"No, you oaf, you're mixing up the placement of Vanaheim and Alfheim. Try again. You can do it, brother."

"What is that?" Jane asked as he finished up his sketch. (Again, he could hear Loki's voice as if he was there with them, standing just behind Thor's other shoulder—this time critiquing his art skills. Loki always had been better with a pen, no matter the way it was used.)

"My brother explained it to me like this. That your world is one of the nine realms of the cosmos. They are linked to each other by the branches of Yggdrasil, the Worlds' Tree. Now you see it every day without realizing. The images glimpsed through, oh, what did you call it, this, uh, Hooble telescope."

"Hubble," the Midgardian told him with a small smile.

"Ah, Hubble, telescope," Thor corrected himself.

"Tell me more," she whispered, enthralled.

"So the nine realms... there is Midgard, which is Earth. Alfheim, Vanaheim, Jotunheim, and Asgard. And that's where I come from." Thor spoke in a soft voice, recalling lessons with his elder brother as he spoke—quiet afternoons in the library, stories told at bedtime when he was small. He wished that Loki could explain it to her, he would do better. More than that, the golden prince wished for his older brother, period. He missed Loki. His brother was ill, Thor recalled, and his heart clenched. He had sent Loki to bed to distract him, but he really hadn't been well. Had the trip to Jotunheim made it worse? Thor desperately hoped not. There was nothing in all the Nine Realms that frightened him so much as when his brother was unwell. When Thor was small, Loki had always seemed so strong, so untouchable. Perfect, even. That was why his terrible fevers frightened Thor so. Sitting at his elder brother's bedside, watching him struggle to draw the smallest breath, wracked with fever and all-encompassing chills, was the most terrifying thing Thor could imagine. His nightmares never featured Frost Giants nor any other form of monster, for he knew without a doubt that Loki would protect him. Instead, he woke crying in the night with dreams of Loki falling to an illness or bested by a fever.

Thor wished he was there to make sure his older brother was well. Eldest he may be, but Loki was abysmal at caring for his own self, at knowing his own limits. It gave Thor a secret thrill to make sure that Loki was cared for. To be the protector, for once.

Eventually, Jane fell asleep. Thor watched her, and then fell asleep too.

"So... Asgard. What's it like?"

"Darcy!" Jane gasped, shooting her a glare.

 "It is... glorious. Golden. Perfect. The leader of all the nine, the standard to which all other realms aspire and will never reach. I was to be its' king," Thor lamented, thinking of golden corridors and dusty days in the training rings under the two searing suns, of glorious adventure with his closest friends at his side, felling great beasts and defending the Nine from those who wished it harm.

"Really," Erik drawled, looking up from where he had been staring sightlessly down at the kitchen table, "even if you were Thor, in the myths, he had an older brother. Wouldn't the oldest be king?"

"Loki?" Thor tried badly to hide his scoff. "Loki is... well. Loki. He could never be king."

"Why not? Is he evil or something?" the mortal maiden, Darcy, piped up, ignoring Jane's glare and jab in the side.

At that, Thor laughed. "Hardly. Loki prefers his books to battle and the company of himself to feasts and festivals. Asgard would never accept such an odd king. Mother visited me, saying that in my absence Loki had been placed on the throne and the people are already planning a coup to bring me back."

"That's... that's really awful Thor, what the heck?" Jane sounded incensed at this, and both Erik and Darcy were glaring.

"What?" Thor questioned, confused at their anger.

"He likes books, and being by himself, and therefore there's something wrong with him. Does that mean there's something wrong with me?" Jane demanded.

Relieved, Thor hurried to reassure her. "Oh, no, you're a maiden. It is perfectly normal for a maiden to pursue such interests. But Loki... I do not see why he refuses to give up his studies and train with the rest of the warriors. The people of Asgard would accept him much better then, I am sure." For some reason, they only seemed angrier.

"Space vikings are sexist," Darcy whispered quite loudly.

"Darcy!" Jane hissed, seeming torn between focusing the full force of her glare on her... assistant, was it?—or Thor.

"What is sexist?" Thor asked, unfamiliar with the word but certain it was an insult.

"It's when people think one sex is superior to the other," Jane explained, a well-veiled anger in her voice, "often assigning each to specific roles and expectations. Like, girls read books, guys swing swords. And because they swing swords, guys are better."

"But women may be trained in the art of battle if they wish it. Most do not, but plenty of women are warriors. Why, once there was a company of elite warriors who were only female, the Valkyrior. They all fell in a terrible battle, and the order was not reestablished in preservation of their memory, but still many women warriors join Asgard's ranks. Why, the Lady Sif is one of my dearest friends, and a warrior near unmatched!" Thor told them, desperate to disperse this sudden animosity.

"So the problem isn't with girls, it's with books," Darcy concluded. "Specifically, your brother reading books."

"He's the eldest, the throne should go to him," Thor agreed, "but he's... Loki! If he could just... stop being so stubborn, I am certain things would be better!"

"Tell us more about your brother," Erik asked after a minute of tense silence.

Thor grinned, relaxing again. "Well, he's... complicated. Quiet, very quiet, hardly ever speaks in public, in fact. He's quite intelligent, I believe our parents ran out of tutors for him when he was—twelve? Eleven?—in your years. Certainly the only person I know who's ever tried to understand the workings of the Bifrost. I believe he's been working on some project about the branches of Yggdrasil and how the realms are connected or somesuch drivel. He'll disappear for years at a time, and come back with a collection of new books he adds to his rooms and not a word of where he was. He's penned quite a few volumes himself, I recall. I believe a few have been added to the curriculum of various schools, as well. He's studied near every profession available outside of battle. He spent some time with the healers, the scribes, the blacksmiths, the architects, and at least half a century shut up in some monastery on Alfheim. Of course, those are only the apprenticeships I have knowledge of. And he's perhaps the most accomplished sorcerer who has ever been."

"That's... okay, that's something. But what's he like? You said quiet, and smart, what else?"

Slightly discomfited by Jane's question, Thor reevaluated his words and tried again. "Loki is... a patient teacher. He taught me quite a bit more than my tutors ever did. He never made me feel lesser for not knowing things. He rarely angers, or shows any emotion, especially in company outside of our mother. When reading, or otherwise absorbed in his studies, he can forget to leave his rooms for days at a time, forgoing eating and sleeping entirely. I... do not know what else to say."

"In the mythology," Erik began hesitantly, "they call Frigga the goddess of motherhood, Thor the god of thunder, and so on. But they say Loki wasn't worthy of such a title. They call him the dishonored one, the unworthy one. Son of Laufey."

"WHAT?" Thor leapt to his feet, the chair he had been sitting on crashing to the ground with a ringing clatter. "THEY DARE?"

"I think we're missing some context here, big guy."

Thor blinked, turning to stare at Darcy. He shook his head, turning around and righting his chair, and then sitting back down. "Laufey is a monster," he began, ready to lay out matters in no uncertain terms. They needed to know why being named whelp of Laufey was such an insult to his brother's name. An ember stirred in his core, screaming for vengeance against whoever dared defile the name of his brother so.

("They speak against him in the open, without hindrance or fear of punishment, because of the example you have set for them with your treatment of your older brother," his mother whispered in his mind)

The thunderer swallowed the spark of guilt building in his chest, promising himself he would consider it another time. Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. "First, you must know of the history of Asgard, and your history. Near two thousand years ago, the Frost Giants sought to expand past their own vast world, slaughtering mortals with the intent to turn Midgard to ice and claim it as their own. Asgard, led by my father, fought them back, saving Midgard from their depravity, and he reclaimed their greatest weapon, the Casket of Ancient Winters, so they could never terrorize another realm again. They are foul beasts, eight feet tall with strange blue skin and eyes that are nothing but the color of blood, and horrifying horns. They are covered in terrible scars they mark into their infants at birth, and live in caves subsiding on scraps like the beasts they are. And Laufey... Laufey is the worst of all. Their king."

"Sexist and racist? Yeah, sorry, even those biceps don't make up for that." Darcy observed, looking a bit green.

Thor had made it worse. He had definitely made it worse, and he had no idea how. "I... I don't understand," he admitted. "They are monsters! Why do you look at me thus!"

"Have you ever met a... Frost Giant?" Jane asked cautiously.

"The myths call them Jotuns," Erik volunteered, quiet. Wary, much more wary than before. His hand kept twitching toward his pocket, and his eyes stayed focused on the door.

The sinking feeling that nothing he said would make it better would not abate, now. "I met Laufey when I went to his realm to demand answers of his people, and they were all every bit as foul as the war stories claimed."

"As a political science major, I think I'm qualified to tell you that history is written by the victors and a what... two-minute conversation entered with hostile intentions?—is not enough to figure out what someone is like. So, no, you've never met a Yogurt." Darcy pushed her... glasses, Jane had called them, Thor was fairly sure... up her nose and tossed her hair defiantly.

"Yoh... gurt?"

"She means a Jotun," Jane explained.

"A Yogurt. That's what I said."

"But you don't understand! They're monsters!" Thor said, desperate now. "If you saw one..." Again, that made it worse. What am I doing wrong?! Thor wondered, unsure if he was despairing or furious. Both?

"Okay, so, let's drop it for now," Jane interjected. "You love your brother, right?"

"Of course!" Thor was insulted that she thought not.

"So why do you want him to be something other than who he is?"

"What?" Dumbfounded, Thor stared blankly at the beautiful Migardian scientist.

Jane gave a strange half-smile, and then started to explain. "Thor. Has it ever occurred to you... that your brother, Loki, is not you? That he might read, and... whatever else he does I'm sure there's more than that, not to be stubborn or annoy anyone or whatever, but because he likes it?"

"But battle is the greatest love of any Asgardian, and being a warrior the highest honor!" the prince protested.

"To you," Jane countered. "But your brother isn't you. It sounds to me like you are the ideal of Asgard, right? Loves to fight, strong, courageous, Gryffindor type? Just because your brother is a Ravenclaw doesn't mean there's something wrong with him. People like him just... aren't as common on Asgard. Or if they are, they force themselves to be like everyone else. It's acceptable for women to be whoever they want to be, is what I'm getting. But for men, there's a strict mold. You fit perfectly. Loki doesn't fit at all. Doesn't mean he's broken."

Darcy chose to speak up just as Thor was about to respond. "Plus, you're the favorite of your people, obviously. And your opinion of him has got to do a lot toward the way people feel about him. Maybe it wasn't even like that before you were born, but as the more charismatic prince, you became the ideal?"

"So what you're telling me is that it's my fault my brother is so hated as to be named dishonored, unworthy, a son of Laufey?" Thor said bleakly, thinking of his mother's words.

"Not really..."

"Pretty much."

"I must..." Thor shook his head. "I must think on this."

"I'm pretty sure that some famous someone or other once said that if you judge a fish on how well it can climb a tree it'll live the rest of its' life believing it's stupid," Darcy called over her shoulder as she flounced out of the room.

"I don't think that's quite it..." Jane said, following.

Erik stayed, giving Thor an unreadable look. Then he followed the maidens out.

Thor put his head in his hands. "Loki," he whispered.

Chapter Text

Loki's head was pounding. More than that, it was imploding—collapsing inward like a star going supernova as a small creature tried to gnaw its way out of his skull. His skin was burning and the air was searing and his vision was blurry and he was sweaty and dizzy and nauseous and all around feeling quite terrible indeed. To put it frankly, he should under no circumstances be out of his bed.

So, of course, Gungnir was in his hand as he sat on Asgard's golden throne, trying not to vomit or faint or any number of unkingly things.

Even though the suppressing heat of his fever and the skull-cracking pressure in his head, it didn't escape Loki's notice that either one of Rakel's two brothers in the Einherjar or Kajsa's enlisted brother were always in the room with him. More than likely under strict orders to fetch their respective sisters should their current king vomit or faint or otherwise require urgent medical attention. Loki would be irritated (and touched) if he had the mental energy to care whilst simultaneously remaining in an upright position.

A drop of sweat trickled slowly down the back of Loki's neck, followed by a full-body shiver he couldn't quite suppress. A small glamour concealed the fever-flush on his cheeks and the smudgy violet shadows under his eyes, but not much more. Certainly not any physical reactions. Loki considered, for the umpteenth time, crawling off to bed and leaving an illusion in his place, but he wasn't sure he could maintain it in his state, and he most certainly didn't have the power to make it interact in his place should anyone enter the throne room and expect him to converse. It was safer to stay and suffer whatever supplicants came to petition him—if they did at all. As soon as he finished convincing himself making it back to his bedroom was more trouble than it was worth, in some great cosmic joke at his expense—because didn't the universe just love laughing at him?—four very familiar Asgardians entered the hall. Loki had to cling to the armrest of the throne and Gungnir both to keep himself from attempting to bolt (and likely humiliating himself even further) as the Dullards Four came into view, heads bowed and fists on their hearts, already making their case. And then they looked up.

Funny, and Loki had thought he'd felt a chill in the room before. He knew his smile must look utterly deranged as he met their eyes. He didn't care, for a multitude of reasons that were too sticky to unravel while he was trying not to thoroughly disgrace himself by falling off the throne in front of the Einherjar and some of Asgard's most garrulous gossips. "I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no," he told them, pleasantly as he could currently muster the capacity to be. "My first act as King cannot undo the Allfather's last. Thor stays banished." At that unflinching pronouncement, Sif lunged to her feet from where she had knelt, yelling something that Loki was certain would be rather insulting if he could hear it over the sudden rush of vertigo that had overtaken him. At least, if the reactions of her companions were anything to go by. He just wanted them to leave. And then to sleep, but since that was unfortunately not a possibility, he would settle for what he could get. "You may leave now. Guards?"

The Einherjar in the room were swift to remove them from the hall, to Loki's eternal gratitude. He tipped his head back, ignoring the heavy thunk as his helmet clanged against the throne, and turned his face slightly to press his heated skin into the cool metal on the inside of his helm. A small gasp slipped out at the relief it brought him.

"My King?"

Blast. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone. Loki forced himself to sit up, peeling open fever-bright verdigris eyes to focus on the guard he had called to him. "Yes?" the new king prompted, once he remembered he was supposed to respond. Loki suppressed a mad giggle at the nonsensical path of his disobedient thoughts—can a Frost Giant even get a fever? It seemed a half-monster could. Maybe that was why he fell ill so often—even his own body protested the existence of such an abomination. The cuts on his forearms burned at the thought, and Loki relished it.

"...my King?"

Shaking his head, Loki blinked slowly in an attempt to regain command of his mindscape. Sudden escalation of the persistent pounding in his head swiftly reminded him that any movement was a bad idea. "...what was that?"

"Perhaps it would be best if my King would rest for a time? I am sure any problems could wait, if necessary," the Einherjar reiterated.

"We will be sure to send word should anything require your urgent attention," another added.

Rest. "Perhaps," Loki repeated somewhat breathlessly. He banished his helm with a wave of the hand, Gungnir used as a support when he pushed himself to his feet. Making the laborious journey back to his rooms, the spear continued to serve as much more of a crutch than a weapon, from the moment he stood until he let it fall to the floor as he finally tumbled into bed, without bothering to remove a single piece of his armor. Safely in his bed, Loki curled into his pillows with a drawn-out moan. What seemed an instant later, there was a knock on the door. Loki didn't even bother with a reply.

"What in the Nine were you thinking, being out of bed? What was your mother thinking, putting you on the throne in this state?" Loki allowed himself to be tugged upright, lifting his arms when directed as familiar hands swiftly dismantled his armor and tugged off his boots, leaving him in not but trousers and a thin undershirt. "Lie down," Sigyn directed, "and don't even think of getting up until I say you may. Tell me, do you have any self-preservation at all?"

Loki endured the slightly panicked tirade as Sigyn maneuvered him under the covers, checked his fever and cursed quite extensively at the results, and then all but poured a multitude of foul potions down his throat. As far as his sluggish mind could tell, she'd gone on from cursing him to cursing his parents, Thor, Asgard as a whole, and then the universe at large. He couldn't help but feel flattered. Once the potions had done their work and his fever and headache had both receded enough for him to somewhat succesfully form conscious thought, Loki swallowed heavily and forced himself to speak. "Thank you, Sigyn," he mumbled, leaning into the cool rag she was pressing to his fiery cheek.

"Go to sleep," she ordered brusquely. "And don't you dare leave this bed."

"Just a short rest," Loki protested, "I'm king now. I have to... have to..."

"You have to nothing," Sigyn snapped. "I won't have you running yourself ragged when you can barely stand up straight! At the very least wait until your fever goes down. Your mother can handle anything that may come up." Loki hummed, noncommital. Sigyn sighed, cupping his cheek with a soft hand. "You must take care of yourself, Loki. You are ill so frequently in no small part due to how far past your limits you continue to push yourself. It is just a severe headache that plagues you now, but already it is causing a fever, and if you keep going this way, you will quickly make it worse."

Peeling an eye open, Loki squinted skeptically at the honey-blonde healer. She pinched her lips together, eyeing him back with an equal amount of skepticism. With an exasperated huff, Sigyn lifted her hand, cornflower blue wisps trailing from her fingers as she brushed them against his temple, leaving behind a gentle sort of lingering chill when she withdrew. "Oh," Loki breathed, opening his other eye. The relief was monumental. While his headache was by no means gone, the pain was nothing compared to what it had been moments before. He struggled to find words to express his gratitude, and, failing, lifted a hand of his own, emerald light twining with her gentle blue and pushing through every bit of relief and thanks he was too drained to verbally express. Sigyn's expression softened, periwinkle eyes glinting with something warm and kind as she responded through her own seidr. Her care and worry came across the tentative link in a brilliant flurry that stole the breath from his lungs. He held her gaze for a moment more, and then slowly broke off the connection, letting his eyelids fall shut.

Loki may have only imagined the feather-light press of a pair of lips against his cheek as he drifted into sleep. Either way, he slept with a soft smile on his face.

Loki jolted into a sitting position, torn abruptly from his rest. Gleaming gold eyes focused on an unexpected tableau—Sif sticking Hofund into the Bifrost's controls, twisting the sword, and activating the great rainbow bridge. The young king's eyes snapped abruptly back to their typical emerald hue as he swore at length. He needed nothing more to deduce what she and the Warriors Three—for surely they must be with her as well—had put into action while he languished in bed. Gungnir leapt into his waiting hand and armor assembled with a though as the raven-haired man stumbled out of bed on shaky legs. Now armored and upright, Loki swayed on his feet, breathing harshly as he tried to plan. Try as he might, his thoughts swirled and twirled out of his grasp, slipping away as swift and slippery as minnows in a creek. A small shudder ran through his frame, and Loki murmured a small cooling charm under his breath, hoping to ease his still-persisting fever—at least enough for him to think clearly.

Breathe.

First, Loki forced himself to look outside, finding the suns in the sky. Two hours had passed since he had spoken with them in the throne room, he estimated. Two hours for them to plan this 'rescue', for that was most certainly how they thought of it.

"Hunt down the monsters and slay them all!"

Loki's breathing quickened once again, already envisioning what came next. Thor, charging in, blinded with self-righteous rage at whatever the Dullards Four had told him and seeing Loki as having stolen the throne that belonged to him. Thor wouldn't kill him, no, not at first—not until he found out. For surely he would, Loki realized dizzily, it was only a matter of time. Be it minutes or hours or days or centuries, Thor would find out the blood of monsters flowed in his 'brother's' veins, and he would kill him. Perhaps instantly, perhaps it would be a grand execution, for all the people of Asgard to gawk and point. It mattered not. Loki was struck, as if by lighting—and oh, how ironic that was—by the realization that Thor could not return. Not if he wanted to live.

Did he want to live? Yes, Loki told himself, I do.

If he pretended enough, it might even become true. Barring his mind against any images of Thor, raising Mjolnir high and face twisted with hate—or worse, disgust—Loki teleported to the Vault. Fueled by fear and despair in equal measures, Loki gave the Destroyer its' orders, though moments later he couldn't recall what he had said. Once alone in the Vault, he collapsed to the ground, and broke into loud, wrenching sobs. He didn't want this. He wanted it to stop, he wanted it to be quiet, he wanted to die live be alone. He didn't know why he even bothered. Thor's rage, directed at him, flashed through his mind. Why did he care? Loki didn't know. He couldn't stop crying.

"Mama," he sobbed, not knowing why he called for Frigga. Not knowing why he addressed her as his mother when he knew, he knew now that she was not. That he was not worthy of having such a woman as his mother. Not a monster like him. He couldn't breathe. In a sudden burst of hysteria, he banished his armor and shoved up his sleeves, using fingers curled viciously like claws to reopen all the cuts he had made the day before. This time, the pain did nothing for the anguish welling in his chest. Loki bit down on his lip until it bled in order to hold in a building scream. Breathless and trembling and exhausted, the young king caught sight of his reflection in the gleaming golden floors of the Vault. In the reflected firelight, his eyes gleamed red.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Loki's world crumbled in on itself. As though his brain was yanked abruptly from his skull, his vision shifted, the world around him suddenly shrinking back, receding. Reality, it seemed, had been covered by a veil, or a distorted pane of glass. Loki floated as his vision blurred out, wrapped in a cloud of fluff that drowned out his thoughts and left him in a bubble of static. Across the realm, the Bifrost opened, while Loki lay shivering on the luminous honey-gold floor of Asgard's great Vault.

"Found you!"

Hardly daring to hope, Thor slowly set down the dish he was wiping, and turned toward the voice, half-convinced it was only his wishful imagination that heard Volstagg's voice. "My friends!" The thunderer-turned-mortal rushed across the room with an urgency he thought he'd lost, grabbing the voluminous warrior in a hug the moment he reached him. "This is good, this is good." Thor's grin nearly spilt his face when he stepped back, clapping the burly warrior on the shoulders. "How fares Asgard?" His mother's words echoed through his head, and he interrupted Volstagg's answer with a far more important question. "How fares Loki?" At that, his friends exchanged confused, slightly wary glances. A tingle of uncertainty crept up Thor's spine. "My friends?" he prompted.

"That is why we are here. Loki has usurped the throne," Sif said bluntly, her smile quickly darkening to a scowl. "We believe he has done something to the Allfather, and have come to return you to your rightful place on the throne."

"What?" Thor shook his head, the apprehension inside of him growing by the moment. "Mother visited me, yesterday. She told me Father had fallen into the sleep and Loki was crowned King. You know he would never harm anyone, much less our father!"

"He is jealous of you and always has been," the warrior maiden continued as if Thor hadn't spoken. "He knows he is unworthy and grasps at what does not belong to him. It would not surprise me if he worked with the Frost Giants to coordinate the attack on your coronation, and convinced the Allfather to banish you for so trivial an offense as avenging your honor against those beasts, all in order to could steal the throne for himself."

"Loki is as much Prince as I am!" Thor paused, then, wincing slightly. "He is not... typical, yes, but his right to the throne is no lesser than mine."

Hogun snorted. "Laufey said there were traitors in the House of Odin. Who else could it be?"

With every word spoken, Thor's dismay grew. "And you trusted his words? Laufey lied to sow discord, did you not see that?"

"He is your brother, Thor," Sif said, kindly, with such understanding in her eyes. "You are blind to the truths of him, as are your parents. Perhaps he has even bewitched you—what else can you expect from a sorcerer?"

Horror crashed down over Thor like a tidal wave. She... Sif meant it. She thought she was telling the truth. "And you all believe this?" He met their eyes, one by one. They did. (do you see now, you fool? Are you still so blind that you cannot see what is in front of your face?)

"Asgard needs you," Fandral said earnestly, taking a step forward.

Nodding, Hogun stepped forward also. "You must reclaim your throne before it is too late."

"Okay, um," Jane interrupted, and Thor had never been more grateful, "why are you so certain he's evil? Wouldn't Thor know his brother the best?"

Sif tossed her glimmering golden ponytail over her shoulder, giving the Midgardian maiden a scornful look. "You speak of matters that are not for your ears, mortal. But if you must know, Loki is unnatural. He hides with his books, scorning the glory of battle, and practices the womanly arts like the niddering he is. Such cowardice is the truest mark of wickedness; who but those wishing ill hide and skirt battle instead of confronting enemies with honor?"

Listening to her speak, Thor could barely breathe. This was what she thought. What they all thought. Oh, Loki... Thor longed in that moment to return home and embrace his brother and apologize for everything he had ever said against him. Strange he was yes, but not... not what they said of him. Not what Thor had said of him.

"Okay, what?! Why would you even—" A mournful rumble of thunder interrupted Jane's indignant response. Forgetting their argument for the moment, Thor followed his friends old and new to the doorway, still in a state of disbelief. Ashy gray clouds swirled on a backdrop of otherwise faded cerulean sky, slowly forming into a funnel before the observers' eyes. The twister plummeted to the ground with a resounding crash that sent a ring of dust cascading outward, as if a pebble had been thrown into a pond. Thor's stomach sunk into the soles of his feet as the dust cleared, revealing a great armored shape. A familiar armored shape.

"Was somebody else coming?" Darcy asked nervously.

"See, Thor?" Sif murmured compassionately, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Thor shrugged it off, ignoring her. He knew Loki. Loki wouldn't hurt them.

Loki screamed.

He crashed to his knees, a keening howl of anguish rising from the depths of his lungs as he crumpled to a sobbing ball on the icy floors of the Vault. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, please," he stuttered in between gasping cries, wrapping his arms around himself in a desperate farce of an embrace. "Thor," he whimpered. "No, Thor, please, please, please!" He didn't know who or what he was begging. He wanted his little brother. His little brother who he murdered.

The wave of hatred that crashed over him then was so forceful that his vision blacked out in a tidal wave of ebony that Loki welcomed with open arms. He came to with raw, bleeding scratches up and down his arms, and a great, overwhelming disappointment that he still breathed. He wanted to die. A hysterical laugh followed that revelation, followed by a terrible retch, and Loki tipped forward to spill his guts onto the ground. He burned and bled and trembled under the crushing weight of his own razing hatred, a knife appearing in his hand that was swiftly raised to his jugular. I'm a monster after all. Loki moved to make the cut, but his hand stilled of its' own accord, the cool silver blade resting on vulnerable alabaster skin. A tiny ruby line welled up beneath the paper-thin edge. Monster. Loki dismissed the knife. A lone crimson drop slid down the delicate column of his throat as he lifted his head.

It took three tries to make it to his feet, smashing to the ground again and again in a shaking puddle of disobedient limbs. Loki staggered sideways several feet once he managed to get his legs underneath himself, depending heavily on Gungnir to keep him upright. His vision was heavily blurred, both from the tears that did not stop coming and the skull-splintering headache, all the heat of a hundred suns bore down upon him, and a shuddering weakness seemed to have taken over his limbs, but his goal was clear. He would kill the monsters. All of them, so they could never hurt anyone again. It was, Loki thought dizzily, what Thor would have wanted.

Time to hunt them down and slay them all. As a wise king should.

Thor gaped at Heimdall's unconscious form on the floor. "How did this happen?"

"He would not let us pass," Hogun said simply.

Thor snapped his jaw shut, sucking in a harsh breath. "Get him to the Healing Rooms." He watched them for a moment, and then grabbed Mjolnir from his belt, taking to the air. He had to see Loki. He had to ask why.

The Vault was the first place Thor checked. Great concern built in the youngest prince when he found not but a puddle of sick. Mother mentioned he was ill, Thor recalled, could his behavior have been driven by delirium? Hoping that she would know what to do, Thor headed to where he knew their mother would be—the great room where the Allfather's Sleep took place.

"Mother?"

"Thor!" At his hesitant greeting, Frigga leapt to her feet, flying across the room to pull him into an embrace. "I knew you would return to us!"

"Mother, where is Loki?" Thor questioned urgently. "I must see him."

"He should be abed," the Queen of Asgard told him, "as far as I am aware, he sat on the throne for not but an hour or two before he could no longer and took to his bed."

Thor's frown grew. That was distressing. He shook his head, and left, ignoring her further questions in his wake. "I'll return after I've spoken with Loki!"

Even though he was relatively certain that Loki wouldn't be in his rooms, Thor made for the royal wing anyway. Thankfully, it was quite close to the private room reserved for the Odinsleep, so it didn't take long for him to disabuse that notion. Loki's bedcovers were mussed quite terribly, evidence of a troubled sleep, but the elder prince was not to be seen. Once certain of Loki's absence, Thor crossed the room, standing at the side of the empty bed while he contemplated his next move. He reached out a hand, lightly grazing the tousled blankets, and tried not to imagine his older brother wracked by fever and suffering, without anyone there to see to his care. Pulling his mind from the distressing train of thought, Thor forced himself to look away from the deserted bed. His gaze went to the large windows, almost instinctively. The Bifrost was open.

He might not be there, Thor told himself as he flew. But he knew. He knew Loki was there. He didn't know how, but he was certain all the same. Thor's worry grew the closer he got to the Bifrost. It wasn't closing. The golden prince landed with a thud where the rainbow bridge ended and the Bifrost began. And, as Thor had known, there was Loki.

"Loki?" he asked, tentatively, slowly making his way closer. "What are you doing?"

"Are y-you a ghost?" came Loki's fragile reply. He trembled, fingers curled tight around the stand that now held Hofund, clearly the only way he was keeping upright. His eyes were wide, shocked, and tears dripped steadily down over his fever-flushed cheeks. Raven hair was disheveled, bouncing in unruly curls that the oldest prince usually tamed into submission, and he wore not but his thoroughly rumpled nightclothes. Even his feet were bare.

"What?" Thor asked dumbly, unable to quench the rising horror at Loki's terrible state. Anyone with eyes could tell that Loki was ill and desperately needed his bed. "Loki, I am right here."

"Thor is dead," Loki replied, his shaking intensifying as he spoke. The dark-haired Aseir gave a small sob. "I k-k-killed him."

Understanding hit Thor like a hammer to the face. "Oh, Loki, no," he gasped, "I am well brother, I am whole and hale, see? It is you who is unwell. Turn off the Bifrost, and let us get you into bed."

"Liar." Thor started. "Thor would want this. Y-you're just trying to d-distract me. I-I'm doing good."

Thor couldn't help but recall Heimdall's words before they departed for Jotunheim, what seemed in that moment a lifetime ago. "Loki, what are you doing!?"

"Killing the monsters. The Frost Giants." Loki's crazed grin nearly split his face in two, a tear dripping slowly down his face. "All of them."

And now, now Thor understood. Now he really knew what was happening. "Loki, turn off the Bifrost!" the thunderer shouted, gripped in a vice of panic. He might not care for the lives of Frost Giants, but he knew his brother. Loki was gentle, kind. He didn't even like hunting. Destroying a realm would destroy him. Not to mention that there had to be nine realms to keep Yggdrasil in balance. Loki shook his head in response to the plea, loosing his white-knuckled grip in the process. Time seemed to slow as Loki fell, hitting the ground with a painful smack that tore into Thor's heart with malevolent claws. Thor lunged for his brother, but was pushed back by a rippling wave of emerald. Watching Loki struggle to rise to his feet, Thor began to weep. "Loki, brother, please," he begged desperately. "You're ill, you know not what you do! Loki!" He sobbed as Loki hit the ground once more. Every time he tried to get closer, Loki's seidr shoved him away, but each push was weaker and weaker. Around them, the Bifrost sparked and crackled and shook, fueling Thor's urgency even further.

Finally, finally, Loki's seidr was too weak to keep him back, and Thor rushed to his elder brother's side, pulling him into his arms with a small cry. He buried his face in Loki's hair with a hiccuping sob, curling strong arms around the lithe, shuddering form and tucking Loki close to his chest. With Loki in his arms, Thor stood and carried him away from the Bifrost, out onto the rainbow bridge. Fever-heat radiated from Loki's body as Thor set him down, unfastening his cape and draping it gently over his ill older brother in a flutter of scarlet fabric. "Rest, Loki, please," Thor whispered, his sky-blue eyes meeting glazed emerald. Standing in one fluid motion, Thor returned to the Bifrost's controls. His heart plummeted as he got close.

With a glance, Thor could tell—it was too unstable. There was no way to save the Bifrost itself, and trying to remove the sword now could kill him. Thor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and raised Mjolnir.

Bang.

Bang.

Splinter.

Thor was thrown up in the air by the wave of energy. Out over the Void. Thor floated, suspended about an endless fall for an infinite moment that lasted seconds, and then he started to fall. Only he didn't fall. A hand grabbed his ankle, and pulled, swinging him to the side in a wide arc that ended above the bride. Thor landed with a heavy thunk, and turned to face the void as soon as the hand released from his ankle. In front of him, Loki fell. Loki had taken his place.

Thor lunged, barely managing to snag Loki's hand, hanging out over the edge with the strength of his grip the only thing separating Loki and death. His brother looked up, meeting his eyes. Thor opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. Loki's eyes dimmed. He yanked downward, pulling his hand out of Thor's grasp.

He fell.

Thor screamed.

He screamed, and screamed, and wailed, and sobbed, and curled into a ball at the edge of the rainbow bridge once Loki was out of sight. The golden prince of Asgard bawled like a small child, crying desperately for his big brother to come and save him. "Loki, Loki, Loki," Thor chanted between wreching sobs, struggling desperately for breath.

"I'm scared, Loki!"

"Don't worry, Thor. I'll always keep you safe."

"Always?"

"Always."

Thor screamed.

Chapter Text

Thor discovered a multitude of things after Loki... after Loki.

He discovered that his father could weep, when Sleipnir came charging down the rainbow bridge and Odin jumped off of his back, shouted himself hoarse, and then cried for his eldest child. Until that day, Thor didn't truly believe his father was capable of shedding tears.

He discovered that grieving was lonely, even with others around you grieving just the same.

He discovered grieving was lonelier when no one else cared.

At the feast following Loki's funeral, the atmosphere was light. Charged with levity. People laughed and chatted and got drunk and acted as though it was any other night. Thor left the feast, and sought out his father. "What happened to him," Thor whispered, trying futilely to hold back the tears that were already welling up. Odin turned to look at him, catching him frantically trying to wipe them away, and sighed.

"I have made a great many mistakes," the king whispered. Thor didn't think he was meant to hear it. Then, louder—"walk with me, my son."

Thor followed, trailing a half-step behind his father, trying his best to keep his temper in check, to not grab his father and shake him and demand answers. Their steps echoed eirily in the empty golden hallways—everyone who was anyone was at the feast, and a great majority of the servants were attending to the guests. Just another social, the prince thought bitterly. He'd become quite cynical in the days since Loki's fall. Three days, to be exact. Thor wondered when he'd finally stop crying himself to sleep at night. At the same time, he never wanted to stop. Didn't want to pass a moment without the pain of loss.

Loki was here! Thor shouted in his head. Do not pretend he was not! He was your prince! If they refused to mourn, he would mourn enough for all of them.

Just before Thor snapped and began shouting, his father spoke. "Around two thousand years ago, my father, Bor, bid me marry a noble maiden he had selected to be my bride, and I did as he commanded. Her name was Jord, but that is not important now. My father was getting on in years, and he insisted I have a queen and an heir before I took the throne myself. After a few years of marriage, Jord became with child. The throne was passed to me. My father died a few months before the birth of my eldest child. The birth, when it did come, was long and difficult, and in the end took Jord's life, leaving me to raise my eldest daughter alone. Hela, I named her."

"What?!" Thor exploded, "You had another child! Why did you not tell us?! What happened to her?!"

"Quiet!" Odin snapped, "I am getting to that, boy, if you would hold your tongue and listen!"

Thor ducked his head and bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to keep a lid on his temper.

"Patience, Thor," Loki smiled, reaching out to cup the back of his younger brother's neck. "You must learn to wait before you act. In battle, you must make split-second decisions, yes, but all of life is not a battle. I think you will find that listening can be quite useful. You might just get the answers you seek. If not, that is when you ask questions. Now, as I was saying about the polarity of the realms..."

Odin glared at his son for a moment, and then spoke once more. "I made mistakes, with Hela. I taught her of battle and swordsmanship and strategy and courage, but I neglected the lessons a mother would teach. Kindness, mercy, empathy, patience. When talk began of my possible courting of your mother, Hela took great offense at the idea of a Vanir Queen. I did not realize what sort of monster I had created until, when I told her I was seriously considering the idea, she fled the city with a trail of blood in her wake, and vanished from the realms entire. Asgard waited for chaos to erupt across the Nine. Three years after Hela's brutal escape, it did. The youngest prince of Jotunheim, Laufey, killed his father and two older brothers, and took the throne."

What does Jotunheim have to do with anything, Thor wondered bitterly. This is all their fault. Loki wouldn't be gone if it weren't for their attack. (Loki wouldn't be dead if not for your attack on them, foolish prince) The Allfather glared as if he sensed Thor's thoughts.

"Patience, little warrior!" Loki swept Thor up into his arms and spun him around as they both laughed, wooden training swords abandoned on the ground.

"I assume she must have shown Laufey the paths to Asgard during that time, but I digress. Two months later, the Jotnar declared war on Midgard. The war was long and brutal, and it was obvious to all that Hela was behind it in both the battle strategies and the fighting style of the warriors, if it wasn't made even more clear by her fighting on the front lines and felling those she had once commanded by the hundreds. Nearly a decade into the war, and it seemed it would drag out for centuries. But things changed. Hela vanished from battle. Singlehandedly, she fought as a thousand warriors. Without her, the tides swiftly changed. Within the year, the war had moved from Midgard to Jotunheim itself. During what would be the final battle, Hela appeared once again, but she was not at her best. Even though she took my eye, I was able to overpower her as I never would have been able had she been at full strength, and I banished her to Niflheim."

The prison realm, Loki's voice supplied in Thor's mind. Destroyed so long ago no one remembers what was once there, now a desolate wasteland used to house only the vilest of prisoners on a place with no chance of escape.

"The warriors I led marched directly to Jotunheim's capital city and overwhelmed the palace while I headed to the temple where the Jotnar kept the Casket of Ancient Winters. With Hela out of the fight, I hoped to curb any more ambitions of war by taking their greatest weapon, after her. When I entered the temple, it was empty, but for the crying of a young child."

No. "No!" Thor shouted. "You cannot mean to say that..." he cut off, unable to even think the words, much less say them.

"QUIET!" Odin roared. "Let me speak, you impetuous child!" He drew in a deep breath, visibly calming himself before he continued. "I found the child swiftly. Abandoned, suffering, left to die and not even an hour old. Laufey's son, by the markings, but small for a giant's offspring. When I picked the child up, he transformed from Jotun-blue to Aesir-pale in front of me. His eyes were the same brilliant emerald as Hela's had been, and her mother before her. My grandson, I knew at once, even if I had not done a spell to confirm it. I brought him home, and wed Frigga as swiftly as I could manage—I would not leave him without a mother, not after Hela. I vowed I would not make the same mistakes, and I raised him as my son. Loki."

Thor didn't realize he'd stopped walking until his father stopped as well, and turned to face him. "I... I..." Thor stammered, unable to find any words. "He... Jotun? Loki? I... you are lying to me!" His shout felt shamefully like begging, as Odin watched him with pity in his singular eye.

"No, my son. I am not." When Thor said nothing, only gaped like a fish, Odin resumed speaking. "I suppose it is true that I did not make the same mistakes, not with Loki. And yet you had begun down the path that Hela followed. I was blind to your bloodlust, and blind to Loki's turmoil."

"His fall..." Thor whispered. "It had been a long time coming." He wanted to deny it, to push the realization back, but he remembered all the times that he had dismissed the shadows that would form on Loki's face and deluded himself into thinking his painted-on smiles and perfect masks were real, and he could not let himself avoid the truth. "Jotun..." Thor muttered to himself, stricken by the revelation. And what his father had said about Hela... he'd been taught that the Jotnar were greedy warmongers. Monsters. "Loki found out," Thor said aloud, surprised by the clarity with which the thought struck.

"Yes. We argued, and I could not hold off the Sleep any longer. Loki was already unwell, the truth of his heritage was revealed to him, and then he was placed on the throne while you were banished and I unable to give him any counsel, and your mother did not know that he knew the truth."

Oh, my brother! Thor's heart wailed. For Loki, his sensitive and thoughtful older brother, to be alone, ill, and believing himself a monster... Thor recoiled from the very thought of what pain Loki must have been in. His face was wet, Thor noticed suddenly. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand and sniffed. Without another word, Thor turned away, heading for the royal wing. Not until he was pushing open the door to Loki's rooms and stepping inside did Thor realize where he had been going. The room was quiet and dim, and the air felt stale, instead of charged with life as it always had before.

"You always protected me," Thor said brokenly, imagining he was speaking to Loki's ghost. "Why did I not protect you?" He fell to his knees and sobbed, eventually crying himself to sleep in a room full of nothing but fading memories and suffocating grief.

Two days later, Thor's temper reached a breaking point, and the explosion was spectacular. Loki would be disappointed, a small voice said. Thor told that voice to shut up.

"At least there's no challenge for the throne now," some young noble remarked snidely. He and a pair of sycophants were lingering at the edge of the training fields, unaware that their prince was standing three steps behind them, intent on taking out his rage on any willing sparring partner he could find.

"Like there ever was," another said. Thor could hear the smirk in his voice, though their faces were hidden to him. "Everyone knows he was the child of some whore, not a real son of Odin, and argr besides."

"Who would mourn Loki?"

Thor didn't even see their faces through the red haze that arrested him. By the time he was done, not even their own mothers could have identified them. He barely held himself back from killing them as it was. The fight, if it could be called that, drew plenty of attention, but no one dared interfere until Thor had finished, roaring inarticulately as he beat the wretches till they were all but bloody smears on the ground. When his vision cleared, he growled at the spectators like some feral thing and stomped off, electricity sparking in his wake and zapping any who stood too close. The rest of the day Thor spent in the woods, burning a large swath of the forest to ashes and screaming at the sky.

Thor stared glumly at the broken toy soldier on the ground. "Not every problem can be fixed with violence Thor," Loki said, emerald strands twining around his fingers as he repaired the damaged plaything. "Most of them can't, in fact."

Slinking around the palace was how Thor spent the next day, hiding in shadows as best he was able and listening to all the virulent gossip. Only the thought to spare his mother kept him from blasting the palace into ash as he listened to the scathing rumors and callous disregard of the loss of Loki, eldest prince of Asgard. He stormed to the room where he and his friends usually congregated, intent on venting his fury to them. Loki's name stopped him short.

"He mourns Loki too much. More than he deserved," Sif groused bitterly. "Thor is better off with the argr freak dead and gone."

"It's only natural that Thor mourn his brother," Volstagg scolded her. Before Thor could begin to feel gratitude, he added, "he'll get over him soon, when the grief clears enough for him to see Loki clearly."

"It had better be soon," Hogun grumbled.

Thor fled. Again, he ended up in Loki's room. This time, he wasn't even surprised. The bedcovers were still mussed, but had not lain undisturbed. Ever since the night Thor had fallen asleep in Loki's room, he had chosen to sleep in Loki's bed. It smelled like him—new leather with an herbal tang, and cinnamon tempered by an edge of sugar. Leather, like the armor he always wore and kept in perfect condition. Herbs, like the ones he used for some of his spells and magical experiments. Cinnamon curbed by sweet, like the scent of his seidr. Tears dripped slowly down Thor's face as he hugged one of Loki's pillows to his chest, slowly soaking into the fabric. "Loki," Thor allowed himself to whimper. "Loki. How did I never see how alone you were?"

"I'm fine, Thor." Loki's smile didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "Go hunting with your friends." Thor did.

A few weeks later, Thor headed to the Healing Halls. Not because he was hurt or unwell, but because he suddenly recalled that Loki had a trio of healers assigned to him, so that one would always be swiftly available should Loki need aid, and he desperately wished for someone to share his grief. His father was caught up in ruling, and his mother secluded herself. Thor was alone in his sorrows, and it hurt more than he had thought possible. Is this how Loki felt, so alone in Asgard, for thousands of years?

"I'm looking to speak to Loki's healers," he told the first healer he found.

She narrowed her eyes. "You've found one. What do you want?"

Hearing that, Thor jolted, and looked at her more closely. Her face was round and the lines of her jaw soft, and a glare looked unnatural and slightly childish but somehow still withering on her gentle features, her full lips jutting out in a slight pout she seemed unconscious of. Dark caramel eyes didn't quite distract from the deep shadows underneath them, and her somewhat unkempt curls lingered on the fine line between dark blond and light brown. Thor didn't know if he'd find her attractive, ordinarily. "What is your name?" he asked, nervous to continue in his planned line of questioning in the face of unexpected disapproval.

"Kajsa Clemensdottir, your Highness. Is there something you wanted?"

"I was hoping to speak with you about Loki... I miss him and I thought..." Thor trailed off as her expression darkened even further.

"If you are looking for sympathy, you'll not find it here. Rakel would slap you before speaking to you, prince or no, and Sigyn would flay you alive and leave you on the battlements for the vultures to feast if you ever dared go to her expecting some sort of pity. As for myself," her lips pinched into a tight farce of a smile, tears starting to well in her eyes, "if not for Loki's utter devotion to you, his beloved younger brother who he held in esteem above all else, well, I'd say I'd feed you to the fish but I think it would poison them." She turned with a dramatic spin on her heel that caused her hair to fly in Thor's face, entirely intentionally he was sure.

"I loved him," Thor called after her impulsively, slightly frantic, though he didn't exactly know why.

She stopped. "You certainly didn't show it, if you did." A pause. "Don't come back unless you need actual medical assistance, or I can promise your next visit won't be so pleasant." A wave of eucalyptus-teal shoved him out the door and slammed it in his face, leaving behind a cool breeze and the taste of fresh peaches on his tongue. Thor left.

Two months since Loki had left them. His room didn't smell like him anyone, but Thor continued to use it as his own. Slowly, his things—clothing, armor, weapons—began migrating into Loki's old rooms. He kept to himself, staying away from others—staying away from the training rings, even—in favor of spending time in Loki's room. Trying to get to know his older brother, to discover him, to see him in a way he never had before. To understand things he never had before. Different did not mean wrong, Jane had told him. That, Thor was beginning at last to see. But late. Far too late.

He read Loki's journals. Thor felt horribly guilty, as though he was defiling something sacred, and maybe he was, but he did it anyway. Sometimes the guilt would overwhelm him while he was reading, and he would cry, curled up in a small knot of misery on the floor, just from seeing Loki's pain secondhand. Thor couldn't believe how terribly he had treated his older brother, and for so long. He could understand the lengthy, winding passages Loki wrote about his hatred of himself in a way Thor doubted he ever could were Loki still alive. Still, the way Loki wrote of himself, of his inadequacies and failures and sheer unworthiness as he saw it, cut Thor to the core. With every word Loki wrote against himself, Thor's loathing for his own being increased a little more. He was unable to understand how he had not seen Loki's suffering before.

Thor dreamt of him. Horrible, wrenching nightmares in which he would hear Loki calling out for him, begging for help, and Thor walked past without seeing him at all. Twisting, insidious dreams where he watched Loki consumed by fever and fought to reach him, to save him, to bring him to the healers and ease his suffering at the very least—but always he was too late, and Loki would fall, to be lost forevermore. Waking with his brother's name on his lips and tears on his cheeks wasn't foreign to Thor any longer. Indeed, the thunderer struggled to remember a time where his sleep was untroubled by visions of Loki's suffering.

"You're stronger than some silly old nightmare, Thor." Loki ruffled Thor's golden hair and gave him an impish grin. "And if you aren't, I'll just battle it myself. But I won't need to."

Besides pouring over Loki's personal journals (where he confided his thoughts because no one would listen to him or keep his secrets safe, whilst Thor had a whole host of loyal companions on which to heap his trifling woes), Thor also looked over his magical journals. The plans for spells, complicated runework diagrams, and long-winded essays on the energy that tied Yggdrasil's branches together and made the Bifrost workable flew over Thor's head more often than not, but Thor still valued the writings all the same. He could see Loki's passion so clearly, in every penstroke and stunningly detailed sketch. He poured over Loki's most worn books, trying to get an idea of the material he had enjoyed, and once spent a full week reading all of Loki's published writings on magic (and other topics). Thor had been completely unaware that Loki spent so much time looking into Asgard's history.

One afternoon, Thor went back to Odin, after only seeing him at meals and scare exchanging a word since the day the Allfather had explained Loki's birth. "Why will you not return the Casket to Jotunheim," he demanded without preamble. Thor had just spent the day searching for and devouring every volume the royal library had on Jotuns—written before the war, that is. They were a peaceable people, with a love for the arts, the books informed him. "The war was not wholly their fault. It never would have happened without Hela's interference!"

"But the people do not know that," Odin countered. Thor had other questions he planned to ask—questions of Hela, of why no one could recall their once-princess, and the fall of the Valkyrior, which had seemed rather suspicious after Thor re-read the histories—but he spun on his heel and left instead of asking them.

Gossip began to spring up around the palace—that Thor had gone mad, that Thor had been cursed... the most outlandish rumor said that Loki had killed Thor, and now masqueraded as the golden prince to conceal his misdeeds and await a chance to steal the throne. After hearing that rumor, Thor devoted all of his time toward finding the rumormonger and disabusing them of their notions. It took about an afternoon, and then the family of Raggi Dorison swiftly withdrew to their country estate, after lodging a complaint with the King. Thor stayed taciturn and unrepentant throughout the whole lecture.

"Mercy is not a fault, Thor," Loki chided as he cleaned and wrapped yet another wound Thor had gained in an ill-advised duel born of childish pettiness. "Remember that."

Thor left the palace and wandered the city. The golden halls were becoming suffocating, moreso as time wore on. Without Loki. Time used to go by so quickly—a year as a day. Thor never truly comprehended how long a life he had to live until he faced the prospect of spending it without his brother at his side, as he had always envisioned, from the time he was a little boy. He beat Loki in the sparring ring, overwhelming him easily with his superior strength, Thor recalled. It was that day that Thor first truly understood how frail his seemingly invincible elder brother could be—the day he spent in a saccharine haze of pride, living in a dream world where he was the protector, where he defended his brilliant older brother from the enemies of Asgard. (Jotnar, Thor remembered now. He imagined killing Jotnar) He felt so special that day, envisioning them ruling Asgard side by side—Loki the wise king and Thor the warrior-protector. Finally, something he bested Loki at! If only he had seen how others scorned Loki for the defeat. Thor should have noticed, he knew, but then he got caught up in all of the people talking to him about 'when he was king.' When. How that one word sent his ego soaring to such egregious heights, Thor couldn't fathom.

Thor didn't realize he'd walked so far or so long until he looked up and realized he was almost to the coast, in the area of the city where the poorest families lived. Not that anyone was truly poor in Asgard, when every building was plated in gold. Where did all the gold come from? Thor wondered morbidly. He didn't think he wanted to know. Any explanation he came up with made him sick. He stood frozen in the middle of the road, unsure whether to progress or go back to the palace. A flutter of green ribbon tied to a lampost caught his eye.

"What?" Thor breathed, sure he must have imagined it. He stepped closer. A small emerald ribbon waved merrily in the slight breeze, tied around the slender golden pole. Upon closer inspection, the small scrap wasn't only green. Threads of gold shot through it as well, giving it a faint shimmer when the sun hit it. Thor stood stock still, transfixed by a small piece of fabric in his brother's colors. He didn't understand why it was there. After a minute more of stunned gaping, Thor became aware of all the stares directed toward him by passersby, and he continued on his way.

Now that Thor was paying more attention to his surroundings, he began to see green ribbons everywhere. Tied around lamposts, wrapped around doorknobs, tied around mens' arms or pulling back womens' hair, knotted around the supports of merchants' stalls. He stopped a woman passing by, a green ribbon holding her hair in place. "If I may ask," Thor said courteously, though slightly breathless from a budding hope, "what is the purpose of all the green ribbons?"

She stopped, and turned, looking him up and down. "You're from the palace, aren't you? Or near it?" Thor barely stopped himself from jolting when she spoke. Her accent was harsher, harder, than Thor was used to hearing people speak, and it confused him. "You talk like one of them," she continued. Thor was even more confused, then. How can one city have different accents in it?

"I do not understand," Thor admitted. "One of them?"

"You talk like an aristocrat," the woman told him bluntly, robin's-egg eyes flashing with some emotion that was gone before though could identify it. "Soft, pretty words that hide sharp tongues."

"Like Loki," Thor said without thinking, because Loki was consistently the first thing his mind flew to, anymore.

Her eyes hardened. "The only difference between the way Prince Loki and the rest of you palace-goers speak was that he used his words for honesty instead of flattery. In the real world, boy, telling it like it is gets you called a liar more often than a saint."

Thor blinked. "Ahem," he covered his uncertainty with a cough, "I meant no disrespect. But... what does my being from the palace have to do with the green ribbons I see everywhere?"

"Up there in the fancy place," she began, "Their prince is Thor. The warrior, the brute. He doesn't care about people like us. Cares only about smashing things with that fancy hammer. But Loki, he was our prince. He came down to speak with us, ate at our tables without turning down any food as 'not good enough', gave to people who needed it, resolved disputes and taught the children who couldn't afford to go to school. Plenty have moved up in the world cause of him. So, even if no one up there is gonna mourn him, we are."

"Where were you?" Thor asked.

"Ah, nowhere," Loki said dismissively. "How was training?"

"Oh," Thor said softly. "Thank you for telling me." He walked away. Back to the palace. As always, drawn to Loki's room as if on a string.

Six months more passed before Thor worked up the courage to speak to his father again in more than simple pleasantries. He barged into Odin's study when he knew the king was alone. "Tell me what happened, while I was banished. Truly," he demanded without preamble.

Odin looked up from his desk, weary but not surprised. "It took you long enough to ask," he said, pushing aside the papers on his desk and folding his hands atop the table. "Come, sit. Tell me what you wish to know."

"Everything," Thor said instantly, taking a seat as offered to him. "Tell me everything that happened after the moment I was gone."

"Loki asked why I had banished you. I told him the truth—I had been a fool, and tried to crown you when I knew you were unready. He had cautioned me as much, but I did not take his counsel."

"If you thought me unready, why did you plan to make me king?" Thor asked, incensed.

"To force you to grow up. I thought the pressure of being responsible for the whole of the nine realms would make you set your childishness aside. Loki and your mother both said that the cost of any mistakes you might make would be too great to risk when they could very well cause war. After the stunt you pulled on Jotunheim, I realized they were right. You were dangerous Thor, to others and yourself, and putting you on the throne would have been catastrophic. So I decided to try a different method of teaching." Odin sighed tiredly, giving Thor a look a touch too weak to be called a glare.

"Loki thought me unfit for the throne?" Thor fixated on the statement, dread and shame building in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes. He told me he had confidence you would make a worthy king, one day, but you were yet still too rash to place on the throne without cataclysm. But I get ahead of myself—there was another reason I planned to crown you."

"What?" Thor prompted when it seemed like his father wouldn't say anything more.

Odin's face flickered momentarily into a bitter farce of a smile before his expression turned stern again. "The only other option was Loki. Now that you were both of age, Asgard would no longer see your mother take the throne. It had to be one of you. Loki would have hated the throne. And as I predicted, the burden destroyed him."

Thor's brow furrowed as he forced himself to truly consider Odin's words. "He was shy," Thor thought out loud. (Was. What a horrific word 'was' is) "He loved his freedom. To be king..." Thor's eyes welled up. "You are right. It wou—did d-destroy him." Eight months passed, and still the very thought of Loki's absence was a knife in Thor's heart that twisted with every recollection, sweet or sour.

"You're my brother and my friend. Thor, brother, never doubt that I love you." Loki placed a gentle hand on his brother's broad shoulder, giving a light squeeze before letting it drift off.

"What next," Thor made himself ask. "What happened next."

"He asked me of what he had seen on Jotunheim. I told him the truth about his birth, but I couldn't hold off the Odinsleep to say anything further. He alerted the guards, and then..." Odin hesitated, looking terribly grim for a moment. "He collapsed, in his rooms, unconscious, and he stayed until he was called by your mother. Loki was crowned in a small ceremony before the council, and sent to his bed by your mother. The next day, he sat on the throne for only a short time before your friends confronted him, to demand you back. Loki told them he could not undo my decree, which was true. The guards currently in the throne room then convinced him to retire to his rooms. While he was asleep, your friends plotted to retrieve you from Midgard and instate you on the throne. They overpowered Heimdall and went to Midgard, who alerted Loki to their actions. Does that satisfy you?"

No, no, Thor wanted to say, tell me what you aren't saying, but he didn't. "Yes," he said instead, and he left. Back to Loki's rooms, as if there was ever a question of it.

"I miss you." Thor jolted, not realizing he'd spoken until he heard the words. He did. Oh, how he did. Loki was... an extension of his heart, his being. The other half of him. The sun and moon, their mother always said. I'm sorry, Thor wanted to tell him. I'm sorry, I shone too bright. I didn't see you. I wasn't there. I failed you. He couldn't fix it. Nothing... nothing he did could bring Loki back. Loki would never be back. "I'm scared. I'm scared, big brother." Loki had always been there to guide him. No longer. "Were you... were you this lonely, before you..."

Thor took a deep breath. He choked a little on a sob. "before you died?" his voice cracked. Eight months, and he hadn't truly faced it. Loki was dead. And it hurt.

He'd cried for Loki before, so many times Thor didn't know how he had any tears left. And yet still he crumpled on the ground and wept for his brother. Loki... he had been in so much pain he'd ended himself. He had thought no one loved him. He thought he was alone. He'd been abandoned and betrayed and left to shatter by himself, into fragments of glass that Thor cut himself on, trying fruitlessly to piece them back together. "I don't know what to do."

"I don't know how to be okay." A small, hiccupping gasp slipped from Thor's throat. "I don't know if I want to be okay. I never... I never want to forget you." A thought occurred. "What if I forget your face?" Thor wailed. A fresh wave of sobs began.

"I had a dream you were gone," Thor told Loki once he finished crying into his big brother's chest.

"Oh." Loki stayed quiet for a minute. "I could tell you I'll never die, except it wouldn't be true. No one can keep from dying, not even us. Not forever. But as long as you need me... I'll do everything in my power to stay. Besides," Loki smiled, tugging Thor close and rubbing a hand aggressively through his hair, "you're strong. You don't need me."

I do, Thor didn't say.

"I do," Thor said. "I'll always need you."

"Come back. Please."

"He's been spotted on Midgard."

Chapter Text

Thor didn't understand. He didn't understand at all.

Loki was kind, and thoughtful, and patient. He wasn't inclined towards fighting, or causing chaos, or hurting people, especially those who couldn't fight back. Most importantly—he did not understand why, if he survived, Loki didn't come home!

He might have taken out a little bit of that frustration in his landing on the mortal craft in which Loki was held. After all, they were detaining Loki, and Thor was quite certain that it was all a misunderstanding. Loki would never do what Heimdall had said he had done. He just wouldn't. It wasn't who he was! Before he could get out any more of his agitation by punching his way into the flying ship, the back opened, leaving a convenient doorway. So Thor went in, slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity. Loki will be happy I didn't resort to punching my way through a problem, Thor reminded himself as he searched the craft for his older brother.

Thor spotted him shrouded in shadow and strapped into a seat, staring into the distance. The pallor of his skin and the deep shadows lurking under his eyes quickly captured Thor's attention and worry both. He looked utterly ill, and years of instinct burst forth, insisting that Thor find the nearest bed and get Loki resting in it as soon as possible. "Loki," Thor breathed, striding across the craft and ignoring the mortals. He knelt to look his brother in the eyes, flinching back when he got a closer look at the heavy mauve circles that highlighted Loki's sunken eyes. He looked, Thor realized, like nothing but skin draped over bones.

Very calmly, staring at the ceiling, and with a dark smile curving his lips that gave his whole countenance a sinister cast, Loki began a stream of increasingly colorful and foul cursing directed towards Thor, that didn't stop until the thunderer backed away. Once Thor had retreated, Loki smiled sweetly in a terrible mockery of the kind smiles he used to give his younger brother. Thor's stomach dropped into his feet.

"For the last time, who are you?"

"Oh." Thor cleared his throat, spinning to face the mortals and forcing himself to push away any thoughts of his brother. For now. "I am Thor Odinson. I have come here to return my brother home."

"Okay, yeah, that's cool," the first mortal who'd spoken said, "but um, what about helping us get the Tesseract back? Stopping an invasion?"

"I will aid in the defense of your world should it be necessary, and the Tesseract is to come back to Asgard with us," Thor informed the short, dark-haired mortal man.

The man studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Take it up with Fury."

They stood in silence.

"I'm Steve Rogers," the other mortal man on the plane finally introduced himself. "That's Tony Stark, and up there flying the plane is Natasha Romanov."

"Please to meet you, Sir..." Thor paused, uncertain if 'Sir' was the correct appellation.

"Us guys are usually addressed as 'Mister' on good ole' Earth here. If someone has a different title, they'll specify," Tony Stark informed him with a slight smirk, correctly deducing the reason for Thor's hesitance.

"Mister Rogers," Thor finished, relieved to have a way to properly and respectfully address these Midgardians. He knew from Loki's journals (no no no don't think about that) that he had visited the realm often, but not much else other than Loki seemed to think they were worthy of his respect, and after meeting Jane, Thor had to concur. But then Mister Stark began cackling, seemingly for no reason. "Did I say it wrong?" Thor asked, confused. Stark muttered something about a neighboorhood(?) Thor thought he wasn't meant to hear.

Mister Rogers shook his head, seemingly just as baffled. "Just call me Steve," he offered. "Most people don't use formal titles now, anyways." He seemed a touch sour about that, to Thor.

In an attempt to avoid an awkward silence (his brother) till they reached their destination (he should ask where they were going, really) Thor voiced one of the many questions he'd had since he encountered them. "Why do you have my brother? You are... defenders of your realm, perhaps?"

"Iron Man," Stark filled in quickly, pointing to himself. "Captain America," Rogers (Steve), "and the super-scary super-spy Black Widow," Lady Romanov.

"Tis a noble profession, to act in defense of one's realm," Thor said approvingly.

"Shut your trap," Loki snarled unexpectedly. Thor jolted, unable to keep the hurt from his face.

The rest of the trip was silent.

Thor listened silently to the 'recording,' they had called it, of his brother as they put him in the cell. He sounded confident. Vicious, in an equal measure. Arrogant. Thor felt as if he was seeing himself, who he used to be, who he hoped he wasn't still, as he stood at a slight distance from the screens on the table that his fellow defenders were viewing. He didn't want to look at Loki. It was cowardice, he knew, but Thor did not want to look at his big brother and see a malevolent stranger staring back. He didn't want to see his brother looking so unwell and being unable to go to his aide.

Cowardice was one of the many things Thor had learned lessons on, in Loki's absence. He was, Thor knew now, a coward. It was Loki who had courage. Had always had courage. Thor was the one who was ever weak—weak of will, weak of character. Mighty in feats of physicality, yes. But weak everywhere Loki was strong. Everywhere it counted.

(What hurts more? The vitriol he spews? The darkness in his very voice? That his words are clever as they ever were, yet sharpened and wielded to draw blood? Or that you know you deserve his hatred, foolish prince?)

"You talk about peace, and you kill 'cause it's fun," the man who was speaking with Loki said. (Fury, had they called him? That didn't seem right, why would a man be called after an attribute?) Thor couldn't stifle a sound of protest that covered the man's next words.

"I hate hunting," Loki complained when Thor confronted him outside the small inn they were staying in on their travels. "I understand that we must hunt for food, Thor... but we have farms for that. There is no reason to hunt, but to kill."

"Aye, and the thrill of it!" Thor had returned, uncomprehending. Bloodlust started small, with hares and hawks to stags and great boars to the dying howls of men twice his size. Men, not monsters, Thor reminded himself. (So bloody is your legacy, oh Great Thunderer. As is your father's, your sister's, your world's. Your brother's history is pure. Is Jotun blood tainted? Or the blood of those who glory to spill it?)

(Where did all that gold come from?)

Everyone was staring at Thor. The viewing screens had been disabled, conversation finished, and Thor had been lost in his own mind. Was this how Loki felt all the time? Thor wondered, reprimanding himself a moment later. This was no time to get lost in his thoughts, tumultuous they may be.

"He really grows on you, doesn't he?" a man Thor had yet to be introduced commented wryly, when Thor didn't speak. He could not look less like a warrior, curiously enough, but Thor was no longer so foolish as to think he was not there for a reason.

"Loki's gonna drag this out," Rogers—Steve, said, before anyone had a chance to respond to the other man's comment. "So, Thor," Thor barely kept himself from jumping at the sudden address, "what's his play?"

Thor furrowed his brow, trying to recall the information he had been given before he was sent to Earth. "I do not know," he said, hoping he didn't sound as helpless as he felt and knowing he did. "...He has an army, called the Chitauri. They're not of Asgard, not of any world I know. They are to be led against your people. To claim the Earth, I suspect in return for the Tesseract."

"An army?" Steve said disbelievingly. "From outer space."

"So he's building another portal," the unknown man said, taking the odd seeing construct—glasses, had Jane called them?—off of his face and toying with them nervously. "That's what he needs Erik Selvig for."

"Selvig?" Thor questioned, a sinking feeling rising deep in his gut to fist around his heart.

"He's an astrophysicist," the mortal told him, misunderstanding his inquiry. He must have been fetched for his knowledge, rather than battle prowess, Thor realized. He did look as though he might be some sort of scholar.

"He's a friend," Thor corrected.

"Loki has him under some kind of spell," Lady Romanov informed Thor.

"I want to know why Loki let us take him. He's not leading an army from here," the captain all but spoke over her next words.

"I don't think we should be focusing on Loki," and oh, it might not be in the same context as it would be said on Asgard, but those words hurt, "that guy's brain is a bag full of cats. You could smell crazy on him."

"Have care how you speak!" Thor shouted, finally losing the battle with his temper. "My brother is no madman!"

"He killed eighty people in two days," Lady Romanov deadpanned.

"But it is not like him!" Thor cried, desperate to make them see. "He is... Loki is thoughtful, and quiet, and has ever disdained violence and shedding of blood, even when he was named a coward for it, and worse. He is intelligent and patient and gentle and I do not understand how he could do such a thing!"

Silence. Even the rest of the large room, beyond the area they had commandeered to speak in, was remarkably quiet.

"I think it's about the mechanics," Thor really had to find out his name, "Iridium. What do they need the iridium for?"

"It's a stabilizing agent," Stark proclaimed as he entered the room, Agent Coulson with him. He directed a quick aside to the agent before continuing to the rest of their small group. "Means the portal won't collapse on itself like it did at SHIELD." His gaze turned to Thor as he got closer, diverting from the topic to address the Asgardian. "No hard feelings, Point Break. You got a mean swing." He patted Thor on the arm as he walked past, leaving him confused at both the forwardness of the mortal and... Point Break? as Thor spun to watch him go.

"Also," the Man of Iron continued, as if he had never broken off from his speech, "it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long, as Loki wants." He stopped walking in the center of some sort of controls, Thor assumed at least, and started spewing words that well... the All-Speak translated them, but that did not mean Thor understood their meanings. The mortal easily command the attention of the room as Thor watched, once more plunging it into silence, with a fascination that was tempered only by his distress at the situation as a whole. "How does Fury even see these?"

"He turns."

Thor barely stopped himself from jolting backwards, having forgotten that the agent was there.

"You must always be aware of your surroundings," Loki instructed after a bird startled Thor and the elder prince won the fight using the distraction. "It can be the difference between life and death." He grinned, extending a hand to pull Thor up from the ground. "Again."

"The rest of the raw materials Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily." Oh, Thor remembered Lady Romanov mentioning something about that earlier, a SHIELD Agent being... compromised, they called it? What a strange word to use for such a thing. "Only major component he still needs is a power source of high energy density. Something to... kickstart the cube." Stark clapped his hands and spun back to them, explanation finished. Thor was both somewhat baffled and impressed by the man. He had assumed Stark was only a warrior, as the Man of Iron—it was now clear to Thor that he was warrior and scholar both (as Loki was—is).

"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?" the agent asked, a bit of a bite to her voice.

"Last night," Stark said. And that, too, reminded Thor of Loki with an aching intensity. Once something had captured his interest, he would not stop until he understood it in full, and the speed at which he devoured knowledge was astounding to Thor, even in the depths of his hubris.

"Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" Rogers asked once Stark had stopped rambling.

"He'd have to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million kelvin," the yet unnamed mortal was definitely a scholar, then, "just to break through the," what in the nine does that mean? "barrier."

Thor didn't understand another word until Stark threw out an arm toward the man. "Finally! Someone who speaks English."

"Is that what just happened?" Steve murmured. Thor had to agree with the sentiment. It was rather like listening to Loki when he went off on a tirade about his seidr.

"It's good to meet you, Doctor Banner," finally, a name! Having gotten the information he was waiting for, Thor tuned out again. Fury (that really couldn't be right) entered the room and joined the conversation, and Thor let it wash over him, listening to the rising and falling cadences of various voices, rather than the words. A desperate want was building inside of him, a need to set things to right, but Thor was afraid to voice his wish. When Stark and Banner moved to leave the room, however, urgency loosened his tongue.

"May I speak with my brother?" Thor asked. Everyone paused. Fury, the Lady Romanov, and the female mortal agent—Hill, was it? What strange names these mortals have—exchanged glances.

"I don't see why not," Fury drawled after a minute. "Just let Agent Romanov—"

"Alone." Thor interrupted. "I want to speak to him alone. Please."

"...Fine. But you'll be observed the whole time."

"That is no matter," Thor said, relieved. "Take me to him."

Thor glanced at Loki's face and then dropped his gaze, shoulders hiking up slightly. "Brother," Thor said softly, "why are you doing this? This... destruction, it is not like you."

"And you claim to know me, brother?" Loki purred in return. His voice was silky but lethal in a way Thor had never heard him before, honey-drenched poison flowing from his lips. For the first time he could remember, Loki sounded dangerous. A predator slowly hemming in his prey. It was wrong in so many ways, sent a spike of ice running down Thor's spine. "I was nothing but a shadow, forgotten behind your greatness. Passed over again and again, for you. How can you know me, when I never once had your ear? I, the one you called brother, and yet you put me behind everyone you'd ever met. You know nothing of me!"

"I know," Thor drew in a shuddering breath. "I was a horrible brother, and yet you were never anything but kind to me. I... brother, you needn't do this. Please. Come home."

"I am NOT YOUR BROTHER!" Loki screeched. "You made that very clear to me," Loki continued, flipping directly back to calm in a smooth way that sent another chill down Thor's back. "You needn't pretend, your highness," Loki laughed. "Do you know how often I was ever called that? Addressed with the respect my station deserved? Only when the royal family watched. While you guzzled adulation like a drunkard does spirits, hoards of sycophants dripping off of your arms and worshipping the very ground you walked. They would squirm on their bellies like worms for you, you know. Would rise up and defy the Allfather, their King, if you but asked. You have it all. And yet you would claim still more. Let me have something of my own, or is that even too much for you to stand?"

"I had nothing," Thor countered, softly. "I thought I had everything, but I had nothing. I was nothing. What worth is empty praise without true friendship behind it, without strength of character to deserve it? I was cruel and prideful and shortsighted, and perhaps I am still, but I see it now. I see you, too. You are the kind of man I only wish I could be, Loki. I looked up to you, until I got so full of my own self that I could not see past my own nose. Please, brother, do not do this. Desist your plans not for me, but for yourself. Do not make yourself become what I know you are not. I swear I shall not allow Father to punish you for the deeds you have committed thus far if you only stop your plans now."

"Empty words, empty promises. You are quite adept at those, you recall?" The oldest prince sing-songed. "Lies, lies, lies, all of it lies. So many, many lies, and me just one of the hoard. Am I even real, I wonder, or just a living lie?" Thor sucked in a shallow breath, heart seizing in his chest. Those words seemed dangerous in entirely another way, and Thor remembered Loki pulling his arm away and dropping into an abyss.

Thor's voice was strangled when he spoke up. "You are real. You are Loki, my older brother, and that is all I need. Brother, please, you aren't well," the thunderer's voice cracked, "please. Please just... stop. You are distraught and know not what you do."

Loki's cackle rang through the entire chamber, ringing and oh-so-sinister. The dim lighting of the chamber at large and the contrasting bright lights inside of the cell that contained Loki only lent an ominous cast to the situation, to the quiet echoing of the room. Thor longed for home. "Oh you, fool. I have not been well for a long time indeed. There is no saving me now. Or do you have such faith in the greatness of the Mighty Thor yet still?"

"I have faith in you," Thor offered quietly.

"Kill that faith, if you will. And if you truly desire so to stop this? Kill me, for I will never stop fighting while my heart beats on."

Thor sobbed, slowly sliding down onto his knees to crouch on the floor and weep. Oh, Loki, Loki, my brother, Thor mourned. Quiet, hiccuping gasps and barely suppressed sobs were the only sound for minutes. "I love you," Thor cried into his knees. "I love you, brother."

"Pity. I hate you."

"Do you truly," Thor whispered, knowing Loki would hear.

Gentle. Lethal. "You were cruel, dismissive, and self-serving, so enamored with your own being and willing to do anything, hurt anyone to get your own way, you greedy, idiot boy. And yet you are still so presumptuous as to think I could not?"

Soft enough that Thor himself could hardly hear it, he whimpered. The second prince, the crown prince of Asgard, stood on unsteady legs, wiped off his face, and left. Still not brave enough to look his brother in the eye. (Coward)

I know. I know.

The argument had finally abated when the room exploded. Thor was slammed into the floor, back on his feet a moment later and calling Mjolnir to his hand, whipping his head around in search of the cause of the blast. Rogers and Stark rushed from the room as an alarm started to blare. Loki, Thor thought, and without any further contemplation he ran for where his brother had been kept. He had to see Loki—whether to keep him safe or keep him from escaping he wasn't sure (When did it come to this? Keeping him caged?), but Loki was his focus. The Midgardians could take care of themselves. Loki... Thor remembered the shadows on his face, the pallor of his skin, and ran faster.

When he ran into the room that contained Loki's cell, it was still empty. Thor paced quickly over to the controls of the cell, keeping Mjolnir in hand and determined to guard Loki from whatever might come for him. "Stay there," Thor ordered shortly. A bubble of guilt rose in his chest at snapping at his brother. I'm sorry, the golden prince apologized internally. I'm sorry, I love you, I can't lose you again.

"Come to keep me from escaping?" Loki purred from his cell.

"Come to protect you... And prevent escape. But I hope I will not have to. I do not wish to fight you, Loki," Thor told him, eyes flicking from entrance to entrance. "Especially not when you are unwell."

"I am fine!" Loki snapped. The uncontained anger was so unlike his reserved older brother and it desperately worried Thor (was he hiding his anger all this time?). "You just don't like seeing me as the powerful one, for once!"

"You have always been powerful. You have no need of scepters or the Tesseract or an army, brother," Thor pleaded. "Please, stop this madness."

Loki scoffed, folding his arms over his chest like a shield. "It's too late to stop me."

"I will never give up on you," Thor said passionately, tightening his grip on Mjolnir. "I let you fall, before, but never again. I swear I will never, ever give up on you, Loki, not ever. You could burn Asgard to ash and I would still call you my brother. You could be Jotun in full and that would never change the love I bear for you. Brother, I will never, never, never stop trying to bring you home."

Loki was quiet for a long moment, the only sounds their breathing and the wailing alarms. "Sentiment," he said, but without much venom.

"Yes," Thor agreed, "sentiment."

"Sentiment makes one weak!" Loki growled, seemingly having picked back up his anger. "I have cast it off, and am stronger for it!"

"I always thought that sentiment was what made you stronger, brother," Thor said. "Stronger than I, for certain."

"You cannot be telling the truth," Loki derided. "Cowardly, ergi, Loki, stronger than the Mighty Thor?"

"Yes," Thor responded immediately. "When we were younger, I could not imagine anything ever harming you. I was never afraid because I knew you would always keep me safe. You awed me, brother, with your seidr, and I should have told you so more. There are so many things I did wrong, so many hurts I dealt you, I see it now, but you loved me still. You did not give up on me, and that is true strength. What use is strength of arm without strength of heart behind it?"

"Strength of arm is everything in Asgard!" Loki shouted. "You dare to mock?!"

Thor shook his head, momentarily forgetting his watch. "In the palace, perhaps. With the nobles and the warriors. But not everywhere, and not to everyone. The whole city mourned, brother. I saw your colors tied to every flagpost and in every maiden's hair, tied around every man's arm and decorating the merchant's stalls. They saw your strength, your worth, and they mourned you. They miss you, and will rejoice to see you home."

Loki snorted. "Sure," he drawled, but Thor sensed he had caught the elder prince's attention.

"And your healers," Thor paused, trying to find their names, "Kajsa, and.... and Rakel, and Sigyn! They mourned for you!"

A curious look came over Loki's face at the last name. "They will not want me back when they know what I have done."

"Mother, then," Thor continued, refusing to be cowed. "You cannot say she did not mourn you true."

"She mourned as an owner for a pet, if at all," Loki snarled. "Stop lying to me!"

"I do not lie to you, Loki," Thor said quietly. "You have been lied to far too often and I would not add to that."

The noise Loki made was animal, a cross between a laugh and a scream. He turned his back to Thor and said nothing else. Thor also kept his silence. Now that Loki had turned away, Thor felt strong enough to look directly at him instead of only stealing glances from the side. His shoulders were hunched, his back arched just slightly, and aside from his breathing Thor might have thought him a statue. It crossed his mind to wonder if Loki had used his seidr to escape and the figure he watched was only a simulacrum, but Thor pushed the thought away (fool. Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it isn't true) and continued standing guard.

Another door to the room opened, and a man stepped in. Thor had him by the throat within moments, slamming him against the wall. "Are you of SHIELD?" he demanded of the mortal, shaking him a little bit.

"Boss?" The man directed towards Loki. Thor slammed him against the wall hard enough to knock him out but do no damage (he hoped) and threw him into the hallway. He resumed his watch of his older brother. Loki had not even twitched.

"You cannot stop me," Loki said. His voice was dull, nearly without emotion or inflection of any sort. Resigned, he seemed, almost. "Not unless you end m—"

"NO!" Thor shouted over him. "No! I will not lose you! Never again, brother, and most certainly not by my hand!" Thor forced himself to soften his voice, "brother, is that what this is? Another attempt at death? Are you trying to be a monster? Because you are not, Loki. You will never be a monster."

"Stop trying," Loki said, again in that voice devoid of any life.

"Never," Thor told him. "Never."

They stood in silence until the son of Coul came to tell Thor that the crisis had been averted. Thor allowed himself to be drawn away.

Agents Romanov and Barton joined them after some many minutes of argument and speculation had passed. The new Agent's eyes were shadowed, his face drawn in tight lines, and the Lady Romanov kept giving him barely concealed anxious glances. Thor wondered if they were lovers. At first glance, it would seem so, but the way they interacted... he thought not. There was something different there. Thor... he understood Barton's right to be angry. And yet...

Thor stood and left the room without a word in the middle of Agent Barton's tirade against his brother. He could not take another unkind word towards Loki without losing his temper and that would aid no one, most especially Loki himself. Thor wandered the dull gray halls of the helicarrier, searching aimlessly for a place to be alone. Finally finding a door that opened under his hand, Thor pushed it open to reveal a small, dark room full of some kind of storage constructs. No one would bother him here. He melted to the floor, wrapped his arms around his knees, and cried. In soft, shuddery gasps and great wailing sobs, the golden prince of Asgard wept for his beloved older brother alone in a dim storage compartment. He had no one to share his grief, no one to mourn with. At any other time, he would have run to Loki... but he could not.

The worst part was that he could not blame his brother. He had been blind to Loki's suffering, and he could not find fault with Loki for denying him now. All the same, to see Loki in his pain and anger lashing out so cruelly... that brought Thor great pain indeed. He could not protect his brother, and he did not know how to save him.

He was, Thor surmised miserably, a terrible brother. The worst brother who had ever lived. It was as Loki said—how could his brother not hate him? Loki would know how to save him, if Thor had gone down such a path. Loki would never have let Thor get to a state like that, even. He was unworthy of Loki's love and trust, and yet Loki kept on giving it for so many centuries. Perhaps his trust had been broken because Thor had gone too far?

The door opened. Thor looked up hastily, attempting to swipe away the tears on his face as the light from the hallway was cast upon him in a compromising position. "I wasn't crying," Thor tried to blurt. He hiccuped instead.

"Yeesh," the Man of Iron drawled, leaning casually on the doorframe. His face was cast in shadow, being lit from behind, but even so Thor recognized his voice and the way he carried himself. "Didn't mean to interrupt this..." he gestured indistinctly towards Thor, "pity party."

Thor did not know what that meant, but it sounded insulting. "Go away," he said, embarrassed further by the rawness of his voice.

"Y'know, I don't have any siblings," Stark continued as though Thor had not spoken a word, "but I know how I'd feel if my friend Rhodey started doing something like this, so. I get it. It's hard to hear him talked about like that, even if what he's doing is wrong."

"Yes," Thor rasped, scrubbing a hand over his face again and squinting up at the man, "exactly."

"It kinda feels like I'm looming. Am I looming? I'm gonna sit down," Stark narrated as he sank into a seated position, allowing more light to flood the room. Thor blinked to clear his sight and refocused on the mortal, who was watching him with sharp eyes that belied his casual tone. "Well, you wanna talk? Tell me about him, how about."

"He... " Thor paused, trying to pick his words carefully. Words were Loki's strength when he employed them, rare though it may be, the mind his playground and joy. Thor wanted, desperately wanted, to do his brother's character the proper justice that he deserved after so long of the court disparaging him at every turn. "He liked animals more than people, I think," Thor said, starting small. "Loki... he read constantly, and he loved—loves—to learn more than anything in the world. He is quiet, but he constantly tried new things, made new discoveries, traveled near and far. He used to vanish for years at a time and come back suddenly able to play a new instrument or well versed in some topic I had never before heard tell of. Oft Loki would search for answers about things that no one else ever thought to question—things that to others simply were Loki sought to understand. The first grand project I ever remember him taking..."

A small smile crawled over Thor's face as he remembered the afternoon Loki burst into his room, a spark in his eyes and a grin on his face the like of Thor had never seen before. Never in his life had Thor seen his older brother so excited. "He decided he was going to figure out how the Allspeak works—the language that allows us to speak and have any understand as if it is their own tongue, and to hear the words of any others as if it is our native language. He devoured every book on language in Asgard's library—learning every tongue Asgard had any information on personally, without using the Allspeak—and then he traveled, learning more and more new languages from the Nine and beyond it. Once he was satisfied, he read tome after tome on spells that effected speech and language and learning and understanding and then he studied the spell itself. Near two centuries after he had declared he was going to do it, Loki wrote and published how to cast the Allspeak spell, cataloged all of its functions, and explained how it preforms. To know... it is his greatest joy."

"Wow," Stark said after a long moment filled with nothing but the sounds of their breathing, "sounds like a guy after my own heart. But what about, uh... eye color? Favorite color? Favorite food?"

Flashing the mortal a small grin, Thor answered his questions in a tone of forced lightness. "His favorite color is emerald green, the same as his eyes and his seidr—magic," Thor clarified quickly at Stark's confused frown, "at least when he is healthy and at full strength. When his seidr is drained or injured, the green of his eyes dulls in intensity in reflection of its state. When he is at his strongest, it is a brilliant jewel green. At his weakest, his eyes are a pale shade of mint. And his favorite food... I am not sure, but he has always had a sweet tooth, and he adores cinnamon though he disfavors most spices."

"Well I'm gonna have to get back to you on that seidr stuff, sometime, but for now I've gotta go see if anyone's come up with a plan yet or if I need to do everything myself. Enjoy your pity party. Ciao."

The door closed behind him, casting the room in darkness once more.

Chapter Text

It was an unfamiliar agent who came to fetch Thor from the storage compartment. Thankfully, he was in a somewhat less pathetic state when she found him, the majority of his tears having dried up in favor of contemplation. His grief was still great, his heart still feeling as though skewered by a sword, but he was able to push the feelings aside and return to his new... companions? He was not sure what to call them—when summoned. The agent shepherded him into a conference room where the other... defenders, he supposed, were already seated—including Fury, and Agent Coulson and Lady Hill (truly, Midgardian naming systems were confusing. Was Coulson even the son of a man called Coul?)—and departed with a nod to his superior.

"After that... recess," Fury drawled, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room with his singular own, "are we ready to act like adults now? Do something about the alien invasion that I gathered you together because of in the first place?!"

"Yes ma'am Fury ma'am," Stark said, swinging a hand up towards his brow and then outward again. "Scouts honor, we'll behave. Or, attempt to behave—is there a difference? What say you, Boyscout of America?"

"The boy scouts still exist?" Rogers mumbled in response, looking unexpectedly pleased in the midst of such a situation. "Wait, what?"

Stark sniggered. "Never mind, Grandpa. Anyway, stopping aliens. We talking the little green men with ray guns or xenomorphs? That is to say, for the alien and old man in the room, brain-eating bug people."

"They do not... consume brains, though... bug people...? might well be an apt description," Thor said, to looks of alarm of various degrees around the table. "And—ray guns?—also sounds accurate. I had little time to gather information before I was sent to your world, but I know they are... not a typical species. Part biological with mechanical enhancements, bred specifically both to fight and for intimidation. I believe. They are not as horrendous as A'askavarians, though, and they came about their appearance naturally, so perhaps not." He frowned, then, frustrated by the gaps in his knowledge. "Someone had to have bred them, but I was not told... I believe they do have a master, so I am not quite certain how Loki garnered their use. I assume for the Tesseract, since that is the only item of worth the worlds beyond this one would have interest in."

"Bug people?" Banner repeated faintly. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Ah..."

"How many limbs," Agent Coulson asked flatly.

"Four, two arms and two legs. Same as most species," Thor swiftly reassured. Some of the tension drained from the room at his words. "Twelve fingers, however." Several people tensed again.

"Okay, okay, so less little green men and more many toothed sludge-people. Got it. What about Loki? What are his skills?—in battle, that is. What makes him a threat?" Stark leaned across the table when he asked his questions, expression paradoxically serious in comparison to his blithe tone.

Thor fidgeted in the seat he had taken. It was important information, it would help prevent a tragedy, but... he was loathe to betray his brother to strangers—worse, to strangers who wished him harm, at least some of them. (Would Loki betray you, oh faithless prince?) Despite the unease, he forced himself to ignore his trepidation and speak. The words burned coming up, and guilt sunk to the pit of his stomach like a rock thrown in a pond. The shame sent up oily tentacles that snaked around his heart and squeezed. Barbed hooks dug in and clung like stinging burs. "He... his magic is... unparalleled, in the Nine Realms. He can accomplish feats that were only theoretical before his birth, the most notable being world-walking. He can... it is most like the Tesseract—he may travel from anywhere in the universe to anywhere else so long as he has an idea of his destination. I have heard of no one and nothing else who can accomplish such an act without any use of the Tesseract, and I do not think even he knows its' limits. If there are any."

"What else," Barton demanded, low and fierce, a gleam more animal than human in his eyes. "What else can he throw at us. What are his weaknesses? How can we ki—" he broke off as all the blood drained from Thor's face.

"I will not help you kill my brother!" the thunderer roared, springing to his feet, Mjolnir in his fist.

"I meant stop," Barton tried—unconvincingly.

"He got ahead of himself," Agent Romanov cut in smoothly, seemingly calm but for the light crease between her eyebrows. "It's understandable. He just got his own mind back and he's still adjusting. No one will be killing your brother." Thor didn't trust the look she and Fury shared, the look that clearly communicated 'yet'.

"Okay," Stark clapped, "back on track after that, keep going, Thor."

"And how do I know you aren't storing up information to use against him?" Thor slammed his fists down on the table, flinching when the glass spiderwebbed under his hands. He'd forgotten how flimsy Midgardian constructions were—at least he'd had the presence of mind to pull his strength or he may have punched through the floor.

Stark met his eyes. His gaze was piercing, his deep brown irises steady and serious and understanding. For a moment, Thor saw Loki in him, so clearly it was painful. Trust me, they said.

With my brother's life? Thor thought back.

Trust me, Stark's eyes insisted, unceasing. Thor wasn't sure. He didn't want to risk the life of his older brother... and yet, the look the Man of Iron was giving him... if he tried he could near make himself believe he was looking at Loki having taken another shape, with the same quiet intensity and fierce intelligence blazing out from those eyes. Wisdom, bright and clear as a beam from a torch. He didn't want to trust him. Though it was almost certainly foolish, and by all means reckless, Thor did. He took a deep breath, nodded decisively, and continued. Hoping with all his heart he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his long, long life.

"Loki is the smartest being I have ever met, without doubt. His knowledge is boundless, it seemed at times, and he is a master tactician and combatant. I... he has trained with masters on many worlds, Midgard included, in their various fighting styles. I know of none in Asgard like him. I..." Thor faltered, rubbing a hand over his face, "I do not know what else you would have me say."

"No, no, that's good, that's helpful," Stark said quickly, "thank you, Thor." The Midgardian made some sort of gesture directed towards the Agents in the room that Thor assumed was either vulgar or a motion to silence them. Quite possibly both. "So, what I'm getting is this. He's a really great fighter, a talented... mage? Sorceror?—ugh, magic, ew no—really really smart, and has really useful talents that no one else shares, right? He can do what the Tesseract can?"

"Yes." Thor kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor and resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny—a most unfamiliar urge.

"See, to me, it almost sounds like Loki is a real good catch for whoever he's working for," Stark revealed in a casual drawl. The room got quiet. There was a purpose to this, the golden prince realized. The midgardian was driving towards something, some sort of point. And though he did not understand of yet, it made him hopeful.

"What are you saying," the Lady Romanov questioned slowly.

"Just sayin', it was probably pretty useful to the Chitauri and their leader to have a living Tesseract to help them out. Seems to me they'd be more inclined to seek him out, rather than the other way around, so they probably offered him something pretty good. Does your brother hate Earth so much, Thor?"

"No," Thor shook his head, "he loved to visit Midgard whenever he could manage it. He said the people, you humans, were..." Thor wracked his brains for some of the phrases Loki's journals had used, "fascinating and inspiring, as I recall it."

"Okay, so he likes Earth, wouldn't want to hurt it. Does he want a throne that bad, then?" Stark continued his interrogation, a strange intensity loosely veiled behind his flippant tone.

Again, Thor shook his head. "He never wished to rule."

"What's he get, then?" Tony asked. Thor looked up to see him leaning out over the table, a stubborn set to his features.

"Revenge," Lady Romanov suggested. She too was watching Stark, calculations Thor couldn't read flickering behind her eye.

"I have never known Loki to be one to take revenge," Thor offered. "He never seemed to notice any slights against himself." (Oh you stupid, blinded child, did you not read of his anguish over and over again? He hid it.)

"What if it was against his will?"

Thor froze. Hope sprouted and grew wild in his chest in a matter of seconds. "You mean," he said, breathlessly. "But... how?"

"You told me his eyes are green, Thor," Stark said, meeting Thor's gaze. "So why are they blue, now?" A still image lit up on the fractured tabletop. Various people in the room burst into swearing storms. Thor only stepped closer and stared. On the heels of hope swiftly followed rage, and then despair.

"They are controlling him," the golden prince growled, plunging the room into silence.

"We don't know that," Lady Romanov said quickly, talking over Agent Barton's beginnings of an indignant rant. "They're not even the same shade as Clint's were."

"We do know!" Thor shouted, glaring. "The evidence is right here in front of you! Why will you not believe it?"

"It could be a trick," Barton snarled, "a failsafe if he loses. 'Oh, my eyes were blue, see, I'm innocent.'"

"YOU DO NOT KNOW HIM!" Thor roared, brandishing Mjolnir. A rumble of thunder had him reeling in his temper, but only by a hair. "Loki would not do such a thing, and now we know why he does. And you would deny it?!" He whirled to face Stark. "How do we free him?"

"Cognitive recalibration," Lady Romanov told him, ignoring the betrayed glare from Agent Barton at her side. Thor gave her a blank look. "Knock him out." Thor turned to leave the room and free his brother. "Wait," she added. The thunderer stopped, but did not turn. "If we're doing this, we're doing it rationally. You knock him out, and we'll restrain him till we can assess his threat level, or you're not doing it at all. Take it or leave it."

Thor ground his teeth together. "Fine," he hissed, "but I will supervise your restraints. And you will not separate us."

"Deal."

Thor took off in a sprint.

Thor skidded to a stop, adjusted his cape, and inhaled deeply. I am deeply sorry, brother, he apologized, and then he entered the room that contained Loki's cell.

"You really are persistent, aren't you?" Loki intoned. "Come back to try again? I told you before and I'll tell you again now, there is nothing to save."

Thor didn't respond. He poured over the control panel, instead, trying to puzzle out which button operated the cell door.

"Silent treatment, now? I thought you were trying to convince me to come home. Did what I did to Agent Barton change your mind, oh Mighty Thor?"

There. Thor hit the button, and the door hissed open.

"What are you doing?"

Grabbing Mjolnir, Thor stalked into the cell and made straight for his older brother.

Loki's smile was poisonous as he spread his arms wide and took a step forward. "So Barton did convince you, then. Finally seen the wisdom of ending the monster?"

Thor flinched. Did Loki really think...? He forced the train of thought away. He would explain when Loki had control of his own mind again. The younger prince closed his eyes, lifted his hammer, and swung for Loki's head.

Thunk.

Opening his eyes and letting Mjolnir fall to the ground, Thor dropped to his knees and checked for Loki's pulse. Finding it steady, he sucked in a shuddering breath as he smoothed a hand over his older brother's hair. Up close, Loki looked even more ill. Thor resolved to make sure he got a comfortable bed to rest in and a medical examination, as he hesitantly traced the shadows under Loki's eye with a gentle finger. Thor bit his lip, wishing Loki would wake up soon so he could check if what he had done had worked, had freed Loki of his captors. An inkling flared in his mind, and he slowly lifted one of Loki's eyelids to reveal the pale mint iris underneath. A stuttering exhale, and Thor burst into tears. He lifted Loki into his arms and rocked him slowly back and forth, trying to stifle his sobs of mixed anguish and relief. "You're alright now," Thor mumbled into Loki's hair. "You're going to come home. You're safe." A tiny sob. "You're alive."

His big brother was there, was safe. He was sick, but he would get better. Thor would make sure of it. Loki was there, and so everything would be alright, Thor knew with a child's unshakable faith. Everything was right again—at least for the moment. And whatever was wrong, Loki would make it be alright. He always did.

Thor swiped the tears off of his face as the Midgardians entered the room, and lovingly adjusted Loki's position to one he hoped would be more comfortable. "It worked," he informed them without preamble. "I checked his eyes. They are green now." He stood with Loki in his arms. "Is there somewhere that can asses his health? I fear he is ill—he certainly does not look to be well."

Fury sighed. "Fine. Hill, take them to the Medbay. Romanov, go with. Everyone else, with me." The Midgardians stepped out of the way as Thor followed the Agent who apparently was named Hill. She brought him to a small, white room full of many strange machines, where a mortal man in a long white coat waited.

"He's going to examine your brother," Lady Hill explained as Thor laid Loki down on the bed.

Thor nodded, cupping Loki's cheek. He frowned at the heat he had not noticed before, coming from his brother's skin. "He is fevered, I believe," Thor said, switching his hand to the other side of Loki's face. The healer gave a curt nod and stepped forward, waving Thor away. He stepped back into the corner with Lady Romanov and Lady Hill. The healer's hands hovered over Loki for a moment, and then he tried to pull off Loki's armored coat. Thor stepped forward again to assist him in disassembling Loki's armor. With Thor's help, Loki was quickly rendered bare-chested. And Thor wanted to vomit.

Loki had been tortured. Someone tortured his brother. The scars, some wounds still fresh and clearly infected, were too deliberate to be inflicted any way other than with intent. He was growling, Thor realized when Lady Romanov laid a calming hand on his bicep.

"They will pay," Thor snarled. No one had to ask who.

The healer spoke into something clipped to his collar, and several Midgardians in the same manner of white coat entered the room. They crowded around Loki, blocking Thor's view and chattering loudly as they examined him. Thor's hand twitched for Mjolnir multiple times, but he made himself stay back. They would help Loki. He could only hinder their aid.

The atmosphere grew charged with energy moments before Loki's scream began. Lights across the room burst in crinkling snaps accompanied by flares of green light, shattering and flinging shards of glass to every corner of the room. The healers scrambled back with a litany of shouted expletives, and Thor shoved them out of the way to race to Loki's side. His eyes were open, but he didn't see. He thrashed wildly on the small bed, nearly rolling off, and only struggled harder when Thor gripped his arms to pin him down. "It is me, brother," Thor called, searching his brother's face for some kind of recognition. "It is Thor! You are safe now, Loki." His voice broke. "Loki, please."

Loki stilled. "Thor?" he rasped.

"Yes!" Thor beamed tremulously. "Yes, it is I."

Loki's eyelids fluttered. "Thor. You're... real?"

"Why would I not be real?" the golden prince asked, confused.

"I'm not... imagining again?" Loki spoke slowly, as if tasting the words.

Thor's heart sank. "I am real." He took a chance, reaching up to cup Loki's cheek and smooth a lock of hair away from his face. "See?"

"Thor," Loki gasped near soundlessly. He shot up into a sitting position, utterly disregarding his wounds, and lunged for his younger brother, wrapping Thor in a tight hug. They clung together for a long moment, Thor burying his face in Loki's shoulder, a feeble attempt to hide his tears. It was with reluctance that Loki finally pulled back from the embrace. When he saw Thor's face, his expression dropped. "Why do you cry?" he asked in the soft, kind voice that was always reserved for Thor's upsets. He reached up and brushed away Thor's tears with his thumbs.

Another tear dripped down his face. "I missed you," Thor whimpered. "I thought you were..." he half-hiccuped, half-sobbed, and didn't finish his sentence.

Loki's expression melted further. "I'm here now," he soothed, pulling Thor back against him and rubbing his back through his armor while the thunderer cried. Loki pressed a kiss to his forehead and made soft shushing noises as Thor fought to regain a hold on his emotions.

As he wiped his hands over his face, a bubble of guilt rose up. Loki was the one who had been hurt—Thor should be comforting him, not the other way around. "How are you feeling?" Thor asked anxiously, turning to beckon for one of the healers. "You should allow the Midgardians to examine your wounds..." Thor trailed off. Loki's face had gone paper-white as the man approached, and he shrunk back seemingly without meaning to. He was trembling, eyes huge and breath coming in quick puffs. The man retreated, but Loki didn't calm. "Loki?" Thor asked anxiously.

Loki's breathing came faster and faster as his gaze grew distant, seemingly unaware of the high-pitched keen he began to make. He leaned back even further, near falling off of the bed as he clumsily scrambled backwards. Thor caught him by the arm, swiftly letting go when it prompted a terrified yelp from his older brother. 

"Calm, brother," Thor said, alarmed, reaching out again, this time not grabbing but laying a hand on Loki's arm. The elder prince didn't seem aware of the touch that time, continuing to hyperventilate and stare at nothing. "What is wrong with him?" Thor asked, not expecting an answer.

"Panic attack," Lasy Romanov supplied unexpectedly. Thor had forgotten she was there.

"How do I help him?" Thor spun to face her, angled so he could still watch Loki where he had frozen in place.

"Talk to him," she suggested. "Don't get too close, and don't touch him."

Thor nodded and turned back to Loki. "Brother," he began tentatively. "It is I, Thor. We are safe on Midgard. No one here wishes you harm." He hesitated, unsure of what next to say. "Mother and Father will be glad to see you home. Nothing has been the same in your absence. I hope you will not be angry with me when you see your room again—I should have left it untouched, but I thought you were gone, and I went through much of your belongings. Nothing much is missing, however. I did not let them burn any books at the funeral we had, I knew you would not approve of it. You always did say that erasing knowledge was a crime of the worst order and you would not wish a single word being burned. Mother and Father agreed with me. Beyond your books, I was selfish and I did not let them burn much—I am glad now, you will have your things when..." Thor sat down on the bed and kept rambling as Loki's breathing slowed and evened out. Eventually, he blinked and seemed to come back to himself.

"Thor?" Loki said quietly.

Thor reached to hug him, then paused. He didn't want to cause another panic attack. He slowly set a hand on Loki's shoulder instead. His brother tensed, only to forcibly relax under his touch. "Are you well?"

Loki nodded wordlessly, pressing his lips together until they blanched to white. "We are on... Midgard..." he said cautiously, as if waiting for correction "And..." he gulped. "The invasion? Has it been stopped?"

"The mortals are working on it," Thor soothed. Loki's face grew pinched around the eyes. "You needn't worry, brother. You need to rest and recover from your ordeal. I cannot imagine how terrible it must have been..."

Loki gave him a grim smile. "I did not mean to..." he gestured indistinctly. "I had forgotten we were not alone, and I..." a faint blush crawled up his cheeks. "My apologies."

"May the healers examine you, brother? Or would you rather wait till we return home?" Thor asked, shifting slightly closer to Loki.

Huffing, Loki eyed the white-coated healers hovering in the doorway. "Wait," he said decisively. "I am well enough."

Thor gave him a dubious look, and flicked his eyes pointedly down to Loki's bare, heavily scarred chest. The older prince followed his gaze, and made a quiet, strangled sound. A loose shift appeared to cover him with a twitch of his hand. "It is alright, Loki. You are safe."

Loki sniffled, and then burst into tears—great, heaving sobs that wracked his whole body and had him trembling like a leaf. Confused, but wanting to comfort, Thor chanced wrapping his arms around Loki. When no negative reaction was given, Thor pulled him closer, mindful of his injuries, and rubbed a hand up and down his back while stroking tangled raven locks with the other, the way Loki had always comforted him when he was a young child frightened by a nightmare and gone to seek his big brother's comfort and protection. Now, it was Thor's turn to protect, and he would not fail again. Quietly, the mortals slipped from the room, leaving the brothers in solitude. Thor continued to hold his brother as he cried, rocking him back and forth until his sobs dried up. Loki extracted himself with one last muffled gasp, bringing up shaking hands and swiping hurriedly over his face. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"You have no reason for remorse," Thor shook his head. "You have been harmed most grievously, and have every right to be hurt by your pain." He felt his face twist, as much as he tried to keep his expression still, "do not bury your hurts. Please, brother. Allow me to help carry them, as you have always carried mine." Loki's brow furrowed as he stared at Thor's face. "Please," the younger prince intreated, "do not think you are alone. You are not."

"I am fine. Do not worry for me," Loki said after a blank silence. 

Shaking his head, Thor reached down to grab Loki's hand. "You are in no way fine. Please do not pretend. You need not, not for me."

Before Loki could respond, a mortal burst through the door. "A portal opened over New York!"

Thor leapt to his feet and headed out of the door, towards the same room he had met with the mortals before, hoping they would be there. As he hurried down the halls, he became aware of Loki a step behind him. He chose to ignore it for now—for now, but he would have Loki resting soon. He knew his brother would not stand to be uninformed, however. Thor pushed open the door to the conference room, where, thankfully, all the mortals had gathered. Several trained guns on Loki as he entered behind Thor.

"There is a switch to shut the portal," Loki said without preamble. "A failsafe."

Lady Romvanov gave her fellow agents a look that had them dropping their guns—all but Barton. She held captive his gaze for a moment longer before he slowly lowered his gun, but did not holster it.

"Let me help fight," Loki said into the silence. "This is my mess."

Fury nodded sharply. "You bet this is your mess, and you're gonna help us clean it up. There's a quinjet waiting in the hangar. Now, go!"

Thor set his jaw, taking a step forward. "Loki is injured and unwell. You should not make him fight—he needs to rest."

"I want to fight, Thor," Loki interjected.

"No," Thor shook his head, "you're ill. You need to stay here."

Loki folded his arms and gave Thor a stern, 'I-am-the-older-brother' look. "I'm not changing my mind."

Thor studied Loki's face. He would fight no matter what Thor did—at least he could be able to watch out for him. Thor nodded.

"This isn't social hour! Get out of here!" Fury bellowed. They obeyed.

Everyone but Stark boarded another of the mortal's flying machines—a jet, Thor had been told, a quinjet to be specific. He was not sure of the difference between a jet and a quinjet, and so took the mortals' word for it. Stark flew ahead to close the portal if he could. Thor could have flown as well, but he refused to leave Loki and so rode on the quinjet with the rest. Thor sat with his brother in the back of the plane as they flew, the rest of the mortals conversing quietly in the cockpit. Banner had come along as well, though Thor could think of no pressing reason for his presence. Perhaps to aid Stark in closing the portal.

"Are you certain you are able to fight? No one will blame you if you do not," Thor told Loki quietly.

Loki gave him a rueful smile, slowly shaking his head as he reached over to squeeze one of Thor's hands. "They will," he said with certainty. "As I said. This is my mess. I would be remiss if I did not help clean it up."

"But you're injured!" Thor protested. "And... the things that have been done to you..." Loki stiffened, his grip on Thor's hand growing tighter, and the thunderer trailed off. "Be careful," he finished lamely. "Do not make me mourn you again." Loki's expression shuttered altogether. "What did I say?" Thor asked, anxious. He reached to cup Loki's neck, rubbing his thumb against the dark prince's jawline. "Please tell me, I do not want to hurt you any more than I already have."

Loki forced a smile. "I am fine, brother. Do not worry for me." He reached up and pulled Thor's hand away from his face, letting it drop as he tried to withdraw his other hand as well. Thor held onto Loki's hand tighter.

"Do not close yourself off from me," the golden prince begged. "Tell me what bothers you. Loki, brother, please."

"But I'm not your brother," Loki whispered, turning his face away. 

Thor had feeling he wasn't meant to hear. He reached over, taking hold of Loki's chin and turning his face back. "You are," he said, empathetic. "Your blood does not matter to me, you are my brother!"

"You know." Loki's voice was toneless, his expression once again closed off, though there was a slight sheen to his eyes.

"And it changes nothing," Thor told him, desperate to make Loki believe him.

"Coming up on Stark Tower! The portal is in sight!" Rogers called from the cockpit.

When Thor looked back to his brother, it was as if nothing had happened. Loki was smiling, and his battle-helm formed as Thor watched, lighter and more elegant than the helm he wore for state occasions such as Thor's failed coronation. "Ready?" Loki asked, and the easiness to his voice planted a seed of dread in Thor's stomach. He wished to continue their conversation, but the back of the jet was beginning to drop open—it was time to fight.

Rogers and Barton both began pulling on some sort of pack, presumably to slow their falls, but Thor and Banner simply leapt from the back of the plane, and Loki soared out in the form of a hawk. Behind them, a stuttering "shink-shink-shink-shink-shink" denoted Lady Romanov's use of the projectiles that the Quinjet could fire. Below Thor, Banner was... growing. And turning green. A gargantuan beast slammed onto the ground and roared at the skies before leaping into the air to snatch a Chitauri on a skiff out of the sky. The beast yanked the skiff downward and dashed it against the ground, and then jumped up to catch another. The blasts that were fired seemed only an irritant to it, rather than doing it any true harm. "So that is why Banner came along," Thor muttered. Then he tore his eyes away and flew for the nearest Chitauri.

Though he easily could have lost himself to the rage of battle, Thor stalwartly kept his focus—on the location of his older brother in particular. Loki had stolen a skiff and piloted it skillfully, obliterating Chitauri right and left with blasts of emerald fire. Even in the heat of battle, Thor found the time to be worried—Loki was powerful, but he was also terribly injured and in his current state Thor didn't know if he could keep up such expenditures of seidr—but he made himself to put the concerns away in favor of felling the Chitauri. Mostly.

In the—comm, the mortals had called it—in Thor's ear, Lady Romavnov's voice emanated loud and clear. "Taking fire, the engines are damaged. Coming in for a landing."

"Roger," Rogers barked.

"Not a walkie-talkie," (what in the nine?) "old man," Stark sniggered.

"Focus on the fight, would you?" Rogers sighed back.

"I have been," Stark sounded slightly huffy, "you're all late. Selvig's on the roof, by the way—knocked out. But the portal controls are sealed behind an energy shield—"

"Force field," Loki interrupted. He coughed. "Continue."

"As I was saying, can't reach the portal controls, can't turn it off. Any advice, Reindeer Games?"

"My helmet in no way resembles the horns of a reindeer," Loki mumbled.

Biting back the instinctive jeer of 'cow' with a surge of guilt, Thor smashed another one of the Chitauri fliers with his hammer.

"I may—" Loki's next words were swallowed by an eerie, echoing wail, deep and mournful in nature. No one spoke, and even the city itself seemed to quiet as a great beast soared out through the portal with a primal roar. "A Leviathan," Loki breathed, terror plain in his voice.

Thor struck Chitauri skiffs with lighting right and left as he flew for the beast. The Leviathan, as Loki had called it, was huge, larger than a bilgesnipe though smaller than a dragon in width, if not length. Terrible fangs, large as a grown man, crowded for space in the creature's mouth. It ungulated through the air above the streets with Chitauri discharging from it's sides by the dozens. When Thor caught up to the beast and landed on it's back, he had to fight to keep his balance as he raised Mjolnir and brought it down on the creature's armored back.

"Reindeer Games?" Stark prompted again after a silence. "The portal?"

"I can attempt to breach the force field with my seidr," Loki offered.

"Get on that," the Captain ordered. "As for the rest of us? Pest control."

A final blow shredded the armor from the Leviathan's back, and Thor called down a lightning strike into the space he had cleared. The creature spiraled downward with a deafening cross between a shriek and a squeal, and then crashed into the street and was still. Wrinkling his nose at the awful stench of burnt flesh, Thor hopped off the back of the beast and took to the air once more. "Loki—I'll cover your path!" he yelled over the sound of a group of skimmers whisking by, striking them as he passed by on his way to his brother.

"I don't—" Loki sighed. "Fine."

The tower not being far, it didn't take long to reach it, though Thor guarded his brother's back all the same. He landed first, the miniature, loose stones crunching under his boots. Loki flew up on his stolen skimmer moments later. Thor grabbed his brother's arm to steady him as he swung off the vehicle. "Do what you must," Thor told him.

Loki gently unwrapped Thor's fingers from around his birdlike wrist and pushed the younger prince's hand back. "I will be fine on my own, Thor. Go rejoin the battle."

"You need me to guard your back," Thor refuted, throwing Mjolnir as he spoke. It crashed through three different skimmers before returning to his hand. "We are directly under the portal, and you must focus."

Pinching his lips together, Loki nodded and turned to the device that was projecting the portal. Located in the center of a disordered nest of wiring, it was made of sleek metal in a cylindrical configuration, with the thick beam of light only a few shades lighter than the sky projecting from the top. Thor longed to watch his brother's work, but he set his mind on the task ahead of him anyways. Though distracted as he was by fighting the skimmers that came their way—the Leviathans ignored them, thankfully—Thor still stole the occasional glance at his brother. Glimmering light of emerald and gold swanned over the dancing lavender and blue surface of the spherical force field that had not been visible upon landing. Tendrils of raw seidr poked and prodded at the surface, swarming and crawling over the crackling light. Around the incandescent display, Loki paced, his face set in a concentrated frown. Thor made himself look away once more.

The fight was not terribly difficult, even with the shouting of his fellows in his ears and Loki's work nearby. The Chitauri were not the most intelligent of species. Hardly more than drones, with a simple hive mind. Their tactics did not change, so it was easy to slip into a rhythm. A lull. Which was why he almost—almost—didn't notice the elderly scientist creeping up behind his brother, eyes wild and a metal pole held high over his head like a club or an axe. "Loki!" Thor barked, already knowing he couldn't get close enough in time to block the strike. Even if it did not harm his brother—as well it might in his injured condition—Thor knew that breaking a mage's concentration during a spell could be disastrous, and Loki's work at the moment was infinitely delicate.

Loki spun on his heel, hands full of green. The power he held dispersed as he beheld the shaking mortal. "I-I won't let you do it," Erik stammered, pointing the pole at Loki as if he threatened with a sword—albeit with atrocious form. "I won't."

The expression on Loki's face was terribly, terribly exhausted. "Sleep," he ordered, and caught the man as he fell. Thor once again put his full focus on his task.

The probing of the Tesseract's protections was proving unfruitful. Every approach was firmly refuted, and each brush against the energy field with seidr was a balancing act on the tip of a knife—enough to gain information, not so far as to trigger the defensive response built into the protections. Such a strike against his seidr would likely kill him, though Loki did not say so, or he was certain Thor would refuse. Or. Thought he was certain. He hoped it would be so. Certainly the mortals would not object to the risk, Barton in particular. Or the mortal man slumbering mere feet away, protected from stray blasts by an emerald force field similar to the one he now battled. But it was simpler not to mention the fact that with a single wrong move the full energy of the tesseract would surge into him, burning out his seidr, and his physical self, until nothing of him was left but his base atoms. 

Having accepted that he could not break through, or find a hole in the defenses, Loki turned to another method. Trickery. If he could convince the force field that his seidr was simply a part of itself and therefore no threat, he could sneak in. Loki cast a glance over his shoulder, to Thor. His younger brother had been right—he needed the aid, was not powerful enough to both fight and work on the force field at the same time. But he could defend himself if needed. He would need a much deeper concentration for his new approach. "Thor," Loki yelled, fixing his eyes on the nebulous light forming a protective shell around the machinery, "I must focus fully now!"

"You will come to no harm while I stand," Thor shouted back, welcoming his hammer back into his hand only to throw it outwards again.

Loki was not sure he trusted in Thor's word. He closed his eyes anyway, and sank fully into the energies. When his physical eyes shut, his inner eyes snapped open. The brilliance of the Tesseract was blinding. Overpowering. It drew him in like a siren's song, crooning saccharine promises of power and glory. Luckily, Loki cared for neither. He soldiered on, squinting into the brightness.

There was no way to fool the Tesseract into believing his seidr belonged. The energies of the Tesseract... they were far too different. Other. Utterly dwarfing his not inconsiderable power, exceedingly ancient and flavored by the touches of a hundred different worlds and wielders. Loki sensed his own power in the maelstrom. A mark, his seidr had made. A signature, one in a long line. The urge to study the energies—to peruse the list of those who had bent the Tesseract to their will, to understand it's secrets—hit hard and strong.

Ah. It had grown smarter. The song had changed, and was harder to shake. It had recognized him as he did it, and changed its tune. Learn me. Know me. Use me.

"No," Loki snarled back. Not yet. He tried to reach his own mark within the mass of primordial power. He couldn't. It was shielding itself. His power was cut off, preserved, a bug in amber. Easily seen, perfectly displayed, but he could not touch it. He had no connection to it. It was nothing but a mark. When the shield was down, he was sure it would be an easy way in. But as of the moment, with all the Tesseract's defenses in place—impossible.

Desperately, the prince cast his attention outward, searching for an energy that could fool something as ancient and omnipotent as the Tesseract. To his utter surprise, he found a power that sung the same song, and he did not know why he hadn't realized sooner. "The scepter," Loki blurted, his eyes flying open. "The scepter can breach the force field and power it off." The sounds of battle replaced the utter silence that seidr-enhanced focus created. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"It's back on the ship," Stark said.

"Thor, go get—" the captain started to order, but Stark spoke over him.

"I'll go. Thor is a heavier hitter—he needs to be in the battle. Someone tell Fury to send a quinjet with it—we'll meet halfway." 

Loki turned his eyes to the sky, to the portal above. "I can attempt to put a seal over the portal. It won't shut it, but it will make it more difficult for the Chitauri to cross."

"Do that," the captain said instantly. "Anything to buy us time."

Loki nodded. He tossed a weak smile in his brother's direction. "Go fight, Thor."

Thor's jaw set. "I stay by you, brother."

The elder prince dipped his head downward in concession. For a moment he only wanted to lay down on the ground and let the battle rage around him. He let the urge pass over him and drift away like ash on the winds. Energy gathered inside him swelling from an ember to a blaze. A working of the magnitude he was about to attempt would take inordinate amounts of power to keep going through assault.

The thing that few realized about seidr was how much mental energy it took. A mage could have infinite power, and they would still eventually crumple under the mental strain of keeping up a complicated spell for a length of time. Loki was crafting a shield over a rip in the fabric of the universe—and holding it while the Chirtauri tried to bash their way through. Focus.

He pinpointed the portal—not that it was hard. It was blazing just as bright as the Tesseract itself. Though the brilliance of it meant it was harder to find the exact dimensions. Once he had the edges of the portal, Loki sent a surge of his seidr to frame the portal exactly, creating the spell's boundaries. Breathe. His seidr pushed on the air, drawing individual molecules together like they were magnetized, locking them together into a dense wall. When he opened his eyes, the seal he'd placed shimmered a faint emerald, but was otherwise unnoticeable. Until a levithan slammed into the barrier and bounced backward, opening its mouth in a soundless roar. Loki gritted his teeth and poured more into the spell.

The fighting was a blur. He stuck to his knives and blasts of fire, having no more mental energy to spare for finer tactics while holding up his seal against the increasingly heavy bombardment from the other side. He felled Chitauri after Chitauri, and working in tandem with the mortals and Thor—the green beast in particular—destroyed two of the leviathans that made it through before he sealed had the portal.

Out of nowhere, Stark's voice interrupted the Captain's rapid-fire orders over the comms "We've got a problem," Stark shouted. "Some idiot decided to launch a nuke at New York!"

Gasps. "I gather that is bad," Thor said grimly.

"They'll kill everyone in the city!" Rogers said, dismayed.

"Then make sure it doesn't land in the city," Loki told him.

"How?" Rogers started, but Stark spoke over him again.

"By sending it through the portal," Stark said, picking up on Loki's train of thought. "Then shutting it and letting it blow."

"Do you have the scepter yet?"

"On my way back now," Stark answered the captain promptly, "but the nuke will get there first."

"Will you be able to direct it?" Thor's tone was worried, uncharacteristically so. "You have been expending much seidr, brother."

Loki ignored him. "Does anyone see this... nuke?"

"I've got eyes," Barton barked. "It's on—" he yelped and Loki narrowly avoided and arrow to the face.

"I don't know all the street names," Loki said by way of explanation and apology. He truly didn't mean to scare the archer, but there was no time. "Where is it?" Barton pointed mutely, and Loki followed his finger to a silver cylinder propelled by a jet of fire. "Thank you."

In the form of an eagle, he soared down and hooked his talons around two of the little fins on the edge of the nuclear missle. It would not be possible for him to pull it without seidr to supplement his strength, but he still had enough power to turn it towards the portal, and the propulsion did the rest of the work for him. Avian eyes narrowed as the portal grew closer. He had to time it perfectly. A hole opened in the seal, and Loki pulled back in a dive just in time for the nuke to slot through. The seal slipped shut again as Loki snapped open his wings and turned his fall into a lift. Beyond the portal, the missile shimmered green.

Loki's brow furrowed, heavily. He landed on the roof of Stark Tower with a startling lack of grace. Across the universe, his consciousness nudged the nuke just the slightest bit, honing it in on Sanctuary. To the belly of the ship, the power source that kept the Chitauri functioning. When he was certain his aim was true, he let his consciousness return. The city was silent.

"Are they dead?" Loki asked, breathless.

"Yes," someone said, he wasn't sure—his vision was starting to tunnel.

"Good." He fainted.

Chapter Text

Loki woke in his own bed, in his own room on Asgard, called to consciousness by the light streaming in through his windows. Thor was cuddled against him, and Loki stared sleepily at his face. He wasn't sure what time it was—almost noon, he could guess from the angle of the shadows cast in his room—but that seemed distant and rather unimportant at the moment. His eyelids were heavy, and gradually they fluttered shut again, still fixed on his little brother's face. He forced them back open, but the thought of moving, of getting up and walking about and attempting to speak to people who would have questions was beyond exhausting and he let them fall closed again, sinking into a half-lucid doze with the sun bright on his face.

"Loki?" Thor said.

Loki stifled a groan and dragged his eyes back open again, blinking forcefully to focus on Thor's face. "What," he tried to say, but what came out instead was a half-muffled sound of questioning.

Thor propped himself up on his elbow and pressed a hand to Loki's forehead. "Your fever is down, I believe," he said cautiously. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmm." Loki blinked again, considering. "Fine."

Thor pressed his lips together, and a bit of a glare entered his expression.

"Tired," Loki amended after a moment, too drained to disseble. "Sore."

Thor nodded, sitting up all the way and reaching for something on the side table. "One of your healers came by last eve, while you slept. Sigyn, I believe? She gave me this potion and explained that you must drink it when you woke. It is to help with the pain. There is another potion for the infection, and one to cool your fever. Here." Loki took the small glass vial that was offered to him, allowing Thor to help him sit and lean him back against the headboard as he studied the shimmering heliotrope liquid inside. He chanced a glance at Thor, and gave up before resistance did more than cross his mind. Uncorking the bottle, Loki downed it all in one long drink. The taste wasn't pleasant, but it could easily be far worse, and he sensed the seidr of Rakel, Kajsa, and Sigyn in the potion. It wasn't one from the stores—they'd made it personally, all three of them. If he had the energy, he might be flattered. Thor eased the bottle from his hand and passed him the next one, this a shocking chartreuse and already opened. Loki drank it without complaint, and then the next. When he was done, Thor aided him in lying back down again. Loki tried not to feel humiliated at all the assistance he was getting from his younger brother.

"Is there anything I may fetch for you?" Thor asked once Loki was settled again. Loki shook his head mutely. "Very well. Should you like to get up, or remain in bed?" Loki closed his eyes in answer. A moment later, a large hand was carding through his hair. "Sleep, then. I shall be here if you need me." Loki's lips twitched, slightly, but then his exhaustion crashed down onto him like a tidal wave, dragging him under once more, and into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

After Loki had fallen asleep, Thor wandered aimlessly about his brother's room, always circling back to Loki's side before branching out again. Eventually, he gave up on the pretense and sat down in the chair by Loki's bedside, watching him sleep. His rest seemed to be easier then it had been before he woke, which brought Thor comfort, but his brow was still warm when Thor felt it, and he knew Loki was far from recovered—though the potions had clearly helped him. He fidgeted in the chair, wanting to be of help but unsure of how to go about it. After a time, he settled on fetching a bowl of water and a cloth from the washroom to try and keep Loki's fever down. Bathing his brother's face and neck, while repetitive, was also relaxing to the thunderer. He could be of some semblance of use, at least.

A servant came and went once the sun was directly above, leaving behind a tray of food. Thor considered both his brother and the tray, and then decided to wake Loki, at least for a time, so he could eat. Though a shift covered him now, Thor had not forgotten how clearly defined Loki's ribs had been while he was unclothed on Midgard once he looked past all the wounds, and the evidence of malnourishment was clear even now in the dark prince's delicate wrists and knife-sharp cheekbones. He needed to eat.

"Loki," Thor said, hand lingering above Loki's shoulder. He had meant to give him a slight shake, but feared jostling his injuries. Instead, he curled a hand around the side of Loki's neck and gave a light squeeze. "Brother. You must wake."

"Mmmnnnpphhhh," Loki groaned, scrunching up his features and turning his head away.

"I know, I know," Thor placated, slightly amused despite his worry, "but you must wake. You need sustenance, brother, and then you may rest again." Finally, Loki opened his eyes. Smiling brightly at him, Thor slid a hand carefully under his brother's back and lifted him into a seated position, supporting him against the mountain of pillows Thor had created the night before. With Loki settled, Thor fetched the tray and placed it in Loki's lap, while studying the provided fare as he had not before. Someone had clearly guessed that Loki was undernourished, or else his healer had reported him so after her quick examination, for the fare was small in portion and light in taste. A glass of water and a smaller tumbler of a sort of juice, a bowl of broth, and an apple. A spoon had been provided for the soup, and a knife to cut the fruit.

"Here," Thor said, lifting Loki's hand from where it rested on the bed and curling his fingers about the spoon, "you eat the broth, and I shall cut the apple for you." Loki's eyebrows furrowed, just a touch, but he ate as instructed—with trepidation, but he ate. He only made it through half the bowl before flatly refusing any more. Disappointed though he was, Thor only coaxed him to drink some of the water and then put the tray and its' contents aside.

"Should I call for Mother?" Thor asked. "You saw her and Father only briefly, last night, and I know they both must be terribly worried. Mother would already be here, I think, but for fear of disturbing your rest."

Pressing his lips together, Loki shook his head. "I am fine," he said softly, knotting his fingers in the heavy emerald coverlet that rested over his lap. "I should like to sleep now."

"Please do not shut me out," Thor begged, taking hold of Loki's hands and cradling them in his own much larger ones. "Let me ease your burdens, brother. Allow me to help bear the pain you carry."

"You needn't take on my problems, Thor," Loki rebutted, a slight, terribly sad smile on his lips.

"I know. I wish to." Thor leaned closer, just a bit, to peer directly into his older brother's eyes. "You have endured so much. Please let me care for you, now. There is no reason for you to be alone any longer." At last, Loki nodded in acquiescence. Thor beamed in relief. "You may rest for a time, and then we should go to the healing halls—you have many injuries that must be seen to, brother. Is this agreeable to you?"

Instead of giving any response, Loki closed his eyes and reclined back against the pillows. Thor let him sleep.

Not an hour later, Loki shot upright, eyes flying open, and threw back the covers of his bed. Thor jumped to his feet as well, started, as Loki dashed for the washroom on unsteady legs. Collapsing before the toilet, Loki violently lost his lunch into the bowl. Thor crouched down behind him and rubbed gentle circles into his shuddering back, murmuring every comfort he could think of as Loki continued to heave. When Loki's fingers released their death-grip on the edge of the toilet and he began to slump backwards, Thor caught him and leaned him up against the side of the tub. Feeling his forehead confirmed that Loki's fever had risen once again. "I believe we must see the healers now," Thor said quietly. He lifted Loki into his arms and carried him out of the room, to, worryingly, no protest.

At the Healing Halls, Loki was swiftly ushered into a private room where a soul forge was already set up. Multiple healers rushed in and out of the room, speaking rapidly in terms Thor did not understand nor recognize. Loki had his eyes scrunched tightly shut, and the look on his face was one of pure misery. Ignoring the healer's instructions, Thor stepped close enough to take Loki's hand in his own. He rubbed circles into Loki's palm with his thumb as the healers continued examination and treatment.

"He will be weak for some time," the head healer, Eir, finally told them—though more Thor, since Loki was all but asleep. "His fever will break when the infection does—until then, try to keep it down. Potions will be delivered to His Highness' rooms at regular intervals—make sure he takes them. He will be sore and tired and likely not up for any action, so keep him calm and away from much excitement. Make sure he eats as much as he can, for his nausea will not subside until he gets used to consumption again. The important thing is to allow him time for healing and rest and give him the potions. The rest of his healing he must do on his own."

Thor nodded, taking all of her instructions to heart, and then carried Loki back to his room and settled him in bed. “Tell me what you need,” Thor said once Loki was tucked in.

”Sleep,” Loki sighed, “and quiet.”

Disappointed, Thor fell quiet as requested. He watched in silence as Loki drifted back into sleep. After a time, his discomfort got the best of him. "We will see Mother and Father for dinner," he blurted. The golden prince's face flushed and he looked away when Loki cracked his eyes open the slightest bit and glared, but the expression quickly lost all heat.

"Fine," Loki mumbled, and his eyes drifted shut again.

He'd done something wrong. He'd most certainly done something wrong. Thor tried not to panic, and failed (Like you fail at everything). He thought he'd learned! How had he upset Loki now? What did he do? Frantically, Thor went over his words, and Loki's reaction, and finally it came to him. "If you wish it," Thor tacked on in a rush. Loki's face was evenly unimpressed and fatigued when he opened his eyes again.

"Do I have a choice," he said, and it wasn't even a question. Simply resigned.

(Wonderful job, enlightened-one. All your supposed progress, and you fall back into the same patterns like nothing ever changed at all. Belittling and presumptive in the same breath, what a surprise that is)

Thor gritted his teeth and forced out a harsh breath. Something further fell inside of Loki's eyes when Thor looked back. He thinks I'm upset with him now.

(Do you see the destruction you cause without even trying? He's better off witho—)

SHUT. UP.

"If you truly do not wish to... I can inform them. But..." here Thor hesitated, trying to consider his words for once, to not make everything worse, to not force Loki to take his part without consideration of his older brother's feelings, "you must speak to them eventually, you know."

Loki's sigh was deep and carried the weight of several lifetimes in it. "Well then," he murmured, closing his eyes again. In but a minute, he was asleep. Cautiously, Thor took it as agreement.

Loki watched from his place in bed as Thor puttered around his room, adjusting the angle of a chair for the seventh time and tugging at the tablecloth—presumably to smooth out a non-existent wrinkle. Only three places were set. While he maintained that he was well enough to be out of bed, Thor insisted he musn't get up, and Loki was still too tired to argue with him. The thought of seeing his parents, or so they were called, only deepened the fatigue tugging at his bones. He was beginning to recall everything he had forgotten about Asgard under Th-the Titan's ministrations. The urge to pull back his hand drilled shrilly at the back of his mind like a particularly persistent bug he couldn't see to squash. He was just so tired. The thought of going back to court, of the whispers and rumors and half-hidden glances, made his fingers twitch for a knife. To do what with, Loki wasn't certain. He was quite certain he didn't want to know.

At last Thor seemed to realize the table needed no more fussing-over, and stepped back. Unfortunately, this meant he turned his fussing on Loki. "How are you feeling?" Thor asked for what must have been the thousandth time.

Eyeballs. Suddenly, Loki became aware of the urge to divest something of it's eyeballs. He shoved the thought away and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to come up with an answer to his brother's question that was at least somewhat composed. "The same," he decided on, leveling Thor a look that he hoped portrayed exactly how done he was with the question. Thor flushed. Loki glanced away. Silence persisted until the door to the room opened, emitting the King and Queen of the Realm Eternal.

As soon as Loki's eyes alit on them, he felt his expression smooth from whatever it had been to his 'court face.' Polite, and nothing more. This was an audience with the King and Queen of Asgard, Loki reminded himself. Not his... parents.

"Loki," Frigga said, sweeping forward and throwing her arms around him. Loki flinched at the unexpected contact and held himself rigid until she backed away again. Why does she pretend? No blood ties me to her, the prince wondered. For Thor, perhaps? Or for her husband? Surely not. He was not so vain as to disremember his place. He would be expected to reclaim it soon. Best he not let himself be tempted by the attention he was being shown, spurred by guilt and duty. It would not last. Not for him.

"Mother," Loki greeted, playing along. She stepped back, and to his utter astonishment, Odin stepped forward and also gave his bestial grandson a hug. It was swift, but rather tight, and left him quite confused indeed. A sneaking suspicion that this was all some strange hallucination swept over him, not for the first time. He let it pass, and pasted on his best court smile. "Father."

"My son," Odin said, and there was relief in his eye. That Loki had decided to play along with his charade, perhaps? He was too tired for this game.

The royal family took a seat at the small table while Loki lounged in his bed, watching. A pair of servants hustled into the room, quickly served the royal family, gave Loki a tray, and left. He lifted the cover off of the dish and a cloud of steam billowed up into his face, bringing the scent of broth and herbs with it. He studied the tray in his lap, and then looked to the occupants of the table. For him, a bowl of some sort of soup, and a mug of tea. For them, a cut of... boar, perhaps?—soaked in abundant amounts of gravy, ale for Thor and Odin and wine for Frigga, with a mix of vegetables and fresh bread on the side. His analysis of trivial details was interrupted when he noticed their eyes on him. All three were staring.

Loki cut his eyes away, keeping his expression still as to not betray his befuddled discomfort. "Is... something the matter?" he asked faintly.

"Not at all," Frigga said quickly.

"Then why do you stare?" They all looked away without answer. Loki turned away as well, and put his attention on his meal. He was not at all hungry, but he forced himself to down a few spoonfuls anyway, if only to prevent the headache-inducing fussing that would commence if it was he was noticed to be refraining from eating. The conversation was stilted, and took place only between Frigga and Thor. Odin and Loki himself did not speak.

"I am aware that some matters must be discussed," Loki said when he grew tired of the charade. They all swiveled to stare at him as he set his spoon down on the tray and covered it all with a napkin. "Let us not dance around them any longer."

Odin looked profoundly relieved—the farce of family clearly had been grating on him as badly as it had been Loki. "Let us speak, then."

Silence reigned then, again no one seeming to know how to begin the conversation. Once more, Loki took the first step. He wanted it over with—he wanted them out of his room, so he could give in to the fatigue tugging on his eyelids. "What will the court be told?"

"The truth," Frigga replied firmly. "That you were forced to attack Midgard through magic, but Thor freed you from the control and you helped to defend and save Midgard."

Loki's lips quirked into a soft smile. What a pretty truth. So uncomplicated. All the messy bits left out, all pointing to the glory of the Mighty Thor. "Of course."

"Would you wish it different?" Thor blurted. In his hands, a fork had been nearly bent in half, the utensil forgotten.

Odin and Frigga exchanged a glance. "Yes, my son, is there something else you would bid us say?" Odin asked, something unfamiliar burning bright in his lone eye.

Lok dipped his head. "I yield to your decision."

"But what do you want?" Thor burst out, halfway to standing. He lowered himself back down into a seated position and flushed when the Queen and King turned to frown at him. "My apologies."

"What else would I have you say?" Loki asked. It was true. That was the only version of events the court would ever accept, except perhaps one with a cackling Loki gleefully and unrepentantly raining down fire on Midgard with the noble Thor smiting him to save the helpless and appropriately awed mortals. He would much prefer the first option. "Is that not what happened, after all?" Frigga and Odin nodded, both seeming pensive. Thor looked openly distressed for some reason Loki couldn't fathom. He decided to move the talk forward, again. "When will the court be told? I assume there will be a ceremony to welcome me back and reinstate my living status." It was traditional, after all. Asgard was a warrior culture. It was not unknown to have a warrior thought to be dead only to return with tales of glory and triumph (that often stunk of exaggeration and utter fallacy at times). It happened often enough for there to be a ceremony for it—one Loki was dreading. He had no tales of valor to be shared of his time away. The thought of sharing a narrative of his adventures made his stomach lurch.

"In two days, if you are agreeable," Frigga said. "We wish to keep rumors from taking wing as much as possible."

Again, Loki dipped his head in acquiescence. Asgard's rumor mill was widespread and vicious. The mortals had quite a few lurid tales to tell about him, thanks to it. It was indeed better to quell the wagging tongues before they started—as much as was possible. An official statement could quiet most rumormongers, but not silence them altogether.

"Mother," Thor was interjecting much more than usual in a conversation about state affairs, "should we not wait until Loki is well again?"

Another glance between King and Queen. "Eir stated it will take some time before he is back to full health," the Queen explained to her son. "It is better that we do it as soon as possible."

"In two days, then," Loki spoke over Thor's next protest.

Not long after, the room cleared, and Loki slipped back into slumber.

Thor watched Loki don his armor with anxious eyes. It looked far too large on his older brother, fairly hanging off of him and dramatically accenting his frailty. No small part of Thor wanted to put Loki back to bed again—he was still much too ill to be up, as evidenced by the fever flush on his cheeks and the glazed look to his gray-green eyes. Mother's explanation for the quick date of the ceremony had made Thor come to realize it was necessary, but he didn't like it even so. His stomach twisted nervously as his mind supplied him with pictures of Loki fainting off the dias of the throne, or being ill at Father's feet, or simply standing there shivering under the judging eyes of the court. He hated that Loki's return was to be made a spectacle. He hated the tradition. It seemed cruel, now. Why should such a homecoming be made a spectacle?

Loki finished fastening the last of many buckles and stood before the mirror. He whispered a word Thor didn't catch, and suddenly he looked healthy and strong, the armor no longer appearing too large for his still lean but no longer frail form. It discomfited Thor to realize the illusion looked healthier than he could ever remember seeing his older brother. "Ready?" Loki asked when he spun around, a half-smile on his lips. Thor was beginning to hate that smile. It never reached Loki's eyes. He forced a smile in return.

They journeyed through the palace halls with Thor trailing a few steps behind Loki, hands flexing at his sides, ready to catch the elder prince should he falter in his steps. As the ceremony dictated, Thor left Loki to wait at the entrance to the Great Hall. He hated doing so, but the family and shield-brothers of a missing warrior had to be at the steps of the throne to greet the warrior as a central part of the ceremony.

Thor stopped dead when he saw Sif and the Warriors standing on one side of the steps toward the throne, an instinctive hiss of displeasure escaping. Frigga waited on the other side, and suddenly Thor was consumed with the desire to laugh hysterically. It reminded him of his coronation, down to the crowds packed in every possible inch of space. The comparison made him feel sick. Swallowing his ever-building nausea, Thor took his place a step down from his mother. He wouldn't meet Sif's eyes, no matter how hard she tried to catch his. After an eternity and no time at all, the horns sounded to silence the crowds, and Loki walked in through the doors. The cheering began as soon as Loki entered, and Thor had to swallow hard when he saw Loki sway, though he thought no one else had noticed. A half-turn of his head showed him that their mother's smile was stiff and a hint of panic danced in her eyes. Be strong, Loki, Thor urged mentally.

It was centuries before Loki reached the steps and knelt before the king, making his way through the crowds with steps that were far to halting and coltish in nature. "Loki Odinson," Asgard's King began, for at that moment Odin was most undeniably Asgard's King, "you are welcomed home from your journey. Asgard rejoices as a warrior once thought to have taken up his place in Valhalla returns to his people, his shield-companions, and his family. You are honored for—" Thor tuned out the speech, having had to stand through it several times in his life. Often the ceremony ran quite long, welcoming back a group of shield-brothers who returned from a quest centuries late, and each one had to be acknowledged individually. Loki was alone (as ever). The thought made Thor twitch.

"Be greeted by your people," Odin pronounced at last. Loki stood, slow and unsteady, and turned to face the crowds. His bow was shaky and his posture pained when he straightened. Thor's hands clenched into fists remembering the injuries on his torso. The people cheered. "Be greeted by your companions-in-arms."

The blank look on Loki's face when he turned around made Thor's heart seize. Sif was the first to greet him in the traditional way, but her voice was nearly robotic. Watching her step back, he didn't realize they'd finally met eyes until Sif rolled hers and gave him a little smirk. Thor looked away. When it was his turn to greet Loki, Thor tried to infuse all the worry and love he felt into the words. Yet his older brother only gave him the same little smile, eyes distant. Thor fidgeted through the rest of the ceremony. The small crinkles at the corner of Loki's eyes were the only indication of the pain he was in, and Thor hated them. He dreaded the feast that would come, watching his older brother slip further and further and all the while trying to keep up a front of normalcy in a place that so constantly derided and judged him.

Then their father surprised him. "Prince Loki was gravely injured in his time away, and is still healing. Though the feast tonight is in his honor, he shall not be in attendance." Thor's posture slackened with relief. The hall was quickly cleared, and their mother left to bring Loki to his rooms, promising to meet them in the feasting hall. Thor strode out after his father.

"Thor!"

For just a moment, Thor thought of pretending not to hear her, but he knew that was ridiculous—she was only a few feet behind him. He sighed, and turned around. "Yes, Sif?"

"We haven't seen you in ages," she smiled at him, the same sweet smile she always gave. "Can we talk?"

Thor nodded in uneasy agreement, and followed her. She led him to a nearby dining room, where the Warriors Three were already waiting. "Thor!" Volstagg cried, barreling forward to crush him in a hug, "it's been so long, my friend!"

Thor patted him loosely on the back and stepped away the second he was allowed. "It has been," he allowed.

"What happened on Midgard?" Hogun asked.

Thor blinked, surprised. "What?"

"On Midgard, with... Loki," Sif elaborated. Thor didn't miss the way her tongue tripped over his older brother's name. "What happened?"

"My father already explained," Thor said slowly.

Sif shook her head and rolled her eyes. "No, what truly happened. Is it a cover? Was there any magic involved?" Her lip curled, just a bit. "Cruel of the All-Father, to make us accept him back after he showed his true colors by attacking Midgard."

"What?" The floor dropped out from beneath him, or seemed to. "No, it was... it happened as my father said. Loki was forced to attack, but was freed, and we ended the attack together with the mortals."

"Really?" Sif cocked an eyebrow and shifted to plant one hand on her hip. "Thor. Loki attacked Midgard. You know his tricks are strong, how could someone be controlling him? He lied when he realized you showed up and he wouldn't be able to win." Thor's jaw dropped. He tried to speak up, but his tongue was limp and numb. The compassionate smile Sif gave him made his insides lurch. "You see now? This is his plot. He is biding his time to take the throne here, when his mad grab for power on Midgard didn't succeed. We must warn the All-Father." She surged forward to grab his wrist. Thor took a stumbling step forward, pulled by her grip—and then hauled back and punched her.

Yanking his hand out of her hold as she stumbled away with a startled yelp, Thor turned back around to stare at his shield-brothers. "You think this? All of you?" Hogun nodded. Firm, certain. Volstagg nodded also, grim but sure. Fandral didn't meet his eyes as he inclined his head.

"There has always been something wrong with him," Hogun said.

"He is... unnatural," Volstagg agreed. He tried to put a hand on Thor's arm—Thor jerked back, avoiding the friendly pat.

When Fandral lifted his head, there was a glint of sorrow in his eyes. "I did not think Loki was a schemer, not that he craved your throne... but he sent the Destroyer, Thor. He tried to kill you. Do you not recall?"

Sif stepped up beside him, clasping a hand to her reddened cheek. "You must see him clearly, Thor. You must stop him before it is too late. Asgard depends on you."

Shaking his head rapidly, Thor stumbled back to stare at all of them. His mouth kept opening and closing, and tears welled in his eyes. Here it was—the proof. The truth of what his friends thought. They would doubt the word of their king, the judgment of Thor himself, all for their hatred of Loki. And if the people he considered his closest friends and companions thought this, those who knew Loki the best outside of his family... what did the rest of the court think?

"No," Thor snarled, and he ran. He ignored the shouts of his once-friends behind him, and ran, and ran, and ran until he stopped. He crumbled to the ground where he stood, and sobbed. Wrapped his arms around himself, rocked back and forth, weeping like a little child. Crying for his big brother. As ever, a part of him wanted his older brother to come and make it better—but it was his older brother who must be hurting the most. Thor hiccuped and gulped down a shaking breath, holding it until the sobs stopped before letting it back out again. He swiped his hands frantically over his face, and looked up, hoping no one had seen, but was alone in the Queen's private gardens.

Reassured that no one would come across him bawling like an infant, Thor took a bit longer to collect himself before he stood. He brushed off his knees, threw his shoulders back. Part of him knew he should return, should set Sif and the Warriors straight, but the thought of seeing them again made him feel sick. He didn't head for the feasting hall, either, though his lack of presence would be noted and his parents would likely scold him. No, he headed for where he always did. Loki's room.

"What's wrong?" Loki asked as soon as Thor entered the room, pushing himself up to sitting.

"Lie back down," Thor ordered, coming closer to pull the blankets back over his brother, almost forgetting why he came. "How are you feeling?"

"Well enough," Loki answered politely. Thor wished he knew what his brother was thinking—wished Loki wasn't so good at putting his emotions behind a mask. For so long he'd assumed that meant he didn't feel them, and though he now knew that wasn't true he still struggled to understand his brother's feelings. Not even reading Loki's journals helped so much in that regard, to Thor's dismay—and he hoped Loki never found out about that, for he was sure his brother would be mortified if he knew his heart had been exposed so, even (perhaps especially) to Thor. "You still haven't answered my question."

Thor half froze, conflicted between wanting to tell his older brother and not wanting to burden him. "I didn't want to go to the feast," he said, which was true. Loki squinted at him, but then relaxed, seemingly unwilling to press it. The fact that Loki didn't continue to question him made Thor's heart jolt—Loki kept at it when he thought something was wrong with Thor, he always had. Both worry, because Loki had to be feeling terrible if he simply gave up, and guilt, for why had Thor never done the same, contributed to the pained squeeze in his chest.

"Well," Loki said, "I hope you don't expect me to be too entertaining. Should you not wish to be with your friends?"

Thor ignored his question. "I don't wish your entertainment—just your company. Is there anything you need?"

Loki gave him a strange look, barely hidden puzzlement in the furrow of his eyebrows. An expression Thor had not seen often on him, and one he sorrowed that simple concern had caused. "Not particularly," he said after a moment.

"Not particularly doesn't mean nothing." Thor looked him in the eyes, tried to convey the sincerity he felt as best he could. "Please, tell me if there is anything I may do."

A look of exhaustion washed over Loki's face, and he reached up to rub at his forehead. "A cold compress, I suppose," he said at last. "Perhaps a headache potion—I should have one in my stores."

"Alright." Thor sprang to attention, likely far too eagerly. "I will fetch those. What does the potion look like?"

"It should be clearly labeled," Loki told him. "In my workroom, on the potion shelves. Second shelf from the top, on the left side."

Thor gave him a bright smile, trying to inspire one in Loki himself. "I will complete your quest with all haste, and return bearing your treasures." Loki did crack a smile, but it was weak and slipped away swiftly without ever reaching his eyes. Slightly disheartened, Thor opened the door to Loki's workroom and stepped inside. It was one of the few spots he'd left mostly untouched in Loki's rooms, apart from trying to decipher his spell-journals. He knew well enough not to touch magical supplies that he didn't understand. The potions shelves he had seen, however—they were just inside, in easy reach. The headache potion was, as Loki said, clearly labeled. It was also in such a strategic position (and in such supply) to be concerning to Thor. Did Loki suffer headaches bad enough to need potion so often? He hoped not.

Thor returned with the potion bottle and uncorked it before giving it to Loki, and then headed for the washroom. A set of towels, soft green and fluffy, waited on a shelf for use. Thor grabbed a small towel and wet it in the sink with cool water. The chilled water dripped over his hands as he twisted the cloth to wring it out before he brought it back to his brother.

"How is this?" Thor asked, smoothing it across Loki's forehead.

"It is good. Thank you." Loki closed his eyes and relaxed back against his pillows. The empty potion bottle sat on the bedside table.

"Is there anything else you would have me do?" Thor looked away, hoping he wouldn't sound childish. "I could read to you, perhaps."

Loki shook his head, and then winced. "Go be with your friends, Thor."

"No," Thor said, a little too sharply. "I told you, I would rather be here with you."

Loki groaned. "If you insist... fine. You may read to me."

"What book do you want?" Thor asked, moving towards one of the many bookcases in Loki's bedroom.

"Anything," the older prince said dismissively. "It doesn't matter."

Thor hesitated in front of the shelf. He didn't know what Loki would want to hear. His hand hovered behind the spines of several different books as he read the titles and tried to make a decision. After a few minutes of dithering, he grabbed a book on potions and brought it back to the bedside, sitting down in the waiting armchair. He cracked open the book, blinked twice, and then pulled in a determined breath. "The crafting of potions is a—"

The next few days passed in much the same manner. Thor rarely left the bedroom, taking his meals with Loki and trying his best to keep his older brother comfortable and entertained. He made sure that the elder prince took the potion doses when the healers brought them, and assisted in changing his bandages when needed. Loki's fever burned steadily even with the regular administrations of potion. "The infection has taken root quite deeply," one of Loki's healers said. Rakel, Thor thought her name was. "It will take time to clear out, as it has spread so far." The dark prince often had difficulty moving around, and was clearly in a constant amount of pain even with the potions given to dull it. He kept mostly to his bed unless it was to use the washroom, though Thor frequently tried to coax him out on the balcony to get some sun.

Frigga stopped by often, nearly every hour to at least look in on Loki, even if he was still asleep. Odin also visited a time or two, outside of the family meals in Loki's room that Frigga insisted on.

It worried Thor that Loki did nothing but eat when prompted and sleep. He rarely stayed awake long enough for Thor to finish reading him a single chapter of the potions book he was trying to work through. It was maddeningly difficult to read, but he thought he saw Loki's lips twitch a time or two when he botched a pronunciation particularly badly, so Thor didn't truly mind the effort. His healers assured Thor that he simply needed rest, but privately Thor believed they were just as worried as he was. The three of them alternated who brought his doses of potion—Rakel in the morning, Kajsa at midday, and Sigyn in the evening. All three were quite frosty to Thor, though they seemed to make more of an effort to be polite when Loki was awake. When he slumbered, Rakel was scathing, Kajsa was silently disproving with the occasional sharp comment, and Sigyn all but vibrated with fury. The thunderer couldn't find any reason to object, and so bore their scorn in silence.

Loki was currently awake, staring at a book in his lap without reading it. He looked on the verge of sleep, eyes glazed and half shut. Every now and again, he was rocked by a minute tremor.

"Loki?" Thor called, standing up from the armchair he had been sitting in, watching out the window. "Are you alright?"

Loki blinked several times. His expression cleared, and the smile he turned on Thor was both loving and empty. "Well enough. You should go outside. When was the last time you saw the sun?"

Thor ducked his head, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Even still, Loki looked out for him, worried for him. The concern burned, and a small part of Thor relished it as deserved. "I have told you, I would rather be here."

"Just for an hour or two?" Loki coaxed. "Go get some fresh air. Surely you want to see your friends? Or go to the training yards?"

He did. And he hated it. Every time he wished for the outdoors, for the satisfying sensation of slamming his fist into an opponent's face, the guilt it caused felt like a stab would in the gut. Thor couldn't. He couldn't leave Loki. He couldn't abandon him, not like he'd done so many times before. "No."

"Brother," Loki changed tactics, this time sounding weary. "Please. I would wish an hour to myself. Not long."

Guilt surged back up Thor's throat, heavy on his tongue like the press of bile. Of course Loki would want to be alone—he had always loved his solitude—and Thor had been denying him that. (Or maybe he just doesn't want you)

"Alright," Thor said quickly. He crossed to the bed and gave Loki a quick, impulsive hug. "I will... I will be back. In an hour." He left, guilt snapping at his heels. An ever-present ball and chain, a shackle he did not deserve to be freed from.

Alone in his room, Loki slumped against the pillows with a sigh. He shut the book he had been pretending to read and put it aside, even as the action of reaching to place it on the bedside table pulled at his wounds. He felt several scabs crack open and winced at the blood welling up—it would a good thing he had the bandages, or that would stain the linens. Closing his eyes with a sigh, Loki folded his hands in his lap. 

Thor had left, at long last. Loki had almost thought he wouldn't agree to it, but it seemed giving Thor an excuse to depart without infringing on his latent sense of duty was all he had to do. He should have known Thor would hold so fastly to his honor. Part of him wanted Thor to return, had wanted to call out as Thor turned his back to leave the room. But it was better to arrange for Thor to leave, rather than wait for him to get bored with his duty and let resentment begin to fester. Loki would rather be forgotten than hated.

There was even a possibility that Thor would return a time or two before he completely forgot Loki. The thought was both sweet and poisonous. A sad smile he couldn't help curled Loki's lips. He didn't understand why Thor didn't hate him, though eventually he realized that half-Aesir must have been ruled as Aesir enough to cancel out the Frost Giant taint.

Frigga would likely keep visiting, and forcing those stilted family dinners. Loki amended his prediction—Thor wouldn't come to visit him on his own, those little meetings would be enough to assuage any residual familial feelings. Eventually, he would heal. And then... it would be back to normal. The thought was so exhausting Loki nearly drifted off right then and there. To combat the sudden rush of drowsiness, he forced his eyes open and stared blearily at nothing. His head ached. Loki closed his eyes again. Why was he trying to stay awake? He didn't know. With a soft sigh, Loki lost himself to sleep once again.

Outside of Loki's rooms, Thor stared at the wall. He didn't know what to do. As soon as he left, everything felt... wrong, out of place. Like trying to slot a puzzle piece where it didn't belong, Thor looked at the golden halls of Asgard and his home for over a thousand years felt as alien to him as Jotunheim had when he'd first set foot upon it. The instinct to run back to Loki rose up again. Thor forced himself to step forward, almost in a sprint, to keep him from running back in to disturb his older brother. As much as it made his heart hurt, as uneasy as every step made him, Thor left. Every step he took away from Loki only made his fears grow louder. The last time he'd left Loki alone, when he had been banished... Thor couldn't suppress a shudder. And when he returned...

Thor stopped dead. The urge to sprint back to Loki's room battled with the need to go, and Thor stood frozen in place, every line of him thrumming with tension. Loki had fallen into the Void, no, he'd all but jumped. And now he was alone. The perfect time to try again. Thor was shaking. (If you go back now, he'll hate you.)

(If you go back now, he'll be alive.)

That decided it. Thor spun on his heel—and ran. He burst into Loki's bedroom, only to stop and breathe a sigh of relief when he saw Loki still in his bed, fallen asleep. Thor shut the door behind him and walked to Loki's bedside as quietly as he could. Looking on his older brother when he slumbered made Thor's heart hurt, now. He looked so frail, with the knife-blades that were his cheekbones and the hollows under his eyes, the pallor to his skin made all the more dramatic by raven-wing curls Loki hadn't been bothering to tame, and the soft dusting of rose brushed across his cheeks that belied the fever that yet burned. Thor swallowed, reaching out to touch Loki's hair but stopping just shy of contact. He should go.

He stayed.

In the armchair by Loki's bed, Thor sat in the silence and watched the subtle rise and fall of Loki's chest, memorized every line and plane of his face as if he could keep Loki safe simply by burning the image of his rest into his eyes. How Thor wished that could be true. The aching knot that never seemed to leave his chest only grew larger, until it took up all the space in his chest and he could barely breathe. Tears welled in his eyes, driven by a feeling that Thor couldn't fathom, and he tried to blink them away, but one still escaped. He inhaled to hide the little gasp that slipped out as he wiped the tear away. Another fell.

Thor continued to watch Loki sleep, counting the time in half-hidden gasps and lost tears, dripping single file, always replaced by a fellow just as he swiped one away. Some part of Thor was still surprised every time he shed a tear. How did he have any left? It felt as though he'd cried all of Asgard's oceans, twice, and yet somehow he still had sorrows left to shed.

Everyone always said that tears were weak. Not Mother or Father, but everyone else. Boys were scolded for crying in training, for crying if they were hurt or lost a match. Very young boys were excused, but they quickly learned the rule all the same. Thor was always awed by Loki. Sometimes on the training ground, tears would build, but they never fell from his eyes. But Thor? Sometimes he lost a second battle after a lost sparring match, and dissolved into tears. There wasn't much jeering—he was a prince, after all—but there was always some, and it stung worse than a blade ever could.

After one particularly terrible day, Loki took Thor aside, let him cry into the older prince's chest, and then wiped away his tears. "It's okay to cry," Loki had soothed him when his face started to blotch red from shame. "You feel quite sad in here, aye?" Loki tapped a finger one Thor's chest, above his heart. "How are you to stop feeling sad if you don't let it out? If you stay quiet, the sadness stays inside. Just as you yell when you're angry, when you're sad the feeling must have somewhere to go." Loki wiped yet another tear away with a little smile. "Crying means you're letting go of sadness, brother. It's alright."

The next day, Loki had cried during training. Unbeknownst to all the mockers, Thor had been bursting with gratitude and pride. Thor's tears were quickly forgotten, and Loki endured the epithet of 'cry-baby' up until he left the training rings altogether. He'd forgotten. That, Thor realized, was the only time he'd ever seen Loki cry.

"Is that what happened?" he asked, hushed. "Did you keep it all inside, so long that when your feelings escaped, it was not a trickle but a geyser?" When he whispered the words, it felt like truth. 'Stone-faced,' they had called him. 'Stone-hearted,' even. 'Stoic' when being kind. Thor remembered Loki's journals—he felt deeply, and so much, but he never expressed it. All those half-smiles that never lit his eyes, all the 'I am well' and 'nothing's that Thor had taken at face value. Hindsight was still painful, even when Loki was not dead.

"I won't let you close up again," Thor promised in a low voice. "I won't let you explode, or fracture under the pressure." He lapsed back into silence.

Some minutes later, Loki made a noise.

Thor sat up straight. "Loki?" he asked in a half-whisper. "Are you awake?" Loki probably shouldn't dsicover him having disregarded his request, Thor realized with a sinking feeling. He rose to flee—and then Loki whimpered.

Thor paused, and Loki whimpered again, following it with a soft, "no." He shuddered, once, and then curled in on himself. "No. No!"

"Loki!" Thor grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him in a panic, trying to pull him away from the nightmare that was clearly beginning. "Loki, brother, wake up!"

Loki came awake with a cross between a keen and a screech on his lips, frantically trying to battle Thor away. Thor let go of his older brother and stepped back—but not before getting a knife driven into his shoulder. "Stop it, stop it, get away!"Loki shrieked, tears starting to streak down his face.

"Loki!" Thor almost yelled. "Brother! You are safe!"

The struggles ceased. "Thor?" Loki said. His eyes were still closed, and he shook slightly. Trepidation clear on his features, Loki opened them to look around the room. His breathing stayed light and fast as he slowly returned to himself. One hand came to rest on his throat and dragged slowly downward, probing as if searching for a wound. The other pulled up a fistful of the now terrible disordered blankets and rubbed a bit of the material between thumb and forefinger. All at once, most of the tension released from Loki's shoulders and he sat back again. "It was just a dream," he murmured as if trying to convince himself, looking so profoundly relieved it hurt even worse than the dagger currently embedded in Thor's shoulder. Apparently Loki was good with a blade even while half asleep—he'd managed to utterly immobilize Thor's left arm with a single stab, disrupting the joint so the limb hung useless at his side.

Loki's forehead creased. "Wait, Thor?" He sat up again, scanning the room for his younger brother—and froze when he saw him.

"It's alright," Thor tried to placate, halfway done with easing the dagger out of his arm, but Loki was already throwing back the covers as best he could manage and scrambling out of bed to hurry to Thor's side.

"I'm so sorry," Loki gasped, distraught. His open distress was more emotion than Thor had seen from him in centuries.  "Here, let me." With a touch, the pain faded, and Loki removed the blade from his shoulder only to press a hand over the scarlet-weeping wound, sealing it up. "I'm so sorry," he said again, inspecting the cut.

"It's okay," Thor said, pulling away. "Save your healing for yourself." He knew Loki couldn't have much seidr to spare—the fact that his wounds still persisted spoke to his incredibly depleted reserves. "You sealed it up, that's enough. It will be well by the morrow."

Shaking his head, clearly still upset, Loki tried to reach for him again. "No, it was my fault, let me finish—"

"Brother," Thor said over him. "I'm fine. You should return to bed." Indeed, the older prince was starting to sway on his feet, and his eyes were looking glazed. Even the small spells he'd done had clearly exerted him. Thor put an arm around his shoulders and all but carried his dazed elder brother back to bed, getting him settled under the covers. "You probably broke open your wounds," Thor said when he returned from the washroom with a cool towel for Loki's brow. "Would you like me to call a healer?"

"You should see a healer yourself," Loki rebutted. "I am well enough."

Well enough. Thor hated those words. Well enough didn't mean alright, it didn't mean anything nearing alright. "I'll see a healer if you do also," Thor said firmly.

Loki closed his eyes. "As you wish, then." Thor stood to call one.

Sigyn arrived within minutes, flying directly over to Loki and bullying him out of his shirt to reveal the bandages, which were already beginning to stain red. "You need to be more careful," she scolded as she unwound them. "You'll never heal at this rate!"

"You should see to Thor," Loki said softly. His eyes were shut as he allowed her to manhandle him, his expression exhausted. "I... stabbed him. On accident. See to him first."

Sigyn pursed her lips, and Thor could almost see the word on her tongue—good. She sighed instead. "I'm already halfway through getting these bandages off of you, my prince. Let me finish first." Loki still continued to protest in a sleepy voice as she saw to him. Thor winced when the last of the bandages were finally torn away. Half of his wounds were bleeding again, and every last bit of skin that wasn't an open would was an angry, inflamed red that denoted the infection still razing his body. Her eyes were clearly conflicted as she turned to Thor.

"Look after him," Thor said in a low voice. "I am fine."

Narrowing her eyes, Sigyn hissed back, "would that I could, but it'll only upset him worse and he doesn't need that." She raised the volume of her voice. "Now show me where you're hurt." Thor offered her his shoulder and she inspected it quickly, repeating Thor's verdict—"there's no need for any bandages or potions, it'll be fine by the morrow." That over with, she turned back to Loki.

Thor tried very hard not to seem like he was hovering as he watched Sigyn's inspection, scolding Loki in a harsh voice yet inspecting him with gentle hands. She rubbed some sort of poultice into a few of the worst looking wounds before wrapping him up in fresh bandages. "I'll have some potions brought for him," she told Thor when she stood, brushing off her skirt. "Send for a healer if he has any need, otherwise keep him quiet." Thor nodded and watched her go.

As soon as Sigyn had gone, Thor turned to his older brother. "I'm sorry," Loki said weakly. He opened his eyes and gave Thor a rueful smile.

"You have nothing to be sorry for—you did nothing wrong. I should have been more careful," Thor insisted. With Sigyn now gone, he was able to sit on the edge of the bed without feeling like it was an intrusion, and did so. He took the damp cloth from Loki's forehead long enough to press it to each side of his face, and checked his temperature with the back of his other hand. "Your fever's risen," Thor said. "I believe it was the exertion, and the nightmare. You should sleep, brother. I will wake you when the potions are delivered."

Loki hummed, and shut his eyes again. Once more Thor was left to watch him sleep in silence.

It was another two days before Loki asked Thor to leave. Thor did so with a weary and anxious heart, this time making his way directly for the training grounds. He needed to distract himself or he would go mad with worry. He chose to forgo Mjolnir for hand to hand combat—he wasn't in the mood to pull his strength as he had to with the hammer, even against other Aesir. "You," Thor yelled, pointing to the burliest man in the yard—even larger than Thor himself. "Spar with me. No weapons." Thor unhooked his war-hammer and let it fall from his belt in a visible challenge.

"Of course, my prince," the man said, setting down his sword. Thor led him to one of the sparring rings, taking up a position on one side while the warrior settled into a fighting stance on the opposite. As always when Thor sparred, a crowd began to gather. Thor even saw a few of the gathered duck away, presumably to find others and bring then to watch. Thor rolled his neck and shifted his shoulders, deepened his breathing until there was nothing but him and his opponent.

"Your name?" Thor called, grinding one heel into the dirt to steady himself.

"Dag Knutson, your highness," the man replied.

"Well then, Dag, son of Knut," Thor felt a nasty smile crawl across his face, and let it. For the first time since Loki's fall—since that day on Jotunheim—he let go of the reigns on his bloodlust. "We fight!"

The gathered crowd roared, but it was all background noise, the same as his breathing or his heartbeat in his ears. Thor lunged forward, going for an uppercut to the chin, but the warrior dodged it. When he tried to follow it with a fist to the face, the man caught it, and slammed his own fist into Thor's side. With an angry roar, Thor headbutted him and kneed him at the same time to shake lose his grip. He backed off, and they circled each other for a moment, until Dag surged in, making the first move himself that time. Thor met him head on, bodies crashing together, arms and hands grappling and shoving. Thor got an arm around his neck—Dag ducked out of his grip. Dag drove him toward the ground—Thor smashed his fist into the warrior's gut and spun away.

He couldn't overpower him, Thor realized as they circled each other again. The man he faced was stronger. The only way for Thor to win was to think smarter. He flicked his eyes up and down the other Aesir's figure, searching for a weakness. Thor wouldn't be able to pin him without tiring him out first, though he could get him on the ground by knocking out his legs. He would have to bide his time then. After a few feints, the golden prince finally dove in, parried a blow, and swung to the side just in time to avoid another. Dag went for another punch, and Thor used that motion to increase the impact of the fist he slammed into his opponent's face. While Dag was still reeling, Thor yanked him down by one arm and kneed him in the face—but Dag recovered well enough to grab him by the foot and throw him halfway across the ring.

Rolling across the ground to avoid a kick to the gut, Thor sprung back to his feet and they resumed circling. The bruises beginning to form on the other warrior's face made his vicious smile grow. Dag growled in challenge and lunged. Easy as breathing, Thor sidestepped the attack and socked him in the back as he ran past, driving him into the dirt, his chin hitting the ground and slamming his teeth together with a sharp crack. The impact sent a puff of dirt billowing upward, disorienting Dag further. Thor hauled him up by the shoulder and let him fall again, to the same effect. "Do you yield?" the thunderer asked, driving a knee into the center of his back to keep him pinned.

Underneath him, Dag sagged in defeat—and then surged up with a roar, throwing Thor off of him. Within moments, Thor himself was pinned on the ground under an increasing hail of blows he couldn't block, as his arms were pinned. When Thor tried to throw him off with his legs, the warrior hardly shifted. The same double-legged kick had no effect again. A frustrated half-growl half pained-groan escaped as another fist caught his face. He couldn't overpower him, Thor reminded himself harshly. So he switched tactics. The next kick was not to the stomach, but the groin.

As Thor had expected, Dag surged backward to grab at him unmentionables with an indignant howl of pain. Tackling him to the ground, Thor wrapped one arm around his neck and trapped him with a foot to the back before he could get him arms out from under him. "Yield," Thor said again.

"I yield," the man gasped out. Thor jumped back and offered a hand to pull him up.

"Clever move, your highness," Dag commented, face fixed in a slight wince. "You beat me soundly."

Thor laughed with the satisfaction of a berserker in the midst of a slaughter. "That I did." He spun on his heel and stalked away. While itching for another fight, Thor instead made his way back to Loki's rooms. The exhilarated thumping of his heart eased back to normal rhythm as he walked, rehashing the fight in his head as the adrenaline rush died, leaving only fears behind. Without meaning to, Thor picked up his pace. Even as he worried for Loki, a small smile played on his lips. Defeat of an enemy, whether in the sparring rings or on the battlefield, was always satisfying. He half-closed his eyes to remember how he defeated the other warrior—and then frowned. The move he'd used. It wasn't honorable. And yet no one had been angry with him. Thor went over the fight again with new eyes. He'd fought not like himself.

He'd fought more like Loki.

The realization almost stopped him in his tracks. Thor stumbled and barely caught himself, continuing to walk, but slower as he thought. Loki. He'd fought like Loki. Dishonorable. Except none had said so. And he had to, he couldn't win any other way.

Loki couldn't win any other way, either. He didn't have the brute strength of the average Aesir. He had no choice but to fight the way he did and be ridiculed for it, or fight the Aesir way and lose without fail. There was no other way. And there was no way to change it. Thor stopped dead in the middle of the halls, mind whirling too fast and feet halting in compensation. In battle, Loki had no choice if he wanted to live. Yet what he did would not be seen as honorable, even as Thor was readily accepted for doing the same. Loki could not change the way he fought—and so the derision would not stop. The ridicule and loneliness that had driven him to fall would not stop.

Thor shook his head, taking a stumbling step backwards. He'd heard the people he thought were his friends. He'd seen the reaction of the court. He'd read Loki's journals. And yet somehow he didn't realize—nothing would change. Just because Thor had changed didn't mean the rest of Asgard had, or at least the nobility. Could it change? Thor didn't know. But even if it did, even if Thor led the people to change their minds... it would take much time. Centuries. Likely not until after he was king. And Loki... sweet, silent Loki would endure it until he broke, and Thor might not get him back again.

And he couldn't let that happen. Loki had protected him for so long. It was his turn. Somehow, he had to save Loki. Before life returned to the same patterns and swallowed his brother whole.

Thor resumed walking, still thinking as he went. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't change the minds of Asgard's nobility. And that meant... Loki couldn't stay. Eyes watering at the realization, Thor pushed away his grief. He would do what was best for Loki. Even if that meant letting him go. Could he live among the common people of Asgard, those who loved him? Shaking his head, Thor dismissed the possibility. Even if it were allowed, he would still be expected to return to the palace for state functions and dinners and duties. Loki would have to leave Asgard entirely.

Thor still hadn't come to a decision by the time he reached Loki's rooms. When he entered, Loki was (surprisingly) at least mostly awake and sitting up in bed, reading a book. "Thor?" he looked up from his book. Surprise flashed over his face, but was quickly hidden. "You've returned early."

"Has it not been an hour?" Thor asked. He meant it to sound as a jest, but he didn't truly know—he'd lost track of time when in thought.

"Aye, it has," Loki said cautiously. He shut his book and set it aside. "Is there anything you need?"

Thor shook his head. "Nay, there is nothing." Questions hung at the tip of his tongue, but he didn't know what to ask or how to ask it. "What were you reading?" he asked instead, making his way over to sit at Loki's bedside.

"This?" Loki gestured toward the book. "Oh, nothing that would interest you. I picked it up from Midgard some decades ago."

"Really?" Thor asked. "From Midgard?"

Loki nodded. "Mortals are quite creative. This is one of their most lauded tales." He paused. "They do not tell tales like Asgard. Their sagas are written, rather than verbal, and often fictional in nature."

"Different, yet valuable all the same," Thor said quietly. He traced the lettering on the cover of the book, but All-speak did not translate it—it was not so adept at interpreting written word.

Humming noncommittally, Loki pushed the book a little further out of Thor's reach. "I think I will rest now."

Thor smiled at him. "Sleep well, brother."

"My thanks," Loki said, leaning back and closing his eyes. Thor waited until he slept to spring up—Loki's words had given him an idea. As he left to consult his father, a huge grin spread across his face.

When Thor announced they were leaving for Midgard, Loki was quite glad he wasn't drinking anything at the time or he would have sprayed his beverage most indecently. As it was, he was quite startled. "What do you mean?" he managed in a thin voice after a short, stunned silence where he turned Thor's words over in his mind, trying to make them make sense.

"We are leaving for Midgard, next week." Thor looked more nervous, that time. "Unless... you do not wish it?" He paused, seeming uncertain in a way Loki had never seen before... before, but had become quite common since his return. "I... I know that, that I have not been kind to you, nor has Asgard. You have been stuck in the shadows so long, and I do not wish that for you. I do not wish you to be alone and unappreciated until you cannot take it once more. But... I thought perhaps on Midgard you may find healing, and companions. I have spoken with the Avengers, and they have agreed to let us stay. If you want it."

Loki gaped. He shook his head, and continued to stare. "This is the truth?" he asked incredulously. "Midgard?" Something else registered, then. "Us?"

Thor seemed nervous once more. "If you wish me to come. I can stay, if you do not—"

"No, it is not that," Loki interrupted. He hesitated, and then threw caution to the wind and decided to say what he was truly thinking, for once. "You would do this? For me?"

"Of course," Thor said staunchly. "Always."

"And we are... leaving. Asgard," Loki felt the need to clarify. Thor's proposal didn't seem real, almost. The possibility of leaving the suffocation of Asgard behind... somewhere deep inside, his heart sang. "And this was your idea?"

"It was," Thor confirmed, beaming at him. "Is it... would you want to go to Midgard?"

Loki's reply was fervent. "Yes, oh Norns, yes. Thor," he stoped, voice wavering. "Thank you." He drew in a deep breath. It was a risk, but he was high on hope. "I love you, brother."

"And I love you too," was Thor's instant response. "Until the end of the realms and beyond, I love you."

Funny. Loki thought he might be crying.

The day they left Asgard was surreal, almost as surreal as the thought of leaving in the first place. Loki looked from face to face of those gathered in the observatory to see them off. His... supposed parents, Eir, Rakel, Kajsa, Sigyn, and, unfortunately, Thor's friends, who had insisted on seeing Thor away and no one had refused them. To Loki's surprise, Frigga made the first move to say goodbye—by flying toward him and wrapping him in a hug. "Be well, my son," she whispered into his ear as she squeezed him, pressing a kiss to the side of his head when he leaned down for her to speak. "And send letters often." Loki blinked at her, thoughtfully startled when she pulled back. She simply smiled at him, and then turned to Thor, hugging him also. She told him something privately, and then said, louder, "and take care of your brother for me, dear."

"I will," Thor vowed, once again slinging his arm around Loki's shoulders to help bear his weight—he was still somewhat unsteady on his feet. The healers approached next, as a group.

"Take care of him indeed," Eir said sharply. "Take the potion doses as instructed, and come back to see us if you get worse. No exceptions, child. Someone will come down to look at you once a week, and I expect you to cooperate or they will have strict orders to bring you back for a proper examination."

Loki smiled at her, even though her words were harsh. He'd spent enough time apprenticed under Eir while getting his certification to heal to know that her words, while snappish, were quite kindly meant in truth. "I will," he promised.

"As will I," Thor echoed.

Rakel and Kajsa stepped forward to ambush him simultaneously. "Be careful," Rakel said, giving him a hug while Kajsa kissed his cheek. They traded off for the other to do the same.

"We love you," Kajsa said softly into his ear before she pulled back, for him alone. Loki almost glowed at that—he knew quite well that she, like him, wasn't one for easily expressing affection, and the words meant quite a bit coming from her. Sigyn stepped up in her wake. Out of the corner of his eye, Loki noticed Thor speaking with his friends, and looking quite stiff in demeanor as he did so.

"As Rakel said. Be careful." She kissed his cheek as well, but it lingered. "I'll see you soon," Sigyn breathed against his skin. Loki blinked heavily as she stepped back, giving him a small smile. The healers left, as did Thor's shield brethren. Leaving alone the House of Odin. And Heimdall, of course, but he hardly counted. The man kept his own council quite well.

"My sons," Odin said. "Take care of each other. Be well on Midgard. I hope you may return soon, but, barring need, you may stay as long as you wish. Know that your mother and I will miss you both." Loki was beyond surprised when he stepped forward to give him a hug—short and soft, hardly a squeeze, but still there. "I have failed you, my son," he said in a soft voice, with an emotion Loki had never heard from him before. "I hope Midgard will help you heal." After he pulled back, each brother was given another hug from Frigga, and then they turned towards the Bifrost. "Heimdall," Odin said.

Loki hardly heard him. His mind whirled. Could it be that they cared for him in truth, and not just to save face? He didn't know. Part of him didn't think it could be possible. And yet, even though it was beyond foolish, he allowed himself to hope. After all, he'd already let himself give in to hope towards a brotherhood with Thor and a better life on Midgard. What was a little more? He was frightened, and exhilarated, and weary, and anticipatory. In front of him, the Bifrost activated. It was time to go. Perhaps life would be worse.

Perhaps it would be better. Perhaps these 'Avengers,' as Thor had said they began calling themselves, would truly accept him. Perhaps Midgard would allow him, even after everything he had done.

"Are you ready, brother?" Thor asked beside him. He squeezed Loki's shoulder with the arm he had slung around him. "It is not too late for you to change your mind."

"I am ready," Loki said firmly. And to his utter surprise, he was.