A/N: After my mother died, I had several dreams that I knew damn well were dreams while I was having them—in my dreams she was still alive, and each time I would cry and hug her and tell her I wished she wasn't dead. This was inspired in part by that, though obviously the situation here is somewhat different.

The coals glowed orange and red in the bed of ash in Thor's fireplace as he awoke to the somehow uneasy quiet of his chambers. The deep purply blackness of the sky outside his window was broken by a thousand shining points of light. Thor wondered what had woken him at such a late hour. A muffled popping sound came from the fireplace as one ruddy coal burst into a shower of sparks, and then the soft sound of an intake of breath brought Thor's attention suddenly and sharply to the figure who now, inexplicably, stood at the end of his bed.

"Loki?" Thor's initial wariness melted in an instant, replaced with a confusing tangle of aching sadness, desperate affection, and crippled hope. He pushed a slightly shaky hand through his long blond hair. "I'm dreaming." He had, of course, had similar dreams of their mother, where she smiled and stroked his hair like she had when he was little, ever uncomprehending of his grief.

Loki smiled apologetically, casting his eyes down momentarily. "And I'm cold."

"I suppose you would be; I'm sorry." Thor moved toward him, seeing now in the pale light that Loki's lips were tinged blue. Thor frowned, for Loki's hands were blue as well, as though frozen. Kneeling at the edge of his bed, Thor reached out for one of his brother's hands but stopped before touching him. "Does it hurt? Are you in pain?"

Tears glistened in Loki's eyes as he hissed a breath in through his teeth, nodding.

"I want you to know," Thor said, his voice solemn, "that I am very proud of you, of what you did for me. And in some ways I think you've been a better brother to me than I ever was to you. Perhaps if I had been a better brother, the brother you needed, instead of always being so wrapped up in myself…" Thor ran a hand over his face, making a helpless sound in his throat. "I'm just trying to say, 'I'm sorry.' No matter how angry I ever was with you—no matter what you may have done or said, it never changed the fact that you are my brother; you always were and you always will be."

Loki's eyes sparkled with amusement and affection, but his smile looked a little more like a grimace this time. "This is all very...affirming, and I do appreciate it, truly. It's just that right now I am so very cold, and I was hoping—it may be you could help me."

A small frown wrinkled Thor's brow and he felt his heart speeding up in his chest. There was no doubt this was a dream, but he couldn't refuse help to his brother, dreaming or awake. "The fire," he said, taking Loki by the arm, climbing off the bed and attempting to guide him closer to the hearth, noticing in some quiet corner of his mind how very real and solid Loki felt under his hand—though cold, yes, through the fabric of his sleeve. "I'll stoke it and add more wood."

"I've already tried the fire," Loki said, irritation hardening his voice. He stood still where he was, refusing to be guided towards the fireplace. "I could likely plunge my entire hand into the very heart of the hottest of the Forges of Nidavellir and still have no effect."

Thor sat heavily on the edge of his bed, looking up at the pale phantom looming over him. "What can I do, then, Brother?"

"Could you—" Loki sounded somewhat unsure. "Could you take my hand?"

"Of course." Without hesitation, Thor engulfed Loki's slender left hand in both of his larger ones. It felt like ice, but unsettlingly stranger than ice, more wrong than ice had ever felt.

Loki gasped and flinched slightly, closing his eyes, but didn't pull away. In his hands, Thor felt Loki's flesh rapidly warming. Looking at it in the dim light he could see the blue bleeding away, leaving Loki's usual skin tone in its place. "Does that—does that hurt?"

"It's helping," Loki said, his breaths slow and deliberate. "It's helping."

When Loki's left hand looked and felt 'normal', Thor dropped it in favour of his right one. Remembering his courtesy, Thor said, "Won't you sit?"

"Of course," Loki said, positioning himself next to Thor on the bed. He sighed, relaxing as the cold fled from his right hand as well. "Thank you."

"I—" Thor began, then stopped. He wasn't even sure what he had done to deserve thanks from his brother. He wished he could hold on to him forever, somehow keep this dream from ever ending. "How long can you stay?"

Looking at his brother, Loki opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again with a sigh. He looked away, shaking his head. After a moment, he said, "I'd like to come see you sometimes, if that's all right."

Thor shook his head slightly, squeezing Loki's hand. "Of course it's all right. I'll always want to see you. Could you—could you stay a while, now? I could help keep you warm."

Loki smiled, soft and a little hesitant. "I think I'd like that."

When Thor woke in the morning, he was alone. It's what he'd expected, of course, but it still felt like a fragment of ice lodged in his heart.