A/N—Okay, I saw Thor a few days ago and...jumped on the bandwagon. So please be kind to me: it's my literal first forage into this fandom in terms of writing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Thor. None of it. None at all. Which is a shame, as that was some exceptional filming/acting.

Summary: Thor and Loki's tale of brotherhood—from start to finish.

Note on ages: I delved a little bit into some fanfics, and it seems that the most popular age difference is two years. So I'm going to use that one.

P.S. I used Wikipedia...I needed some help. So all info comes from there, and from my crazy little mind.

On with the story! Please read/review!

Odin's Son

"Thor."

Mother's voice was soft as she crept up behind him. He felt her start to pry the miniature hammer from his hands, and he held on to it with all the strength that his chubby two-year-old hands would allow.

"Mother!" he whined in protestation, clinging all the tighter to the toy. "I want it!"

"Later," she whispered, finally peeling his fingers from the handle and easing the hammer from his grasp. "Right now you need to be done playing."

"Why?" Thor pouted, resisting Mother's attempts to pull him to his feet. He dug his little heels into the ground and insisted on sitting back on the floor. "I don't want to be done. I want to play."

"You need to be done, and come to Father." She persisted in pulling, and finally Thor submitted, scrambling to his feet and following her, though he succeeded in snatching up the hammer as he was led from the room.

He slowed as they neared the Throne room, and cried out, "Mother, Father's in there!" as they passed the closed door without even faltering in the rather quick pace Mother had set.

"He's in the nursery," was all she said.

Thor hated that. It meant that he was really in trouble. Which didn't even make sense, as he hadn't done anything wrong.

He hadn't mussed up the bed after the maids had fixed it. He hadn't started a food fight with Volstagg. He hadn't pulled Sif's hair—which had been a sore temptation that morning. He hadn't pitched a temper tantrum, and he hadn't wandered off. He'd actually been pretty good. Everyone had told him so. So why was he in trouble?

"I didn't do anything," he instantly told her, starting to drag his feet again.

"I know."

"So I'm not in trouble?" he asked happily.

"No. We have a surprise for you."

Thor grinned. He loved presents, and the fact that this one wasn't even a birthday present made it all the more fun. He quieted, trying to think about what it could be.

A cloak? Another toy?

A baby doll?

Because that was what Father was holding? A baby doll.

Thor's nose wrinkled, and he moaned, "A doll? I don't want a doll. They're for girls. Not even Sif has a doll—"

Father stooped, and placed the doll in Thor's little arms, still holding it up like it was something fragile, something living, something precious that could be broken with a single wrong move.

Green eyes opened and looked up at him, and the doll—the baby—shifted beneath Thor's fingers, struggling faintly against its wrappings. The baby's thin black hair ruffled softly from Thor and Father's mingled breath.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Thor asked, and his young voice unconsciously mimed the excited tones of the villagers that he'd overheard asking the question to young mothers and fathers.

"A boy," Mother told him. She was smiling now, and Thor couldn't even really be angry that she'd deceived him into thinking that she had a new toy for him.

He looked back down at the baby, who seemed to be almost smiling.

"Can I name him?" he asked eagerly. His parents laughed.

"Yes," Father said. "That's why we brought you here. You ought to be able to at least help name your brother."

Something in Thor's young mind whispered, Mother didn't look like the other women when they were going to have babies, but he quickly forgot it as he returned his attention to his younger brother.

The baby's green eyes sparkled, and it may just have been the light, but somehow Thor didn't think so. It reminded him of how Valstaff and Fandral and Hogun and Sif's eyes would all look when he proposed a naughty game that would cause lots of trouble. Mischief, everyone called it—especially the nurse. Loki, she scoffed as she delivered punishment.

"Loki?" he asked, looking upward at his parents. The baby in his arms shifted again, and cooed.

His parents smiled at each other.

"Loki," Mother whispered, taking the baby from Thor and Father's combined grasp. She held the child close and whispered "Loki..." and her voice trailed away. The last word ended in son, but Thor couldn't make it out.

"Loki Odin-son," Father said happily, and the baby cooed again. Thor held out his arms, and Mother helped him to hold Loki.

"Loki Thor's-brother!" Thor proclaimed, and Father laughed.

"You two will be the best of friends, and the best of brothers," he assured his first-born, and Thor nodded, determined to live up to that.

Loki cooed once more, and suddenly raised a hand and swatted Thor's nose lightly, little fingers trying to grab onto Thor's face.

Thor knew then that it was mischief glittering in Loki's eyes. And he hugged Loki close, slipping the handle of the hammer into Loki's little hand.

"Just wait till Mother gets you a rattle," he said. "No one expects a rattle-attack. They're the best."