Author's Note: This is a memory of Loki's, and he was about nine years old at the time. Thor is about twelve.
This was just a little one-shot I had written, and it's more of a metaphor.
I hope you like it :)
Loki was lying in his bed, shivering, pale as bone, and dying of an Asgardian flu. He was so cold that he couldn't feel his hands, or the blankets wrapped around him.
His vision and hearing were so unfocused that he only knew Thor had entered his room because Loki had magicked it to whisper in his mind when anyone came in.
His older brother came over to Loki's bedside and sat on the edge, the mattress sinking slightly. He grinned as cheerfully as he could manage at his younger brother. "You just need to get warm, Brother!"
Thor picked up Loki's freezing hands in between his and began trying to warm them. "You'll be okay, if you just stayed warm enough."
"You've always been too cold, Loki."
Loki turned his head towards his brother and smiled as cheerfully as Thor had.
"But you'll always be there to keep me warm, won't you?"
Thor nodded determinedly.
"Of course I will, Brother."
They stayed like that the whole night, talking and trying to smile, while Thor tried to save Loki from the cold.
Author's Note: Please let me know what you think about it :)