'I think he dies.'

Several heads turn abruptly to Thor who still cannot believe himself that he has actually spoken aloud these words.

It's a warm summer day and the shimmering heat creeps through the windows, bringing the room to boil.

But it's cold sweat that stands on Thor's forehead. He is 17 years old and his clasped hands tremble in his lap as he was suffering from arthritis.
His heart is a war drum in his chest and kicks and beats and echoes through his bones.
He feels as Sif wants to put a comforting hand on his arm, but he evades her touch without really realizing it, shakes off like an annoying fly.

His attention is stubbornely focused at the closed door. It seems like hours since Loki disappeared behind it. Loki, with a pale and shaking body, pressed lids and lips, carved into a bluish line. Thor's soul clings to what is happening behind that door and he knows his life will never be glad again if the condition of his little brother does not improve.
When Loki dies, he will die. From the inside out.

"It was not your fault. You could not do anything. Our hands were bound." conjures Sif tirelessly, even when it falls on deaf ears.

Thor takes no notice of her. He had taken no notice of her, if she had smashed his nose for this was a worldly pain compared to this banging uncertainty gnawing craters in the flesh of his mind.

Or maybe, yes, he hears her words.
Sounds like when one hears the whisper of the wind passing by or the sound of rushing water.

And it makes him angry. Terribly angry because she speaks in the past.

As if Loki would be dead already.
As if they were already at the port of Asgard and saw how the ship with the young body and the finely chiseled face sails towards the horizon while the flames rise into the starry night sky.
As if she would look after flimsy excuses that were only a witness of her own fear and regret.

Maybe they really are not to blame for what happened.
After all, none of them had noticed the snake that writhed silently through the undergrowth and hit her fangs in Loki's ankle.
No one guessed that Loki's surprised cry of pain would only be the prelude to a much crueler sequel of dizziness, vomiting, fever and fainting.

It had been an accident. An accident that could have happened any time.

Nevertheless, Thor feels responsible. Because he is a big brother. And big brothers have to protect their little brothers, right?

Also - no, above all! - from such a stupid, deadly armed descendant of Jörmungandr, this cowardly slinking vermin.

He had torn off the snake's head after, but it had not appeased his anger. He had carried Loki in his arms, wrapped him in his cloak and brusquely pushed anyone aside who stood in their way, but he had not found peace.

And now he sits there for an eternity with his friends and forces himself to remain silent even if that succeeds only with difficulty, for the hurricane that tears at his organs makes him light-headed.

However, the weather conditions have changed.

What started as a bright summer day, has turned into a roaring thunderstorm. Lightning flashes in the sky and rain falls in heavy drops out of black clouds. The natural feels what Thor has to hide. It expresses what can not be expressed otherwise.

He swirls so deep in his thoughts that he trembles like a shy deer when the door finally opens and one of the healers enters the room. His face is motionless and without any sign of what has just happened under his supervision. Thor gets up immediately. He looks at the man with a burning question in his eyes. Impatient.

... Afraid.

The healer sighs, then takes a deep and long breath. He looks exhausted.

He begins to speak. Answers the question everyone in attendance wears like a curse on their tongue.

This is the moment in which Thor's ideal world breaks into its component parts.

And then Loki's hoarse voice croaks out of the back of the room with its usual mocking tone and the fragments begin to reassemble. Like a puzzle that has finally found its long lost piece.