The energy generated by the Tesseract feels good. That's the first thought that crosses Thor's mind as he feels the powerful pull towards home. It only takes a few seconds for the cube to transport itself and its cargo across all the endless sprawl of space, but somewhere between Midgard and Asgard, Loki vanishes.
No. That's not quite right. He doesn't simply disappear; Thor feels a sudden jerk that tugs him momentarily off course. Were it not for the sheer, unadulterated power of the Tesseract snapping him back on to his planned trajectory, he would be shooting without direction into an unfamiliar field of stars off in the incomprehensible distance. A heartbeat later, his feet are on solid ground in Asgard and he is alone. It doesn't take him long to realise that whatever bumped him off course also snatched Loki away. Thor can only guess at the mysterious force's purpose.
Was it planned? Does the trickster mean to hide somewhere unreachable, lick his wounds and come back stronger, or is there something more sinister at work here? It seems that all the infinite power of the universe conspires to keep Loki from coming home.
Thor curses softly and hastens to find his father.
—
He finds Odin on his throne, flanked by trusted guards waiting to receive the Tesseract and store it safely. His voice is marked and made heavy by exhaustion as he addresses his eldest son; he knows something is amiss, and Thor judges from his expression that the news is not good. He hands over the cube with a barely spoken word of acknowledgement, and goes to his father's side.
"Thor. My son. What happened?" Odin asks. Thor knows he has no interest in what happened on Earth; he wants to know how it is that Loki has evaded justice.
"There was a… pulling," Thor replies, struggling to articulate the sensation he had felt on his brief journey home. "Where is he?"
Odin sighs and is silent for a long time.
"I cannot see him."
The knowledge hits him like a punch. As a child Loki was forever trying to disappear from their father's sight as if to avoid punishment for the mischief he so delighted in creating, but there has only ever been one time when Loki was truly hidden: after falling away in a flood of Bifrost energy, carried off so fast and far that not even the All-Father could know his location, nor his fate.
Thor bows his head.
"I… am very tired," he says at length. It's true; his wounds have sapped his strength and this new turn of events has only served to drain him further. He is utterly spent.
"Go," Odin dismisses. Father and son would both be alone in their grief. "We will talk further when you are recovered."
—
The walk to his quarters is much further than he remembers. It seems to take a very long time, and each step feels heavier than the last. He knows he ought to find the friends who have eagerly awaited his return, but he doesn't want to see them—nor anyone else, for that matter. All he wants is to sleep away the hurt, to lie in darkness and forget about all this mess.
It is bad form to ignore one's problems, he knows that too, but when he finally reaches his bed and collapses into its soft embrace sleep finds him within seconds, and what he knows doesn't matter any more. For the first time in months, he falls into a slumber so deep that no dreams disturb him, not the good dreams of better times nor the dreams where Loki is dead, where Thor screams until his throat is raw and awakens with tears drying on his face.
This time, when he awakens, it has been two days and for just a second everything feels normal and good again. The weight of all that's happened settles on him slowly, though, and everything hurts again by the time he has risen and bathed. He's sick of these people and this place, and all he wants is for someone to bring his little brother back, to mend his broken mind.
A long sigh rushes out of Thor, and he sits on the edge of his bed heavily. For a long while all he does is stare at the floor with his head in his hands, letting his thoughts wander. They never wander far; everything comes back to Loki, the colour of his eyes, the softness of his hair, the warmth of his skin… his smell, his taste, the way he's helpless to stop the colour from rushing into his face whenever Thor touches him just so… and all of this turned to ash and memories in the space of a scant few months.
If he could retreat into those memories and stay there, safe and warm, he would.
He stands and crosses the threshold, intending to visit his father, but when he reaches the door he stops and turns back. On a shelf above his bed, a pendant glitters in the warm light. A gift, one he hasn't worn since before his banishment. Just touching it brings back a warm flood of bittersweet memories. Loki made it, years ago, vying for attention after Thor received Mjölnir—a birthday present and show of fealty from the dwarves. Thor smiles, even as he feels sadness swell in his heart, at the memory of how taken with the blacksmith he had been in the weeks that followed. During that time Loki had acted out worse than ever, and finally, after an untold number of increasingly cruel pranks against members of the court, he had confronted Thor, close to tears, with the necklace clutched in his white fist.
"You're obsessed, Thor," he said softly, with the ghost of a sad smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. He had never been handsome as a child, or strong, but as he neared adulthood he had grown into features that had made him seem gaunt and sickly throughout youth. At sixteen, he was attractive in a sinewy sort of way, like something predatory.
It was his face that made him beautiful in Thor's eyes, the sharp contours, the sweeping arch of lips designed for smirking, those wide, beseeching eyes. In the light of the torches in Thor's quarters, shadows flickered and melted across his pale face; light glistened in the tears gathering in his lashes.
"I'm not—" Thor began, but Loki cut him off with a humourless laugh.
"Well you don't have time for me anymore, regardless of whether or not you're obsessed—which you absolutely are," he replied, chewing on his bottom lip in that way he always did when he was trying not to cry. "It's always you and Sindri now."
Thor frowned, intending to argue, but seeing his brother's chin dimple as the tears came ever closer made him reconsider. He stood in awkward silence instead, and then took a step forward, meaning to hold his brother and kiss away those tears before they fell. Loki stepped back, though, and swatted angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Loki… don't be like that."
The look Loki shot him then was poison, even behind a sheen of tears. He thrust his fist at Thor's face and made him recoil, raising a hand in defence, but then the older boy saw the pale glint of silver in the firelight.
"I made this for you," Loki spat. "It's not as good as your stupid hammer, but when you wear it—" he faltered, and Thor reached out a tentative hand to take the necklace, and to give his little brother time to find his voice again. "When you wear it you'll always know what I'm feeling."
He stormed off then, leaving Thor to stare after him with the delicate length of slender silver chain in his hand, palm curled around the roughly shaped bead of blue tourmaline at its end and a nagging guilt working into his heart.
A great sadness settles on Thor as he stands watching morning rise over Asgard, still holding on to the necklace. It's been years since last he wore it, but he slips it on over his head now, not expecting to feel anything but still a little disappointed when the negligible weight settles around his neck and all he feels is a slight chill where the cold metal touches his bare skin. He tucks it under his armour anyway, and steels himself for the inevitable meeting with the All-Father.
He suspects he knows what's going to happen. It's been two days and nobody has come to rouse him from his sleep, so there is no news. Dead or alive, his father would have sent someone if Loki had been found. That leaves only one option for Thor, which Odin will present to him in no uncertain terms: move on, try to forget, know that Loki may come back in his own time. Thor already knows in his heart that this is what he must do, but hearing it from somebody else will be another difficult burden to bear.
The walk back to the throne room is lonely, and seems to take a very long time.