Hai! I'm sorry if you're reading this and you've read my other stuff and you're like, why hasn't she been updating? Well I'm on a two-week vacation right now at the beach (WOOT) so my stuff is on temporary hiatus for now, but soon I'll be back. I was in a weird mood and I had this idea and just had to wright it down, and had to beg to borrow the laptop, but for now you have this pile of attempted feels and random randomness! Happy reading!
Loki was dying.
Loki Laufeyson, Jotun-Asgardian, God of mischief, was finally meeting his end.
Some said it was The Mind Gem that had worked its deadly forces to the breaking point, the blue that had never fully ceased to poison his once-emerald eyes. Some said it was the wars that had been waged, and his own part in causing the chaos, and then somehow returning to end them again. Some said he was mad all along, and that it was just finally beating him, but what was madness anyway? A delusion? Or a truth that no one admits to see? Whatever the reason, the harbinger of chaos was fading.
But what is peace if the chaos is gone?
Thor stood in the healing room, staring forlornly at the prone figure that had once been his brother (I never was), the sad form bent over in the chair, uttering only silence, but somehow that spoke clearer than audible words. Loki's large eyes were glazed over, their focus neither wandering nor centered, just ambient in the middle of the room, not seeming to see or care about anything around him. He was thin and pale, his sharp features somewhat dulled by the sickness, his once always mischievous looking face as blank as a smooth gray stone.
Thor had tried speaking to him, but never got even the ghost of a smile, nor the chaotic, malevolent laughter and the carnal grins that had showed in th later days, that he found himself missing now. He knelt in front of the curled-up figure, staring desperately into those once-perceptive, scheming, but beautiful viridian eyes, hoping the glaze would clear, that this wasn't the end, and if Loki came back only to wreck the universe, that he would be back, and he would be Loki, because if Thor was good, then Loki was evil, and the two cannot live together nor live without each other, then that would be okay. It was the endless cycle that kept them alive, but now, something was gone, and Loki was gone with it. (You lost me long ago, brother) Thor could almost hear the silky voice in his ears, the playful tone that had so provoked him in the past.
But there was no light in the second prince of Asgard's eyes, no curling smirk to show that it had been yet another lie, and that Thor was a fool for believing, and that Loki would come back to him again laughing wickedly at Thor's ignorance, and behaving as if everything was a game and he had won because it was a game wasn't it? At least it had been, at least in the days before Thor had taken the high road to be the hero and Loki, with a murderous glare and a "TELL ME!", had taken the low road to become the villain. Thor would give anything now for the figure in front of him to be an illusion, and he would walk away to find Loki on the throne, laughing in his face, and telling him that he would never win the game, but he would always be in it. But now the game was over.
Loki, though not nearly aware as he had been, still knew that Thor was in front of him, kneeling, (KNEEEL!) and begging him to come back. (Come home!) (I don't have it.) He didn't have the strength or will to lift his eyes to Thor's face, because he knew if he did the blonde oaf would be there pleading with him, and those blue orbs were too close to tears and Loki could detect a sob in his voice as he called out desperately into the black void that was his ever shrinking soul, just like he had when he'd fallen before (That was when you truly lost me, brother), and the void had sucked him deeper and deeper, and the whirling winds had taunted him and the light had blinded him, and he had landed, broken and shattered, on the cold dark, empty moon where Thanos had enslaved him. He had been crushed. He had died.
And Loki knew there was nothing he could do now. He knew that his mind was an enigma that no one could figure out, and he knew he was a disillusioned psychopath with nowhere else to go. But what is left for a psychopath when the charm is gone, and mind games lose their taste? What is left for the villain when he can't keep up the act? Everything that made him who he was, everything that had created the hated and feared Loki, was gone. He had lost himself once, locked in a battle with his mind and the Allfather in the weapons vault, with the blue and the ice and the red, blood red eyes all too real, the taste of sour betrayal dripping warm and red down his throat, making him choke on his words, making him scream for it to end.
But Fate was never merciful to those who tried to break its chains, those who seemed to evade the grasp of destiny, as elusive and destructive as the spirit of the wind. So when the lies tore Loki apart, Fate had its revenge, tearing mercilessly at the already ripping shards of his broken heart, letting the blue seep into him, numbing him, freezing him forever into the cold that was his soul.
But now it was different. He no longer had the will to destroy the universe, to destroy Thor, nor even to destroy Odin or the Frost Giants. He no longer had the mind for mischief, no longer had the racing ecstasy that carried him through his evil, but somehow harmless plots, no longer had the strength to emit his wit and charm. He no longer had the strength to smile.
And somehow Thor was still there, pleading, pounding on his injured heart to break through the haze of misty hard ice that surrounded him, to find some of that strength from long ago, to break free and see the brightness of the sun again. But Loki had lost his will to care.
Thor had his hands on Loki's shoulders, almost shaking the frail body, almost screaming into those eyes. Odin stood in the corner of the room, watching silently, and Thor knew that if Loki were really here he would laugh in the Allfather's face and taunt him about how this was the part where he's supposed to say something nice, but that didn't work so well last time did it? But Loki wouldn't taunt now, only sit there in the aura of grey hazy silence around him.
Thor sighed. He stared Loki desperately, not caring anymore who heard and who cared if he could just bring Loki back again.
"Please Loki. Tell us why. TELL ME WHY!"
Thor almost thought he could see a faint flicker of green in the hazy blue ocean depths.
"Listen Loki, please hear me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't try to save you. It would have been better if we had fallen into the abyss together, wouldn't it brother? I-I am trying my best to save you. You can't die like this again. You can't kill me and take me with you to your grave again. Just come back to me. Come back to us. You are Loki, the mysterious one who stares from the corners at all the feasts. You are Loki, who played harmless tricks on all of the other children when we were mere youths, who grew up to be the best magician in all of Asgard.", He paused, "Loki, who would never let me die."
Laughter would have circled the room on raven wings had the Mischief God been himself. Thor knew that. He knew he was failing. He had to bring his brother back.
"I remember when we were young, and you were the most charming little prince that ever lived. I remember you teasing Sif that the recruits at the training arena respected her more for her disadvantage than they did you. I remember you asking me and the warriors three why in our battle games, you always turned out to be the villain, but somehow you always seemed to win."
"Please come back to us Loki. I can't lose you again."
Loki's eyes seemed duller, the haze seeming to cover up something within the viridian soul, growing ever darker as Loki curled into himself, his soul eating at itself and inversing like a tortured black hole. Thor was losing him.
Thor saw the blank look in the eyes, saw the color drain from the thin face, saw the bones show from wasted muscle, saw his brother slip evenly out of his grasp, letting go of the spear, single tear staining his face, having one simple sentence spell the end of the prince of Asgard, The Mischief God, The Liar. The end for Thor's brother.
"No, Loki."
Suddenly Thor was knocked over backwards, a blinding flash of light exploding in the middle of the room. Odin quickly shielded his son's body from the blast, only waiting for the curling smoke to fade to let Thor see what had happened. In a whirl of hope Thor looked at his brother-but the chair was empty. Thor's eyes widened.
"We lost him, Thor.", Came Odin's voice, bereft of sadness, only stating what he thought to be true. Thor's heart sagged, falling and crashing down from its flight from seconds before, wings clipped with sudden gravity. He couldn't save his brother.
Laughter whirled up into the ceiling, breaching the barrier and swirling up into the sky on fledgling wings. Thor whirled around. Odin didn't seem to be able to hear anything. Thor wondered if he was hearing voices, and if his mind was ruthlessly torturing him with the sounds that he now knew he would never really hear again. Suddenly a smile grew in his mind, a curving, shining white smile that he remembered from Loki's better days. Why was his mind killing him like this? He stomped out of the room, barely daring to cast a glance back at where the fading prince had met his end.
He whirled through the gilded halls, only stopping when he had shoved a satisfying amount of guards and had found solitude in one of Loki's favorite places: The Library. The tall shelves and towering illusions depicting Yiigdrasil and other figures had always been home to Loki's more genius schemes. He claimed that he had a magical connection to the books, and that if he ever were to die, several of the more ancient books would go with him to Hellheim, because after all, you need something to do down there, the young raven-haired prince had teased him, mischievousness lighting up his wide eyes.
Thor almost smiled as he saw a few of the books that Loki had said he would take with him. They stayed in their rightful places, adorning the shelves with a musty air of ancient magic and mystery. So Loki had lied about that too.
Laughter again circled his ears, ringing like silver bells caught upon a full moon's breeze. Thor whirled around again. Someone must be playing tricks on him, but no one would do that except...
Loki stood a few yards away, smiling maniacally, the green back in his eyes, the raven hair once again slicked back and shiny, the armor glistening with a new shine. Loki was back. Thor stood in awed silence.
"Took you long enough..." Loki muttered absently, turning to one of the shelves and fingering a large volume with slender hands. He glanced mischievously back up at the Thunder God.
Thor basically ran at Loki, embracing the slender, but stronger figure in a crushing hug, laughing in his thick, rustic, booming tone.
"Mphh, Thor, you big oaf, gtooff me." There was a smile in Loki's teasing voice as he struggled free of the crushing hug. He stood back and pretended to rub his arm as if it had been hurt, an expression of mock offense on his face.
"Thor, you really need to be more careful. You could hurt someone that way, you big blondie."
"Nothing can ever hurt you, brother!" Thor said with a laugh.
Loki frowned, "I'm not sure about that, but nothing can ever kill me. There's a difference. It's kind of annoying, if you ask me."
Loki smirked at Thor's confounded expression. Thor shook his head and peered at Loki, "But how did you survive? The healer pronounced you terminal."
"That healer is very ignorant when it comes to diagnosing a warlord-Jotun-Asgardian-wizard-Mischief God."
Thor laughed, "But now what? Odin will doubtless have you re-imprisoned, and you can't go around as an illusion again."
Laughter echoed from somewhere deep in Loki's soul, "Oh really?" His image started to fade, "Try me."
And there you have it. I'm not sure, but that may be my longest One-shot-thing-something that I've written so far. Fav, Follow, review, whatever you people do ;). I'm gonna go to the beach. See yah!