A/N—Wow, I am so sorry for my long long absence. Time just sped up and I had writer's block and…yeah, I should just drop the excuses. Please forgive me.
Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. Thor belongs to Marvel. Not to me.
A quick note on the story: I'm not really used to writing Loki, and I'm sort of trying to figure out how I want to portray him. So it may take a while for me to settle in to this. Also, this will probably be like the majority of Odin's Son...drabbles. :)
Thank you all so so much for all your kind reviews and alerts and faves. It means so much to me. I apologize again-I'm so sorry-for the long wait. I hope you like this!
Loki landed in a crater.
Shards of rock and sparks of ancient power bit at his fingertips, making the tops joints twitch against the cold, Midgardian ground. His insides were churning. He could feel the flush in his face and the chill in his bones.
"Thor?"
"FATHER?"
The stones beneath his feet shifted as he staggered, his legs shaking and his heart shuddering. Something jammed in his throat, and he couldn't breathe.
"Thor?"
Up in the sky above him, the stars popped and sparkled like swirling supernovas. The dark clouds throbbed like the heartbeat of the brother in Asgard. Flashes of lightning screamed across them, and the horrid crashing seemed ever so much louder from Midgard—he seemed ever so more vulnerable. He clapped his hands to his ears, wincing with every birght glow, closing his eyes against the glaring landscape of jagged ground and broken earth. He stumbled on uneven ground, and his ankle twisted beneath him as his foot slipped into the indentation of a boot.
"Thor?" He sounded like a lost kitten, the word almost literally a mew of distress. His knees shook as he bent, pressing his hand against the bootprint. It looked tiny…He missed the tinges of red in the corners of his vision that the fever normally gave him. The bright color had always reminded him of Thor.
"Th—" He couldn't do it.
Loki curled up on the ground and cried.
Thor stayed in his room the next morning, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.
The wind ruffled the old paper, slapping it against the wall, half tearing it from its pinnings. Though not strong, the breeze tossed the fragile thing, revealing flashes of bright lines and shaky stick-like shapes.
His eyes burned. He reached out for the paper, his fingers shaking as they stretched for the dear drawing—"You…me…"
"Loki."
Another blast of thunder and lightning lit up the ground, the rocky rupture of the crater, and the slim form in the center, shielding its head, shaking with horror and pain and tears.