Thor is unnerved.
It takes no great feat to notice this.
Loki can tell from the way Thor paces restlessly, his tattered red cape now black at the edges swishing across the ground. They are high up where the air is thin, lungs filling in quick light breaths that curl out between lips to form ghostly apparitions. Tall juts of stone from the mountain protect their flickering campfire from the coldest winds, the high perch preventing them from being discovered.
The hike had been simple enough. They'd kept to the trails, a suspicious action, considering Thor's odd keenness to remain unnoticed. Most likely Odin told him to keep his mouth shut, Thor would never think to do so otherwise. Still, it's surprising no one of importance has run across them thus far, but he has a sneaking suspicion— about the Tesseract, sitting innocently by the fire in its crate.
Oh, Loki does know the menace of its aura. Has known, ever since having the cube in his possession. Concealing sight of its power does nothing to lessen it and he can feel the hum at every turn; virbrating out in waves of energy, buzzing and grinding in its prison. Loki suspects it's been driving away wildlife making hunting scarce. In fact, if he concentrates, he can even feel the echo of that touch dancing across the backs of his eyes.
Still, if Thor notices the cube's effects, he has not made any mention.
It wouldn't be the first time Thor's obliviousness would suits Loki just fine.
Thor stokes the fire's core with a wiry branch plucked from the skeleton of an old mountain tree. Its crackled twiggy arms are silver claws against the night, providing no shelter on the small ledge. Loki sits despondently on the edge as Thor throws the burnt stick into the flames.
Below in the far distance is a small settlement fanning out in the shape of a cross. The air is so clear here that Loki imagines he can almost taste the elements of civilization— tangy metal wafting from the blacksmith, the saltine of preserved meats, the rare but stirring spiciness of an old cracked book.
Loki blinks against the sudden sting of smoke slithering past his nose, his eyes watering. The blur turns those flickering torches of the town into a vision of gold stars spilled across the ground.
When Loki looks down it feels a bit like he's falling.
The fire pops, crackling with lazy snaps in the coolness of the air. Loki tears his gaze away from the town, watching subtly as Thor pauses in his fruitless pacing to tear off a bite of game and chew with vigour, rolling the dense strip of meat between his teeth.
Loki chews his own portion more slowly.
Thor is lit up in the brilliance of the firelight, golden hair falling to curtain his face, gently, like the arm of the sky wrapped comfortably around the horizon. He's bright, like the blanket of stars draped overhead, twinkling amongst a swirl of clouds. Loki averts his gaze.
Instead, he watches the orange glow lapping at the paleness of his hands, a tide of warmth trying to push away the coldness innate to him. It doesn't work. His fingers still feel stiff. If he stares long enough maybe they even look blue.
Loki sneers and tugs his coat tighter, twisting fingers into the heavy leather fabric to shut the elements out. The temperature doesn't bother him as much as the fact that he can't seem to shut everything out. Because it's against his will, really, when his eyes return to Thor once more.
Thor's pacing continues and on the offbeat a skip in the fire casts him into darkness, matching him to the night air, a shadow spilling over the points on his face not sharp enough to reflect the light. Loki blinks away more smoke, brows drawing close.
Thor has gotten so soft.
"Have you enough to eat?" Thor asks, disturbing the silence. The toes of his boots stop close enough to the edge of the fire to be licked.
Loki scowls and chews pointedly to appear just as ravenous. Thor always did have a habit of asking stupid questions.
Loki keeps up the farce until Thor finally turns away, his face falling back into that lost little look— the one he always gets when there isn't a foe standing conveniently in front of his hammer's swing. It's ironic, really, that they're going home and they're all the more lost for it.
"Loki, you must know... You must understand." Thor says at last, proud profile pointing out into the night towards the little mountain town. "You aren't to be punished."
"Oh, and I suppose the gag and chains were all a bit of fun then," Loki replies with slight smile. Sarcasm always did have the sweetest taste.
Thor looks chagrined and then, almost immediately, righteous. "It was to prevent you from running."
Loki lets out a laugh, appetite suddenly roaring to life. He chews some more. Swallows. The lump of meat is a warm weight in his stomach. Feels so warm that it makes the rest of him seem freezing. He leans back against the flat of a rock face, mouth twisted. The surface feels warm too.
He is like a cold-blooded thing.
His fingers scrape into the hard ground beside his hips, dirt blackening underneath nails. He's empty, Loki thinks uncaringly. A hollow being without any meaning unless something brighter comes along to shed some light. He is a shadow, pushed far away, long and thin and stretched.
Powerless.
Unfortunately he'd been impatient and tried to use his magic on Thor before testing his capabilities. A careless move— desperate, even. Loki knows better than to give his hand. And yet, he somehow always does... It's almost as if there might even be a part of him that still cares.
The thought is maddening.
Loki reflects on this. Yes, it's more likely he's insane. It's so much easier to find reason in chaos than to put trust in something else.
"You don't believe me," Thor says, something akin to sorrow lacing the words together.
Loki sneers.
"Oh yes, I should believe that." He kicks out and the remnant bones of the meal are pitched off the ledge. "I absolutely anticipate being paraded back home as a failure for all of Asgard to see. To be mocked instead of mourned— After all I've done for—"
"Loki!" Thor interrupts, distraught and confused.
Loki can tell this from the way he does not immediately shout some righteous nonsense. Thor's always been good at that. But now he pauses, staring grimly into the fire and takes his time in formulating whatever idiotic words of placation he thinks will work. Thor actually seems to be trying to think before he speaks and it's, in a word, infuriating.
He hates this new Thor. Hates this warrior who wants peace in place of the one who loved war.
As he turns his back to the fire, the empty space of the sky tickles past Loki's ear and makes Thor's voice sound watery, very far away.
"Loki... There was a funeral."
In truth, Loki is filled with an odd sort of satisfaction.
It's odd in the way satisfaction usually means contentment, fullness— the feeling of getting what you want.
And though Loki hasn't everything he wants, he has come close. Oh, so very close. Perhaps this closeness is what makes the hollowness push painfully against the bottom of his stomach, until it's like he's walking atop ground that can fall away at any time.
A funeral, Thor had said, all weak and morose. As if this should have been a surprise. As if this was evidence of mourning. As if it mattered!
What did Thor expect happened when things died?
Loki squints against the high noon sun's reflection. The night's sleep had been restless, wracked with visions painted by Thor's disgusting recollections.
Even Sif cried, Thor had described across a whisper as they lay down by the dying fire. Each of them with a hand pressed against the Tesseract's crate, Loki staring up at the sky and wishing he could disappear.
Who cared.
Deep into the range is a lush niche carved out in the middle of the mountain clusters. Whereas the high mountain pass fell prey to the elements, down here the air is trapped and warmed, a slice of life in an otherwise dead stone. Blood from a rock.
He can hear Thor's boots, crunching against the edge of a river that splices the land like a jagged scar, still gushing. The rushing water garbles against Loki's fingers as he stoops down to touch the smooth rocks glittering from the shallows.
"Here's good, then." Thor grunts in an annoyed fashion, toeing the Tesseract crate to the dry solid soil of the bank. "Make haste."
"You want for a bath as well, with that stench," Loki flicks the water from his fingertips at Thor's face as he stands. "Figures the filth of Midgard would grow on you."
Thor snorts, "Perhaps you would know. You did dwell there longer than I."
Loki bristles with contempt, shoving past Thor and kicking off his boots. The little knife he carries in his sock gets pitched at Thor's head, whizzing by just shy enough to land in the trunk of a tree at the center of the clearing.
Thor blows a newly cut lock of hair off his forehead and fixes Loki with a look.
Loki huffs and tosses his coat in Thor's face.
Needling Thor does nothing to improve his mood. In truth, Loki feels defiled by Midgard. By everywhere. No matter where he goes there's filth that dulls his shine. The only solution is to wipe it all out. Loki schools his features and slowly slips down to his undergarments, leaving a trail of leather and metal and gauntlets his wake.
The shock of the water bites.
Loki sinks below the surface of the water and then breaks free into the air, slicking his dirty curling hair back into a smooth cap behind his ears. He blinks droplets out of his eyes and wipes his face clean, clenching his teeth against the need to shiver. Crouching low, he lets the fast push of the current wash away all the dirt and sting the blood back into his bruises.
On the bank, Thor drops to a seat in the dirt with a thud, dragging the crate harbouring the Tesseract to his side and opening it up.
Loki watches out his eye's corner as Thor inspects the cube through its glass prison. The glow is faint in the brightness of day, but he knows Thor is tracing the single crack that spiders out along the casing. It's been growing larger each day.
Perhaps by the time they reach the AllFather it will be useless.
Loki smiles mirthlessly into the water.
"Surely you are clean by now!" Thor shouts over the noise of the river, throwing the Tesseract back into the crate after its outlived his interest.
"Patience!" Loki snorts in reply, turning away and deliberately sucking in a long breath to dunk his head. His ears are immediately plugged closed with the rushing water. Thick invisible ropes of the current twine around his thighs and waist as if trying to pull him under, tie him up and drag him down.
At least the sharp sounds of the world are silenced. He can almost imagine he's not here.
It seems no matter what he does he's tied to Asgard. The chaos of the universe keeps trying to twist him to its movements, unruly in its rule. He was adrift in the push and pull, content to fall wherever he may. Only it seems he's been caught by the one force bent on taking him right back home. Now everything is out of his control.
He should be used to this by now.
When Loki spins and opens his eyes underwater he takes note of the clusters of black rock protruding from the riverbed. The current is much faster just a few measures downstream, crashing solid white against anything in its path.
He springs through the water surface once more, gasping for breath.
Thor quickly looks away from the river, nose to the air and a deep scowl causing his eyes to squint. Loki almost laughs. He knew Thor would be watching. The stupid fool, Thor picks up Mjölnir, concentrating much too deep on ignoring him.
Loki should be used to that too.
He dunks his head once more. The swim will be difficult.
"Loki!"
The scream is like a far away echo. It bounces back and forth in his ears, swaying through the dark like the straight beacon of a lighthouse stretching across wobbling seas. He's submerged, drifting and full, weighed down by the smooth press of the depths.
"LOKI!"
A punch to his chest.
"Ugh," Loki surrenders to violent coughing which wracks his entire body. Water comes pouring out of his mouth, raw and cutting, a betrayal to the gliding coolness of before. Heat wraps around his shoulders, pulling him up, slapping his back. He groans against the sudden jolts, curling into a ball like a worm in the sun.
"Brother, do you breathe!?"
The grip tightens to near-painful.
Of course, Loki thinks miserably. Of course it didn't work. Thor.
"I'm not your brother," He tries to say, but it gets lost somewhere in all the water keeps coming up. Thor shakes him and Loki vomits more water into his lap. It feels like knives cutting their way out of his lungs. Wonderful.
Loki moans and shivers until something warm and heavy drapes around him.
Then Loki's slapped in the face.
Black bugs crawl all over his eyes, swarming and scuttling in his vision until he blinks enough to send them flying away. When Thor comes into focus, it looks like he's seen a ghost.
"What were you doing!?" Thor bellows and his voice rips through the water in Loki's ears.
Thick columns of water twine down Thor's face like clear ropes, tying him down so that he is hunched, bowed over.
"Answer me!"
It would be much simpler if Thor would stop shaking him.
"I'm fine!" Loki snaps and takes a shuddering breath to soothe the adrenaline pumping fast through his blood. But the air just seems to sit shallow in his chest and he's unable to stop panting.
The sky is overcast, lethargic gray clouds bearing down across the horizon and smudging out the sun in a slow lazy swipe like that of a hand against a print in the sand. They're farther down the river than before.
"You didn't kiss me, did you?" Loki coughs out.
Thor, predictably, glares hard enough to turn his face a delightful rose colour.
"I'm fine," Loki says again, smirking.
"You are not." Thor sniffs menacingly and gives Loki a shove before hauling himself up to stomp away.
It's only then that Loki realizes Thor is soaked through, armor dripping and waterlogged, blond hair hanging in dirty dishwater tendrils down the back of his neck and— Loki looks down. Thor's dry cape is wrapped around his shoulders.
He tries to drudge up the energy to recoil from its touch and comfort, but in the end, he just sits there. Detached.
"You could have..." Thor yells and then trails off; refusing to say what Loki knows he is thinking. "You're frozen. Keep that on."
Loki's insides burn.
He has to calm the sudden rage with a deep burning breath, his lungs on fire with an emotion so thick and animalistic it feels like it could claw its way out of him if he isn't careful.
"Yes, well there's good reason for that." He says spitefully then his mouth contorts at a twinge in his arm.
It's bleeding. Damn.
"A fracture at worst." Thor supplies helpfully.
Loki surveys with a sort of wonder, looking at the limb as if isn't really his. There's a jagged puncture along the length of it, bright red mixed with water running down to his elbow like a streak of paint. His body's defense is weaker than estimated. There go the plans for an unscathed escape. "Doesn't hurt."
"Yet." Thor grunts. "Take care of that."
Livid silence stretches between them.
Anger radiates from Thor's every move as he shucks wet garments off and pitches them into a weak patch of sun on a smooth dry rock by the river edge. His bare back shines in the afternoon glow, little scratches etched into his skin standing out in stark relief. Most likely parting marks from the Chitauri, Loki thinks. A deeper, angrier, red puncture wound is on Thor's side.
Loki smiles blithely at the mark as if it has his name on it.
Thor is ignorant of Loki's gaze as he grumbles to himself, rubbing under his nose and then picking up a large branch try beating the water out of his clothes.
Loki rolls his eyes. Not bothering to move, he uses the time to tear strips off the cape and wrap the wound. It doesn't take very long. There's little to be done without magic.
Loki doesn't exactly care, not really.
Pain is a necessary thing. No matter how long it lasts, eventually you learn to live with it. Try to cut it off too soon and you'll never learn how to deal. Loki bares this like a smile that begins with good intentions only to end up as just a show of too many teeth.
Loki swallows, trying to stave off the sharp prickle in his throat, "What of the Tesseract?"
"Safe." Thor mutters, sniffing inelegantly, "Thanks to your thoughtless actions I am now to retrieve the blasted thing."
"Alone?" Loki tries not to sound too hopeful. But they both know Thor won't leave Loki and take the cube for himself. They've always known Thor's behaviour works in Loki's favour. Which is terribly unfair; why Loki still never wins. It just makes him want to scream.
"I am considering it." Thor pauses in pouring water out of a boot, "Lest you try killing yourself again."
Loki cannot contain the smile that splits his lips. "That would be in bad taste. I've already died once."
It's a cruel barb by any account, which is why Loki uses it. He wants nothing less than to be seen as some woeful thing in need of coddling, searching for a way out. He may be a magicless, be he is not in distress. Although...
Thor finishes wringing out his pants and then stalks back, lifting Loki by the scruff of the cape. "Up."
"I don't need your help," Loki snipes, gingerly kicking out and settling on his own two feet. His whole body aches and he grimaces, wrapping the cape around his body more tightly.
"Oh, I know," Thor replies, amusingly resilient. He gets that way when cross, like a mule. A side-effect of obstinacy, no doubt.
"Just needed a bath."
"Give me your boots." Loki says imperiously for the third time as they double back up the bank.
Thor can feel the crash of his eyebrows coming together in a scowl, but resolutely does not reply. He has come to a decision of utmost importance. And he must adhere to this oath, lest he be swayed by more of Loki's talk. It would unravel his last threads of patience if he continues to allow Loki to pull his strin—
"Thor."
Oh no, Thor will keep to this anger, hold tight to the only swell of truth in the tangle of lies. He'll tie himself to it, live by the oath, remember—
"I'm serious, you lout!"
Thor stops short. If it weren't for the fact that Loki is trailing behind at a snail's pace he might have slammed into Thor's back. But that's not how it is and Thor holds back a sigh of impatience.
"No."
"How noble," Loki jeers, carefully stepping over the forest debris and skirting around Thor with a swarthy look. "Letting the injured walk through these sharp stones with no shoes."
Thor steels himself, "You've done well without until now. We are almost there."
"Yes, but my feet are raw now." Loki parades one large pale foot for Thor to see. Thor is sorely tempted to step on it.
"You already have my cape. And my pants." Thor grits out.
"But you're so much more suited to the wilderness than I, Thor."
Thor privately agrees but stays stubborn. If he has learned anything from his friends the Avengers, one must always stick to the plan.
"Thor, look, I've developed a limp."
They hobble into the clearing each wearing one boot.
"See?" Thor declares loudly and points to where Mjölnir sits proudly atop the Tesseract's crate.
"Right," Loki answers, completely ignoring Thor in favour of poking around the bank. Thor eyes Loki suspiciously as he nears the water before Thor realizes he's trying to find his clothes.
Thor shrugs and slumps down, surreptitiously picking out the pine needles and pebbles out of his tender foot. At this rate, they'll be lucky to make the pass midway down the river. He looks up and squints at the sky, trying the gauge the time but the presence of more clouds overhead feeds unease into Thor's gut.
A cool breeze curls through the treetops, rustling the leaves ominously. Getting caught on the down slope in a storm would not be pleasant. It would be easy to lose the trails into town, easy as it was for Loki to almost drown.
Thor squashes down a sudden surge of anxiety at his powerlessness. He stares at Mjölnir longingly. Surely the mighty hammer is too heavy for the ordinary warrior to handle, but without its added magic, Thor has never before felt so... small.
There's a soft rumble in the distance.
Thor hopes for the impending rain to pass them by.
"Where are my damned garments?" Loki practically hisses, turning over a rock. Thor blinks and realizes Loki's all but turned the bushes upside down.
"They were around here somewhere," Thor replies with a sniff, searching under a shrub for the pile of leather.
Suddenly, Loki stands tall and rigid.
"Thor," Loki breathes out in awe, and then a terrible cringe contorts his pointy features into a wide-eyed look of disbelief.
"What?" Thor asks warily.
Loki pinches the bridge of his nose and then stalks forward, each limping step darkening his mood like a thunderstorm rolling in. "O'er the years I have wasted many a breath by asking this question. Alas, it is very important and bears repeating." He gives an ugly smile, "Are you a complete idiot?!"
Loki marches angrily towards the crate and grabs a hold of the side panel, flinging it open with a violent shatter without having to move Mjölnir. Stray bits of hay and a pile of grimy threadbare garments come tumbling out.
"Oh."
Thor swallows awkwardly around a lump of dread.
The Tesseract is gone.
"Yes," Loki replies, "We've been robbed."