Chapter 3:
Two weeks.
It's been two weeks they've kept Loki in this induced coma.
To make sure his injuries are fully healed before they take him out of it and he has to face the burden of his new handicaps, the doctor had explained.
It had made Thor seethe inside, how calmly and almost… casually he'd said all this. Like it was just the way it was, and there was no point throwing a fuss about it because there was nothing anyone could do.
But that wasn't right.
It wasn't right. Loki was just a little boy. He was just…
God, he hadn't even begun his life yet and he would be… he would be deprived of so much already. He would have so much taken away.
Tears run thick and ceaseless down Thor's face as the thoughts run through his mind once more.
It feels like he's been crying nonstop these last two weeks.
He can't be alright with this.
He doesn't know how to be alright.
He sits there now, holding onto Loki's limp, unresponsive hand, watching his little brother through blurred vision.
They've got him hooked up to so many wires and machines, a respiration mask perpetually covering his nose and mouth, fogging and clearing with each inhale and exhale, and he looks so small in that giant hospital bed. He looks so frail and small.
The cuts and bruises along his face, around the shells of his ears, and the swelling are finally starting to fade. Coming out as only faint, white lines in most places, paler even than his already pale skin.
His eyes are covered with thick gauze, held in place by more wrapping around his head.
In the first several days, the white material of the stuff had needed to be changed every few hours, from the blood soaking through, and Thor hadn't been able to take it. He'd had to leave the room whenever that happened, and Mother would go with him.
Only Father would stay. Maybe because he himself had lost an eye when he was a young man. He knew what it looked like.
They'd been taking turns, alternating between spending the days and nights with Loki. Thor had missed huge chunks of school. The teachers and Principle knew the situation, and had been sending his lessons and school work to him, but he could hardly concentrate at all on it, and he knew his grades were going to drop.
He seriously couldn't give a shit less.
The doctor and nurses here had been going over with their parents what they could do to help Loki and themselves adjust to his new handicaps, giving them what seemed an endless stream of brouchers and pampflits and recommending several rehab centers.
They've warned over and over that it's going to be "difficult". That's the word they like to use. That it's going to take a long time for any of them to get used to it.
Thor doesn't think it's even possible.
He's so afraid of what will happen when Loki wakes up and he…
Today.
It's supposed to be today, the doctor said.
When they take Loki out of the coma.
It's supposed to be this afternoon, which is in just a little while now.
Right now Mom and Father are getting some coffee, and Thor doesn't know how he's going to handle this.
The doctor says Loki's probably going to be terrified at first, and it's up to them to soothe and comfort him.
How the hell are they supposed to do that when Loki won't be able to see or hear!? How are they supposed to even let him know they're there!?
The doctor said something about touch. About how Loki was going to have to learn to navigate the world through feel alone. He said there were specialists as some of these rehab clinics that would help them with that.
But that seems so impossible to Thor. He doesn't understand how anyone could. Brilliant as his little brother is even, Thor doesn't understand how that's supposed to work.
His grip on Loki's hand tightens, and without thinking, he brings his other up, brushing his fingers delicately across his brother's forehead, pushing his hair back.
Oh, his brother. His little brother.
Scared as Thor is, he knows it will be nothing compared to what Loki feels, and maybe that… maybe that will be enough to give him the courage to help his brother.
He hopes.
He can only pray.
/
When finally the time comes, they're all there. Mom and Father, the doctor and a group of three nurses who've been helping to care for Loki since he was admitted.
Thor had spoken to Sif earlier that day, and she'd offered to come by, but Thor had told her not to. That this was going to be difficult and overwhelming enough. That he wasn't even sure they'd allow her in.
He was going to have to take the time to thank Sif, at some point.
She's been such a huge support, and he doesn't know if he'd have even made it through these last few weeks without her.
He's sitting now at the bed's side, Mom beside him, grasping Loki's hand in both her own. Father's standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and stiff shouldered, looking down at his youngest son with a blank, unreadable expression.
The nurses are off to the side, standing ready should their assistance be needed, and the doctor is on the opposing side of Loki, explaining to them one last time what they might expect.
There's a sickening anticipation curling in the pit of Thor's stomach, and he feels jittery, his leg bouncing nervously, hands fidgeting, clasping and unclasping in his lap.
Somewhere in his mind, he knows, no matter how well the doctor tries to prepare them, there's no preparing for this. There's no being ready.
Any delusion he might have held of being strong in this moment fades quickly when finally the process begins.
It is slow, gradual, only when Loki at last begins to show signs of regained consciousness does Thor feel his tension consume him, his frame stiffening, fingers curling white knuckled into the material of his pants, unaware that he is holding his own breath until his vision swims and he exhales sharply.
All that comes at first is shallow and lethargic twitches through his brother's small hands, and an increased pattern in his breathing.
Thor can see Mom squeezing Loki's hand almost painfully tight, and he thinks briefly about telling her to be careful, but then Loki's lids begin to flutter, and the dread he'd been anticipating takes sharp hold of him.
He doesn't… he doesn't know if he can do this. He doesn't think…
Suddenly he wants to run from the room. He doesn't want to face this, doesn't want to…
They'd removed the gauze and bandaging from his eyes, and while there'd still be some deep bruising, and his eyes had seemed more deeply sunken than normal, you would never have guessed just from looking at them that there was anything in particular wrong.
When his lids begin to lift though, and Thor and Mom and Father see his eyes for the first time, Thor feels as though his heart may give in to grief.
There color is gone.
It's just… gone.
Where once vibrant green shown from his irises, the brightest, most vivid shade Thor had ever seen on anyone, there was now only a filmed over and dull grey, sightless and staring at nothing as at last Loki's lids came fully open.
For long seconds seeming to stretch forever, he only lay there, unmoving and silent.
And then Mother speaks, calling out his name.
"Loki." She breaths, and at that there comes no reply.
Thor glances away, the abrupt reminder that Loki cannot hear them either nearly stealing his breath from his lungs.
Only Mom seems like the knowledge has escaped her as again she calls out her youngest boy's name, more desperate this time, her hands squeezing once more over his.
"He can't… he can't hear you Mom." Thor says, and his voice is strained, choked and thin. He can already feel the tears stinging in his eyes.
"But he… he must. He has to." She sobs in return, loosing her grip and reaching over, placing her hand against Loki's forehead.
Whatever it is, at the contact, Loki suddenly starts, as though he's just now gaining awareness, eyes blinking rapidly, sucking in a breath so fast, it sounds as a gasp.
And then… oh God, he's thrashing, turning violently, frantic side to side, hands reaching up and grasping his face, running over his eyes again and again.
"I c-ca-can't…" he stammers, voice thick with tears, and they gather instantly in his sightless eyes, escaping and slipping down his temples, into his hair. "I c-can't sss-see! I can't s-see!" He cries, his high voice breaking and wavering badly, and God, God, his words are slurred and inarticulate. So vastly unlike Thor's little brother, always so unnaturally well spoken for a child his age.
He gasps again, eyes widening.
"I can't…!"
And suddenly he rockets up, reaching out blindly and clumsily ahead of him, little hands closing and opening at the air as if searching for something to grab on to.
He's trembling, vicious tremors working through his tiny frame, and then his hands are grasping at his hair, tearing at it painfully, tears thicker and falling more rapidly.
"Mmm-Mommy!" He cries, terrified and confused. "Mommy!"
"Oh God, my baby." Frigga sobs out, and without hesitation, she falls forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him to her chest.
Odin stands, one hand covering his mouth, an expression of plain agony upon his usually stoic features, and Thor finds himself openly sobbing, his shoulders heaving as he tries uselessly to suppress them.
Only whatever comfort Mom had hoped to give her child by embracing him, it has instead some devastating effect, as Loki falls into a wretched panic, screaming out at the contact and struggling with pitiful, horrified strength against her hold.
He doesn't know where he is, Thor realizes. He doesn't know how he got here, who it is in the room with him. He… he can't even hear his own voice as he cries out again and again, desperate for some kind of help.
It's like those awful, terrifying nightmares he sometimes gets, where he can't move and he calls out for someone, anyone, only his voice makes no sound and no one can hear him.
Only… only it isn't a dream. It isn't a nightmare for Loki.
It's real. Sickeningly real.
Frigga is struggling to hold on to him, trying fruitlessly to calm and assure him, and Odin turns sharply towards the doctor.
"How do we communicate to him!?" He roars, loudly, verging it sounds on panic.
There is chaos, then.
Somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness, Thor hears the doctor and nurses trying urgently to explain something to his parents, hears his parents yelling back, despairing and angry.
Over it all, he hears his little brother, sobbing uncontrollably in horrible fear.
Over it all, he sees Loki, fighting still because he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know who Mom is, doesn't know who any of them are, that anyone else is even there. Doesn't understand why he can't see or hear.
His struggling is growing weaker as he cries desperately, and Thor can't stand it.
He can't stand it, can't bear to see his brother in so much pain.
He doesn't think anymore.
Only surges to his feet and falls forward, not caring as he grabs hold of Mom and pulls her away from Loki, barely hears her confused protest.
Because then he's reaching down and taking hold of his brother's skinny wrists. Then he's lifting Loki's small hands up, and pressing them against his own face, moving them across it, across his features, his brow ridge, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, across his beard. He's letting Loki feel him.
And as the seconds drag by, gradually, gradually, a look other than mortified terror and absolute confusion emerges across Loki's own features, an expression of recognition then.
Thor doesn't even realize that the room's fallen utterly silent.
Loki is still crying, tears still spilling from unseeing eyes, face still twisted in fear.
But then his voice warbles out, shaking and scared and hopeful.
"Th… Thor?" He asks, and there's so much need there, Thor can't keep in his own sob.
He holds Loki's hands to his head and nods, pronounced so the movement is obvious, and a look of such naked relief passes over Loki's face then.
And then he's throwing himself at the older boy, his stick-like arms wrapping around Thor's thick neck, his face finding and burying hard against his shoulder, and he's trembling, shaking so hard Thor can feel it all through his own frame, and he holds Loki back, strong arms wrapped tight and protective around his little brother's fragile form.
"Thor… Thor…" Loki cries brokenly, and Thor brings a hand to the back of his head, carding fingers through sweat-soaked hair, bending his face down to press kisses to his crown.
He rocks him gently, back and forth and back again.
And Loki clings to him like his life depends on it.
Maybe it does, Thor thinks.
Maybe it's up to him to see his little brother through this.
Repentance, for allowing this to ever happen to him in the first place.
/
AN: Well, I know that was probably a rough chapter for some of you guys, so I apologize, truly. But it had to be done. Anyway, another huge thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I appreciate you more than you know, and if you have a chance, I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter! Thanks again!