Hey guys, so, this chapter was written entirely by the lovely ladymacbeth99! We're turning this story into a collaboration between the two of us, and you should definitely go check out her own work on fanfic and her tumblr.
Chapter 6:
The day is unusually warm for October—the skies are clear, and there's barely a breeze. There is only the slightest hint of autumn crispness in the air, though it's enough to make Thor double-check that his brother's coat is zipped up all the way as they walk to the park.
Loki's little hand clenches around Thor's like a vise. He's still so afraid of running into something, Thor realizes with a pang, so he puts an arm around Loki's shoulders to guide him.
The younger boy lifts his head, as if feeling the sunlight on his face, and inhales the fresh air. This must be doing him some good, at least. For a little while, Thor can manage a smile.
As they sit together on a bench near a grove of trees, Loki stares patiently but blankly ahead. He is oblivious to everything else: the woman with a baby in a stroller jogging past them, the children playing Frisbee and shouting behind them, the man walking his dog. Loki is in a world by himself.
What goes on in your head these days, little brother? Thor wonders.
He takes Loki's hand. "The leaves have started changing color," he signs to him. A lump builds up in his throat—maybe he shouldn't have mentioned this. He wants to describe everything so Loki doesn't have to miss out on anything. But what if he makes Loki sad, reminding him of one more thing he won't experience again?
Loki bites his lip, but he keeps his palm upraised, waiting for more. His expression is almost pleading.
"Most of them are maple trees, I think," Thor signs slowly. "They are turning yellow. But there's a bright orange one in front of us."
It's a sparse description, he knows, but it still takes a while for him to spell out. Loki nods, and then holds onto Thor's hand in silence for a moment.
He's withdrawing further and further into himself these days, and Thor doesn't know how to pull Loki out of his own head. If that's even possible now. But it hurts to watch, because not so long ago, his usually-shy brother would chatter away when it was just the two of them; his green eyes would sparkle with excitement when he got onto an obscure topic he knew a lot about. Even though Thor didn't always understand what Loki was going on about, his brother's knowledge and passion made him smile.
But Thor is finding more and more that their lives are now starkly split into Before and After. Before the accident, and after everything changed.
Not far from their bench is a concession stand selling hot apple cider and doughnuts.
One thing about Loki that surely has not changed, Thor speculates, is his incredible sweet tooth.
"Brother," he signs to Loki, "would you like a caramel apple?"
He hopes it will make his brother perk up, that he can bring a spark of the old enthusiasm back into Loki's unseeing eyes. But Loki is dispassionate, keeping his face turned toward the ground.
"Al…alright," Loki stammers. "Thank you."
Thor sighs. Caramel apples used to be Loki's favorite treat in the fall—back when they would all take drives through the country and pick out pumpkins together. But lately Loki's been avoiding things he used to love, and it's making Thor uneasy.
There's a small crowd around the concession stand now, and Thor knows Loki will get skittish being jostled by strangers he can't see or hear.
"Wait right here," he signs. "I'll be back in a second. I won't be far."
Loki nods, but he lets go of Thor's hand reluctantly.
Thor keeps Loki in his line of vision as he stands in line. He's just sitting on the bench, hugging his knees, and no one is bothering him. Still, Thor feels nervous putting this many yards between them; his palms keep itching and he wants to tell the woman in front of him with six children to order a little faster please, because he needs to get back to his brother as soon as possible.
Less than a minute. That's how long his back is turned.
When he looks back, three boys, no older than fifth grade, are standing around Loki's bench. Loki is curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around himself protectively. Even from this distance, it is clear that he is close to hyperventilating.
Thor runs.
No, no, no, no.
/
Without his brother holding his hand, Loki feels paralyzed on the park bench. Suddenly the air around him seems colder, as if Thor's absence has made the world a little emptier. Loki crosses his arms over his rib cage, trying to take up less space.
This is stupid. Pull yourself together, he tells himself. He should be capable of sitting by himself for a few seconds without falling apart. But Loki must repeat to himself, like a litany: He'll be back in a second. He said he's be right back. He'll be back.
Something brushes Loki's knee, and he flinches. His heart is pounding in his throat. Thor would have warned him of his approach by knocking on the bench. Someone else is here, and every muscle in Loki's body tenses.
Please go away, please go away, whoever you are, he wants to shout. But his mouth is dry and he cannot seem to move. It's like those nightmares, when all he wants to do is run, but his feet are too heavy, or he wants to scream, but it only comes out as a whisper. He knows he should call out to Thor, but he can't.
If this is a dream, maybe he can make himself wake up. Maybe he'll wake up and none of this will have happened. He'll sit up in bed, hear his alarm ring and see the sunrise through his window, and he'll laugh with relief, laugh at how silly he was for thinking any of this was real.
He's trying to wake up, but it's just not working. He's trapped in an endless nightmare, some unknown entity is watching him and he can't even move.
/
When Thor has nearly reached them, one of the boys pushes Loki against the back of the bench—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to scare him.
"Hey, what's your problem? Too good to talk to us?" another boy jeers.
"We asked you a question, weirdo."
"Look at him cry like a baby."
Thor is seeing red. Couldn't they see what they were doing to him?
"Back off," he snarls, grabbing one of the boys by the collar and physically pulling him away. The other two jump back immediately, their eyes widening in obvious alarm. It clearly hadn't occurred to them that the scrawny little kid might have a hulking big brother.
That gives Thor some grim satisfaction, at least.
He scoops Loki up into his arms—the littler boy shrinks at first, but then recognizes him and clings to his shirt. Loki makes barely a sound, but his fragile frame is trembling violently, and his breathing is still coming fast and shallow like a frightened rabbit.
"What is wrong with you?" Thor growls at the boys, leveling a glare at them. "My brother is blind and deaf. Did you think it was funny to scare him?"
Truthfully, if they were any older, Thor might have given them all black eyes instead of a reprimand. His pulse is thudding in his ears, fury still coursing through his veins.
But they're just kids, and they didn't know any better.
They exchange guilty looks with each other, and flee.
Sighing heavily, Thor rocks his brother back and forth, trying to calm him down.
"I'm sorry," he signs. "You're safe now. I'm sorry."
Loki nods, burying his face in Thor's chest. His hyperventilation has turned to tears now—Thor isn't sure if that's a good sign or a bad sign.
"Let's go home, brother," Thor signs.
But, much to his surprise, Loki shakes his head vehemently and starts trying to take deep breaths.
"No," he mumbles, his voice barely audible. "Don't want you to get in trouble."
Thor's heart twists with guilt. True, Mother will be furious when—if—she finds out what happened. But it is Thor's fault. He let Loki out of his sight. He turned his back. He failed to look after him like a big brother should.
This is becoming a horrible pattern.
But Loki refuses to go home until he has calmed down and dried the tears from his cheeks, and refuses to tell Mother about the incident at the park. Thor should tell her anyway. But he and Loki used to share secrets all the time, things Mother didn't know, and maybe this is a poor substitute for the way things used to be, but even a shadow of their Before lives is better than nothing.