Author's Note: Hey, guys. um. Yeah. So, been a while for MCU for me. Sorry, I was...lost a lot of motivation to write in MCU, but, was struck by this plot bunny. :) I hope you enjoy. please leave a comment if you're comfortable with that.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Parings: None
Warnings: Gore, anxiety attacks. No smut, gen, no incest, no non-con. Language is all K.
Summary: While on an assignment from their father, Loki gets cursed to lose his senses. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but they're days from help, and Thor is forced to slowly watch his brother lose himself.
Loosely based on Sensory Deprivation by Refur (ON THIS SITE s/3154593/1/Sensory-Deprivation)
You hold yourself together so well,
Until you crack
And then shatter.
Five Out of Five is an Ideal You Can't Have
In the end, Thor's not really sure what it is that they'd tracked down and killed. He just knows that it was big, it was ugly, and it was sitting on one of the biggest collections of magical items that Thor has seen in some time.
The stolen items from the outlying Asgardian villages lay in one giant heap in the center of the cave. Ranging from books to entire tables and something that Thor suspects is some type of stove, the massive pile of furniture and other assorted junk is piled on top of each other in a way that Thor knows is precarious at best. He'd be surprised if it lasted the rest of the week without tipping over.
Wiping blood off of the blade of his sword with the edge of his cape, Thor toes something with the side of his foot lying on the floor near the pile, but not at the base of it. The gold gleams dully in the waning light from the cave's entrance, revealing that it's some type of bracelet, and Thor sighs with resignation and annoyance that they're going to end up hauling most of this Norn's cursed crap back to the palace to be sorted through and returned to their proper owners.
Sif, apparently coming to the same realization, groans audibly beside him. Tired, stiff, and visibly weary from the battle they just fought with the creature, she looks ready to lay down on the grimy stone and sleep. "Why couldn't it have taken small items, such as coins or clothing?"
"It's not like it didn't." Fandral points out, shoving what looks like some sort of drapery with his sword. The cloth is red, old and hole-riddled, not much of a treasure in Thor's eyes. He's not sure why the creature—some form of a dragon, he thinks, but he's not certain because it looks like a cross between a bilge snipe and an deformed horse—bothered to take the fabric in the first place. It's only remarkable by the faint sedir Thor can sense on it.
"Yes, but it would have been nice if that was the only thing." Sif points out, "We're going to need to get the Einherjar up here."
At that, Thor represses a groan of annoyance. As much as he trusts the soldiers, and he does, with his life, the thought of being in charge of moving this is turning into one he'd rather avoid. This is a far cry from the simple hunt that he was promised. The thing didn't even put up much of a good fight. It may have been immune to most types of magic and massive, but one clean sweep of Hogun's sword and the neck was almost cleaved entirely in half.
Thor gave the killing blow with his sword to the heart.
Volstagg squats beside the stove, pushing open the door with curiosity. Thor watches the rest of the Warriors slowly advance on the pile, likely trying to determine both what's here and what they can reasonably bring back with them to the capital in the days-long return journey.
In all, Thor feels rather disappointed. When his father asked him to find and kill the creature that had been stealing from the villages, he'd been expecting something...bigger. More challenging. They just spent a day hiking up the steep cliffside to get to the stupid thing's lair, for the Allfather's sake, the least it could have done was actually be threatening. And that's not to count the three days they spent in the villages trying to figure out what exactly they were hunting and where it was going.
Sliding closer to the pile himself, Thor picks up a crystal goblet, then eyes the plates and other cutlery beside Volstagg's stove. Some unfortunate soul seems to have lost their entire kitchen to this beast.
Volstagg closes the door, grimacing. "There's still a meal in there."
"Nasty." Fandral says cheerfully. "I'm starved. Do you think it's still edible?"
Thor feels his face twist with disgust, and he sets down the goblet. Choosing to ignore the swordmaster, he decides, "Anything breakable we'll leave to the Einherjar. Gather what you can, if we make an effort, we can be back to the capital in two days."
It would be nice if they could just take the villagers up here themselves to gather back what was stolen, but the cliffs are a feat for even the most advanced climbers, and thievery could be a potential source of more conflict.
Hogun starts gathering small beads and necklaces, along with a few other small items. Thor lingers there for a moment before picking up a dagger that's seen better days. A few other weapons he straps to himself. Looking at the looming gathering of items, Thor realizes that getting this all down from the cave could take well over two or three weeks.
Wings, Thor decides with no small amount of irritation, are a concept the gods drew together to mock them. He casts a look of frustration toward the dragon's corpse, lying just as dead and bleeding onto the cave floor as it was ten minutes ago. They'll have to burn the body before they leave. Most sedir-laced creatures like this one have a habit of haunting if they aren't properly taken care of.
"Loki," Sif says with some impatience in her tone a few minutes later, "is this work above you? Stop standing there. Help us."
He's not?
No, he isn't. Thor hasn't seen his sibling approach the pile, which is strange, because anything with sedir seems to draw Loki in like he's being yanked by a tether.
Realizing that his brother hasn't said a word since the creature was killed, Thor twists around to look at his sibling. Loki stands much where he was when the battle ended: toward the entrance of the cave. Now that Thor's thinking about it, he can't remember Loki doing much else during the actual fight. Did Loki even make it past the entrance?
Now more concerned than frustrated, Thor gets to his feet. He feels slightly unbalanced at the weight of the weapons yanking him backwards, but shifts himself forward on his toes. Walking toward his sibling, he notices that Loki looks like he's smelled something rather foul. His lips are twisted together and his face scrunched up. His hands are tucked against his sides and he's hunched himself inward, making him seem smaller than he actually is.
Loki's green eyes lift to him as he approaches, but they seem almost glassy. His face is leached of color. Norns, what…? He looked fine an hour ago.
Thor reaches out to grasp the side of his neck in a familiar gesture of affection, but Loki reaches up and clasps his wrist before he can make contact. His gloved fingers are an iron band wrapped around his skin. Thor's eyes crease with discomfort. "There's something wrong with this place," Loki murmurs. His voice is so soft it's almost impossible to hear. A whisper taunting the air to carry it. "We need to go."
"The creature's dead." Thor points out. Loki still looks skeptic, so he adds calmly, "These cliffs have been well documented and explored for centuries. There's nothing else here, brother."
Loki shakes his head. "It doesn't...feel right."
"Nerves." Thor says with a shrug, biting on an annoyed sigh. Loki's not a witch, but the Norns know he gets the funny feelings of one.
"No, it's not that," Loki says with impatience, at last releasing Thor's arm, but his fingers twitch like he doesn't want to. "The energy levels are imbalanced. It's...it's darker here than it should be."
Thor's insides crawl at that, but he shoves it aside. There's nothing wrong with this place, he reminds himself; even if there was, the sedirmasters would have taken care of it a long time ago. They're good at dismantling curses and dark spell work. It's fine. Loki's just being paranoid.
He sighs and shoves his brother toward the pile. Loki staggers, limbs stiff from being locked in one place for so long. "I'll stop anything if it tries to get you." He promises. Loki looks back at him with a scowl, which pretty much assures Thor that he doesn't believe this. It stings, somewhere dark and deep inside of him. Loki used to trust him to be a protector.
"C'mon," he admonishes, taking his brother's arm and leading him forward. Loki moves like an old man, rigid and resistant. "The sooner we collect everything, the sooner we can go home."
"I don't think we should get anything," Loki protests. "We should just leave it."
"We need proof that we did get here," Thor reminds him. Their father never takes their word on much. Physical proof is something Thor has learned sways him most of the time. "It won't be more than a few more minutes."
"Thor, I really don't—"
"Norns, Loki!" Fandral exclaims, popping around one edge of the pile, looking irritated, "Are you really that afraid of some old furniture? People lived with this crap. We're staring at chunks of normal peoples' lives. Are you that afraid of the commoners?"
The bite is obvious, and Thor finds his tongue awkwardly pushing against his teeth. The familiar push-pull of defending Loki or risk offending the Warriors strikes him, and he clenches his fists in frustration.
Loki blows out air harshly through his nose, tugging his arm away from Thor, "You don't understand."
Fandral rolls his eyes, lifting up his fingers and wiggling them. "Funny feelings?" Thor can't help the sound he makes. It's somewhere between a huff of frustration and a laugh. It's not that it's funny, not really, it's that the line of thinking is so alike his own that he's surprised.
Loki visibly bristles, shoulders drawing together. "It's not my fault the lot of you have the sensitivities of a dead tree. There's something…" he lifts up his hand, fingers outstretched. He takes a step forward, hand hovering above the pile. Thor watches him, crossing his arms over his chest and remaining feet away from the gathering of stolen items. He'll admit that he's reluctant to touch anything after Loki's insistence.
There isn't a lot that Loki won't approach if Thor has first and vice versa. Their stupidity often goes hand in hand. And Loki wouldn't even go past the doorway, despite the giant monster that was attacking them. That's…that's probably more than just a funny feeling.
Sif, Volstagg, and Hogun, for the most part, continue to dig through the pile, but much slower now. Fandral watches with a raised eyebrow, obviously doubtful. Loki stops in front of the ugly red drape, taking a step back. His eyes are wide, and his hand snaps to his chest like he's afraid the piece of cloth will reach up and bite him. "What...what is that?"
"A window cover?" Sif asks with skepticism.
Fandral takes a step forward, drawing his sword and poking at the edge of cloth. When it doesn't leap up and try to strangle him, and the sword doesn't deteriorate into ashes, he takes a step toward it. "Cloth," he decides, laughing slightly, which only proves that he was uneasy of it, "it's cloth. All hail the mighty window drape. Although, I'll admit I'm surprised that you're afraid of anything that blocks the sun, given that you seem to avoid it with such vigor—"
He reaches out a hand to touch the fabric, likely to prove a point. Thor feels apprehension sink in his gut, taking his stomach captive and dragging it toward his feet. Unlike what Loki may think, Thor's sensitivities aren't dead. They aren't as heighted as his brother's, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't sense things.
And Thor knows as certainly as he does his own name that Fandral should not touch that cloth.
He makes a move forward to stop the blond, but his brother is faster. Loki shoves Fandral backwards, but loses his balance on something on the floor, and topples sideways into the pile. He slams face-first into the long drapery, and lands in a heap on the floor in a tangle of long limbs, the window covering falling across his face and bare skin.
His brother makes a choked sound, like all the air has just been squished from his lungs.
The entire pile shifts, and something comes crashing down the other side. It wobbles precariously, and Thor finds his limbs unlocked with panic. Moving forward quickly, he grabs his sibling under his arms, yanking him backwards and away from the pile. Something goes careening down from the top of the cluster—a chair—and smacks on top of the red drapery, exploding into a thousand pieces of wood and cloth.
What on the Nine—
Thor ducks over his sibling, taking a majority of the splinters and chunks of wood in his upper arms. He feels them smack against his shoulders, and ping against his chest plate.
It's over as quickly as it happened, a breathless second of everything, then nothing the next.
Loki pants raggedly, and Thor pulls back, hand flailing for a moment before he grips the side of his younger brother's neck. The green eyes are wild and shooting everywhere. "Are you hurt?" Thor demands, ignoring Fandral groaning lowly in the background from the his own new gathering of wood bits imbedded in his skin.
Serves him right. Idiot.
Loki focuses on him, hand reaching up to clasp his forearm. There's blood on his lips, and Thor's teeth press together, and he swears through them.
Norns, why did he ignore him? He should have trusted his sibling's stupid funny feelings and maybe that would have prevented Loki from getting hurt and—
"I'm fine," Loki says breathlessly. His eyes are squinted like the meager light from the clouded sky is bothering him. "I'm fine."
"Liar," Thor snaps. The blood on his lips is indicative to something worse, and he frowns deeply. "You're bleeding."
Loki's hand lifts up to his mouth, and he touches at his lip, pulling his hand away red. Thor starts to swear again, but his brother shakes his head. "Thor. Calm down, it's okay. I bit my tongue when I fell." Loki says, skirting his eyes away.
Thor stares at him. Irritation washes through him. "You bit your tongue," Thor repeats. Here he is, worried about some sort of curse or internal bleeding.
He cuffs his brother on the back of his head, and Loki winces. "Norns." Thor hisses. He gets to his feet, arms aching and looks around for a moment. The Warriors have all shifted toward Fandral, who's bleeding from several punctures. His face is streaming with blood.
Thor's eyes slide to the red cloth. It looks exactly the same. Still hole and moth riddled. Still ugly and heavy. And yet. There's still something about it that makes him uneasy, nauseous almost.
He looks back to his brother, who is struggling up to his feet. Thor reaches forward and takes his arm, helping him steady. Loki stands there for a moment as if dizzy, but his pupils are reactive and even, and there isn't any blood. He's fine, just winded. There's not even a bruise.
"Norns," Thor curses, and runs an unsteady hand through his hair, "we're going. We'll leave the rest for the Einherjar, and tell my father of the sedir."
Sif sort looks like she wants to protest, but he shoots her a warning look and she quiets. That's that. They gather up their things and leave. Thor notices that Loki still gives the cloth a wide berth, but thinks little else of it. Everything in the room feels thickly laced with magic. It was just one in a pile of many.
And it's not like it seemed that important or threatening.
Loki was fine.
Loki's always fine.
They set fire to the corpse of the dragon before they leave, and Thor considers the worst of this quest over.
000o000
Thor wakes up that night, his hand on his sword and his back braced. He doesn't know what he's expecting to happen, he just knows that there's something wrong. For a few moments, he just lays there, listening to the fire crackle and trying to figure out what it is that his body is so convinced is the problem. He's not in pain beyond a low throb from the wood slivers and large chunks that Loki removed a few hours ago.
No one is panting, there's no nearby signs of life—not that there would be. This high up on the mountain range, there's little but birds and small beasts.
He's not cold. He's safe.
So what…?
Then he hears it. A sort of wheezing, choked sound. A hiss of breath that demands release, but compression keeps it locked in an eternal battle between getting from the lungs and staying there. Thor sits up, brushing hair from his face and looks around the small group. Hogun is starting to get up to his feet and is approaching Loki.
His brother is stiffly lying on his back, hand clenched at his chest. Loki doesn't sleep on his back. He says that it makes his head hurt.
Thor doesn't wait. He gets up to his feet and scrambles the length of the frost-coated ground to stand beside Hogun, who is lightly shaking Loki's shoulder.
"Loki," the Vanir's low voice rumbles quietly.
Loki doesn't do anything, just continues panting. His eyes aren't open. If his hand wasn't fisted so desperately in his tunic, Thor would think him asleep.
Norns what—?
Thor looks at the Vanir for guidance, but his lips are pursed and he shakes his head in answer to Thor's silent question. Thor reaches out and presses a hand against Loki's forehead. The contact of their skin touching seems to draw some sort of a reaction, because Loki's eyes squint open. The familiar green is dulled and almost look white with film. Disgust chews its way across Thor's esophagus.
It looks like some sort of infection. But that's not possible, because Loki isn't sick. He wasn't in the battle, he stood safely at the doorway, waiting for it to be over.
"Loki," Thor whispers, "what on the Nine…?"
Loki blinks a few times, coughing harshly once. "Thor," his voice is rough, and his hand reaches out blindly and smacks against Thor's chest. His fingers curl loosely around his shoulder, and he sits up, hand pressed against his ribcage, fingers catching in the loose, dark fabric. "Something's wrong," he whispers. The words sound a mix between toneless and frantic.
"I can see that," Thor says, trying to keep an edge on his growing panic. But it's not helping anything, because Loki's face draws tight. He looks bloodless, pale and wispy. An apparition waiting to vanish.
"Norns, my chest…" Loki's fingers curl tighter against his tunic. Thor's hands dance frantically, but he doesn't know where to put them for a moment before he grasps Loki's forearm. Loki admitting to pain is a little under Loki keeling over, and his heart twists inside of his ribcage with low-thrumming panic.
"What? What's wrong?" Thor asks.
Hogun's arms cross, his eyes narrowing, both concerned and frustrated. Though his action catches the edge of Thor's vision, he ignores him.
"It just...it feels weird. Heavy." Loki says, hunching forward. Dark hair hangs over his eyes, and Thor resists the sudden urge to brush the strands from his brother's face. Seeing the familiar emerald is suddenly important.
"Weird how?" Thor questions.
"Norns." Volstagg groans. "Why are you two conspiring in the middle of the night? Can you not see I'm trying to sleep?"
"Oh? Is that before or after you wake the rest of us?" comes Fandral's groggy reply.
"Norns." Sif moans, hissing out a following curse between her teeth.
"Shut up," Thor hisses. On some level, he understands their frustration. They're exhausted. The final battle may not be worthy of much more than a small note in text, but the climb was hard and grueling. Despite this, Thor finds his annoyance with them high.
The fire makes a loud crackling sound and Thor represses a jump of surprise, casting a glance toward it for a moment, feeling sick. The flames dance brightly before his eyes, red, orange, pulsing and burning. And Loki's doing. Though the cold hadn't bothered him, Sif's continued shivering had made them stop for the night. Loki had pointed her toward his newly made flame without a word.
The crackle seems to get Loki's attention, because his fingers tighten on Thor's arm. "Thor," he says, his voice low and terrible, "Thor, look at me."
Thor does. "Loki?"
He sees Sif sit up from the corner of his eye, looking toward them. She takes a moment to frown. "Loki? Is something of the matter?"
"Thor," Loki's tone is growing in urgency. He reaches a hand out and slaps it against Thor's chest, his fingers grappling. He waves the hand in front of his face and then releases a soft, panicked hiss. He releases Thor's arm and scrambles up to his feet.
Oh, Norns.
"Loki," Thor whispers, but he can't seem to make himself move. He sits there, watching his brother try to make his way toward the fire, looking like he's a colt fumbling to understand what legs are. Loki struggles forward, hands outstretched before him, staggering steps halted and jerky.
They all watch, silent. Not because they are malicious and take enjoyment in this suffering, but because Thor doesn't know what else to do.
Loki can't…
Loki isn't…
Allfathers.
Loki trips, landing hard on his hands and knees in the compact, frozen earth. He sucks in air between his teeth raggedly, as though he's trying desperately not to cry. His hand slips forward, striding toward the flame, and Thor moves. He doesn't have a memory of deciding to, it just happens as instinctively as breathing. He grasps his brother's wrist, and feels a pang of loss and sorrow as his brother flinches hard beneath the contact.
A wheezy sort of ragged inhale of "Thor?" follows.
"Brother," Thor says helplessly.
Loki sits up, scrabbling along the air before he grasps Thor's forearm. He releases a long breath. His eyes are wide and his face looks as though it's lost decades. For a moment, Thor is staring into the wide, young eyes of his brother as a child, afraid and uncertain. Then the murky gray registers, the gathering of pus at the edges, and the illusion is shattered.
His brother is blind.
Loki can't see.
His brother is blind.
Thor makes a sort of hissed sound. He wants to cry, to pull his brother in for a hug, but he doesn't. He grits his teeth and swallows thickly. He can hear his father snapping at him harshly don't be so emotional, boy. He forces himself to focus. "What happened? Did you hit your head?"
"I...I don't…" Loki struggles with the words for a moment, his lips colorless and his fingers tightening around Thor's arm. There's a repressed panic shoved inside of his fingers, and Thor doesn't pull away. Loki can hold onto him for as long as he wants to, it's not like there's much else that can be done.
"The drapery," Loki says softly after a moment. "It was enchanted. Perhaps…"
There's a stifled sort of noise to his left, and Thor looks up, remembering that he and his brother are not alone. The Warriors are sitting up, Sif halfway up to her feet. Fandral's head turns away, and Thor is suddenly consumed with white-hot rage. If Fandral had not been so stupid and tried to tease Loki about the stupid piece of fabric, then perhaps they would not be here. His brother wouldn't be grappling with an enchantment.
"That son of—"
Thor wrenches himself free of Loki's grasp, ignoring his brother's stifled "Thor!", hauling himself to his feet and stalking toward the swordmaster. Fandral scrambles upward and away, apparently not the fool he'd been acting the part of earlier. Thor reaches forward and snags the front of his shirt. "You ignorant, selfish git! What on the Norn's name were you thinking? If you had not played with that cloak, then Loki would not have had to save you of your own stupidity!"
"I—I was—" Fandral struggles to explain, averting his gaze.
Thor is struck with the sudden urge to beat this man until he is bruised, sore, and broken. Until he looks as lost and alone as Loki does. "You idiot," he seethes, and shoves the man away. His fingers curl into fists, and his tongue tastes of copper.
Sif steps forward, looking as though she wants to intervene, but isn't sure for who. Volstagg stands off to his left, face drawn together in concern. Thor can't see Hogun or Loki from this vantage point, which is probably for the best. If he sees Loki's milky-white eyes again, he'd be tempted to forgo any peaceful solution.
"Thor," Fandral rushes, "it was all in good fun. I didn't know that the cloth was enchanted. Perhaps it only temporary."
"What if it's not?"
Fandral laughs uneasily, running a hand through his hair. "Of course it will be. Frigga is one of the best sedirmasters in the Nine Realms. She's an expert in unwinding spells, Loki will be fine."
Thor's teeth set. He knows this. All of Asgard knows this. It's almost monthly that Frigga has consultants from around the Nine and sometimes beyond seeking her assistance for one matter or another. But that doesn't fix this issue now. They still have to get down the mountains. They're too dangerous for teleportation to and from with all the wind. The rapid air displacement makes an explosion almost a guarantee because there's nowhere for the missing matter to go.
"We won't be back in the capital for days. If anything happens to my brother…"
"Thor." Sif sighs, "Loki will be fine. Calm yourself."
Thor sends her a scathing look. Then he looks between the two of them and, teeth gritted, says darkly, "You are so certain? Then make it a guarantee. Go back to that cave and get the drapery. Spells can often be broken by fire. We'll burn the thing before we go down the mountain."
Sif's shoulders drop, her lips pushing together with annoyance, "Thor—"
"I wasn't asking. Go!" He gestures toward the cliffs. Fandral and Sif share a long, frustrated look, but move to gather their respective weapons. They are only an hour or so from the cave now, so it could have been much worse. They can wait an hour for the stupid freaking cloth to be dragged back down here.
Sif and Fandral pass him with equal looks of disgruntlement, and Thor reaches out to snag the swordmaster's arm. "Don't touch it." He warns. "We don't know if the enchantment needs bare skin to go into effect."
"I'm not an idiot." Fandral counters with bite.
"Then act it."
Fandral shrugs out of his grip and mutters something under his breath that makes Thor scoff. The two stomp off into the woods, a torch held by Sif. Volstagg shoots him a look of disapproval, but Thor is too angry to care. Let him grouse all he wants, Thor refuses to let this be permanent.
"Thor," Loki's voice is a whisper behind him. Thor turns, trying to reign in his temper, but it only rises as the firelight reflects off of his eyes. Norns, how could he have been such a fool? Loki said there was something wrong, and Thor ignored it. Even before they went to sleep, Loki was quiet and withdrawn. Not entirely uncommon when the Warriors are present, but enough that Thor should have asked him if he was okay.
Maybe he felt his sight leaving for hours, and Thor was doing nothing.
Some brother he is. Norns. He's supposed to be the protector.
"Loki," Thor reaches out and grasps his forearm. Loki's shoulders draw together. He looks tense and tight, one breath away from snapping into two rigid pieces. There's something wrong about that image, a sort of hissing no that whispers through him. But Loki has never been one who relaxes around other people.
"Thor, you didn't have to send them off." Loki says carefully, hands loose at his sides. "I'll be fine. It's...it's just a bit jarring is all. You can call them back. I'm sure Mother can fix this without any of the fuss."
You shouldn't have to suffer any longer than is necessary, Thor thinks, but the words get caught on his throat, dry and full of sentiment. And he and Loki have never been explicit with that. They already know, so what's the point?
"I want to be sure. I won't have you trip and break your neck or something equally preventable." Thor says. Loki's face tightens a little, but Thor squeezes his forearm in what he hopes is reassurance. "Why don't you sit down while we wait for them. Who knows? Perhaps this whole thing can be forgotten within the hour. We'll laugh about it some other time."
"Perhaps," Loki says, but his voice is doubtful.
Thor ignores it. He directs his brother to the fire and sits him down, then notices that Hogun and Volstagg both standing together, the former's arms folded with disapproval, the latter's face pinched. Thor's not exactly sure how to interpret this, isn't sure if he wants to, so he turns around and seats himself beside his sibling.
He'll worry about their disapproval later, he tells himself, but the cold feeling sinking into his stomach tells him that this won't be the case. His palms feel sweaty, and he squeezes his eyes shut, holding in a breath. The Warriors are his friends. They have proven themselves good companions many times beforehand.
But he can't. Norns. He just. Can't.
The thought of their disapproval, of losing their friendship feels him with a horror that he has never managed to put into words. He doesn't even know if it's possible. Allfathers know that he would do almost anything to keep their friendship, because the lonely distance of his childhood frightens him. To be cut off completely from anyone he knows…
He shakes his head at the thought, feeling stupid. He'll soothe things over with the Warriors later (but what if you can't, a nasty voice whispers in the back of his mind, what is truly more important to you, then? Your brother or your friends? What do you want more?) and deal with any consequences that come of it.
His ribs feel like they're being wound into knots.
Norns, he has to apologize now, because if he doesn't, he'll lose their companionship. They'll hate him just like everyone else does and he can't have that, he can't. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't—Norns, he doesn't want that—
Loki wraps his arms around himself, dead eyes staring at the fire. He'll damage his eyes by looking at the bright light, and he won't be happy by that when he can see again. Because it will be a when, not an if. Thor reaches out and gently tips his head down.
"You're staring at the flames," Thor says quietly.
Loki doesn't fight him. He closes his eyes, his pale face seeming to lose remaining color. He breathes out very slowly, ducking his head, long hair covering his eyes. Thor looks at him, and he can't help noticing that his brother seems very small.
000o000
Fandral and Sif return with the cloth slung between them on their swords. The long red drapery isn't touching either of them, Thor notices with relief.
At the sight of them, something tight in his chest releases.
Both of them look cold and marginally more awake than they did earlier. As they reach the campsite, they stop and Fandral casts him a dark look. "There. Are you happy? Can we burn the Norn's cursed thing and get on with it?"
Thor gestures toward the flame with one hand. (Norns, he's furious. He's going to hate you, don't you know?) Loki's wound up tightly beside him. His brother has tucked his head inside his hands and hasn't moved for almost half an hour. Thor hasn't tried speaking, unsure that anything he tried to say would be helpful. Loki doesn't seem angry, but that means very little, and Thor doesn't want to deal with his sharp words.
Fandral and Sif move toward the flame. Loki leans back a fraction, head rising from it's protective cocoon. Thor grits his teeth and prays to the gods that the fire will be enough. His mother has told him endlessly that one of the easiest methods to disperse curses is through fire or some other purifier. Salt sometimes works as well.
Sif and Fandral hold the cloth over the flame. It stretches, grasping hold of the blanket and eating at it greedily. The entire thing seems to shoot upwards into an explosion of heat and sparks rapidly, as if having waited for this moment.
Fandral and Sif drop the cloth onto the flame, backing away and stretching their respective arms. Sif lets out a soft groan, shoving her sword into the earth as if the weight is no longer anything she can bear. Thor turns from her with reluctance to his sibling.
"Brother? Anything?"
Loki raises gray irises up to him, blinking a few times, but it's obvious he can't see anything. This is further confirmed when Thor waves a hand in front of Loki's eyes and there is no reaction. Thor hisses out a breath between his teeth. Endless pessimism eats at him inside, but all he says is, "Mother will have answers we won't," with a firm slap to his brother's shoulder. Loki flinches.
"Maybe." Loki whispers.
The words are a stark echo of his own thoughts, and Thor closes his eyes, and wishes for a moment that Loki had not spoken at all.
"Can't you just teleport us all back to the capital?" Volstagg asks, sounding somewhere between condescending and desperate. "There's no reason for this to go on any longer than it has to."
Loki's lower lip works between his teeth, agitation obvious, "I can't."
"But you—"
"I can't." Loki snaps harshly.
Thor's mouth opens to explain the complexity of the wind and matter displacement, but Sif scoffs loudly, "you? A master of sedir are unable to do something as basic as teleport us? Loki, honestly, can you not come up with a better lie?"
Loki rises to his feet, shoulders clenched together. Though the scowl lands somewhere off to Sif's left, it's no less powerful in its intensity. "Teleportation isn't simple, if you knew anything about sedir beyond a child's basics, you would know that."
Sif bristles, but Thor still sees the edge of embarrassment in her eyes. "Regardless, my point still stands."
Thor closes his eyes. He should say something, instead he finds himself unable to talk.
"There's something wrong," Loki says the words between his teeth, as if every syllable is an effort to say in a controlled tone. "With my sedir. I can't...use it. Whatever this curse is, that's all it can focus on. We're walking."
Thor's eyes pop back open, because that wasn't what he was expecting to hear. He'd thought Loki was going to give a lecture about teleportation. Is the curse that destructive that even if Loki could teleport from these mountains without causing a massive explosion, he is incapable?
"Great," Thor finds himself sighing.
Loki's fingers flex. "Believe me," his voice is filled with thick self deprecation, "if I could have, I would. There's nothing that can be done."
Nothing but hope that nothing worse happens before they get back to the capital.
000o000
They attempt to sleep a few more hours. Thor doesn't. He lays awake staring up at the sky and listening to every breath around him. He knows that Loki doesn't sleep either because of this. They pack up their meager supplies and Thor buries the ashes of the cloth in the dirt, Loki murmuring some sort of blessing on it.
The Warriors look at them like they're mad, and Thor ducks his head, cheeks hot. Often, he wishes that his mother wasn't an advanced witch, because frequently, things that are normal and commonplace inside of his household are not for other noblemens. It's humiliating.
Loki gets to his feet, and Thor guides him toward the rest of the group with a hand on his elbow. Loki's jaw tightens, but he doesn't say a word.
Thor has to stop him from running into trees, running into boulders, rocks and sometimes the others among their group. Despite his best effort, Loki still stumbles over roots, rocks, slick ice and some piles of harder snow. It's like the earth is reaching up with hungry hands to grab at any part of his brother it can reach. Any of his familiar grace is gone. He falls—or nearly does—down more times than Thor can count.
The Warriors and himself talk aimlessly about the hunt, about their travels, anything but Loki's sight and Loki himself. Thor joins in, but finds his conversational skills lacking. He instead stares up at the cloud-covered sky and serves as a guide.
Loki himself is silent.
Always silent.
000o000
Later that evening, they're sitting around another fire and warming up some of their rations. Thor watches Loki pick aimlessly at the dried meat, fingers moving across the length of the texture as though he's never felt it before.
Thor chews on the flavorless food, eyeing his sibling.
This is only temporary, he reminds himself, they're two days out from Asgard at most. Loki will be fine. It's not a permanent disability, only a momentary discomfort. He's certain they'll laugh about it in the future. This can't not be some misadventure of their youth.
The Warriors are heartily discussing some other quest on Vanaheim Thor barely remembers, and he backs out of the conversation as subtly as he can, then nudges his brother's side. Loki has been within arms length for nearly the entire day; Thor's made sure of this.
Loki twitches, but his face raises up, "Thor?" he asks, sounding uncertain. Because Loki is guessing. He doesn't know. His heart aches for his brother, and he breathes out slowly before he answers.
"Are you alright?" Thor asks him.
Loki stares at him. His face is blank and his eyes are dead. Gray and filmy. And Thor can't tell a word of what he's thinking. Thor realizes then how much he relies on Loki's eyes to tell him what his brother's face will not. Loki may be able to wear a mask thick enough to fool most anyone, but Thor has learned to read his eyes. He's had to. It's survival.
Loki tilts his head down toward his hands, shifting the dried meat between long fingers. Thor takes another bite of his own absentmindedly, but it tastes like nothing inside of his mouth. He's simply chewing on texture.
"You aren't talking." Thor notes, lifting his eyes up for a moment as Volstagg laughs loudly. Their jovial nature almost seems an offense to Loki's suffering, but Thor's not about to say that. The Norns know how much he's already tested them.
"I don't like to talk," Loki says with a shrug, as if this is well-known information.
Thor stares at him. "Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"You talk all the time—"
"No, you talk all the time. I listen." Loki corrects with a nonchalant shrug. His hands clench on his lap, and his feet shift. The discomfort is obvious, and this disturbs Thor more than the familiar blankness would have: he can't imagine how unsettled Loki is feeling for it to actually show. Thor frowns at his sibling, thinking back. His shoulders sag after a moment as he realizes as of late, yes, Loki hasn't done much talking unless dragged inside of a conversation.
He can't really remember a time Loki has been overly talkative frequently. Not when they were children, or inside their youth. Strange, because the Warriors and Sif seem to grope often about how much they wish Loki would quiet. It seems that one or another of them is always telling him to shut up.
Perhaps that's part of the problem. Any time Loki tries to, they don't let him.
Thor winces, suddenly deeply glad that Loki can't see it.
"You…" Thor's mouth feels hot. Norns, he's—why didn't he notice anything sooner, he's the brother he's supposed to know these things and he doesn't because he's not looking and—"Do I really talk that much?"
Loki's lips quirk, like they want to smile, but it's too much effort. "Yes, unfortunately. It's my burden to bear."
Thor shoves him good naturedly. Loki's lips form a ghost of a smile. Something painful twists inside of Thor's chest as he realizes he can't really remember when the last time Loki smiled was.
"You should just speak up," Thor chides patiently, "I'm sure there must be something interesting underneath all of that hair," he shoves at the soft locks with his fingers, and Loki's face tightens. He bats Thor's hand away clumsily and scowls at him.
There's no flash of green. Instead, it's just the gray, empty, infected pus. Norns. It's disgusting.
Thor feels his smile drop. He reaches out a hand and cups the side of Loki's face. His brother draws back, clearly not having expected the contact. He flinches at everything, but the behavior doesn't feel unfamiliar, and Thor doesn't know how he feels about this. Loki's skin is hot upon contact. It shouldn't be. Loki always runs colder than the rest of them.
Thor's hand shifts to his forehead, where it is also uncomfortably warm. "Norns, brother, why didn't you say you have a fever?"
Loki shrugs, looking miserable. Now that Thor's looking for it, from the firelight, he can see a flush on his brother's face, his skin pallid otherwise. "I didn't notice."
"You didn't notice. Norns, Loki." Thor shakes his head in disbelief. He resists the urge to roll his eyes up toward the sky. "Your eyes. They don't look any better than this morning. Do they hurt?"
Loki's head tips away from him, and his jaw shifts. His voice is breathy and quiet. "Yes."
Guilt squirms in his stomach. Should've asked him sooner, that nasty voice chides, perhaps much of his clumsiness was not so much from blindness as it was pain. It's not like you asked.
Thor sighs. "Why don't you lay down? I'll get some supplies so we can start bringing down your fever. You should have said something."
A flash of relief and gratitude flickers across his sibling's face, brief, but intense. He wasn't expecting that, Thor realizes. Loki had honestly expected to have to deal with this himself, or maybe for Thor to simply brush him off.
Thor swallows down the urge to crawl inside of himself.
Then again, that voice continues, you shouldn't have had to ask at all. You should have seen it. Why weren't you looking? Your injured brother walks beside you, but you treat him like a shadow.
000o000
Loki falls asleep almost as soon as he falls down. Thor makes sure that he's covered with a blanket, and gathers some of the nearby snow into his hands. He presses it against Loki's forehead and the back of his neck, to which his brother's eyes tighten, but he doesn't awaken.
Thor visually assesses him for anything else wrong, and, finding nothing, releases his lower lip and turns back toward the Warriors. They've gone quiet, watching them. Thor holds their stares, noticing almost at once that familiar traces of concern are visible in their faces. This feels him with reassurance, and his shoulders lower by inches slowly.
"Is he alright?" Sif asks quietly. "He's really not looking well."
Thor knows. His shoulders sag.
"We're not that far out from Asgard," he says, the meaningless words of faith, but he's not entirely sure who he's trying to reassure. Himself, or Sif. "My mother will know what to do."
The Warriors all look tired and cold in the harsh light from the fire, but they're very quiet. The lack of endless chatter makes Thor wonder if they were talking so Loki would have something to listen to, but, that idea, as awful as it makes him feel, doesn't feel like more than a wistful desire on his part.
"Norns," Fandral sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. It's beginning to look like a nest from how much he's run his fingers through it. The healing cuts on his face seem like dark splotches of blood.
"It's just a few days. We'll keep his fever down. Everything will be fine." Thor reassures them. He does not say what else can happen, because he has no desire to further test the universe. He shifts, folding his arms across his chest for warmth. The night is cold, but it falls short of how frigid the inside of his blood feels.
000o000
Thor awakens a few times during that night both for watch duty of the fire and to check on his brother. He doesn't know when things take a turn for the worse, if it's been ten minutes or an hour, but when he turns to wake Hogun for his turn, he notices that Loki's neck is blood-streaked.
Norns, curse it!
Swearing, Thor scrambles toward his younger brother, crashing to his knees beside him. The frost is cold and hard beneath his knees. As gently as he can, he tilts Loki's head to the side and catches a brief glimpse of blood leaking from the inside of his ear before Loki jerks awake with a ragged gasp. He scrambles away from Thor, hands raised in defense. His gloved fingers are shaking.
"Loki!" Thor exclaims. "Relax, it's just me."
He reaches out a hand and touches the side of Loki's knee. Loki scrambles to his feet, snapping out his hand to draw a dagger. Thor feels growing dread start to gnaw on him from inside out. No, no, no, please, no. Allfathers, please let me be wrong, please—
"Loki." Thor says.
"What's going on?" Sif mumbles tiredly.
Thor ignores her, terrified to say his sudden hypothesis out loud, afraid of the consequences for doing so.
"Loki?" Volstagg sighs.
"Thor," Loki breathes his name in what Thor can only describe as pleading terror. And Norns, Loki sounds so desperate. So young. Thor takes a step forward, reaching out. Loki swats at him with the dagger, slicing his hand cleanly down the side. Thor releases a heavy cuss, pulling his hand back. "Thor!" It's almost worse that it's his name instead of a desperate help me! Thor can hear the words plainly in the tone, as if they were branded to his skull.
"I'm right here, Loki," Thor says, eyes squeezing shut.
His brother doesn't calm, his agitation only getting worse.
And why wouldn't it? Loki can't hear him.
"What on the Allfather's name—?" Hogun starts to mutter somewhere to his left. Loki releases a strangled sound, somewhere between a yelp and a hiss. Thor's eyes snap open, his arm reaching out automatically to grab Loki's forearm. Loki had kept backing up, unaware what was behind him. He manages to stop his sibling from tumbling over the jagged rock.
"Loki." He says automatically. "Loki, stop."
Loki writhes in his grip, hand twisting and pulling inside of his hold, his entire body trying to get away. "Thor!" the panic is worse, no name no longer a question, but a cry of help. "Thor!"
"Loki, Loki calm down! I'm right here." Thor reassures. He moves forward, ignoring the fists as they attempt to desperately shove him away. He disarms him of his dagger. Thor then grabs either side of his brother's neck, inwardly cringing as the blood on his hand smears down Loki's neck, and when that proves not to help, pulls his brother against his chest, pinning his arms against his sides. Loki is panting, his body shaking. Both of them are, Thor realizes after a moment. He can't tell where Loki's trembling ends and his begins.
"Oh, Norns," Sif whispers, realization dawning.
"Hey, hey, hey," Thor says, and carefully works an arm awkwardly around his sibling until he manages to grab hold of his wrist. Working open his palm, Thor clenches his fingers tightly, trying to communicate to his brother that he's safe, but also trying to communicate with him. "Loki, Loki, listen to me."
He can't. And that's the problem, isn't it?
"Loki," Thor manages to get his brother's palm to flatten out, fingers flexed, and pulls it up, pushing it against the side of his face. Loki flinches, his body tightening, and Thor tries to suppress his own wince in sympathy. It has to be done. Norns, I'm scaring him, but it has to be done. Thor brings Loki's fingers up to trace along his own face, his nose, the bridge of his eyes, and then flattens the cold fingers against his lips and says, "it's me. It's okay, brother."
Loki's body relaxes by fractions as Thor forces his fingers to work around his features, and by the time Thor has said the words, Loki's face is crumbling into despair and panic. His voice, when he does say anything, is small and lonely. "Thor?"
Thor nods, feeling tears start to slide down his face. He wants to say something, but the words get caught in his throat. He swallows around them, and keeps nodding. The words would be meaningless noise anyway.
Loki crumples forward, head landing against Thor's shoulder, and Thor allows him the moment of weakness, cupping a hand against the back of Loki's neck, trying to reassure him. Wisps of black hair rub against the side of his hand, where the long gash from Loki's dagger is, and Thor grimaces.
"What's wrong with him?" Hogun finally ventures asking.
Thor swallows, mouth dry. He doesn't turn to look back at the warrior, careful to keep his body still and hold Loki steady. If he can't give his brother anything else, he'll give him that. "He can't hear anything. Apparently the enchantment was more than just blindness." The words are more bitter than he was expecting them to be, but steady. So steady, when Thor thinks they should be wavering and screeching.
"He's...oh." Fandral breathes behind him. He sounds regretful.
And this wouldn't have been a problem, Thor thinks with sudden, vicious frustration, if they had just taken Loki seriously. Why is it Loki seems to take the brunt of damage from their stupidity?
000o000
Loki doesn't say a word. He crumples in on himself, shoulders hunched, hands wrapped around his middle, looking continuously like he's about to be sick. Thor tries to help him, but there's not much he can do. Loki has never seemed to take comfort in touch like Thor does, and it's not like he can listen. He looks pale and washed out, lips pinched and his murky, disgusting eyes are creased at the edges like he's in pain.
His eyes hurt, Thor recalls. Maybe his ears do, too, now. They were bleeding.
The Warriors carefully clean up the camp around the two of them as Thor sits next to his sibling, a hand on his arm. His entire body is radiating and Thor wants nothing more than to move and do something to burn away this anxious energy, but he can't. He has to sit there.
Thor feels terrible, watching the Warriors pack, knowing that he should be helping, but he isn't. Loki needs him, he tries to reassure himself, but the thing is—Loki doesn't appear to need him. Loki isn't reacting to his presence at all. Even when it was just his eyes that weren't working, he's reacted to Thor. Now he's…
Thor doesn't have a word for it.
Thor takes care of his hand in silence, cleaning up the gash with some of the hardened snow and tightening his teeth together at the pain. The blood washes off, tinting the snow pink. He wraps his palm with gauze, flexing his fingers out to test his range of motion. Any movement of his last finger sends a surprising amount of staggering pain up to his shoulder. He notes this disadvantage just in case he needs it.
Thor turns his attention back to his brother, and realizes that there are still blood tracks from his ears, and Thor's hand, streaked across his neck. The sight suddenly deeply, endlessly bothers him, and Thor needs it to be clean. His fingers clench in the snow, fingers numb and wet all at once, and he takes a strip of gauze, soaking it in the melting snow inside his palm.
When it's damp, Thor reaches forward and pushes it against Loki's throat.
Loki bodily flinches away from him, limbs knocking together so violently that it looks painful. He releases a hoarse sound, somewhere between surprise and pain, and Thor reaches out to grab him, stopping him from tipping over all together. Closing his eyes in frustration at himself, Thor murmurs a meaningless "sorry."
He pulls the gauze back, and feels his entire stomach jump violently in anxiety. He shouldn't have done that, he should have asked, why didn't he ask? He should have waited until Loki was calmer, or made any attempt to explain what he was about to do, but he didn't, and now—
Loki's lips part, tongue snaking out like he wants to say something before his mouth closes and his expression wavers. The murky, infected eyes skirt in his direction, and Thor holds his breath, because for a moment it seems like Loki can actually see him. But it slips away as quickly as it came, as they focus on nothing.
Loki sits up a little straighter, and his hand comes up to his neck, as if trying to understand what Thor was doing. When that seems to offer no answers, Loki's hand stretches out carefully. Thor takes it and squeezes it between his own, trying to offer reassurance. It's just me, he tries to say, you're okay.
Loki releases an unsteady breath and tries for a smile that's hardly more than a wince. He squeezes Thor's hand back, his grip uncertain and exhausted.
Thor nods to himself, hearing the Warriors move behind him, but he ignores that. He reaches out with the cloth again, and wipes hesitantly at the blood. Loki still flinches, but he holds himself steady, carefully lifting his head up to reveal his throat. The trust of the gesture strikes Thor then, so sudden and sharp that it's almost physically painful.
His hand clenches around the gauze on reflex, but he's careful as he cleans up the blood and some of Loki's hair. His younger brother looks less like he got his throat bitten into afterwards, for which Thor is grateful. He lifts up his hand to check Loki's forehead, and the skin is still uncomfortably warm.
Loki sighs and swats at his hand, "Thor," he says, his voice soft and careful, as if he's afraid he's yelling, "There's nothing you can do."
And that's really the heart of this isn't it? Thor hates being helpless. And here he is, completely and utterly powerless. He can't fix this problem, all he can do is watch as it gets worse. And, Norns curse it, this isn't fair.
"Thor," Sif's voice is surprisingly gentle. Her hand rests on his shoulder, and he looks up at her, feeling tears unexpectedly spring to his eyes at the sympathy on her features. "We're ready. Can he travel?"
"I believe so," Thor says, and returns his gaze to his sibling. Gray, washed out, and those disgusting eyes staring endlessly at nothing, his brother doesn't look capable of standing up, let alone making the journey back to the capital. It's a pity they couldn't take the horses up this high. "I don't know," Thor's shoulders slump slightly, "he's getting worse, Sif."
The shieldmaiden regards him with a knowing look. "We'll get him to the Queen in time, he's going to be fine, Thor."
It's then that it occurs to Thor that Sif isn't worried so much about Loki's current discomfort as she is that Loki might die. The thought, now that it's entered his mind, seizes him with sudden, all-encompassing terror. He can't breathe for a moment, lungs compressed and thoughts swirling into endless nothingness.
Oh, Norns.
Death hadn't even crossed his mind, but Loki doesn't look that far from it. He said he's in pain, and his eyes...maybe that's what this curse is. Slow punishment before the inevitable end. Thor doesn't want that. Loki's supposed to be fine. It's his job to look out for his younger sibling, a task given to him for so long he can hardly remember a time without it.
Sif pats his shoulder, like what she said didn't just shatter the little sense of security he had. The act seems to have been one of reassurance, but all it does is make him feel worse.
They need to move faster.
Thor gets up to his feet, unsteady and nauseous, and grips Loki's shoulder. His brother's face tightens, but he let's Thor guide him up to his feet without another word. It's funny, Thor thinks in a near hysteria. He would have thought that not being able to hear would make Loki desperate for any sound, and that would have made him talk. It doesn't.
Loki moves in the direction Thor points him, pliant and miserable.
000o000
The hours blur together; his feet hurt, it's cold and he wants nothing more than to simply sit down and rest. His head is aching fiercely and his eyes feel raw. The Warriors still talk, but their words grate at him in the wrong way, and Thor finds himself lacking any desire to socialize. He can see them casting concerned looks toward him, but Thor ignores them.
Thor trudges through the snow, slowly growing more melted as they reach the capital's familiar elevation, miserably contemplating how much he wishes he had another cloak. The sun is well on it's way toward setting, and Thor knows that they're going to have to set up camp soon, and that idea makes him despondent, too.
And the stupid thing is that Thor knows that however much his own troubles, meager as they are, bother him, Loki's must be much worse. At least Thor can see the rocks before he trips into them, and hear the Warriors talking, even if their conversation is dull—
Thor stops as Loki grabs at his arm, his fingers tight and sudden. Loki had been more or less walking beside him for hours, a silent companion that Thor steered out of the way of what he could. He can't imagine how bruised Loki's feet are going to be when this whole ordeal is over, even with his boots. The earth has not taken mercy upon him.
"Loki?" Thor turns to his brother. He hears the Warriors stop up ahead of them.
Loki's infected eyes are wide, the panic clearly visible on his face. His other hand is wrapped around his throat, his nails digging into his skin. Thor's stomach drops, and he lurches forward, closing the small distance between himself and his sibling.
"Loki? Loki, what's wrong?" Norns, please let him breathe.
Loki makes an almost muted, hoarse coughing sound, his gloved fingers digging sharply into his throat. Thor lifts his own hands up to cover Loki's, running his fingers across his brother's throat, trying to understand what the problem is. The skin is smooth an unblemished.
"Loki?" Thor asks, desperate.
"What's going on?" Fandral questions behind him, much closer than he was before.
"I don't know!" Thor snaps, and regrets it immediately. He's already made a mess of things with his friends this trip, and now he's just making things worse. "Sorry, I just…"
Loki turns away from him, coughing getting harsher, until he begins to gag. Thor tries to qualm the panic sitting in his stomach, but his hands are shaking, and he can't breathe until his brother does. There's this...sound, almost like a dagger piercing flesh and that wet squelch, then Loki opens his mouth and spits into his hand. The black glove is immediately stained with blood.
Blood stains his teeth and paints his lips a harsh red.
Thor stares.
The Warriors stare.
Loki's eyes pin on something just above his hand.
There's a moment of complete silence before Loki's lips split into a wide smile, stretching up his face like someone is carving it into place, and then he starts to laugh. The sound is completely silent, like it's being swallowed in a vacuum. Thor finds himself straining for the familiar noise of his brother's laughter, but there's nothing.
The only way Thor knows his brother is laughing is because his chest is heaving.
Thor doesn't know what to do for a long, waited moment. Loki laughs and laughs, like the fact he lost his voice is the most hilarious thing that's happened in years. Like the fact that he can't see, hear, speak, and maybe taste is a comedy. It's funny.
And Thor wants to hit him. This isn't funny. There is nothing about this situation that is worth laughing over. Thor hates him for laughing, the fury so sudden, but consuming. He reaches out and grabs his shoulders, intending to simply shake the humor from his sibling.
"Thor," Sif whispers in protest.
And, stupidly, Thor shouts at him furiously, "Norns, brother, SHUT UP!"
But Loki can't hear him. And Loki is completely mute, he couldn't obey that command even if he wanted to.
Grief replaces his anger, and Thor releases his sibling, far too aware of how tight his grip was. As his hands release, however, Loki collapses to his knees heavily, his entire body slumping down like he's been cut away from suspension.
And the laughter stops, replaced by silent screaming. Loki grabs at the side of his hair, and his mouth opens in a silent, gaping howl, the sound for which, Thor knows, had sound been possible, it would have been harsh and terrible.
Thor's body locks up, and he feels his breathing pick up, his vision hazing. He doesn't know what to do, but he's supposed to fix that because Loki is his responsibility, and why can't he move? What is wrong with him, he's not breathing, and he has to help Loki but all he's doing is standing here and making things worse because that's what he does and he's supposed to be the older brother, but he's not handling this and Loki is screaming and there's nothing nothing nothing—
Sif moves past him, awkwardly gripping Loki's shoulder. Loki pulls away from her bodily, his chest heaving. There's blood dripping from his mouth. Norns, there's blood dripping from his mouth.
"Thor," Fandral says, and slips into his line of sight. Thor wants to shove him. He can't see his brother, and that's important—
"Thor, look at me," Fandral says, his gaze earnest, but pinched. His blond hair is flaked with snow. "Loki is going to be fine. Little snit always is, okay?" not this time, not this time, not this time "You're both okay."
"I—I…" Thor gets out, strangled.
"He's going to be fine." Fandral repeats, as if he can make it so with his words alone. "You know this," he shakes Thor's shoulders firmly, "you're just overreacting. Once we get back to Asgard, the Queen will get this all sorted out."
"But," and Thor tries to explain that they don't know that, that there's a possibility that this could be permanent, and there is no part of him that wants to be an optimist about this. "He's my brother," Thor settles on, like that explains everything.
"I know," Fandral reassures, flashing him a smile. "I know, mate. And we'll get him home, alright?"
Thor nods, exhaling slowly. His chest still feels tight, and his face is numb, but his vision is clearing and he can think in more or less of a straight line instead of jumbling pieces clumping together. Fandral studies his face, then, apparently seeing something, lets Thor go.
Thor immediately slips past him, limbs stiff and awkward, but moving. He gently draws Sif back from his brother and then gathers Loki against him. Loki shudders into his chest, but apparently seems to recognize him, because there is no resistance. His brother collapses against him, and begins to sob, making more of those coughing choking sounds, blood spilling down his face between his teeth.
Thor holds him close, resting his chin on top of Loki's head, teeth gritted and his eyes closing as he holds his brother close. This mission, Thor remembers with bitterness, was supposed to be simple. Busy work, Fandral had scoffed in annoyance. Now Loki is…
Sobbing, in his arms. Thor can't even remember the last time he saw him cry. The thought feels him with sadness.
"I've got you," Thor murmurs, "you're okay. We'll fix this, I swear to you, brother. You'll be fine."
But Loki can't hear him, and his reassurances mean nothing. He continues gagging on blood while he sobs, and Thor realizes belatedly that he's trying to talk. And, with a sick, awful feeling in his stomach, Thor is almost glad he can't. He doesn't want to know what Loki would have said.
Loki cries against him until he either falls asleep or passes out.
000o000
Thor declares them done moving for the day. Loki can't go any further, and neither can he. He makes his sleeping brother as comfortable as he can, then he helps the Warriors set up camp. They eat dinner in methodical silence, and Thor scowls into the flames.
Thor says he'll take first watch, and sends the others to bed.
He pokes at the fire with a stick he found, and tries to keep his mind perfectly blank so it will stop wandering. Some time well into the night, Loki stirs restlessly, and Thor reaches over and squeezes his hand. Loki's agitation seems to calm, and Thor wonders once more at the trust his sibling places in him.
When Hogun trades him out, Thor curls up beside his sibling and falls asleep miserably.
000o000
The next day, Loki isn't much calmer. Thor knows this because his sibling is constantly reaching for him, gripping his wrist or his arm, fingers and iron shackle as if he's trying to reassure himself that Thor is real. He's not crying, but the lack of tears mean nothing.
Loki doesn't even seem to care who he touches. He grabs at the Warriors, at Sif, and clings to them like they're his one lifeline in the entire world. Which, Thor realizes with a heavy, hot feeling in his gut, they are.
Toward the evening, Fandral shoves Loki off of him with a frustrated, "Norns, can you stop being so clingy!"
Loki staggers back a step, his face creasing with panic. The infection of his eyes has given into bloody tears, smeared down his face to merge with the other blood from his mouth and ears. Thor's given up trying to keep it clean, there doesn't seem to be a point. It all looks incredibly painful.
"Fandral!" Thor snaps, walking toward his sibling.
He sees Fandral's face line with regret, but it's brief, and gone just as quickly as it appeared. "He's not invalid. He doesn't need to hold our hands!"
Thor stops, the end of his rope reached, stretched taut, and snapped. He turns to face the swordmaster properly. "He's not. Norns, Fandral, what else is he supposed to do?! He has no other means of communication with us—the least we can do is allow him that—especially you."
Fandral withdraws, his expression closing. Thor sees Hogun shift in agitation in the corner of his eyes.
Thor tries to reign in his patience, but it doesn't work. Walking forward, Thor slams a finger harshly into his friend's chest, even as his mind cries out desperately stop, stop, stop, don't make them hate you, what are you doing? Stop, stop, stop—"The only reason that Loki is like this is because you were the one being an idiot. He tried to stop you. If my brother dies, that's on you."
Fandral's mouth opens with a disbelieving sound, then close it, but Thor doesn't have the patience to deal with him. They're going to hate you now, that voice mourns, and Thor feels sick, but what can he do? It's the truth. His brother is the priority here.
Thor reaches out for his sibling and grasps Loki's hesitantly outstretched hand. He squeezes it, and feels reassured when he receives a hesitant compress in return. But Loki's grip is weak, as if he's bracing for Thor to let go of him.
000o000
When they finally reach the capital the next morning, Thor has never been more grateful to see the spiraling golden towers in his life.
His mother is waiting at the entrance to the city, her face composed, but hands agitated, picking at her left palm. Her guard surrounds her, and Madame Eir stands beside her. Thor sends a silent thank you to Heimdall, and blinks back the tears of relief that spring to his eyes.
"Amma," he says in relief, guiding his sibling toward her. He hasn't called her that in years. Frigga smiles warmly at him, but her eyes are distant and dark. Thor looks, but isn't surprised that he can't see his father anywhere. He returns his attention to his mother, and gently guides Loki in front of her, "There was some sort of curse on one of the objects, we burned it, but it didn't seem to help."
Thor is certain she already knows this, but he doesn't know what else to say.
His mother studies Loki's face and cusses loudly. She reaches forward and cups the side of Loki's bloody cheek, the familiar lull of sedir slipping through the air, and her face creases. He can see the edge of golden light seep into his brother's skin. Thor watches, heart in his throat, desperation making his throat tight. Please be able to fix this, you're always able to fix it.
Frigga swears again, and looks back Madame Eir, "His organs are shutting down. The curse appears to be eating his sedir, or he's using it to stay alive, one of the two. We need to hurry, we don't have more than a few hours."
It's eating his sedir?
Oh, Norns. Thor can't imagine the pain of that, and all Loki said nothing beyond how he couldn't teleport. And how could he, Thor realizes, when this curse was consuming him. Despite what Sif apparently thinks, teleportation is complex.
Loki didn't say anything.
His brother, apparently reaching the end of whatever dregs of strength that have been carrying him for the last few days, collapses forward into his mother's arms. And then Loki is being shuffled off with the sedirmasters buzzing around him, and Thor is left standing alone.
000o000
Mindlessly, Thor dumps off his part of the recovered stolen items to the palace's head of artifacts and goes to give his report to his father. He wants to hover in the background of his mother's and Madame Eir's work, but what good would he be? He's not a sedirmaster, and all he'll do is get in the way.
Odin listens to him with a blank expression, and Thor can feel his lips moving as he explains what happened, but the words that are coming out are just noise. They don't make sense.
Thor almost got his brother killed.
Loki might still die.
"Thor," Odin says, and Thor looks at him, a heavy feeling in his stomach, his body bracing. His father's tone is clipped, and speaks more of his frustration than anger would have. "You idiotic child, how could you endanger your brother's life so? It is your duty to look after him."
"I know, sire," Thor murmurs, staring at the floor.
"If your brother had been killed, you can't imagine the realm-wide mess—" Odin releases a breath, stopping himself, and Thor raises his eyes up, swallowing thickly through his tight throat. Odin scowls at him. "Take care that this doesn't happen again. You are dismissed."
Thor nods, and turns away. He realizes later, much later, that his father wasn't concerned for Loki's wellbeing as much as he was what his death would do politically. It sits with him acidically.
000o000
"Is he okay?" Thor asks his mother later that evening, standing outside the healing hall. She looks exhausted, but she's nodding, and she doesn't look worried. Just endlessly, endlessly tired. "He's going to need to be here for a few days, but he'll live."
Thor exhales, compression in his chest releasing. "Thank the gods."
Frigga smiles gently, and rests a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers are warm, and she smells of her garden, despite having been in the medical wing for hours. "Thor," she says his name carefully, like she knows what she has to say he won't like, "your brother was very, very ill. It's a miracle he survived as long as he does. The curse he was under—a witch created that to give her enemies quickly and painfully by removing their senses then shutting down organs. I'd only heard rumors that her enchanted objects were still around. She created more than a dozen to send to her enemies."
Thor stares at her. The enchantment was made to kill? Thor had thought that it was, at most, a spell to ward of thieves. Not…that.
"Then...then how did he…?" Thor trails off, unsure how to phrase the question.
Frigga sighs, rubbing at her forehead. "We don't know. Without the cloth to test, I'm not sure if the legend is false or not. We only recognized it for what it was because her signature was practically soaking him before we removed the curse from him."
Thor grimaces. Loki must have hated that.
Frigga nods. She releases her lower lip, "He's awake now. He was asking for you."
Asking? That means he was talking. Thor follows his mother back into the healing hall, arms wrapped around his stomach. Frigga leads him toward the back, where Thor knows the more serious cases are put. Thor can hear the familiar soft baritone of his brother's voice, talking with Madame Eir.
Oh, thank the Norns.
Thor steps into sight of his younger sibling, and Loki's head turns toward him, as if he was waiting. Thor drinks in the sight of him, relief making his legs weak. His brother is still pale and looks somewhat ethereal, but there is color in his cheeks. His eyes are the familiar green, his face clean of blood.
"Thor," Loki says, and, Norns, the hoarse greeting is one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard.
"Brother," Thor says in turn, and sits down heavily next to Loki's legs. His brother makes no move to accommodate him, but Thor thinks this is more out of exhaustion than anything else. They stare at each other for a long moment, gazes assessing. Then Thor flicks his gaze away and says, "I'm glad you're alright."
"Thank you," Loki's voice is quiet.
Thor looks at him, eyebrow raised. "For what?" He got Loki cursed and nearly killed him, and Loki is thanking him for that?
Loki shrugs, and the motion seems to do him in, because he slumps heavily into the pillows. "I…" he works his lower lip between his teeth. Thor has never been more grateful for his brother's voice, his ticks, the movement of his face and the life in his eyes. He no longer looks like a broken puppet. "You were there," Loki says simply.
Thor nods, feeling awkward, and says firmly, "When am I ever not?"
The smile Loki gives him in return is lonely and strained.