2 - Get Help

Falling through space was just as horrifying and surreal as Loki remembered it to be. The silence rang in his ears, the pressure crushing and airless. The cold biting into his bones must have been ten times worse for Thor, as his grip on Loki's arm weakened and frost formed on his beard.

However, unlike the first time Loki fell and merely accepted his death (even embraced it), this time it rankled. What cruel Norn had seen fit to send him tumbling between the branches of Yggdrasil twice in one lifetime? If they could just, metaphorically, strike one of the branches, Loki could drag them along that anchor to a safe place. At this level of magical exhaustion it would most likely kill him, but he could still do it.

That would be better than this. Slowly losing their grasp on one another until they break apart, floating into eternity alone? Maybe that's what they'd been doing all along.

Thor's grip on his arm tightened again, and Loki turned to see Thor pointing into the distance. If he squinted, he could see a faint gleam that was neither star nor planet. Thor made several pantomime movements that meant little to Loki, then pointed at the gleam more forcefully. Loki frowned. They were hardly on a collision course with the object—ship? Yes, perhaps a ship, but they would likely fly past without ever noticing the two gods, and he didn't know how they would go about propelling themselves toward it.

Thor, apparently, did, as he grabbed Loki around the waist and chucked him over his head with excessive force.

"You're sure the guy's here?" Rocket asked doubtfully, squinting through the windshield of The Benatar. "All I see is a bunch of space trash."

"He could hardly have made off somewhere," the new guy, Loki, rasped, successfully sending himself into a coughing fit. Quill glared at him openly, which he had been doing ever since they scooped his ass out of space limbo. Honestly, the nerve of this guy! He shows up out of nowhere, all beat up and bloody, demanding they go rescue his brother, calling his Gamora 'darling'? And she didn't even hit him!

"It's gotta be the accent," he muttered to himself. "If I called her that, she'd punch me in the throat."

"It is because he is a gentleman," Drax responded, eyes shining with admiration. "Look at him, he is the picture of elegance and sophistication."

Quill scoffed. "Gentleman don't come onto your ship and start giving you orders." He made sure to say it loudly enough that Loki could hear, but it garnered no reaction. He lowered his voice again, shifting to cross his arms. "Besides, he looks like he lost a fight with a battering ram. Not very cool if you ask me."

It was true. The man's neck was ringed in black and purple bruises, traces of blood visible on his face and clothes and seeping from his hairline. His breathing wheezed faintly, and if he looked closely, Quill could swear that he was shaking. The guy had clearly been through it, which was the only reason they agreed to help him find this alleged brother, floating around in deep space and somehow alive. Quill wasn't buying it, and it totally wasn't because Loki was tall and handsome and British and what kind of name even was that anyway? Probably fake.

"Even in his great pain, he is majestic."

"Yeah," he grumbled, determined to get the last word, "it's super majestic to get your ass handed to you on a silver platter."

Drax burst into obscenely loud laughter, making everyone jump.

Loki quirked an eyebrow. "Are you quite alright?"

"Ass on a platter!" Drax declared, and continued laughing, slamming his fists against the table.

Gamora buried her face in her hands for a moment, then Mantis swooped in to whisper something in her ear. Quill felt his anger ease slightly. Mantis had been acting weird ever since they nabbed Loki, and he couldn't help but feel protective of the sweet empath—like a brother situation. Nothing weird! He hoped she was doing OK. Gamora nodded once to whatever Mantis was saying, then slipped away toward the back of the ship, glancing back at Loki as she went. To check if he saw her leave? Did Mantis know something they didn't? Oh, he hoped they were planning a coup or some cool shit! Maybe if he got in a good strategic position he'd be able to—

"This is taking too long…" Loki whispered, sounding vaguely distressed. He stretched his hand forward, took a deep breath. Shit, what was—?

"Whoa now—" Rocket began.

He clenched it into a fist.

CRACK!

Quill staggered, feeling the impact in his chest like the heaviest bass thump ever.

The noise Loki made was visceral—something between a gag and a scream—and he hit the floor. Hard. Somehow, Quill didn't think that was meant to happen.

"Hey! Shit!" Rocket hopped out of his chair and hovered over him, clawed hands reaching out but unsure of what to do.

Mantis darted forward and wedged herself under Loki's arm to help hoist him up into a seat. Her antennae began to glow their usual soft, warm light and she flinched as she connected to his pain.

"Calm down," she instructed.

Loki looked at their joined hands, then at her face and glowing antennae. "What—are you doing to me?"

"Stopping you from killing yourself, stupid!"

For a second, nobody said anything. Loki collected himself, looking at Mantis in a new light. "That was foolish of me," he admitted, separating their hands. "I apologize if the backlash caused any of you discomfort."

"'Backlash'?" Quill repeated. "What were you even trying to do?"

Gamora re-emerged with a blanket over one arm and a cup of something steaming in the other. She unknowingly echoed his question: "What was that pulse?"

"I was reaching for my brother's energy signature. I knew my magic was too weak, but I tried to force it." Loki sighed, flexing his hand experimentally. "The result is rather like breaking a string on an instrument. Magical recoil. It won't happen again." He moved to stand, but Gamora effortlessly shoved him back down.

"See that it doesn't," she said, then forced the cup into his hands. "Here. I'm told it's 'tea,' or something close enough. You'll drink it and you'll wear the blanket—don't give me that look. If you're not going to take care of yourself someone has to. You should rest too, but I doubt—"

That was about the moment something collided with the ship.

"We just can't catch a damn break," Rocket griped.

The Guardians assembled themselves into battle poses, various weapons pointed at the bay doors, which shuttered, and began sliding of their own accord. The vacuum of space suctioned through the ship as a single form slipped through the gap and onto the floor, letting the doors fall shut behind them. They gasped, glaring through one eye as lightning gathered at their fingertips.

Loki pushed into view and the sparks dissipated immediately. "Thor!" He darted forward, pulling the blanket from his own shoulders and draping it across Thor's blue-tinged skin. Carelessly, Thor allowed it to fall to the floor as he pulled Loki into a crushing hug instead.

The Guardians relaxed. "I am Groot," said Groot, stating the obvious.

"Nah, I'm always hugging complete strangers like that," Rocket snarked. "Of course this is the guy! Nothing to see here, kids. Move along."

"Loki," Thor said, bracing his hand on the back of Loki's neck, mindful of the bruises. "I felt your magic pulse and then fade away. I was afraid of what that could mean. I was afraid I might have sent you to your death."

Loki looked touched. He smiled, large and bright and genuine. "Nonsense, brother. 'Get Help' works every time."