A/N: Apologies for the delay on this one! The bite of those removed wisdom teeth lives on (no pun intended).

Enjoy!

/

He awoke to cold and the dull, throbbing ache of settled injury.

For a moment, he could not move. His mind, while slowly whirring into cognizance, could not seem to transfer the message of action to the rest of his body. The steady pour of the current beside him echoed relentlessly to some earsplitting level; he felt heavy, weighted down with slowly-building nausea and the agonizing fire in his veins. For a few terrifying moments he could do naught but twitch his fingers as awareness carefully beckoned him to full consciousness. Amidst the fog in his brain, random words surfaced that held a connection to something important, of that he was sure; but the meaning was lost somewhere in the haze.

Breathe...pain...roll...get up...must...move...

What was he forgetting?

Sticky, muddy, stuck. His hands shifted now, grasping limply for purchase in the sludge he was submerged in. The fog was starting to clear and some semblance of panic was creeping into the instinctual recesses of his mind. Where was he? Home? Wait...the water. Why could he hear the babbling of a brook? Why was it hard to breathe? He inhaled sharply, head jerking sideways as thick muck found its way into his nostrils. You need to move!

I'm trying! he shot back at himself. Why couldn't he open his eyes? Why did...why did he hurt so much? The pain was bringing recollection along with it, and though his memory was tinged with the haze of waking, there was a sense of urgency pulling at his core.

Run...crash...not...enough...time...fire...

Beast.

The beast.

Thor.

His eyes shot open.

Clarity stopped trickling in and instead shot him straight through the heart like an arrow. With a startled cry he attempted to push himself up, only to come crashing back down to the earth as fire ricocheted through his spine. Oh gods. Oh gods, he was hurt and he was hurt badly and he had to move but he couldn't, he had to, he had to find his brother...!

Splayed out on his belly, Loki turned his head sideways as air rattled through his damaged nose. He was drenched, from the mud and fine mist from the river combined, and he wondered dimly how many hours had passed while he'd lain here. His body shuddering from a weak cough, he tried once more to move, this time rolling over onto his back. It took a few minutes but the mud finally released its hold on his body with a reluctant squelch. Trembling, he eyed the treetops above as his head sunk into the ground; the sun was now high in the sky and the world was bright.

Hours. He had been here for hours.

A thin whimper slipped past his lips as he tried to sit up. Every bone in his body protested against the movement, but he forced himself upright, hands braced in the wet earth behind him. He blinked a few times, apprehension curling in his stomach at the sight of his legs. His right thigh was bleeding profusely, the flesh split wide just above the knee. Dizziness swarmed as he eyed the pale white bone peeking out from the folds of useless skin; before he could stop it, vomit came rushing hot and thick up his throat. He barely managed to turn in time to expel into the river, tears pouring heavy down his face at the effort.

He should not be alive.

He should not have survived a blow of that caliber, nor the impact of the crash, nor the extent of his injuries. As if his body was responding to his frantic thoughts as he heaved over the water, a spark of green light flashed right below his eye and he startled. Realization dawned once more. His magic.

His magic was back.

A crushing wave of hope arose in his chest and the sight of the familiar, glowing light dancing across his fingertips drew a choked sob from his lungs. Yet another spark flashed in his periphery and he wheezed, relieved, as the pain began to slowly ebb from his ruined nose. The depletion of before had severely delayed his body's natural healing, and so the process had been slow and nearly inept but had continued nonetheless.

His magic was the only reason he was still alive.

Loki gulped thickly and moved one filthy hand to hover over the gash in his leg. Whispering a few desperate words he looked heavenward, unable to watch as his leg began to mend itself...slowly. He could feel the pull on his magic like blood seeping from a wound, but he couldn't stop. If he did not heal himself, he could not move.

And if he could not move, he could not find his brother.

The world tipped sideways and he swayed as the wound finally knit itself together. He was shaking badly - from the effort or the deep chill in his bones, he wasn't sure - but he grabbed onto the rocks in front of him and pulled himself into a standing position. The muscles in his back protested viciously and he wheezed, leaning heavily against the damp rocks for support. It seemed that particular wound was still in the throes of healing itself, but he silently praised the Norns for sparing him the burning rips of flesh from before.

Tentatively, he leaned his weight on his injured leg to test its strength and settled for a "good enough." Grasping firmly onto the rocks, he started to climb but lost his footing on the first try. Gritting his teeth and fueled by the sinking feel of precious time slipping through his fingers, he planted one foot on the rock's ledge and pushed off the muddied ground with the other. The slow swell of pain escalated as he climbed but he pointedly ignored it. He had to get back to the clearing. He had to find his brother and take him back to camp, he had to see him with his own two eyes.

His memory taunted cruelly with the last image of Thor being overcome by the beast. Tears sprang forth but he did not succumb, go go go, get out, keep moving, climb!

It took every ounce of strength he did not have to pull himself over the final boulder's edge. His muscles screamed for rest but still he pressed on, stumbling badly but eyes fixed on the clearing in front of him. He entered the open space blinking rapidly with one hand raised to block out the sun. "Thor!" he tried to call out, but it was barely above a rasped cry. His eyes darted rapidly about the clearing, frantic and searching for the familiar sight of a red cape. He could feel his own panic rising to an unbearable pinnacle, but could do nothing to stop it. His heart was slamming against his ribs like it meant to escape and he struggled to breathe as true fear swallowed his panic whole. "Thor?" he yelled out, louder now. He spun about frantically, hands coming up to grasp tightly at his filthy hair.

There was nothing here.

No beast, no Thor.

Nothing.

"Thor!" he screamed out, taking off in a sloppy run. "Thor, where are you! Brother! Answer me!" Wildly he retraced their steps, his mind churning through the landmarks lazily, blinded by the haze of terror and pain. His voice started to crack under the volume of his cries, but he couldn't stop. No. No, no, no no. Not his brother. Not Thor, not his brother, gods no -

Loki slowed to a halt in the realization that he had been travelling in panicked circles, his eyes brimming with tears. There weren't even signs of a struggle here, no blood spatter, no flung-away weapons, nothing. Were it not for the marred bark of the tree where his own blades had landed, he would be convinced he was in the wrong spot. He turned around in despondent circles, mumbling his brother's name, his mind creating visions of Thor being devoured alive -

"No," he whispered. He paused, his chest heaving, trying and failing to calm himself. Oh gods. Thor wasn't here. His eyes stubbornly scanned the treeline regardless, desperate to find something, anything he may have missed before. He limped forward a few steps, paused, squinted. There. In the dying shrubbery ahead, where he had hidden after the beast's claws had torn across his back was an unnatural swathe of red, abundantly obvious in its stark contrast to the earthly tones surrounding it. He rushed over and crashed to his knees for the effort, scooping the article from the bushes.

Thor's cape.

Or at least, a torn portion of it, caked in dirt and the tell-tale rust of dried blood.

A low wail slipped from his throat, mournful and wrought with despair. "Oh gods," he cried out. He brought the fragment close to his chest, cradling it close as he rocked back and forth, tears pouring hot and heavy down his pallid cheeks. "No, no, Thor, no. I'm sorry, my b...my brother, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Thor...!"

None save the birds and the creatures of the forest heard his horrified howl.

Duartr had been serving in the king's private regiment since his five hundredth name day.

As far as the Aesir were concerned, he was still young and unencumbered with the trials of war. But he was no stranger to it, nor to the art of battle. A long, jagged scar that ran from his eye to his jaw was proof enough of that. Many had told him over the years that his lack of emotion - his steady, blank mask that always found its way to his face in times of crisis - served to both unnerve and comfort them simultaneously in times of distress. In his mind, panic led to nothing but faulted decisions. A calm exterior often served to still any frantic behavior around him, while also allowing him to take control of the situation as needed.

Which was exactly what he was trying to do now.

"I'll not do that. It is not necessary."

"Duartr." His serving officer sounded desperate, panicked even, and he deliberately stared at a point behind him instead of his face. "You are making a mistake. If the All-father finds out we have done nothing -"

"Then he will understand I am obeying his express command." Duartr straightened and faced the man, his expression flat and bored. Cadby fidgeted, exhaling shakily under his scrutiny. "Tell me, were you expecting anything different? Truly? You know how Prince Loki is. Fickle of heart and mischievous as anything. I would have been surprised if we'd found them sleeping this morning as we should have. I would have wondered what he was up to."

"But our scouting parties have been out for hours and returned with nothing," Cadby blurted.

"And what makes you think informing the All-father will make a speck of difference?" Duartr could not keep the edge from his voice, tense as he secretly was. He crossed his arms behind his back and slowly circled the man, a sneer marring his features before he could stop it. "Rather, what do you think he will say when he finds out his sons slipped unseen into the forest while under your watch?"

"We had to inspect suspicious activity!" Cadby snapped.

"It was a brush-fire, Cadby. A classic juvenile prank by the trickster himself. You should have known better." He schooled his face into a calm mask once more and turned from him, sighing. "I stationed two guards outside their tents because the second son is a menace. I knew he was going to attempt something. Especially after his behavior yesterday, acting so belligerently towards his brother as he did. The boy is a brat and a sneak. It is only out of respect for my Queen that I journeyed on this foolish expedition at all." Ordinarily, he would not speak so freely his thoughts. But Cadby had long been by his side, and he knew his judgments mirrored his own.

"Well what are we to do then? I swear to the Norns, if I ever get my hands on that little imp I'll beat the senses out of him."

"Come now," Duartr smirked. "You aren't still sore over that time he turned your sword into a serpent, are you?"

"I was bitten by one as a boy and nearly died," he shot back, straightening. "He only did that once he learned of that tale to humiliate me in the training rings. It is not my fault he is a blight upon his father's house and relies so upon his sorcery. Coward."

"Calm yourself." He waved him off, rubbing a hand over the rough stubble on his chin. "I care not for your personal grudges. What I do care about is finding the two of them and bringing them back before -" Duartr's voice cut off abruptly at the sound of a panicked shriek cutting through the space outside their tent. He froze and Cadby snapped his head towards him, meeting his eyes.

Gods, the sound was...the sound of it was frantic, desperate in pitch and completely laced with some awful terror.

"Guards! Guards!"

It took only a moment for both men to run from their tent, their hearts dropping straight to their stomachs.

Prince Loki was emerging from the trees, half-limping half-running towards the camp, his eyes blown wide in terror. "Help me!" he called out, even as a number of the men ran scurrying towards him. He fell to the ground before they reached him, babbling like a child, and Duartr scurried to his side in seconds.

"What is it?" he demanded. "My prince, what -" For the second time in mere seconds, the words died on his lips as he took in the prince's appearance. He was filthy, covered in mud and what appeared to be dried blood, twigs and dead leaves entangled in his unkempt hair. His fine clothes were torn and soaked; he smelled like wet earth. His face was smeared with dirt, save for the tear marks that left two thin trails of white skin behind, but it was his eyes that gave him pause. They were glowing some sort of unnatural, almost ethereal green and he actually halted in his tracks, unable to meet the boy's gaze.

He looked rather like a thing possessed.

"Please," Loki croaked. His fingers curled into the ground and it was only then Duartr noticed how he was shaking. "I need...I need your guards. W-we need to find Th...Thor. He was t-taken and we need to f-f-find him..."

"What has happened?" His tone was cold and blunt, but the boy was clearly in a panic. He spoke of Thor and the need to help him and if the prince was in danger, then time was not on their side.

"Att-tt-acked," Loki stuttered. His arms suddenly came about his body and he rocked back and forth, sobbing with his head bowed. "W-we were c-c-caught unawares and he has...he has disappeared..."

"He's not making any sense," Cadby said. He stormed forward and crouched by the boy, yanking his head up harshly with his hand. "What has happened to Prince Thor? Who attacked you?" Loki's eyes were still glowing that unnatural green but his gaze was elsewhere, fixed on some imaginary point beyond them.

"The beast," he whispered. And that was all the information they would receive, it seemed; Loki's eyes rolled back up into his head and he slumped unceremoniously to the ground. Cadby groaned in frustration, but Duartr held up a staying hand.

"He is in shock," he said plainly to the surrounding guardsmen. "Get him to the village healers, with haste." There was a pause, a beat that lasted too long in wary delay and Duartr snarled. "Now! Go!" His men obeyed quickly then, scooping the boy up in their arms and running off towards their horses, shouting orders at each other. Duartr watched with a lingering gaze and Cadby came to stand behind him.

"This does not bode well," the younger man said.

"No," Duartr agreed. "It does not." Neither one said anything more as they watched the guards haul the young prince atop their fastest steed, galloping off towards the direction of the village.

The men looked on, unaware of the same gnawing suspicion blossoming in the other's heart.

Loki was inconsolable.

He had awoken distraught, a scream tearing from his lips as unknown hands had pressed down upon him, rough and unkind. "Thor!" he had cried. "Do not touch me, where is my brother...!" A burst of powerful magic had erupted from his body and cries had sounded, distant and unimportant.

The beast had his brother and he needed help, he was lost somewhere and no one was listening to him -

Someone pressed a foul-smelling cloth to his face and he had struggled for only a moment before darkness had claimed him once more.

When he had awoken the second time, it was night. His mind was terribly fogged and he struggled to breathe, laid out flat in a cot somewhere. Confusion and panic both had blossomed into a now-familiar terror as the minutes passed and he could not determine where he was. He could remember nothing but the sound of Thor's screams and the awful, earth-shattering roar of the beast.

Not long after he'd been visited by the head of the guard accompanying them, Duartr, and remembrance had hit him full force. The man had questioned him relentlessly, demanding specific answers to when they had left and where they had gone. Loki had stuttered out tearful replies, desperate to help but shamed by the part he'd played in his brother's disappearance. Once he'd gathered the information the man had abruptly left, calling his men to action. They'd sent out a search party and were gone through the night.

They had returned two days later with nothing.

Loki had demanded he accompany the next band and they had begrudgingly let him. Two hours in and he was near panic once more, dry-heaving in a copse of trees while they looked on in displeasure.

Nothing looked familiar. It was as if the trail he and Thor had taken had ceased to exist entirely.

He had refused to give up and continued the search until he began unintentionally leading the guards around in circles. It had bothered them to no end and some had begun to accuse him of playing another prank. Nothing he said had mattered. All were jittery and nervous with the sense of foreboding doom; each hour that passed brought with it the diminishing probability of finding the crown prince.

These sentiments were only further exacerbated when an entire legion suddenly appeared by the next morning, informing them all that the All-Father demanded Loki be sent home at once.

He now sat glumly within a horse-drawn carriage, flanked on all sides by even more guardsmen. He felt humiliated by the obvious coddling, but the mens' orders had been clear: protect the prince at all costs and return him home swiftly. They would be at the palace within the hour and the thought of facing his parents...of facing his father, after what he had done, chilled him to the core.

Had he killed his brother? The thought alone made him want to vomit, as he had been every night since his frantic return to camp. Even now he could not remember how he had managed to find his way back; it was all a blur, a series of point-blank memories singed with pain and desperation and fear and the driving need to seek safety. And the men, they had...they had seemed angry with him, as well they should be. This was his fault.

This was entirely his fault.

I do not know if you had a true desire to accompany your brother, but you will do so anyway. To keep watch over him. His father's words echoed relentlessly in his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the reminiscence of his own failure. To ensure he does not do anything rash or stupid. I am placing this responsibility in your hands, Loki, and it is to be your burden until you return.

And he had failed, not only in obeying his father's parting command but had instead played a direct role in the disappearance of his brother.

Did you think me so rash father?

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he sobbed bitterly and without shame until the sound of the King's Horn sounded, announcing his arrival at the palace. Terror gripped his heart as he emerged from his transport at the sight of the king and queen, waiting before the outer walls.

He would not even have a moment of respite, then, no sorry attempt at composing himself before he faced them.

The moment his mother spotted him she came running, her skirts gathered in her hands, ever the picture of grace and queenhood that he positively adored in her. "Loki!" she cried out. Her voice shattered any pretense of bravery he might have tried to latch onto. He could not stop himself from rushing towards her, a fresh sob already escaping from his throat as he collided into her, desperate for her to understand.

"I'm sorry mother," he bawled, grabbing onto her skirts as if his life depended on it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, mother I'm so sorry -"

"Hush, my son. It is alright. Shhhhh." She soothed his sobs with gentle murmurings, pushing his hair back with a loving hand. "Calm yourself, my darling. That's it. Shhhh..."

"I will find him, mother. I...I promise," he choked out. It felt like a lie, and it unnerved him. He clutched ever tighter to her, not caring one bit about how the guards or his father might perceive it.

His father.

Jolted from the comfort of her warm embrace, he pulled back quickly to look upon the king. Odin had not moved from where he stood, watching the two of them with his customary blank expression, Gungnir gripped firmly in his fingers. Loki took a step forward and faltered, desperately trying to read his father's vacant contemplation. He remained unmoving, his gaze unwavering. Loki felt suddenly like nothing more than a speck of dirt the king might have removed from the bottom of his boot. He fell to his knees, a pitched whine slipping through his lips.

"Father," he said. Tears continued to stream down his face. "Father, I beg your forgiveness. Please. I...I will find him. Father -"

"Loki." His mother's soft voice sounded behind him, her fingers gently grazing his shoulder, but he could not remove his eyes from his father. The man said nothing, simply stood tall and imposing before him, yet the weight of his disappointment and shame was palpable, thick in his gaze and permeating the space about him. Loki found himself unable to keep speaking, his vision blurred with unshed tears as he waited for an admonition, a yell, something.

Instead he faced the harsh reality of nothing as Odin's lips curled and he turned, walking back inside of the palace without another word.

/

There's just no winning when it comes to Odin. Then again, his son did just disappear so maybe we can give him a pass.

As always, I welcome your thoughts! Thanks to all who contribute - you make my day so much brighter.