I do not own any rights to Thor, nor am I making any profit from this work of fiction.

Author's note: For some reason, words keep disappearing from my documents when I upload them on this site. I think I'm doing a good job at filling in all the blanks, but if I happen to miss any, then I do apologize. Hopefully, everyone will still be able to figure out what is going on.


7. Crimson

Warning: If you cannot handle self harm or suicidal themes, please skip to the next ficlet.

Crimson was not Loki's color. His alabaster skin, emerald eyes, and raven locks all lacked the warm tones needed to wear it well. Instead of making him appear striking, it made him look faded. You saw the garb rather than Loki. It overwhelmed him.

Crimson was definitely Thor's color. It brought out the warmth in his skin and made his blonde hair appear golden. When Thor wore the color, he was beyond striking; people would actually stop to look at him. His already imposing figure was enhanced. Thor was overwhelming.

Thor took to wearing a crimson cape. It made others take notice of him, more so than usual. Standing next to Thor with his broad shoulders and flowing cape, Loki seemed to disappear. He blamed the cape at first; red always did wash him out of the picture.

Eventually, Loki decided that it was not the cape or the color. It was just him. How could one such as he ever expect to be seen beside the mighty and beloved Thor? Still, he did not blame his brother.

Loki blamed himself. Either he was missing something or something was missing from within him. He was not like his brother, his father, their friends…and no matter how he tried, he never would be.

It seemed fitting to Loki; that he would disappear forever as the crimson ran from his veins. His thoughts became jumbled and the world seemed to grow distant until a familiar voice -uncharacteristically panicked- cut through the fog along with the sound of tearing cloth. Loki watched detachedly as a strip of familiar fabric was wrapped around his wrist by strong, shaking hands.

"Crimson always did cause me to fade," he murmured.

The hands stilled briefly but soon returned their work, more gently but still with purpose. "Green always makes me look bland." One hand moved to lift Loki's face. Thor waited until their eyes met to continue. "I've been told they're complementary to each other…red and green. I thought we should just always stand together."

"Complimentary?" Loki pondered, finding it hard to focus while Thor nodded. "So the green exists simply to make the red appear bolder… That is remarkably fitting."

In all the battles they'd fought together, every time they'd been called to their father's chambers to face his anger, Thor had never looked so frightened or powerless. "I never meant for it to be so."

"It was never for you to decide. It simply is the way of things." Loki lacked the strength to keep his voice level. He was not even sure if his brother could hear him.

Thor pulled his brother to him until he was supporting his head on his shoulder. He draped his torn cape over slender, but deceptively strong, shoulders. He lifted Loki's legs with one arm and supported his back with the other as he picked him up gently. "The green may cause the red to appear bolder, but it also calms it, makes it less violent. In turn, the green appears more serene and sophisticated by comparison.

"Hasn't it always been so with us, brother? What would we become without the other…?"

Thor's voice, sounding much calmer than before, and the gentle motion caused by being held so carefully by someone moving so forcefully, were lulling Loki into a peaceful slumber. On the other hand, perhaps it was just the blood loss; he could no longer think clearly enough to decide. In fact, there was only one clear thought in his mind as he drifted away:

Perhaps I can live with that.


8. Stormy

It was the wrong time of year for such stormy weather, especially in Asgard, where it was fair so often. It was for that very reason that Thor chose that day to show off his newfound power. After such a lovely stretch of weather, no one could fail to realize the cause.

The sky darkened suddenly, winds blew in from nowhere, thunder rolled threateningly, and lighting struck repeatedly. It lasted all day, forcing everyone indoors, before ending almost as suddenly as it began.

After a brief reprimand about being more considerate of the farmland and the animals in the future, Odin proudly congratulated his son on his skills. They spent most of the evening in the great all, celebrating with their friends and fellow warriors. Odin boasted as any pleased father would and Thor practically glowed under all the praise and attention. Even those whose plans the storm had halted eventually joined in the festivities.

Only Frigga noticed the small, soaked figure that passed the hall as it moved through the castle. She quietly excused herself to join her other son in an adjoining hallway.

"Loki…?" her pitiful-looking son stopped and turned to face her. She offered him a sympathetic look in response to the dejected expression he wore. The boy had always loved her gardens and had happily started his own that very week with a small corner of land Frigga had gifted him.

She knew such a young garden never stood a chance against the onslaught Thor had pelted it. Still, it seemed a good place to open the conversation. "Was there nothing to be done for it?"

Loki shook his head sadly. "Everything's gone. It just washed away…even the trees I planted at the start."

Frigga sighed and shot a reproachful glance at the noisy crowd through the doors beside her. She quickly turned her attention back to Loki…there would be time to talk to Odin later. "Thor didn't mean to ruin it. You know that, don't you?"

If anything, that seemed to make Loki sadder. He had enthusiastically told his big brother about the garden all week, reporting his progress and sharing his plans for it. Loki had told Frigga that he intended to show his garden to Thor as soon as it began to look the part. Now, it was likely a large puddle of mud with a few sodden shrubs strewn about.

"Of course." Loki answered evenly before speaking more quietly, as though to himself, in a cheerless tone. "I doubt he ever thought of it at all."

Frigga stepped closer to her son as her heart went out to him. Loki tried so hard, she knew, just to be accepted, to be seen. She also knew that it would never be enough. Odin had meant well, all those years ago, when he took the small infant home to raise with his own. However, he would never love the boy as he did Thor; would never understand him as he did his own blood.

And Thor… While Frigga loved both her sons dearly and would defend them equally, she acknowledged that Thor simply did not think enough. He loved Loki and enjoyed his wit and spell craft, but he never saw just how valuable his little brother was. Thor thought Loki's magic 'tricks' and clever way with words were entertaining and convenient for getting out of trouble, but had little use in actual battle or mediation. Thor had no mind for diplomacy and considered any form of attack different from his own to be cowardly and, therefore, unworthy.

Thor did not realize how much he would need Loki in the future, just as he did not realize how much Loki needed him in the present.

Boisterous laughter sounded from the great hall, catching the attention of both Frigga and Loki. The boy sighed and turned to go, but paused to speak first. "Please don't speak of this to Thor, mother. I don't want to sully his accomplishment."

Frigga shook her head sadly. Odin was certainly going to hear of this. "If that is your wish, then he will not hear of this from me. You are a good brother, Loki."

Loki nodded, his back still turned. Frigga knew he did not want her to see the extent of his distress. "Thank you, mother. I- …I'm going to retire early."

"Good night, my son. Be sure to dry and warm yourself before going to bed." Frigga smiled sadly. It seemed such a small concern compared to everything else, but she was still a mother. "We wouldn't want you to catch cold."

"Of course. Good night, mother."

Frigga watched her youngest walk away and felt the weight of all her years upon her shoulders. Her husband had set a dangerous play in motion and she feared her sons would pay the price when it came to a finish. All she could do was encourage them to love one another.

…And hope that would be enough to save them in the end.