Don't Leave Me the Way I Am

Chapter Five

It should be known by now, to all of Asgard, that a smiling thinking Loki is a bad omen.

On the other hand, Thor has always known to be suspicious of a scheming slinking little brother. From the time when they were tiny things, spinning around in the courtyards like dandelion fluff, to even now. He's seen the way his brother gets that glint in his eye, sweet smile morphing into something just a little sharper, directed at the intended target. Plotting trouble. It's Loki's idea of fun.

Not to say that Thor doesn't believe getting into trouble isn't fun. Oh, he's had his fair share of scrapes. A fountain of secret scuffles which waft back to him on lazy days, like that same fluff floating backwards into a palm of the hand. But Thor has always met this mischievous Loki with a small barb of resistance. It's with this common form of his brother, after all, that Thor learned it is possible for something to become too good to be true.

So it is not a new thing, this Loki who spends time smiling and thinking. Thor has been aware of his brother's love for pulling tricks all his life. It's just that Thor acknowledges that sometimes he himself can't be sure if the tales Loki tells are tall. And sometimes, he's the one most likely to be fooled.

Because now? Thor catches Loki smiling and thinking, at him.

This sets Thor on edge, suspicion growing into ire. He can't help this, not really, because it's unnerving. The way Loki has taken to staring at him, mostly when he thinks Thor's not looking, but sometimes not even bothering to hide his open gaze. Thor is starting to think that Loki's laughing at his weakness.

At him.

It twists a savage vein in his gut, makes him feel ill. The very thought of Loki laughing at him makes Thor feel humiliated. But maybe that's exactly what Loki wants.

Oh, Thor is under no illusions about Loki savouring that memory, the day in the lake. Where they'd fought together, argued, played. Where Loki had—

Thor viciously gnaws at the seasoned beef haunch in his grasp, swallowing the thoughts down along with the meat. Ever since that incident, Thor had been very careful to not look anywhere near Loki, or his lips, or anything to do with anything.

He expected there would be repercussions. Unpleasant ones at that. He didn't know what form they would take, public or private, but he knew well enough that it would be painful and humiliating. The Warriors Three were right. It seemed the time when Loki would play him a grand fool was finally at hand.

Thor vaguely wonders if he should just pack his lucky travel bag and hop a ride on Mjölnir to escape.

There's a delicate cough and Thor slows his chewing to look up. His mother is peeling a tiny morsel of meat from the high point of her cheek with a reproachful frown. From the head of the long table Odin snorts and Thor feels himself flush in embarrassment.

There's a tiny snicker.

Thor cuts his downcast eyes over to see Loki, smiling at him from behind a forkful of food.

It drives him mad.

As it was, Thor made sure they rarely spoke with each other. Outside of meals with their parents and the odd court session party to large crowds of people, they weren't in the same vicinity very often. So there was no excuse. It should have been easy to avoid his brother.

But then again, Thor's body and mind have always been determined to disobey.

His eyes followed Loki from afar, independent of his fierce inner dilemma. Heedless of the steady caution he'd cultivated for a life time, Thor still caught himself drinking in the sight of his brother, awakening from his daze only to feel his heart thump like the warning drums of war.

Had it always been that way? The sheer magnetic force that pulled Thor's senses to search for his brother was powerful enough to easily pull from him any misgivings as well. It became a simple natural thing. Repeatedly, Thor would jolt into realization with an anxious bolt. A surprised dismay, that Thor had been unthinkingly smiling back at his brother, encouraging his own embarrassment. It was much too natural a reaction to have been happening for such a short time. This was reason enough to be ashamed.

There's a flash of white and Loki's grinning, green eyes holding secrets as he turns his head to pose a question to the Allfather. Odin answers after a moment of careful chewing, in low tones. Thor swallows thickly, thumping on his chest to help the generous bite of meat go down the right way.

Just how long had Thor been watching?

But as it so happened, whenever this happened, he found Loki was always looking back.

So it went, whenever their eyes would meet from across the room, Loki would stare until Thor scowled fiercely and had to turn away.

Maybe it turned into some kind of game. Thor didn't know for sure, only that the queasiness in his chest would take hold, fist his fluttering heart like a bird struggling to fly. He would not be fooled. He refused.

And Thor became more recluse, dutifully going through the motions of the days, trying to keep himself aloft in the ever watchful eye of the Allfather. Push himself up so high that when Loki decided to bring him down he may not have to fight so hard to crawl back up.

This all worked fine, if not for the fact that Thor began to lose his best friend in the process of avoiding his brother. For Loki was one in the same. And then the day came, when Loki must have made his decision— on how he was going to torture Thor best.

It came in the form of a kiss.

"And so it was, I scaled the tower. It was a looming figure, a monolith. Tall enough to pierce the sky—if I were to be true to its monumental height— and the fair maiden's hair was of equal measure. Untangled red silk, which could easily touch the ground from its great summit..."

"A tall tale, this is," Volstagg cheerfully denying Fandral's account.

"Let me finish and then you would sorely wish you had joined me!"

"In a fantasy! Of course, of course."

"Nonsense," Sif needles the two men as they traverse the maze of lanes in the royal gardens.

The buzz of insects is loud in the treetops, the solid crunch of foliage underfoot. The seasonal flowers are in full bloom and their fragrances thick, fighting with one another in the air. Each twist and turn of the decorative paths carved out in gold paving leads them through a new battle.

Sif continues, batting at an errant bug swirling by her ear. "I have heard enough, Fandral, if you mean to inform us you'd share. Hogun, don't tell me you believe this?"

"I was there." Hogun answers with a deadpan expression. He circles around the fat cluster of friends and walks ahead, head reclined against his folded arms. When he looks over his shoulder there is a hint of a smirk, "But rest assured, it is truth only in Fandral's need for exaggeration..."

"This part of the tale I do believe!" Thor laughs, chuckling at the comedic, scandalized expression that springs up behind Fandral's curled moustache. The shorter blond swings an arm around Thor's shoulders, pressing a finger into his chest pointedly.

"Thor, don't listen to his lies. You're on my side, aren't you?" Fandral grins imploringly, "You've seen all sorts of adventures around Asgard. You know it is possible. Hogun is just jealous it was I who—"

"I admit to nothing but taking a great many stairs..." Hogun interrupts.

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif crow back and forth at each other, in between the lascivious storytelling of Fandral's latest conquest. But as far as Thor is concerned, it's a boring sort of adventure, having more to do with how Fandral wooed an unreachable maiden instead of usurping any great foe.

Although, from watching his friends over the years, it seems possible this in itself is an enemy worth besting. For Thor knows nothing of how to go about reaching out to a woman for romantic liaisons. Has never wanted to, never needed to.

Not until that damned kiss.

The feelings it had stirred, deep in his gut. It was nothing he'd ever felt before, a feeling he didn't know was desperately needed until he had it, right upon his lips. But everything changed with that simple touch of mouth against mouth. He now knew desire. At least, a desire completely new and different to that of wanting to be strong and worthy. Father's best. The possibilities of this new insight were like breadcrumbs leading to places unknown.

For it was as Fandral said. Thor knew almost all there was to know of Asgard. And he was always starving for more.

Except it wasn't so simple.

Nothing ever was for Thor, and his conscience squirmed in a way that made him sick when he thought about it. Loki, his brother, should not have been the one to stir such sentiment. He knows this in a detached manner, from trying so hard all his life to know the way things were supposed to go—the right way.

Thor frowns, hand dragging through the sharply cut tops of the hedges.

The problem was that there's no one else.

Thor can think of no one, no other person he could see himself sharing such a personal thing. Maybe everyone was this way, or maybe he's the only one. Thor doesn't know for certain, but he knows better than to trust his first instinct. He knows from experience that he'd be wrong.

"You well, Thor?" Volstagg asks, cutting into Thor's silent ponderings.

"Oh," Thor grins, embarrassed. The crease between in his forehead smoothes out and fades away. "Naturally, Volstagg. I just was trying to recall," He lifts and eyebrow, grin turning cocky, "Which tavern is waiting for our party—"

"MMM—ehem—Hhm," Volstagg's hungry hum overthrows the flitting insects. "Yes! Yes! We are late, aren't we? Oh, and I've not eaten since midday."

"Which was a mere hour ago, if I read the sun correctly," Comes the sardonic voice that slips easily within earshot.

Volstagg bristles like an angry furred beast as he swings his girth around, curly red hair seemingly standing more on end.

"Loki!" Thor shouts and before thinking any more of it, he's smiling.

Loki smiles back, tilting his dark head in greeting. He's overdressed for the weather, in tunic and coat of thick black hide, armored with studs. A pair of gloves is hanging out of one pocket. He stuffs them back in and rolls up his sleeves as he walks closer. Thor only notices all these things because he's resolutely looking away from Loki's face.

"How are my dear Brother's good friends?" Loki doesn't allow them to answer, sidling up next to Thor's side. "I hear you're all going to celebrate a wedding in town. Isn't that quaint?"

Sif rolls her eyes and Fandral huffs, pulling himself to his full height, which wasn't much taller than Loki, save for his highly flipped hair.

"Yes, and we won't see you there, I hope."

"He's not invited," Hogun mutters.

Thor frowns but Loki laughs and puts a heavy hand on his elbow, slanting Thor down. He blinks as Loki leans a sharp chin against his shoulder only to look out of the corner of his eyes at the irritated foursome.

"Naturally, I have better things to do." Loki dismisses, and then he turns so that he may speak gently into Thor's ear. "Thor, come with me. I'm going hunting."

"You?" Volstagg gives a hearty laugh. "You detest roaming the wild!"

Loki's smile widens and Thor tenses. The feel of the muscle in his brother's cheek is powerful enough to lift a weighted feeling in the pit of his stomach, a chain attached to an anchor, keeping him from drifting away.

"The game I'm after you would know nothing about." Loki taunts. "Maidens, of course."

Oh.

"This is the celebration of Sif's dearest cousin and his new wife," Thor tries, swallowing back his utter jealousy. It's not easy. He's scowling and brushing Loki off his arm with and easy shove, joining his friends who look on with approving smiles.

"That does sound so important." Loki replies, and with an almost nonchalant shrug he tugs at his coat to straighten it with one stiff movement.

If only Thor could be so composed.

"You could come with us, Loki," He offers before he can stop himself and his friends shoot him dismayed looks. "He can come as my guest!"

"Thank you for the sentiment," Loki smirks and turns on his heel, "But forgive me if I pass."

Thor doesn't realize he's still watching until Loki's down the lane and turns to look over his shoulder. Loki raises one hand to press to his lips before he blows a kiss that floats towards them. Then he waves goodbye.

Thor barely manages to keep his mouth from falling open. His heart thumps once, twice, thrice loud as thunder in his chest.

And Fandral makes a face, "What was that all about?"

Volstagg scratches his head and turns to Sif, "Do you think it was for you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sif immediately grimaces, appalled. "I'm more likely to climb a never-ending tower by a maiden's hair..."

Fandral sighs loudly. "I'm wounded by you lot. All of you. I will swear it true until my dying day."

"And I so swear you have multiple lives." Hogun puts in as Sif and Volstagg chuckle.

"Ah yes," Sif recounts with fondness, "Who was it that took a sword to the gut just short months ago? Speared all the way through, if I remember correctly."

Fandral ignores this and elbows Thor in the side. "He's madness itself, really, your brother."

"I hear magic does that to the mind." Thor answers, vaguely trying to wade through his thoughts which have all turned to mush upon witnessing that floating kiss.

"Truly?" Volstagg pats Sif on the crown of her head, "Has it seeped into yours yet, from all the spells he forced onto you to grow that hair? Which is not as beautiful as mine, if I do say so myself..."

"Haha," Sif punches him in the arm, grinning wide. "Right. Come, we are late, as usual. My cousin's new wife will riot if I don't buy the first rounds. She's the most irritable woman you'll ever meet and hates me to boot. I wouldn't even bother, but you should see how happy they are... Confuses us all."

"That is true madness." Thor chuckles, amused.

But he so desperately wants to know that feeling of love. Wants a real, honest chance to be confused.

Later that night, the tavern bursts at the seams with celebrations, ale flowing freely into open laughing mouths. It is with the amazing, buzzing numbness his deep cup brings that Thor forgets all about his worries and finally feels at ease.

Even when he thinks he sees Loki slip in, a tall pale figure, a slit of light filtering in between the burly boisterous patrons. Even when he notices Loki's disheveled appearance, tunic askew, cheeks flushed. Self satisfied smirk.

Thor finds he didn't care so much, didn't feel the jealousy that threatened him with immolation, when his palate was whet with mead. He didn't even think of himself and about what was inside, what wrongness could be dug out of the deepest pits of his heart, if he laughed it all away.

And laugh he did, many times, over and over, as he and his friends treasured the nights of drinking like pearls strung on a very long line.

Thor casts himself deep into friends and fighting and drink.

And there were women.

At taverns in the smoky rambunctious atmosphere, he remembers that Elf in Alfheim, the one whose eyes reeled him in like bait. There is a hook of fear attached to that line of thinking, and Thor knows how he comes across with men. It was hard enough getting back to the easy camaraderie with the Warriors Three.

Whenever women bat their eyelashes at him, smiled with invitation, he declined. It was not that he did not like women. He enjoyed them, if not in the romantic sense, nor of the body. Only that he got along better with them in these times. But Thor, mighty Thor, was the Prince of Asgard. It wouldn't be right to mix up with maidens from bars. He couldn't share himself with them, because of this.

And then, like a shadow cast by an idea so bright, the simple justification stretched to cover any woman. Higher class women of the court, other royalty, perhaps one or two potential suitor. They all fell away to a place in the shade where he could not see their hurt faces at his rejection. To a place where he would not see the reason he turned them down.

This was a period in Thor's life that he hardly remembered past the blur, past the mindlessness which guided him through the motions. Past the hurt that followed him like a darkness, no matter how harsh the light.

Staring at the blurred figures dancing along tavern walls in the candlelight, he'd come to realise that a shadow was just a reflection of the self. And even if you closed your eyes against it, the shadow would still be there, at its strongest inside.

But those are the kind of strange thoughts you have, when you get drunk.

So it became that the best place to find the God of Thunder, was in a bar.

"Thor, you need to stop gallivanting to every tavern you come across."

Loki's scornful voice is like a saw, grating back and forth on Thor's skull. He groans and rolls to smother his face into the furs of his bedding. There's an ear-splitting screech as Loki drags open the thick red velvet drapes of his chambers to let in the light.

"Go 'way," Thor slurs, covering his face with large arms and half a pelt.

"I will," Loki says, rustling through Thor's belongings unnecessarily loud, "Once you've risen from your sorry state."

Thor chucks a piece of pottery at Loki's head.

It smashes against a wall instead of his annoying little brother and Thor grimaces, feeling sick and dizzy at the crash. Loki makes a small rueful tsk sound.

"Where were you this time? Wait, don't answer. You don't know, do you? Where I found you. I know not how you expected to drag yourself in such a stupor from that seedy little hole."

Thor growls and then clenches his teeth, squeezing eyes shut. He does not need Loki's lectures when he is in such a state.

"Only the real drunkards congregate in the bars of Nidavellir, Thor. Dwarf drink is known to kill a man or two. You should not have gone, lest you be so proud to join the rest of the flies on a carcass."

"Enough!" Thor grunts and rolls again, twisting the covers about him to try and ward off the outside world. The lurch is enough to make his head swim, nausea overcoming his senses. It's a feeling he has come to know well, one that he makes sure of. "Brother, leave me. I can attend to mys—"

"Oh, yes, you can." Loki stops by the edge of the bed and then Thor yelps, a vicious pinch to the soft arch of his foot sending him tumbling to the floor.

When he finally blinks, Loki is standing overhead, holding Thor's helm.

Thor takes it with one hand and sees his wretched reflection in the shine of flawless silver. He lets it drop to the ground and groans, curling to rest his head against his knees.

"The ceremony. That was today then?" Thor whispers, not looking up.

"It was."

"Brother," Thor blinks back guilt. "I am sorry."

"Thor." A soft touch is placed on his shin and Thor lifts his head to see Loki kneeling beside him. "Do not apologize for that. I do not mind."

"But it is important, Loki," Thor swallows back the taste of shame. It is a bitter thing. "Father recognizing you as the most skilled sorcerer in Asgard— it is a tremendous occasion."

"It is a fact well known without the fanfare." Loki smiles in reply and Thor can feel the beginnings of a flush, the quickening in his heartbeat. But Loki's face transforms as he frowns and raises a hand to press against Thor's forehead.

"You are unwell," Loki says, cool palm firm against Thor's skin. Thor averts his eyes and presses his lips together.

"I am loathe to admit you were right."

Loki smirks and pulls back, "Now I know you are not yourself."

Thor chuckles and drags a rough hand through sleep-mussed hair. It does nothing to quell his pounding head and heart.

"Tell me of your day," Thor asks.

Loki cocks his head, a gleam in his eye as he reaches up and pets Thor's hair, gently combing the tangles out, long fingers smoothing down. Thor fights to not lean into the touch, but he is starved for this type of affection, though he longs to be apart from it. He cannot deny his brother, not when Loki pulled him from a heap in that miserable realm of Nidavellir on the eve of his special day.

Loki speaks to him then, a long strain of words from an endlessly soothing tongue as he twists locks of Thor's hair in between fingers.

How the maidens of the court must love that voice, Thor thinks as he watches his brother. How soft and genuine sounding it is. He cannot tell what is real or not, only focuses on the comforting feel of his brother's touch.

"—much better. Now give us a kiss," Loki says beseechingly with a wide smile, leaning in.

Thor jumps, knocking his head on the leg of the bed table and another unfortunate pot meets a splintered fate as it rolls off the edge. He stares, full out stares, mouth falling to gape wide open.

"Come now," Loki crawls forwards, expression positively dancing with amusement, his hands on either side of Thor's splayed thighs. "One little peck—"

"Loki, stop," Thor manages to laugh this away too, just as everything else. It's all he can do. He pushes at Loki's shoulder for enough space to haul himself up, sit dizzily atop his bed. His brother has always been a trickster and Thor himself joined in on the jokes sometimes. Sometimes whether he liked it or not.

But this wasn't funny.

He can feel Loki's stare against his back and there is a long silent moment, before Loki laughs too. Thor watches from the corner of his eye as Loki picks up the winged helmet and places it carefully on the bedding.

Thor feels guilt and anger weigh him down more than ever, growing with each soft boot click against the stones as Loki walks away. Because he knows what he's supposed to do. Thor knows he should tell Loki to stay, don't go, thank you— But what he actually wants to say are things that are too hard to say. So he says nothing at all.

His pulse is racing, lips tingling with desire. He wished Loki would just help... fix this. Fix him, put them back together again. Brothers who did not need each other so much that it hurt. Oh, it hurt, that Thor loved Loki so very much he felt there could be no one else.

"Father wishes your presence, when you are prepared." Loki tells him from the doorway, and Thor looks back at him, unable to understand the odd current that threads between them. A bright line of light connecting two points unknown.

He doesn't know what he'd do without Loki. He's the only one who's safe.

Please don't make it into a joke, Thor thinks as the door shuts. Groans as his face hits the soft furs, hands holding on tight.

Don't leave me the way I am.