This is the real you.
It's in Thor's dreams where Loki's voice is clearest.
The slow stream of words is as if someone is blowing on the kindling in his heart, setting Thor on fire. He grits teeth against the tension in his arm, the joints all locked up tight. But remorse crushes down on him like gravity. He feels the weight quickly unravelling his resolve, his strength, as sure as Gungnir in his hand. As sure as Loki's grip on the other end.
As sure as their father's hold upon Thor as they dangle overtop the nothingness of space.
"I have done things for both of you which I hate," Odin says, the words filtering downwards from his place upon the broken edge of the Bifrost. Thor swallows down to try and quell the awful spiralling in his stomach, but Odin continues, "You have done the same."
Of course he has. Thor knows this deeper than he would like, knows with great clarity all the moments in which he'd pretended for his father, his mother, his friends. Loki.
He knows why he did so. Why he would still do so, even now, if that is what his father asked it of him. But Thor does not wish to any longer. For some reason, it's so easy to see now. His father's grip hurts more than falling.
"Boys," Odin intones, his single eye blinking just once, slow with a calmness born of age, "This is what it means to be family."
Rainbow shards crumble from the broken edge of the bridge, losing their glitter as they fall away down below towards the stars. Thor and Loki are bright spots amongst them, hanging from the open arm of the opal sky, tethered to Asgard only by their father. So close to being set free.
The thin clouds stretch endlessly, thicker as they go. There'll be thunder coming in tonight. Every night.
The stars don't always have to shine.
Loki had told him this one such night back on their first adventure. Back down in Alfheim when they'd had monsters to fight.
The skies aren't always clear. This is a natural part of the world. Even when we're apart and I fall down or feel dull, I always remember you're my big brother and it makes things seem right again.
Loki had laughed and then crossed his arms, looking up at the cloudy night sky through the dark leaves, nudged his shoulder against Thor's. Not like I'll go around saying this all the time, mind you, so listen. You are mighty, Thor. Should you find yourself in a rut, stop running and just fly. Never forget— in all the realms, and all the universe, there's no one like you.
"Loki..." Thor thinks of all these words and his heart sinks. "Loki, you can't! Please, hold on. Don't leave me—"
"Follow," Loki whispers in reply, the deep swirls of the sky stretching wide across his eyes as he lets go. Falls and falls and falls.
It's a strange dream.
Whenever Thor has it he wakes with a tear crawling away from his cheek, like a single droplet escaping the thunderstorm raging inside.
Thor stirs from another restless slumber, pushing aside the linen bed sheets. He swings legs over the rim of the couch, rubs a hand over his face and combs knotted back hair. Thor's index finger finds a thin braid amongst the curls and hooks around it, slipping down until his hand falls back into his lap. He gets up quietly.
Light from the moon filters in through the bay window in the small living room, pushing shadows across the walls and floors like they weigh nothing. The days and nights are longer than he remembers, despite time moving faster in this place; Midgard.
He does not remember falling. Perhaps he didn't, for all he dreams of it, but it seems more like a memory from long ago, a small precious bead in a string of memories old enough to be outworn. Maybe if he were still in Asgard the explosion on the Bifrost had only happened days ago. Maybe even minutes. Thor has no way of knowing for certain, only knows no one has come looking. Maybe in Asgard he was dead.
He remembers the landing, at any rate. The hard shock of the desert on his back and the dark of night stretching boldly towards him as he lay on the summer-baked New Mexico ground, much like the first time he arrived. Thor stayed there stargazing, unwilling to move until the sky pulled up its skirts and revealed dawn.
Then he'd walked, not thinking of the time lost in between journeys, until he found the help he needed; Mr. Lee in Santa Fe. The old man welcomed Thor into his home and now Thor does his best to repay the kindness in ways he can. Heavy lifting here and there, construction work at the rebuild sites in Puente Antiguo. A bit of tidying in the house.
Thor goes to the small kitchen sink, dipping a cupped hand under the running water to catch some and bring it to his mouth. Absentmindedly, he puts away a few dishes from the night before.
The mess in the kitchen is nothing compared to Jane's old trailer and the comparison sends Thor reeling with a sort of nostalgic heartache. He knows time has stretched long enough for Jane, Erik, and Darcy to have moved on, their research lab gone. Just as well, anyway. Jane's tied to her own brand of magic, something this world desperately needs. They'll meet again eventually— Thor gave his word.
Besides, there's someone else he's looking for.
Thor crosses from the kitchen, through the living room and towards the front door which sits on a landing just down a short flight of stairs. He skips the one squeaky step to grab his boots. Lee won't wake for another few hours yet, and that's good.
He can go flying.
Oh, Thor has searched. He is not without his powers now and everyday he flies through the countryside and above the cities, looking wherever is within his means. Struggling to find another bead in that string of memories, like the sudden shine of a gem in a crowd. But there is nothing.
He does not find Loki.
A few months later, something in New York explodes.
"He loves me."
Loki lazily points and then snaps his fingers. A tiny ball of golden energy goes hurtling after another screaming human. They stream together unevenly; bumping and falling down and creating stunning mayhem. A grin cracks across Loki's lips for a moment as he watches the stupid man run, until the spell hits a streetlamp, its pole splitting as if struck by lightning. It falls over, spreading flames into the road and the human lives to see another day.
The glee drops away from Loki's face leaving it blank as he stares.
"He loves me not."
He becomes aware of the blankness showing through and the next second he sneers, snaps fingers again. A ball of icy blue goes slicing through the air towards another unfortunate target.
It's a silly game.
The petals of a long-since plucked flower lay beneath his idly swinging feet. Really silly, since most of the swarms of humans have gone now and yet he's still destroying random objects along the street. There's very little point to this game if he can make up the rules as he goes, but Loki finds he does not truly want to win. When things become too ruined it's easier to find an excuse to keep going than to stop.
"Hmmm," Loki hums to himself, leaning back on his hands. He cocks his head, surveying the playing field from his high perch with a sort of detachment. Boredom.
"You will outgrow these games," Father had told him. Long ago, when he and Thor were at odds and hadn't talked for ages— when Thor became owner of Mjölnir and Loki was told to apologize.
"Loki, do not act as if you know not of what I speak, of the way you treat your brother— Mischief and laughter cannot last forever. He will get hurt."
"Father, you mistake me," Loki had answered him then, in a lethargic sort of voice. The sort of voice he used when he could no longer dredge up the effort to reach for anything but the truth, "I love Thor."
"Then you will outgrow this childish love! Put away the indulgences and find your place in Asgard."
But look where we are, Loki thinks.
This is no Asgard and they are children yet.
An air of amusement colours Loki's movements as he neatly jumps from his high seat atop a monument. His feet hit the ground with a soft click and he brushes his hair back. It's gotten much longer, it seems. Time's relative.
His procession begins.
Pathetic stragglers run from him now, weaving between the smoking punctures left in the road. They're like ants fleeing from a boot and Loki feels like a giant. Could he learn to live here? He doubts it. At the moment it seems as if he is framed inside a repulsive painting and the only way to escape is by erasing the background, piece by piece. Planet Earth's too small.
Thor landed here first. Of this, Loki is certain. But somewhere else.
Loki is attuned to these things. He could tell the moment he'd crashed into this disgusting realm and found himself in the ice and cold muck of wintery city streets. He could sense Thor's presence despite its scant trace. It was in the way the clouds rolled across the skies during the day. Old magic, like the fragrance of the earth, unnoticeable until all the human dirt gets washed away. A magic Loki feels strongest in the thunder on a stormy night.
It drives him mad. Then again, he hears magic does that to the mind.
But what Loki wants now is a fight. He yearns for it, wants Thor to come find him, perhaps just for an excuse to be taken apart piece by piece too. Except Thor's not looking.
What sort of love is this, Loki thinks. When you would rather hate yourself in someone's presence than suffer their absence?
What sort of heart does he have, that it should be cold where there should be warmth? Loki grits his teeth and whips his head to the side to blow something else up. It's only when Thor comes around and gives his blood a reason to race when Loki remembers his heart's there.
The thought of Thor ignoring him, choosing to forget instead of confront, sets Loki on edge. It sets a sick sort of spin inside his chest, like a blacksmith's stone, sharpening him into a blade with its hot burn. It's beautiful in its danger, this affection. Beguiling. Maybe that's why it's the only one which works— Safe games just aren't as fun.
Whatever.
Loki pays the reasons no mind. If Thor won't come then he'll take this world apart. Make it great by reducing everything to dust. Loki will use this burn as a weapon; destroy enough of the picture until Thor's forced to look. When all the realms of the universe are gone there won't be anything left in the way. Maybe then he'll fit and they can find each other in the emptiness.
There's something beautiful about that too.
Loki knows there must be a seed of remorse in him for this terrible ideal. The guilt must be there, somewhere inside... Possibly. It's just not his fault if every now and then he forgets to feel it. But sometimes you can't be fine and good at the same time. Sometimes you have to be cruel, because if you really try to be good, even if you don't feel like it— well. That's lying.
Thor's been guilty enough for the both of us.
Loki pauses as the thought flashes through his mind. The glow of a burgeoning spell fades as he turns his hand over to stare at his palm.
The scar has flared to life, an ugly reminder of a promise, its slight curve smiling for him when he can't. Loki usually doesn't bother with other people's promises, all too aware of how easy they become lies. Because words can change.
But even back then he had known, with a detached kind of understanding, of what it would mean for them. Of what it would mean for Thor. Loki always found himself thinking in this way, approaching problems as if he wasn't really himself. As if he was always somewhere outside his own body, pulling the strings. So he did know, vaguely, that what they were promising to each other was impossible to undergo with innocence unscathed.
Perhaps loving and hurting Thor is the same thing.
But some things are just like that— starting off as silly games and then getting strangely passionate all of a sudden, so much so you have to either stop lying to yourself or keep laughing. Spend enough time smiling and happiness might throw you a bone.
Loki stops in the dead silent street, remembering. A sort of shatter of memories that spider web out and make him shake.
For Loki didn't quite feel— when he'd cut himself with that dagger, asking Thor to swear.
But he did experience a kind of stinging sensation as Thor had sliced himself in reply. A strange burning in his gut as he watched the blood ooze down the side of Thor's wrist. Conviction, as the two sides of skin pulsed around the cut, slow and lazy. Like an eyelid falling asleep. Sometimes he dreads the scars will reopen and they'll both wake up.
Thor deserves so much better.
Even in the cold emptiness of that thought there is a wash of hope which dulls Loki's sharpness over. A kind of blinding belief in Thor's love and strength which blankets his own black emotions; covers them up so he doesn't need to feel them anymore. All that's left is this simple sweet ache, a pain just enough to make sure he's alive.
But he loves me.
And Loki needs Thor more than anything else. A reason to keep going. Even though maybe it would have been better for them both, if the other didn't exist.
He makes a fist, squeezing closed around that promise in his palm. He walks alone through the wreckage, the place in this world he's carved out. He clenches his bared teeth and it becomes a sort of smile, a bit vacant but still comforting, like a single closed bracket on the end of a sentence which has somehow become lost.)
Because if it doesn't hurt— if love isn't cruel, just a little bit, then it isn't real.
And Loki always keeps up his end of the deal.
Something else in New York explodes.
The front door opens.
Thor can hear as it swings on its hinges. He blows an overgrown lock of hair out of his face, hands a little busy at the kitchen sink. The one squeaky step going up into the foyer lets out a loud groan and that's how Thor knows it's not Lee.
The intruder knows he's been caught by this too and does not bother to disguise the rest of his entrance.
"I wouldn't have expected someone like you to lay low."
Thor has paused in his ministrations and he uses this opening to slowly pull rubber-gloved hands out from the soapy dishwater and turn around.
"My continued presence on your world was not planned." Thor removes the gloves, "Son of Coul. Greetings."
Agent Coulson bounces once on his heels, hands clasped neatly in front of him and a pleasant expression on his face. "Long time no see, Thor. Or do you prefer God of Thunder?"
"Just Thor is fine." Thor says, stepping away from the sink, wary, but Coulson does not make any moves to take a seat. He just stands there, posture straight in his plain black suit, right next to the couch that has Thor's blanket draped over the cushion.
Thor has not seen this man since the events of his banishment and Coulson's presence is a sign, Thor is certain. Though he does not know whether it is good or bad. Still, it starts his pulse racing with anticipation and Thor's face tightens as he keeps control.
"In that case, call me Phil," Coulson offers. "The last time you showed up on our radars, you left... quite the impression."
Thor feels faintly shy by the way his stomach flutters, "As did you."
Coulson looks confused for a moment and then maybe he understands, for he clears his throat uncomfortably. He then walks forwards, around the small kitchen, taking in the washed dishes and the remnants of lunch for one. Thor hastily takes off his apron.
"Where's your roommate?"
"You know." Thor is not ignorant of this man's powers; of the eyes humans have everywhere.
"At a conference, next town over, which is why I'm here now." Coulson nods, acknowledging the strategic move with details. He switches topics, "I would have thought you would be with the physicist, Miss Foster, but I hear you're helping to rebuild the town that was destroyed. Is that your job now?"
"I am earning my keep. Repaying the debts for my stay."
And the after effects of his presence, Thor does not say. His good friend Jane is out of reach. He's tried researching her by himself, but there is only so far his knowledge of Midgard will stretch. And yet, he thinks perhaps it is by her design she cannot be easily found, so that agents like Coulson will not sense her magic again.
"And that's what we didn't know. What an alien from another dimension could be doing on Earth," Coulson tilts his head, the question in statement loud and clear, "For six months."
"You have been watching me." Thor almost smiles, amused by his own vanity, but mostly embarrassed someone has seen his failure so wholly. He's stopped looking, after all. You can't find the dead.
Thor murmurs, "Why?"
Coulson's brow wrinkles just slightly, "What if I told you I had a place for you, a branch off the division I work for. Somewhere you could earn accommodations by helping the entire world instead?"
Thor cannot help the suspicion that overtakes him. Coulson's organization had been responsible for stealing Jane's research. Despite the help SHIELD had been, Thor himself would not want to become a thief or voyeur in the name of defence.
"I am not interested in such pursuits."
"Oh, I see." Coulson uses this opportunity to sit lightly upon the back of the couch as though this conversation is comfortable. He looks up Thor with a plaintive expression. "You require incentive."
"No, it is—"
"Puente Antiguo. My base. The pilots who went down attacking your extraterrestrial security. Your friends. Yourself, even." Coulson tilts his head, "I don't believe you feel no responsibility."
The mention of these causalities sours Thor's previous words. Coulson is right, in some regard. Thor has always been callous about the circumstances of war. If he is to live on Midgard, Thor needs to amend these mistakes too.
"Well, I'm also in security, Thor. And truth is a situation has come up where we need you. People like you, with a... powerful skill set." Coulson goes so far as to sound concerned, "You're wasted here."
Thor squeezes his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, thinking it over, but knowing in his heart he must move forward. Move on.
"I will not be a spy?" He asks hopefully.
Coulson lets out a short laugh. "No, we leave that to less... conspicuous people."
"Then allow me to retrieve my cape." Thor has had no use for his armor on this world up until this point and his Asgardian garments rest in a cabinet up the stairs, idle.
"Already taken care of," Coulson immediately stands and pulls a phone out of his jacket pocket. Punches the screen a few times, then looks Thor up and down with a sort of scrutinizing approval, "Might have to forgo the sleeves. You're bigger than I remembered."
Thor is shocked into a blush.
The staircase creaks and Agent Coulson swings an arm at him. "Come on, jet's waiting. Oh, and before I forget to mention—"
Thor watches Coulson pause in awe as Mjölnir comes flying to his hand with a wordless call and the arch of Thor's eyebrow quirks up, almost arrogantly. All that changes with what Coulson says next.
"We've found Loki."
Another something in New York explodes.
There's the long sizzling screech of rubber against asphalt and then someone leans on their horn.
The sound begins to blare persistently as Thor straightens from the crater his boots have accidentally left upon the earth. The concave bit of pavement is steaming, a side effect from the lightning strike that came just before. His arrival's marked.
"Good afternoon, fine New Yorkers," Thor announces to the increasing staccato of horns. "I come in peace!"
"Move it!" A man inside a yellow car yells, waving an enthusiastic finger.
Thor smiles at him and waves back, recognizing this vehicle as a taxi. Then he's scanning the surroundings with a squint. This side of Midgard is all bright and flashing buildings cramped close together stretching towards the sky, like arms adorned with glowing bangles reaching up. It is very festive.
The taxi roars and edges closer, "Hey, Superman! Up, up and away, alright!?"
"Apologies," Thor swipes an errant strand of hair from his face with a thumb, tucking it behind his ear. "Is this 72nd street?"
"No, no, no!" The passenger yells at him. "Ya gotta go 5 blocks over!"
Just then, a gigantic plume of smoke explodes upwards in the direction her arm is hiked out the window. Seems like Loki's encouraging attention.
Thor beams, "Thank you ma'am!"
The cool of winter has reddened his cheeks, but he is not bothered by it. In fact, it's invigorating, like the languid blanket of New Mexico heat has slipped away. Wide awake. Restless. He's always like that right before a storm.
The wind blows life into his cape, a bright curtain of red against the silver monochrome of the city. His bare arms bulge as he begins swinging Mjölnir around on its strap. The force of which stirs up the air, even makes the nearby cars creak and sway. Someone's alarm gets tripped. And then he's blasting back up into the sky, all sound rushing away to form the trail left behind.
There is neither good nor bad in this universe. The nine realms curl around each other just the same, each growing and tangling together, overlapping, layering the world full of life. Life is everything. There is place for all upon Yggdrasil's branches, there is a reason why he's here now and why Loki didn't die. All of this was somehow meant to be, because he can be no other way.
Thor's going to save Loki first. Midgard second. If it just so happens to be the same fight, that's alright with him. The thing about falling is it always put you somewhere new.
And wherever he and Loki are together, it's safe.
Something very heavy and very fast clunks Loki right in the back of the head.
"Ow." Loki deadpans, face first in the grimy winter-thin grass.
A telltale thud alerts Loki of someone landing on the ground. There's a pleased little flutter in the bottom of Loki's stomach, amongst all the anger that's built up for being ignored. He rolls over onto his back, digging elbows into the dirt to prop himself up.
"You didn't miss." Loki comments, the sides of his mouth itching as he tilts his head, "Hello, Thor. Finally got my message?"
Thor looks gloriously like himself; proud and tall and powerful. Framed by wisps of gold hair, the face he's wearing is determined and Mjölnir sails from its seat in the dirt past Loki's ear to his waiting hand.
It's all Loki could have hoped for.
"You could have just called," Thor tells Loki in that deep resonating voice.
Loki lets his head fall back, unable to lose an opportunity to laugh. "Where would be the fun in that?"
The ball of energy shoots from his hand before he's even thought, exploding squarely against Thor's chest. Thor goes careening, barrelling into the ground so hard his side tears a seam of bricks out of the path. Loki's glad of it. Central Park was really quite dull looking without his personal touch.
"Rest assured, Thor." Loki gets up, dusting off his draping black coat and with a shift in the air he's covered in golden armor. "Jotunheim was only the first. When I'm through with Midgard, I'll make sure Asgard is next."
See, it's not that he wants to do these things, though there's definitely a pleasurable sensation, at seeing Thor on his back. It's actually just a natural progression. He and Thor need to be at each other's throats to get any closer. They've already done everything else.
"You cannot destroy entire worlds as recompense!" Thor yells back before even pushing out of the ditch. He spits out some rocks, pauses to look surly for a moment before standing up and rotating one muscular arm in its joint. "I would not allow more destruction to come to this world."
"What else is there to do in this boring realm?" Loki almost wants to roll his eyes. "Why don't you go back on the ale, you're more fun when you're drunk."
"You would know," Thor growls with an ugly grimace and Loki preens.
In fact, these are all hollow words that hurt Loki more than they probably hurt Thor. But it works wonders in his favour, inspiring a bit of fury. Thor's always easier to influence this way. Besides, Loki likes him when he's angry.
Because Thor's good enough for the both of them. And it's far easier for Loki to enjoy being bad.
It's almost like a dance in a way, how they know all the steps. Know just where to punch and kick and stab and make it seem like they're fighting to kill each other when it's only really to kill time.
Night falls winter-quick and Loki gets a good laugh out of the way Thor falls for a little bit of magic, trying to tackle a clone into the cold ground. Then Thor grabs two of Loki's discarded knives and throws them faster than Loki can dodge. He's pinned against a tree, the blades lodged in its trunk on either side of his head. His golden helm falls to the ground with a crack, one horn lying in a puddle.
"Oh, that was slick." Loki admires, a tingling starts deep in his feet and bursting upwards. A firework going off inside his darkness, exploding until he can feel it in his heart.
And Thor's there, right there, in front of him. Looking grim and all warmed up. His hand shoots out and catches Loki by the neck, fingers wring into his collar. Thor's fist at his neck is a knot and Loki's just a pile of loose ends, unravelling faster than he can keep it together.
It's no wonder I need this, Loki thinks with a sort of wonder that separates him from the moment, just enough so that he can appreciate the pain. If he's not tied to Thor he'll fall apart for good.
Now this place is starting to feel more like home.
"Loki, stop." Thor implores.
"I've tried so hard," Loki replies, finding he's out of breath. But the urge to keep going is so hard to ignore.
"Enough," Thor blinks rapidly, his anger quickly melting, face looking so soft. So young. "We're here together. We're free."
But Loki knows what freedom is.
At first, it was a fairy tale. Some golden promise he'd heard as a child. A kind of place he could go to in his mind, do whatever he wanted, be who he wanted. Be the best. He remembers wanting to take Thor there with him, whenever Thor was feeling low. Tried to so much, but Thor always had a captured quality about him in their youth and so stayed still, going around in circles.
Somewhere along the line Loki's mind changed though, and where there was once peace became war. He'd hated Thor, for a while. Wondered why Thor couldn't just escape, stop hiding, go away with Loki to that place. Perhaps thinking too much led to trouble, or maybe trouble just found them. Either way, with Thor trapped Loki couldn't just leave him, and in the end, he got caught too.
He'd thought freedom was a flat out lie, second.
But he was wrong. Freedom does exist— just not in the way they were taught. See, the only way to truly be free is to receive everything you ever wanted and have it taken away. And, oh, Loki knows that well.
"I've been a King," He says, feeling his voice vibrate in Thor's grasp. "But I couldn't warm the throne. And you love me," the fingers on his throat loosen, "But you don't let yourself desire me. So, no, Thor. It's not enough. I haven't done enough. I'm still empty." Loki feels like an echo, like he's saying this from somewhere else, somewhere far away, and every time he does it gets a little fainter. A little less convicted.
Loki can only keep going.
"I've felt my dreams become real, and I've seen my nightmares take over. I have nothing, Thor. That is true freedom." Loki thrusts his hand without even thinking of it. Stabs Thor in the side with a tiny hidden blade, a harmless thing, only just enough to punctuate his words with a sting."The feeling of nothing in your chest."
Thor's eyes flash as he lets go of Loki to clutch his side. Loki steps away and the space allows winter to blow its icy breath back down his neck which has become wet with sweat. Hot. He shivers, turns his back on Thor. The chill calms, if only because it gives him an excuse to try and find another reason to become warm. He begins to walk.
"Liar."
He keeps going.
Then, Thor calls after him, louder than before:
"You're lying!"
Loki stops. Says over his shoulder, "Shut up."
"I thought you dead." Thor continues, walking proud and strong despite all the cuts and bruises. Mighty— How Loki has always seen him. "It is why I did not find you."
"I thought so too," Loki replies in that voice, the one he uses when mendacity takes too much effort. He looks away, "When you did not appear."
"If you really think you are so empty, then why has it always been you whose kind words have filled me the most?"
Loki sneers, "Was that really me? It's only when I'm someone else I'm wanted."
"Then you know how I have felt." Thor takes the last steps and they are side by side again, facing the same way. "How I've felt for near a lifetime."
Loki can hear sirens in the distance. The city rush makes the calm of their battlefield that much more pronounced. Makes the real world seem as if it has been pushed far out, the clutter gone.
"I've lied too." Thor murmurs, the honesty in his voice hooking into Loki more than anything else. "What you taught me needs to be heard again. Just because you do not want to feel what is in your heart, doesn't mean it's not there. You exist."
"It's too late." Loki shakes his head, "Things can't be fixed."
And Thor whispers his name then, raw and admonishing. Sweeps in front of him and says on the edge of that breath, "There's nothing wrong."
Loki stares at him. Waits to feel removed, so he can insult Thor or stab him again and leave without remorse. But it doesn't happen. His eyes flit around to different points, trying to make sense of it. Wondering why he hasn't gone. It's like he has been a shadow all this time and somehow Thor's nailed him on the spot. They're together in this strong knot, and suddenly his heart is beating so fast he is afraid.
Perhaps there's something other than blankness on his face, because Loki finds himself crushed in an embrace, head buried underneath Thor's chin.
"You are well, Brother." Thor says, the words going straight into Loki's chest.
"This is where I always find myself," Loki says into the muffle, overwhelmed by Thor's smell. His touch. He wants this so much it hurts. "Following you."
Does Thor know? Loki wonders, squeezing his eyes shut against the heat of Thor's neck. When he's busy watching Thor's back he's also waiting for Thor to leave. It's a diametrically opposed ideal. Loki gathers his wits and drags himself out from the hold.
He carefully places his hands upon Thor's cheeks.
"But I realized..." Loki's eyelashes fan down and obscure his vision just enough. A slight smile hooks his lips. Thor's stubble has grown, a hot sharpness against the cool of his palms. Pain on so many ends can become a pleasant sensation, strange and exciting, like a thousand swords aflame.
Loki looks up again, "... If you were Asgard's King I could never touch you."
He sweeps a thumb across Thor's cheekbone. His blue eyes are like dark gray clouds in the low light, staring at Loki with such earnestness. In truth, ever since Loki realized Thor's affections, he'd known.
Odin may have given him Mjölnir, but Thor was Loki's to keep. And Thor was stubborn, just as the hammer had been; refused to do what Loki wanted, refused to be used carelessly as just a bit a fun—
And Loki knew then too. He would need to be worthy to have Thor's love.
"Later, I thought, perhaps you could follow me for a change. I would be your King. I would keep you safe."
He cannot help his grip tightening, thumb pressing hard into Thor's face, "But it was the same. Side by side, but never touching. One always following the other," If he's snarling it's not his fault. He can't be fine and good at the same time.
"Trapped by the word Brother."
The word cages them in, puts them in boxes. Turns out that's not even the truth.
Loki wants to smash it all down, turn the world into rubble. Rip it all up until they're all that's left and no one will ever call them wrong or right. The world just is. Everything is just the way it must be and he has to be alright with that if he wants to keep standing, keep being who he thought he was instead of an empty monster, and keep Thor by his side as he's always been. But he wants more. And yet, the more you love someone the harder it is to say; the easier it is to harm.
Perhaps if they'd cared less about each other one of them could have worn the crown.
It is vexing, really. How Thor should not be enough for him yet somehow is and still Loki hungers. Because in reality he has nothing, and the sentiment only really starts to sink in when Thor comes around, reminds him how much love there is to give and yet hold it at bay.
"I wanted to be your everything. But I... took without asking." Loki's vision blurs and he feels his mouth stretch across a horrified smile. Smiling when things go bad cancels them out, in a way. He smiles too much. It's a habit hard to break. "Like Allfather like son, I suppose."
This is when Thor reaches up. Removes Loki's clutching hands from his face. Lightly. More affectionate than one would expect Thor to be, at first glance. His fingers wrap around Loki's thinner wrists and together they let gravity slowly bring them down. Thor's always been that way— Gentle. You just wouldn't know it until he smiles, and then it's a promise. Thor's not smiling now, but he has a look in his eyes, like he could be on the edge. And Loki's always been happy being the push.
Thor is looking down at him, the flurries of winter floating into the golden crown of his head, like stars dancing. The night is never dark here, not really, and Loki can see the hazy rainbow lights of the city melting together in the distance, a parody of the bridge they'd more than crossed.
It's only after a storm when the world is at its most beautiful. They're always in the middle of a storm.
I need you to end it. Loki thinks, biting his lower lip and staring up at Thor, willing him to hear yet loath to give life to his own weakness. You'll not be alone. I would give you every bit of what you ask— Love in all the ways you need, even if it hurts.
Loki clenches his teeth, brow creasing. I cannot be a monster if I have you to protect.
"You have done things for me which you hate." Thor says quietly, uses his thumbs to graze a comforting line down the backs of Loki's knuckles and then brings Loki's wrists to lie against his chest. Then says without flinching, "I forgive you."
And Loki has no power over the way his own fingers and toes curl in. Oh, how he withers in delight with the first chilling shivers of pleasure, just as one gets when stepping into sun. He feels warm, knowing Thor understands. He leans into Thor's chest, knees weak, closing his eyes against the feeling. He feels worthy, even though it's Thor who lifts him up. He loves Thor. Wants to say it, wants to show it, just wants so much.
"Don't push me away yet, I..." Loki whispers in an exhale across Thor's chin, and the word get lost like shadows in a great burst of light, "—you."
He stands on tiptoes to press forward and Loki's mouth meets Thor's in a kiss.