"Brother?"
I'm not your brother.
The thought appeared out of nothingness, like a spark in a pitch-dark room. Where it came from, he could not tell. But with it came pain. It might have been inside or outside him; he did not know. A great weight was pressing down on him, dulling his senses. The world was black.
Only two things were clear: the voice, and his own denial.
"Brother?"
I'm not your brother.
Why did the voice keep hounding him? Always—How long? Minutes, hours, days, nights—it was an endless stream of darkness. A void. But no, there were other sounds now, too, people moving around and talking. They were distant, irrelevant. The voice was what mattered. The voice he always had to contradict. And the pain; that mattered, too, until the weight came down again and crushed him, and the pain with him.
"Brother?"
I'm not your brother.
Loki forced his eyes open. They seemed to resist his efforts, as though they were frozen shut. Thor's face, staring anxiously down at him, seemed separated from him by a haze. He saw Thor turn his head and motion to someone behind him—a healer, no doubt. Telling them he was awake.
Thor leaned down again, and Loki felt a pressure, a squeeze, somewhere far away. No, on his hand. That was his hand resting on the bed. Thor was holding his hand.
"Brother? Can you hear me?"
I'm not your brother, Loki thought. It had become second nature to him, this denial. It never seemed to hurt him any less, but he had to keep thinking it, as though perhaps if he repeated it enough, he would stop wishing so hard that the thought were not true.
Thor repeated the question, and Loki nodded. His head felt heavy. There was no pain in his abdomen, though; the two things combined must mean he was under some sort of sedative, that dulling influence the Ljósálfar healers used in extreme cases. He hadn't been put under it since he was a small boy, when they had gotten into one of the armories and Thor had nearly sliced his left hand off during a play sword fight. Loki remembered the feeling, the agonizing, terrifying pain replaced suddenly by a dull stupor.
How long had he been without consciousness? And what, in the meantime, had happened to Elsa?
He remembered everything. Hans had stabbed him, and he had fallen. He should have been dead; instead, he was here. But he hadn't been the one Hans had been trying to kill. It was Elsa. How long?
He sensed, more than saw, someone come up beside Thor. He felt himself poked, prodded, checked, though it all seemed far away, as though it were happening to someone else. He just wanted the healer to go away so he could talk to Thor. Heimdallr must have brought him back; the Guardian would know what had happened to Elsa. Maybe he had told Thor.
Suddenly, the distant prodding came close; something moved; and all at once he was being stabbed all over again. He gasped with pain. He had barely felt anything else, but he felt this. There was a flurry of movement beside him, and the warm pressure on his hand grew firmer.
Then a hand came down to rest on his forehead—not Thor's, smaller, thinner. They were putting him under again. Loki struggled against the hand, but through the sea of pain, he could not tell whether he was moving at all. Within moments, his brother—no, Thor—faded once again out of sight. Loki lost consciousness again, his mind still shouting Elsa's name.
"Brother?"
I'm not your brother.
Loki's eyes opened again. The haze had lifted while he slept, and he could see Thor's face, creased with worry. The room was dim, and Loki realized that at last he could distinguish time, and it was night.
"Thor."
The contraction of muscles to push out that single syllable caused another spasm. Loki felt the pressure on his hand again, but otherwise, Thor did not move. The pain passed, and healer appeared. Loki was relieved. For now, it was worth the pain to be aware.
"I'm here, little brother," Thor whispered. "Be still. Don't try to speak."
Loki shook his head. "Elsa?"
Through the returning haze of pain, he heard Thor sigh. Then, a reluctant nod. "Heimdallr told me some. Father told me the rest."
Father? What does Father—Odin—have to do with this? Loki wondered. The Allfather knew much, but it was Heimdallr who was his eyes.
Then it hit him. He had been in jötunn form. Thor had seen him. All that time he had been thinking, But I'm not your brother, Thor had known.
And still he had said, "Brother."
In a sudden rush of fear, Loki looked down at the hand Thor held. Pale. Not blue-grey.
Thor squeezed his hand. "Mother," he said by way of explanation.
Loki nodded and raised his eyes to the ceiling. He had to take this in. Thor knew he was a jötunn. His mother—both his parents—no, not his parents—knew that he himself knew. How many others had seen him?
He gathered his strength, preparing for the pain that would follow asking that question. But he stopped before a word had come out. That wasn't what mattered now. Elsa was more important. He opened his mouth to ask about her again, but Thor spoke.
"No. They said we could try letting you come out of it, but I have to keep you calm and not let you talk. You start trying too much too soon, they come and put you under again. Understand, brother?"
Loki gave a nod. Given the proper amount of manipulation, the likelihood that Thor would actually tell on him was pretty small, but Loki was too tired to manipulate. As long as he could get information, he would behave.
"Good. Now, there are things you want to know, right?"
Loki nodded, with an effort restraining himself from opening his mouth and enumerating just what all of those things were.
"Which first? Your story, or the queen of Arendelle's?"
Simpleton, Loki thought, not without affection. It was just like his brother—Thor, that was to say—to order him not to talk and then promptly ask a question that required a verbal answer. He waited impatiently for Thor to recognize his mistake.
It took several seconds.
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry," Thor said. "I'll ask one at a time—Hey since when do you actually obey me?" There was a twinkle in his brother's—Thor's—eye.
It was a fair question, but not one that mattered now, nor something he could answer anyway, under the circumstances. His frustration must have shown on his face, for Thor suddenly sobered up.
"Elsa?"
Loki nodded, hard.
"Very well, then. She's all right, for now…"