Yup, coming up on the end here. Drabble, my foot.
Wherein Loki makes a decision and things become, believe it or not, even more complicated. (Drama. PG-13.)
Loki is not Thor; he doesn't relish war the way his brother always has. That being said, no one relishes war as Thor does, so it's hardly indicative of Loki's own propensities; he might not lose his head with bloodlust, but he's not immune to the rage of battle. And if his skills were always overshone by Thor's legendary prowess, well, it doesn't mean Loki couldn't match his blades against any other enemy in the nine realms. He and Thor were trained by the same masters.
In other words, even powerless and with only a kitchen knife and a rusted piece of piping to their respective names, the sons of Odin are able to dispatch their foes relatively quickly. Especially once Loki comes up from behind and slits their throats. (An old tactic of theirs; enemies focused on the huge, roaring golden prince and completely missed the shadow burying his blade in their backs. That was before Thor wanted always to land the killing blow, and before Loki would wait to the last possible moment to offer assistance. Now, it does not occur to Loki hold until Thor is desperate to come to his aid.)
When the last soldier falls, Thor rubs his forehead, leaving a smear of blood behind. "Thank you, brother," he says.
Loki does not remember the last time he heard those words from Thor in battle. "You're welcome," he replies.
Thor grins.
Loki cannot but grin back.
"That's great," the man armed with the bow (at least some of the more elegant weapons have not gone out of style on Midgard) calls from the laboratory roof. "Glad you guys are having fun. So how 'bout the rest of the town, huh?"
Loki and Thor turn to face the street.
The village of Puente Antiguo is in a state of chaos. The soldiers (who are not, it would seem, under direction of the son of Coul), lay waste to everything in their paths, using weapons that should be far beyond the reach of this insignificant realm. Loki has never seen the cube himself — it was lost around the time of his birth — but any scholar of the Infinity Stones would be able to recognize these surges of energy as originating from a singularity.
It's true: the humans do have the tesseract. And they've found some way to harness it for their own purposes.
Fools.
"They know not what they meddle with," Loki murmurs to Thor. To be honest — though Loki does not prize honesty — he is not certain what they meddle with, either.
Thor only nods absently in response, scanning the tumult. "We must not engage the enemy directly," he says (and Loki marvels that this is his brother who is speaking). "They are too many and too heavily armed."
This is the same conclusion he had been reaching himself. "We must fall back."
"No. I must get the people to safety."
Loki stares in shock as Thor drops the pipe in his hand and pulls a baton from the belt of a fallen foe. "Are you mad?" he demands.
"They have sheltered us and protected us."
"They have stared and mocked!"
"They are our friends, brother." Thor watches as the supply store that sells thumbtacks blows apart in a blast of blue flame. There is no smile upon his face, only grim determination. It is so different than the last time they strode into combat. "They once looked to us as gods; how worthy are we of that title, if we do not protect them?"
"Their worshipping ancestors are a thousand years buried! We are human now, Thor! We owe them nothing, and you would march to your death for them?"
Who is this man, that Loki calls brother? Has he changed so much in this desolate realm?
Thor only claps him on the shoulder, then cups the back of his head in the embrace they have shared since children. "It is you who will leave," he says to Loki. "Follow the son of Coul. Protect Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. Someone must."
"Brother—"
But Thor just shoves Loki away. "Go. Now." A sad smile flits across his face. "Remember me well."
And Thor turns and runs towards the burning buildings, screaming townsfolk, and Midgardian soldiers with their unholy weapons.
There were times in recent decades — dark, hollow times, full of swallowed rage and ever-more-brittle bitterness — that Loki believed he and Thor were destined to die by each others' hands. But no: Thor is going to get himself killed for a bunch of mortals instead.
And Loki…
…Loki…
…Loki is going to get himself killed for Thor.
(He is never going to see Jane Foster again.)
"Provide as much cover as possible," he shouts up to the bowman, testing the edge of his blade. Dull and nearly useless. "We will manage what we can before we stupidly waste our lives failing to save this town of primitive, ignorant, thoroughly unworthy ingrates."
"That's the spirit!" the bowman calls back.
For the thousandth time — and very possibly the last — the younger brother follows the elder onto the field of battle.
"Barton? How's it going?"
Clint stops loosing arrows long enough to touch his earpiece. "I hope to God you're sending help, Coulson."
"Uh… in a manner of speaking." Some kind of roar in the background, like Coulson's standing in a wind tunnel. "Including the god part."
"Huh?"
"Just do me a favor and don't shoot the next group of people to arrive, no matter how hostile they seem. And keep the brothers alive, because there may be an intergalactic war if you don't."
Clint watches as Thor and Loki rush headlong into a burning diner. "I'll do what I can," he says, "but no promises."
As Coulson issues orders into his phone, Jane, head still spinning from the blow delivered by that jack-booted thug who started all of this, sits on the desert sand and stares through the window at a waterfall of colors that crashes into the earth from God-knows-where.
An Einstein-Rosen bridge. Right in front of her eyes.
If only she had her equipment.
"I hope Thor's friends bring back Coulson's car when they're done," says Darcy, "or we're pretty fucked. And I don't think they know how to drive."
Something is niggling at Jane. Something in the back of her scrambled mind.
Two minutes later, as the first of the tremors disturbs the ground beneath them, it comes to her.
Her calculations never had the bridge staying in one place for this long.