Against the serpent | goes Othin’s son.
In anger smites | the warder of earth,—
Forth from their homes | must all men flee;-
Nine paces fares | the son of Fjorgyn,
And, slain by the serpent, | fearless he sinks.
—- Völuspá, 55-56.
ayonoi, you asked for a quiet moment between Thor and Loki and I’m completely positive this is not what you meant. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop myself, so I hope you forgive me.
“Fight You Next” [one-shot] Rated: Teen (angst, violence, major character death)
It’s a vicious cycle, their love. And if you’re not part of it, you just don’t get it.
It’s love and hate, filled to the brink with anger and joy, loathing and envy, and malice beyond the imagination. They run their cat-and-mouse games, and nobody dare stop them - nobody can stop them and they fall into the same pattern of ripping each other’s hearts out over and over again.
So yes, it’s a terrible ache, and it’s the worst kind of pain, and to a bystander it just looks like pure resentment.
But they never doubted their love.
More often then not their powers would dwindle as their fights carried on and they resorted to launching themselves at each other’s throats, clawing and gripping at bare, vulnerable flesh. They bled as they battled, snarling at each other like rabid beasts before finally succumbing to their tired limbs and sitting next to each other, gasping for air. Assessing their damage done, one could even say their love contained guilt and remorse, but nobody could be sure.
And then Loki would storm off, disappear, and Thor would hold his breath for the day he would meet his brother again - because there would be an “again”. Always. Nobody knew where Loki went, and if Thor did, he never told. He would ignore the looks on his team’s face, walking readily into their next battle, and whomever was unlucky enough to face the wrath of an enraged thunder god would be put out of commission for weeks.
Until the time where Loki stopped coming around as often, and the storm clouds above told everyone that Thor was unhappy with this. Or perhaps it was a beckoning call, goading his little brother to come out and play their games. Nothing happened.
But the Avengers didn’t revolve around Loki, even if he was the one who brought them together. They had other duties, they needed to report, and they needed to get their head in the game.
It was a concept that the beloved thunderer struggled with - Thor was brash, he always had been. It had been upon the many reasons why Loki thought he was never fit for the crown, and it hadn’t changed much. He still put his actions above his thoughts when it came to priorities, and that’s he came face-to-face with death’s door.
“How’s Loki doing these days, little princess?” her tone was taunting and wretched, twisting Thor’s stomach.
“You would do well to keep my brother’s name off your tongue, vile sorceress!”
“Oh, Thor. You must miss him terribly what with his long, long leave of absence?”
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM!” he demanded before it seemed the air was knocked out of him. When he looked down, an arrow protruded from his chest, the point of it painted shockingly red.
“Tsk, tsk, Thor. I thought you better than that!” Amora taunted one last time before vanishing, taking Malekith with her to take check in on the other Avengers and their foes. It left Skurge rampaging towards him, wielding his axe. Thor ripped the arrow out of his chest, letting the wound fester and boil with some sort of magic. He felt weak and unsteady on his feet, turning at the last second to avoid the blow - but not fast enough. He felt the back of his left arm tear open and fell to the floor clumsily, scraping his head along a jagged rock. The axe came down again as he tried to roll out of the way, and hissed in pain as his stomach was torn by the blade. He was beyond sluggish now, and cursed whatever immobilizing curse had been cast on their weapons.
He laid there, eyes turned upward to stare at the evil hunger in the Executioner’s eyes, the sunlight bouncing off the axe blindingly. Yet Thor didn’t think about death, his whole life didn’t flash before his eyes - no, his thoughts were of what they were always of - his little brother.
And as if it had summoned the sorcerer somehow, he appeared between the two, his magic flaring from his body as it always did when his anger was beyond control. Most never saw Loki’s real power, always assuming that he was easily beat or used the same tricks all the time, but oh how wrong they were.
It took him a matter of seconds to force the Executioner away from the injured Thor, parrying his attacks with more force than the other could muster, and when Skurge lay defeated, Loki made no hesitation to make his way back to the bloody mess of his brother.
“Fool, look at what you’ve done.”
Thor smiled lazily at him, “I’m sorry, brother.”
Loki’s magic only took an instant to be repelled, causing Loki to look on horror. How can this be? Why can’t I save him?
“Don’t move!” he snapped.
“Don’ have much’f a choice,” Thor slurred, the paralysis making its way up his throat. He tried to cough the sensation away, bringing up blood instead.
Loki was intelligent beyond anyone else in the nine realms, he knew the signs as they came. He moved to angle Thor onto his lap and against his chest, making sure his brother couldn’t see the tears that were forming as he wiped away the blood from his brother’s lips.
With Thor’s last breath, he whispered “I suppose I must fight you next.”
Loki couldn’t let Thor see him cry, he couldn’t admit the bitter defeat just yet, he couldn’t let Thor down — because the moment Loki started to cry, Thor would know it was over, and Thor would be lost to him. Forever. There would be no more chase.
“Yes. But not just yet.” Next time, his words had suggested.
But as his tears slid down his porcelain cheek to rain against Thor’s scalp, they both knew there would be no next time.