darklittlestories:

The first words Thor speaks to him are “Where is the Tesseract?”

A growled demand. The brash, entitled tone Thor took when addressing Laufey on Jotunheim.

Loki bristles and gathers his own words to go to war.

He huffs out an dismissive laugh. “Oh, I missed you, too.”

“Do I look to be in a gaming mood?” Thor’s eyes are a storm and his hammer is raised in a fist that looks like it wants to punch.

How can Thor would even think to say ‘game’? Fury licks up through Loki like an igniting flame and he is punching. Before his mind even reacts his fist cracks against Thor’s jaw and the shockwave travels back down his arm.

He curses himself for reacting before he can craft a strategy.

Thor grabs him by the neck in a choking grip.

“Where is the Tesseract, Loki? What have you done?” He shouts in Loki’s face, so close his breath is tangible in hot gusts.

“What have I done! And there you are, Thor!” Loki hisses. “There is the truth of you. Not, ‘Where were you, Brother? How did you survive?’ but ‘What have you done?’ I am only ever of use to the court of Asgard when I serve your purpose. Well I have found new purpose, Odin’s son.”

Thor looks chastened, eyes wet.

“I thought you dead.” Thor’s grasp on his neck gentles, old gesture Loki knows like his own reflection. He pushes the affection away.

“You thought,” Loki echoes, flatly. He turns head away, the hand on his neck burning him with its mockery of concern.

“Loki, what has happened to you? Where have you been?” He drops Mjolnir, and the short musical hum grates Loki’s ears.

“It matters not. I have been given purpose. I have seen true power, and I—”

“Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be king?” Thor grabs him by the shoulders now.

“Controls? No one c-controls me,” Loki says, and twists out of Thor’s grip. He’s starting to shake, so he stalks the craggy ground in a circle. “I was and should be king!”

“Not here, Loki. Not like this.” Thor’s voice is soft, conciliatory.

Loki can’t stand it, this gentleness. He’s coming apart. Flashes of the empty rock world come to him. Thin dusty air never refreshing his lungs, sunlight never brightening his eyes, his stomach a churning hollow. Poison his only water and razor whips lashing his back.

He doesn’t realize he’s weeping until the tears grow cooler than his skin.

“Loki, tell me what happened,” Thor pleads from far away.

“No!” Loki says. He turns on the spot and isn’t even seeing Thor as he seeks out the seam in his armor and sinks the knife in.

Thor grunts heavily but doesn’t counter attack. He presses a hand against the wound and reaches out for Loki again. “Brother, please, tell me.”

“Now?” Loki sobs, inching away. “Now you offer solace? In the midst of battle? Where were you then Thor?”

He screams, his hands twisted into claws.  “Where were you then!”

Thor catches up to him, and pulls Loki against him, and the fight falls out of him. He slumps against his brother, crying in gulping, heavy sobs. “I needed you. I needed you Thor, and you weren’t there.”

Their shared tears rock them together and eventually they sink to the rocky ground, bloodied hands grasping each other’s necks.

“I didn’t know,” Thor whispers. “When you’re ready, tell me everything.”

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