losthitsu asked:Ā As for drabbles - how about you write that one thing you always wanted to but never found a reason or occasion? Do you have something like that?
um i know you're not into the avengers or thor and all, but um, this has been sitting half written in my documents and. i just. aksjdkasjfkassf i've never had any reason to finish it. um anyway, it's thor and loki, world war one and two-ish AU inspired by atonement and the deep blue sea.
They are called far away from home, to defend the land named Midgard. They are Asgard's allies, they must not fall. They are the last line of defence.
Planes fly overhead, a strange assortment of colours. Times are hard, and they will have to make do with what they have. They cut across the skies, heading for battle. They will try to lure the enemy away from land, they will try to sink them over seas. They will do their best, even if it means giving up their lives.
They called it the Battle for Asgard. Loki had flown alongside Thor, right from the beginning. Most people had signed up voluntarily at first, and Thor had signed, almost blindly, fumbling in the dark, desperate to learn of the beauty of War. Loki had followed. He had never questioned his decision to. He had always thought that he would never have been able to leave Thor alone, because if he did, things would happen.
When they were children, Thor and Loki had played in the orchards of their father's land. They were brothers, but not in blood, but they loved each other so. Thor had scaled the apple tree for fruit, had tossed an apple to Loki but lost his balance and fell.
Loki often wonders what would have happened if he had not been there. Maybe, just maybe, Thor would have never thought to climb the apple tree in the first place.
They had been assigned to the air force. Thor had wanted to go to the front, to the trenches and mud and blood but they had denied his application, on account of his perfect vision. They had told him that he would be better with planes, despite his physique, and had sent Loki along with him.
Despite Thor's initial protests, things had worked themselves out. Thor had proven to be an excellent pilots, and soon had an impressive track record. Soon, Thor led the pack, devised formations, and led reconnaissance missions.
Throughout, Loki had followed.
This time, they are outnumbered. Loki knows it, feels it right down to his bones the moment they take off, feels the pull in his gut that tells him that the next time he touches down, he might not be alive. They've got twenty planes, with Thor leading the pack, plane flying high and proud with its dents and scratches and wounds from previous dogfights in the air. Loki isn't too far behind, flying lower, falling into formation.
He knows how it goes, knows that in the air, it doesn't matter who's in that plane, he is merely the Enemy and he has to attack.
The planes they are going up against this round are not ordinary ones. They are sleeker, much faster than before. From the corner of his eye, Loki sees three of them going after Thor, tearing across the sky. Loki gives chase immediately, dropping out of formation. He grits his teeth, willing his plane to go faster so that he will be able to get to Thor in time, but
he falls from Midgardian skies, painted in streaks of blood red and tangerine orange.
It is the war of Ragnarok, and at some point Loki begins to wonder what and who he's fighting for because there's no end, no objective in sight. All he knows is that the skies are perpetually the colour of twilight, and when he closes his eyes, he realises that the back of his eyelids are stained the bright crimson of fire and blood. The paint glow of the sun is gone, and he finds that slowly, splashes of colour he had once known are fading to black.
Perhaps, there isn't an entity to call the Enemy. Perhaps, the Enemy is within. Perhaps, Loki will never find the answer.
His fingers press against ebony and ivory, and his eyes are closed. He reads the score in his mind, sees note after note amidst the darkness and remembers that once upon a time, with music and dancing and bright, cheerful laughter, that was what it meant to feel alive.
He hears the melodies he once played reverberating in the air, long after he has released the sustaining pedal. He hears it echo in his mind, like a haunting lament, long after his piano is gone, burnt to ashes in the first bombing raid on Asgard.
Loki feels like someone had doused his body with kerosene and set him aflame. He cries out, screaming in pain, but the heat never quite goes away. He screams, voice filled with anguish, and he falls, spiralling into the darkness.
Some time ago, Loki had linked arms with Thor, and by the light of the fire, Thor had twirled him around most unceremoniously. He had been giddy, adrenalin in his veins from having come back from the fight alive, and of course, there had been the mead and ale and all that drink he had had.
When Loki woke, he had found that his limbs were entangled with Thor's, with his warm breath against his ear. And momentarily, Loki had been struck with the fleeting thought that if his life should end the next day, he would probably die a happy man.
Loki hears Thor's voice, harsh and urgent, crackling over the radio. Mayday, mayday, but there's no one out there listening because they've all been bombed, blasted to bits.
Or rather, he hears it in his mind, because really, all he can hear is just the buzzing in his ears from having gotten too close to an explosion. He squints, tries to make out what Thor's saying by looking at his lips but it's all useless. It's getting hotter and hotter and it's as if they've flown too near to the sun so it's beating them down, forcing them to retreat by burning them.
They're falling, falling, falling apart, falling into pieces, falling down, into oblivion.
Loki feels a cool wetness pressed to his forehead, bringing him brief respite amidst the flames. He reaches out for more, wanting to speak, but his eyes refuse to open, and there is nothing else he can say apart from garbled, incoherent syllables.
There had once been a Midgardian pilot, in that great War before Ragnarok. His name had been Stark, something Stark, but Loki doesn't remember what it is exactly. Loki had met his son in Midgard. He had called himself Tony, and he had a haunting sort of smile that sent shivers down Loki's spine.
When Tony had shaken Loki's hand, Loki had felt a strange sort of thrill as he gripped his hand tightly. It had seemed to say 'nice to meet you', 'wish we could have met during peacetime', 'don't go' and 'please come back alive' all at the same time, and Loki had had absolutely no idea what to make of the Midgardian.
They had flown one mission together, and when Loki had landed at the assigned location, Tony had been nowhere to be found.
Loki never knew if Tony made it back alive.
Loki hears someone calling, feels someone brush his hair out of his face, wonders if it's the Enemy, wonders if he's been captured, wonders if there's anything he can do to get himself out, get himself back to Thor. His body feels leaden, like dead weight, and he wants to move so desperately, but the darkness is calling to him. The heat is almost comfortable now, and it would almost be a sin to fight the weariness threatening to overcome him.
Loki wants to tell whoever who's calling to stop it, wants to tell him or her to let him go quietly into the night, but it feels as if his lips have been sewn shut.
Through half lidded eyes, Loki sees Thor, framed in faded blue light. His hand is outstretched, reaching for Loki's.
'Brother. Are you coming with me?'
Loki laughs, taking his hand.
(i hope this made sense, and i hope you like this even if you're not into thor orz)
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