fic by hiddlespudding who is driving me to drink draw with one hand stifle sobs with the other.
“You should not have come here.”
His blood is spilling hot, melting the snow underneath him as he clutches at the wound. It’s not too deep - a slice just below the heart with a sharp knife. Thor knows that Loki missed on purpose.
“Why did you come here,” Loki says.
The cold air makes the gash sting even worse, or maybe Loki put a spell on his blade. Maybe both.
“I’ve come to bring you home,” Thor says. He watches the ground, the bright red of his blood as it seeps across the snow.
“Brother,” he says. “I am home. Don’t you know?”
In the wastelands of Jotunheim, near the base of one of the ice mountains, Thor found him. Loki was thin, feral, hair longer and knotted together in a neat ponytail that fell over his shoulder. His Jotun skin helped him blend into the caves of the mountain, but his red eyes gave him away.
“Brother!” Thor yelled, a terrible echo in the wind.
And they fought, not with weapons but with their fists, rolling in the snow like teenagers sparring over something petty, snarling and pulling and punching. It ended when Thor got too close, and Loki pulled his blade.
“This is not your home,” Thor says. “You belong-“
“Don’t,” Loki says. “Do not say it. Do not name that place in my presence.”
“With me,” Thor finishes. He looks up at Loki now, eyes pleading. He has nothing to give but this. Nothing to offer but himself.
Loki’s blade comes to rest under Thor’s chin. It’s so cold that it burns, scraping against his stubble. Loki’s eyes have gone hard, his lips pulled tight. They watch each other for a moment, testing each other, and then Loki laughs again.
“With you? You wish us to be brothers once more? Thor, your ideas have always been noble, and yet always so stupid.” Loki pulls his blade away and uses it to motion to the vast whiteness around them. “Look around you, brother, this is my kingdom, now.”
Thor hates the way Loki says brother now, with such disdain, such pain. He hates the hurt that he can hear so clearly in Loki’s voice.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Yes it does,” Loki says. And he says it again, a whisper, almost as if he were saying it to himself: “It does.”
He looks away from Thor, out into the wastes, the vast nothingness of Jotunheim that surrounds then. There’s something about his eyes, then, the way he watches the white as if that’s all there is - Thor stops thinking. He moves forward and up, a sudden surge of strength, and tackles Loki into the snow.
They tumble together, a mess of limbs. Thor ignores the way his wound stretches open further, more blood spilling between them and onto Loki’s clothing. He doesn’t care.
“You fool,” Loki hisses. “You’ll bleed out.”
Loki gets a hand free and forces his palm against Thor’s nose, trying to push him off, but Thor keeps his grip tight and holds onto Loki, blood seeping between the folds of Loki’s clothing and onto his flesh. He holds Loki until the blue of his skin is stained red and he feels his vision darkening. He slumps against Loki, weak from blood loss.
They stay like that a long time, two bloody lumps in the snow, and then Loki reaches between them and places a hand over Thor’s wound. His hand is warm, and something pricks against Thor and he realizes that Loki is healing him. When Loki finishes, he doesn’t move, just stays limp beneath Thor and closes his eyes against the winds.
“You should not have come here,” he says.
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