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coldsongIt goes ill with Thor. Loki knows that without asking; he can almost taste the despair on him, even when he smiles. He is still the brother he knew, and more--he is the brother Loki wanted. One who accepts him, as close to unconditionally as anyone could. But he is wounded, and Loki fears, time and again, that this wound will prove fatal.
It makes him think of the Thor of his own world. His brother. He spoke to him once, in the Winter, reaching through the hundreds of veils between worlds to touch him one last time. He was not well then; still, his pain was quieter, a swollen fracture rather than a gaping, bleeding wound, and Loki was focused on his own doings.
Any wound can fester.
He should not take this chance, not when so much depends on him here, but he needs to know, he needs to, and so he finds the tree once again, the dead thing he marked with ice in the winter on the edge of the Wilds. It’s fallen, now, but he can still see the sear on the bark, and a dark stain where the eye was, and he kneels beside it, then stretches out, resting his back against it and tilting his chin toward the sky.
There is pain, first. A sizzle of lightning, a wash of ash, the smell of smoke. There is no sun. He promised the sun would shine on them again; a lie in a long series of lies, and perhaps the worst he ever told. He thought he bore the brunt of that, being as he was the one that died, but now he fears he was wrong.
It’s dark, and there is no sun, no moon. The stars are burned out. Has an even worse apocalypse befallen the people of this world? Is everything dead?
No. Gradually the murk resolves into vague, senseless shapes around him, and he realizes, he remembers. The last time he spoke to Thor, in his dreams, he was inside his mind. That is where he is now, as well. A hopeless place, choked with dust, flooded with guilt and loss, and something else. Drink? Drugs? Loki cannot tell. It’s too dark.
It’s too dark, dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
And dark the sun and moon, and--
"Brother, Thor, can you hear me?"
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
But Thor was always so full of light. Unquenchable. "Thor, hear me. Thor! Wake up, Brother please!"
It’s as dark as the Void between the Stars, but when he calls out, a wave of something rolls through the floating, smothering dust. A ripple, a wash, a tsunami of raw grief. It’s too big. The mind of a god untethered, untended, is a danger, even for another god. Even for his brother. Loki is terrified.
"Brother, please!"
An instant later he feels himself slammed back into his own body. Green eyes fly open to stare at the sky above. It’s bright and blue, so blue, and it’s an insult, a fucking mockery, it should not be allowed.
He doesn’t know whether Thor recognized what was happening and pushed him back on purpose, or whether it was a mere instinctive reaction based on the interactions of their emotional states. He may never know. But he is beyond shaken.
The beautiful spring around him is a threat. The sky tilts and looks greenish, clouded with fine particles. Loki knows, he knows this is the Nexus, he knows he is safe but he can’t breathe. There’s pressure on his chest, guilt and self-hatred pushing him down into the rotted wood of the trunk beneath him, and he’s being throttled, the life choked out of him on the very ground, here where a magical field is supposed to prevent violence.
There is no Thanos. He cannot see any attacker, but still he struggles for air. He claws at his throat like a man having a seizure, tearing at his own skin and the collar of his tunic, but finding no purchase. He gasps, writhes. Something wet slides down his cheeks.
Beneath him, the ground trembles. Above him, the wind cries out the fear his voice cannot. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, or why, only knows desperation.
And the earth shakes. The rotten wood kindles, flares, and collapses around him, and he--is that smoke or
the dust the
sky seems to fade a little and turn amber and
His heart he
Dark
It’s dark too dark...
He’s not sure how long he’s unconscious, but the sky is deepening to cobalt when he starts to come to, shaking so hard he can’t sit up. The ground still shudders beneath him.
He gathers his arms up around his head to hide from the blessed Jotun blue of the twilight sky, and sobs.
It makes him think of the Thor of his own world. His brother. He spoke to him once, in the Winter, reaching through the hundreds of veils between worlds to touch him one last time. He was not well then; still, his pain was quieter, a swollen fracture rather than a gaping, bleeding wound, and Loki was focused on his own doings.
Any wound can fester.
He should not take this chance, not when so much depends on him here, but he needs to know, he needs to, and so he finds the tree once again, the dead thing he marked with ice in the winter on the edge of the Wilds. It’s fallen, now, but he can still see the sear on the bark, and a dark stain where the eye was, and he kneels beside it, then stretches out, resting his back against it and tilting his chin toward the sky.
There is pain, first. A sizzle of lightning, a wash of ash, the smell of smoke. There is no sun. He promised the sun would shine on them again; a lie in a long series of lies, and perhaps the worst he ever told. He thought he bore the brunt of that, being as he was the one that died, but now he fears he was wrong.
It’s dark, and there is no sun, no moon. The stars are burned out. Has an even worse apocalypse befallen the people of this world? Is everything dead?
No. Gradually the murk resolves into vague, senseless shapes around him, and he realizes, he remembers. The last time he spoke to Thor, in his dreams, he was inside his mind. That is where he is now, as well. A hopeless place, choked with dust, flooded with guilt and loss, and something else. Drink? Drugs? Loki cannot tell. It’s too dark.
It’s too dark, dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
And dark the sun and moon, and--
"Brother, Thor, can you hear me?"
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
But Thor was always so full of light. Unquenchable. "Thor, hear me. Thor! Wake up, Brother please!"
It’s as dark as the Void between the Stars, but when he calls out, a wave of something rolls through the floating, smothering dust. A ripple, a wash, a tsunami of raw grief. It’s too big. The mind of a god untethered, untended, is a danger, even for another god. Even for his brother. Loki is terrified.
"Brother, please!"
An instant later he feels himself slammed back into his own body. Green eyes fly open to stare at the sky above. It’s bright and blue, so blue, and it’s an insult, a fucking mockery, it should not be allowed.
He doesn’t know whether Thor recognized what was happening and pushed him back on purpose, or whether it was a mere instinctive reaction based on the interactions of their emotional states. He may never know. But he is beyond shaken.
The beautiful spring around him is a threat. The sky tilts and looks greenish, clouded with fine particles. Loki knows, he knows this is the Nexus, he knows he is safe but he can’t breathe. There’s pressure on his chest, guilt and self-hatred pushing him down into the rotted wood of the trunk beneath him, and he’s being throttled, the life choked out of him on the very ground, here where a magical field is supposed to prevent violence.
There is no Thanos. He cannot see any attacker, but still he struggles for air. He claws at his throat like a man having a seizure, tearing at his own skin and the collar of his tunic, but finding no purchase. He gasps, writhes. Something wet slides down his cheeks.
Beneath him, the ground trembles. Above him, the wind cries out the fear his voice cannot. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, or why, only knows desperation.
And the earth shakes. The rotten wood kindles, flares, and collapses around him, and he--is that smoke or
the dust the
sky seems to fade a little and turn amber and
His heart he
Dark
It’s dark too dark...
He’s not sure how long he’s unconscious, but the sky is deepening to cobalt when he starts to come to, shaking so hard he can’t sit up. The ground still shudders beneath him.
He gathers his arms up around his head to hide from the blessed Jotun blue of the twilight sky, and sobs.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-24 01:49 pm (UTC)So it would be a fluffy red fox picking it's way towards the epicenter of the tremors he can feel under his paws, picking up the acrid smell of smoke, wood and rot burned from what he could tell. And whatever he was expecting to find? It certainly wasn't his counterpart. Especially not huddled as he was, curled around himself like he feared the sky above, sobbing like he might break into a million pieces (again, no matter the universe Loki always did break in such fabulously terrible ways, god of chaos, lies, broken things). Ears perked as he glanced around, making sure that they were alone, that the only threat here was whatever his twin was grappling in his own heart and mind before he was picking his way closer. A soft snort at a bit of smoke giving warning of his approach before the other might become aware of the vulpine face peering at him from under his arms, the fox squirming his way in close to settle against him, ears flicking back as his muzzle nudged close enough to let him lick his companion's cheek.
Unsure yet what else to do, or what to say, or if words might make things worse, as they so often seemed to for a Loki of any stripe, especially in a state like this. But also fairly certain that leaving him alone would do him no favors.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-24 02:00 pm (UTC)He feels sicker than he has in a long while. He had summer fevers once or twice, back in Asgard long ago, and the weakness here is reminiscent of that, but he knows there is nothing physically wrong. No, it's simply everything that's happened in the last few weeks that's wrong.
Somehow that's reassuring, that it's not him, just everything else.
The fear has eased off by the time the fox appears, which is good, because he doesn't startle at the nudge of that soft, pointy muzzle. His crying hasn't eased off, but when he sees the foxy face he guesses at once who it is, and makes a watery sound of relief. Gradually, one trembling arm unclasps from around his head and curls around the fox's body.
"H-h'lo, love. Just give me...a little while," he says. Everything is awful, but he is profoundly grateful not to be alone.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-24 02:12 pm (UTC)A soft little chuff of agreement at the greeting, heartened that Loki wasn't so far gone as to be beyond words entirely. He could do that. Settle into the shaky embrace, a warm furry lump against the other's chest, little paws set on his shoulders not unlike a hug, tail swishing lightly. He could be patient. Not for all things, not for all situations especially not now with Spring's blessing goading him, but for his dear twin he could be still and calm. He could do that much for him.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-24 02:24 pm (UTC)"Tried to reach...my world's Thor," he explains at length, hoarsely. "Didn't go well."
Poor Thor.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-24 02:39 pm (UTC)And better would be harder to manage, with Thor being the source of his distress.
"Ah." Said finally, head tucking against the join of neck and shoulder, fuzzy ear tickling as he settled in. "Yes, that would do it."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-24 02:56 pm (UTC)He's quiet for several more minutes, and when he speaks again his voice is steadier, without the hitch of sobs interrupting mid-sentence. Raspy and raw, but comprehensible. "Have you spoken to the one here? He blames himself for the havoc Thanos wrought. I've never seen him so...defeated."
Sigh. "I tried to kill Thor myself, more than once, but this--I don't think this is what I wanted, even when I was ready to burn down planets to hurt him."
"I don't like it. And I am helpless to change it."