twisting alive beneath my feet

“I know you must be hurt,” which is an understatement, “-but I did what I could in the moment. No time to warn, no time to even craft a reliable-enough Tesseract.” He babbles like a dying man, eyes wide and imploring, hands remaining on Thor’s shoulders for perhaps longer than necessary. Then a pause as priorities seep in and color the edges of his thoughts. Spaceship. No hostiles. Murmuring in the background. The distinct scent of burnt coffee and potato chips. They’re not alone.

But so long as Thor does not look alarmed, he shan’t be either.

While his caution ebbs, his exhaustion replaces it. An illusion like that - physical, tangible, access to his storage dimension - takes a toll on his seidr tenfold more than any other, and he’s in no shape to fight at the moment. But he shall grip Thor’s shoulders tighter, because he almost lost him.

“Thank the Norns you are safe,” Loki breathes quietly, knowing Thor will hear him anyway— but maybe not fully believe his sincerity. That’s alright; he’s dug his own hole to crawl out of in that respect, constantly running away to avoid the inevitable only to end up back in the snake’s belly. Maybe they’re both alive for a reason. Maybe, then, it’s time for Loki to acknowledge what’s always been one of the truths he cannot twist into a lie, even for himself.

His exhale is heavy, and his eyes linger on Thor’s one before flicking to his neck instead.

"No one else living can cut me as you have, Loki. I have come to expect it, and yet you always find fresh purchase in my heart." Brow furrowing and smoothing, he shook his head, rueful sorrow in his tone. His acceptance was a weakness he had never needed to confess, concealing what lay beneath. "I suspect I will never learn the lesson, but I cannot regret this final deceit that returns you to my side."

It was difficult to fully withdraw, it felt as if Loki might vanish if not beneath his hands, within his sight. And the very same had proven true in the past, to his regret.

His brother's prayer, low and fervent, was also not lost on him, and Thor rested a broad palm on the back of Loki's neck, reassuring him even as he sought that consolation for himself.

He knew it would be a long-shot, but a big gamble came with a big reward sure enough. A lifelike illusion: the soul leaving the eyes, the blush of straining veins under his skin, the crunch of his windpipe.

All fake. All a desperate scramble to keep himself and Thor alive.

The Tesseract- no. That was very real. Who knew what Thanos would do if he found out Loki gave him a fake, so best - and understandably awful - to give him the real deal. Loki had watched on uselessly while Thor looked hopelessly grieved, unbearably incomprehensible sadness behind the fire in his eyes. He can’t do anything to help from the shadows, as a terrified, nondescript survivor. Absolutely nothing he can say, or cast, until Thanos is gone and leaving decimation in his wake.

Then everything goes dark, and he tries to scream into the nothingness of his nightmares.

Gasping for air, the first thing Loki sees when he opens his eyes again as himself is Thor’s face, and he reaches to grip his shoulders, to hold him tightly, feel how solid he is and how real he seems to be. Valhalla is good to me, he thinks— because he doesn’t deserve to be happy like this, to have Thor to embrace once more.

When his eye had closed for the last time, when he had floated free of gravity or further concern, Thor had only the ember of his word burning within, the promise he'd made to a tyrant who had stole everything left of worth from him.

His oath was inviolate, of course, even in these straights. And he held what strength he had left within him in reserve. Even this exposure could not kill him, but the void was vast and the likelihood of rescue vanishingly small.

Yet the Norns work in mysterious ways. Particularly where his people — what remained of them — were involved.

Redemption had arrived at the hands of some unlikely souls, but Thor was in no condition to turn aside aid. Particularly when the body of his brother had arrived not long after he himself, impacting their ship and prompting some excitement amongst the Rabbit's crew.

Grief welled thick within him, then, from a place in his heart he had thought so wounded it could no longer ache so fiercely. Thor had asked for a few moments of privacy, hoping to make what peace he could with his brother before he began his quest of vengeance in earnest.

Expecting Loki to fall had perhaps been his biggest mistake. Believing that he could, after being deceived so many times. That loss was what he had always feared most, even when they were at odds, and Thanos had claimed the mantle of the soul killer. Even though he knew Loki, he had, in that moment, believed.

"Loki." A storm of confusion, shock, anger, and overpowering exaltation swelled within, lighting the room around them as he braced his hands on his brother's arms and drew him in. He lived.