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Thor’s heavy steps lead him away from the seated trickster and, for the moment, Loki was able to tend to his wounds in peace. He held a cloth to his bruised and bleeding ribs, peeling it away from his crimson-soaked clothing just enough to see if the wound there had begun to heal. It had not and Loki reapplied the pressure with a subtle hiss.

“You could have told me,” Thor’s tone was more of a balm, but Loki was still feeling quite combustible. His venomous green gaze found Thor’s but failed in silencing him. “I could have-…”

“Could have what?” Loki’s frame ached in objection to the abruptness with which he shot to his feet, standing at his full height. “You said it yourself - round and round in circles we go: you trust me,” The smell of blood makes his trachea clench and he determinedly keeps his focused raised. “And I betray you.”

You’ll always be the god of mischief.

But you could be more…

He’s trembling, but it’s not from anger. There are chills racking his nerves, but sweat is beading his hairline. He feels sick, like the heated sweetness of death filling the room might actually cause his stomach to turn. He swallows against the sensation and, after the shortest consideration of whether or not his knees might give out beneath him, he steps over the body nearest him and toward his brother.

If Thor has a rebuttal he doesn’t share it. He’s rooted and wordless as Loki brushes past him, matching the younger’s absolute refusal to allow his line of vision to dip.

“You said life is about growth; about change,” Loki’s examining the splintered control panel and his eyes catch a glimpse of red on the floor. He determinedly looks up, forward, out into the cosmos ahead of their lifeless ship. “One can use a spear as a walking stick, but that doesn’t change its nature.”

He looked back to Heimdall’s body and then to Thor, expression distant though suppressed tremors were still rattling his bones.