Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1: Dying, Dying, Dying

The cabin was still, the faint whisper of wind through the cracks in the wooden walls the only sound beyond Thor's shallow, labored breathing. The fire in the hearth had long since burned low, casting flickering shadows across the room, yet sleep remained an impossible thing, wild and unattainable. Thor exhaled slower still, the act of the involuntarily movement too harsh against the stillness he was after.

Beside him, Loki lay curled on his side, the rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. His dark hair spilled over the pillow in sharp contrast to the white linen beneath him, and he looked peaceful—too peaceful. Thor’s gaze lingered on Loki’s face, memorizing the subtle movements of his lashes, the soft parting of his lips with each exhale. Alive. He was alive.

Callused fingers raked in between those ebony strands of hair, causing Loki to shift, nearly slithering closer still, his body agile even in sleep, so akin to a boneless, liquid form than any waking moment. Loki sighed, content and calm, burrowed in Thor’s embrace, away from the terrors of a mind that would not be silenced.  

But even this certainty—this nearly impossible proximity—was not enough.

Thor blinked once, twice, trying to steady the rhythm of his breathing. Yet the moment his eyelids met, the nightmare surged forward with the force of an incoming storm. The sound of snapping bones. The choking wet gasp of Loki’s last breath. The heavy thud of his body hitting the ground.

It was maddening, endless, inescapable.

‘I assure you, brother, the sun will shine upon us.’

Dry eyelids parted violently as Thor forced himself to an abrupt wakefulness, saving what little shreds of dignity he had left, by not screaming bloody murder; again.

Thor tore the blankets away and stumbled to his feet, his heart hammering with an urgency that made his vision swim. He felt trapped, suffocated. His hands went instinctively to his forearms, fingers digging into his flesh as though the pain might drown out the phantom images. It didn’t. It never did.

He could still see it—Loki’s body crumpled on the floor of the Statesman, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. Thor’s knees buckled at the memory, and he braced himself against the wall, sucking in sharp breaths as though the air itself were suddenly scarce.  And perhaps that was the case, for he may as well still be amidst the burning spaceship, with Loki’s carcass at his feet—For Loki was dead, again, and again--

“Thor.”

The voice was soft but sharp, slicing through the oppressive haze in his head. He froze, his back turned to the bed. The sound of rustling fabric followed, and then Loki was standing behind him, barefoot, clad in one of Thor’s oversized tunics that hung to his knees. He looked strangely small in it, but the power in his presence was anything but.

“I wasn’t—” Thor began, his voice hoarse and trembling, but Loki cut him off.

“Spare me the denials. You’re terrible at lying, and I have no patience for it.”

Thor turned slightly, just enough to see Loki’s face in the dim light utilizing his single, weary eye. Loki’s green eyes were narrow, piercing, and yet there was no anger in them. Only something deeper, more intimate—a quiet intensity that pinned Thor in place.

“You’re bleeding,” Loki said simply, his gaze dropping to Thor’s hands.

Thor glanced down, his breath catching as he noticed the crescent-shaped marks where his nails had broken the skin. Thin rivulets of blood trailed down his forearms, staining the pale flesh. He hadn’t even realized. Or perhaps he had, but was too used to the pain by now. Neither option was one Loki wanted to entertain.

“It’s nothing,” Thor muttered, bringing forth the same guilty tone he had during their youth when Frigga would catch them stealing the horses from the stables. He fumbled, trembling as he started wiping at the blood with the edge of his tunic.

“Stop.” Loki’s command was firm, brooking no argument, as he stepped closer. He reached for Thor’s hands, his long, elegant fingers wrapping around Thor’s wrists with surprising strength. “Let me see.”

Thor tried to pull away, but Loki’s grip tightened. “Don’t make me wrestle you,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

Thor relented, if only because all his strength was diminished, much like everything else these days. He leaned against the wall, letting Loki turn his arms so the faint, self-inflicted wounds were visible in the dim firelight. Loki’s expression didn’t change—not a flicker of pity or outrage. Instead, his lips pressed into a thin line as he examined the damage.

“This is how you quiet it, then?” Loki asked, his tone unreadable. “You bleed until the memories stop screaming? Because, believe me when I say, it will not work.”

Thor swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I don’t know what else to do. I have nothing left to do.”

Loki’s gaze snapped to Thor’s, sharp as a blade. “That’s a lie. You know what to do. You come to me.”

Thor flinched at the force of Loki’s words. “I don’t want to burden you with—”

“Don’t,” Loki hissed, cutting him off. His hands released Thor’s wrists only to grab his face, his fingers digging into Thor’s jaw as he forced their eyes to meet. “Don’t insult me with that drivel. You think I can’t see what you’re doing? You think I don’t know how close you come to breaking every night? And yet you push me away, as though I’m some fragile thing that might shatter under your weight.”

Shatter—Just like the bones--

Thor’s lips parted, but no words came. He flinched, startled by an echo Loki could not hear but knew of what it consisted. His grip softened slightly, his thumbs brushing against the stubble on Thor’s jaw.

“I’ve died, Thor,” Loki continued, his voice quieter now, raw.

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen it, again and again, I’ve heard the bones shattering—” Thor gulped, forcing the bile down his throat, barely keeping it at bay. But Loki did not relent. He never did.

“I’ve seen what lies on the other side, and I clawed my way back to you. Do you understand?” He pushed, his hands digging on either side of Thor’s face, gathering salty tears on his grasps like a beggar reaching for rain after an endless summer. He leaned in, their breaths mingling. “Do not presume to tell me what I can or cannot bear. Do not fear so, that I may shatter under your darkness.”

Thor’s chest ached with the weight of Loki’s words. He closed his eye, feeling pulsing under his skin. “You don’t understand,” he whispered. “Every time I pause, I see you die. I try to stop it, but I can’t. And when I wake, it feels as though I’m still there, still losing you.”

Loki let out a slow breath, his hands slipping from Thor’s face to his shoulders. “Then don’t close your eyes.”

Thor turned to face him, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“Stay awake,” Loki said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “Come back to bed, wake me up. Burrow into me, ask me for my magic, for my mouth, my hands, my cock. I don’t care if it’s for hours, or days. I will comply, Thor. But you will not bleed, and you will not tear yourself apart. Do you understand?”

Thor stared at him, his throat tightening. “I’m not strong enough.”

Loki’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the sharpness of his tongue gave way to something else—something tender, possessive. He leaned even closer, sliding his arms around Thor’s waist and pulling him into an embrace.

“You’re wrong,” Loki murmured against his chest. “Whatever you fear, I’m here to fight it for you. This darkness is an old acquaintance of mine, to me, Thor, and I will not leave you to be consumed by it.”

Thor’s arms came up slowly, hesitantly, wrapping around Loki as though he might disappear if held too tightly. Loki’s touch was firm, grounding, his fingers digging into Thor’s back as though anchoring him in place.

For several long moments, they stood there, the only sound the faint crackle of the dying fire. Thor felt his breathing slowing, his heart no longer racing, though the ache in his chest remained.

“You should hate me,” Thor said quietly. “For what I’ve become.”

Loki pulled back just enough to look at him, his lips curving into a wry smile. “Oh, believe me, I have hated you for eons, to mask my love for you. And even now, I hate you plenty. I hate the way you snore.  Or the way you leave your boots in the middle of the room.” The sound of a watery, broken laugh escaped Thor’s torn lips. “I hate the way you make my name sound like a prayer when we make love. For your worship is one I have always craved, yet now its all-consuming. And I want to be consumed, Thor.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Thor’s lips. “So, do not strip this away from me. From us.”

Thor’s breath hitched, his hands tightening on Loki’s waist. “Why? Why do you stay?”

“Because you’re mine,” Loki said simply, his voice low, possessive. “I have spent too many lifetimes denying it, but no more. And I do not plan on losing what’s mine.”

Before Thor could respond, Loki’s lips were on his, fierce and unyielding. The kiss was not gentle or soft—it was a clash of desperation and need, a reminder that they were alive, here, together.

When Loki finally pulled back, his hands slid to Thor’s shoulders, guiding him toward the bed. “Lie down,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Thor obeyed, his body heavy with exhaustion but his mind strangely calm. Loki climbed in beside him, curling against his side and resting his head on Thor’s chest. His hand found Thor’s once more, fingers tracing idle patterns over the faint scars.

“I won’t let you drown, Thor,” Loki said quietly, his voice steady. “Not while I’m here.”

Thor closed his eye, the sound of Loki’s heartbeat against his chest drowning out the echoes of his nightmares. It wasn’t a cure, nor was it a solution. But it was enough.

Until, it wasn’t.

End of Part 1

Chapter Text

Part 2: Blood, Blood, Blood

The silence of the night had always been a fragile thing. It draped over the cabin like a thin veil, deceiving in its stillness, promising peace that never truly arrived. It had been a week since the last time Loki had found him slumped on the wall on the far side of their bedroom. Yet, the dreams lingered.

Thor lay rigid in their bed, staring at the ceiling, his breaths shallow and deliberate. Beside him, Loki slept soundly, his lean body curled close, one hand resting lightly on Thor’s forearm. He looked serene, his pale face half-hidden by the black strands of his hair. But for Thor, he wasn’t really there. Not where it mattered.

The dream had come again, an entity existing somewhere outside the realm of wakefulness yet clinging to it all the same. Only, this time, it left no sound. No screams, no crack of bone, no echo of Loki’s name falling broken from his lips. Only the image remained. Loki’s lifeless body, cold, cold, cold against his arms. His neck twisted wrong. His lips blue. His bloodless hands slack.

Thor felt it choking him. The silence. The stillness. The unbearable absence. It clawed at his throat, threatening to split him open from the inside. He needed it to stop.

Stop. He needed Loki to stay. Just this once-- But the Loki who lay beside him wasn’t the one in his mind. And in that cruel division, Thor found no comfort.

His chest tightened, his breaths shortening to ragged pants. He didn’t know when he slipped out of bed again. He didn’t know why Loki’s touch felt so distant. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay there—not in that bed, not in that silence.

Thor stumbled into the bathroom, his massive frame casting long shadows in the moonlight filtering through the window. He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white as he leaned forward, staring into the mirror. His own reflection stared back, haggard and ghostly, his single eye rimmed red with sleeplessness. A stranger, ragged and pitiful.

He didn’t know when the first punch landed. Or the second. All he knew was the deafening sound of shattering glass, the sharp spray of shards across his bare skin. The mirror cracked and splintered, pieces falling into the sink and onto the floor. The silence broke, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Thor’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out in low, guttural sounds that barely qualified as words. His hand found a jagged shard of glass, and he gripped it tightly, the sharp edge biting into his palm. The pain bloomed immediately, warm and red, spilling down his wrist and dripping into the sink.

Not cold. Not cold like Loki’s body. Not lifeless.

He pressed harder, the glass slicing deeper, as if he could carve out the memories, the images, the fear. He pressed, wishing to dig them out, that festering parasite that haunted him, driving him insane.

Blood, blood, blood.

His lips moved, forming words he didn’t recognize—maybe Norwegian, maybe something older, more primal. Or maybe it wasn’t words at all. Maybe it was just the sound of unhinged madness.

He did not wish to die. Somewhere deep, he remembered Loki was in the other room; He would be so angry… But Thor was cold, and the blood was not.

Loki woke to the faint crunch of breaking glass. His sharp instincts stirred him instantly, his eyes snapping open in the dim room. The bed beside him was empty, the sheets cold where Thor should have been.

“Thor?” he called softly, his voice carrying no response.

A faint metallic tang reached his nose. Blood. The realization was immediate, and dread knotted his stomach as he rose swiftly, pulling on the oversized tunic he always wore to bed.

The bathroom door was ajar, the light spilling weakly into the hallway. Loki stepped forward cautiously, his bare feet soundless against the wooden floor. As he pushed the door open, the sight that greeted him made his breath catch.

Thor sat slumped on the floor, his back against the wall, his massive shoulders trembling with each uneven breath. Blood pooled around him, dark and glistening in the moonlight, seeping into the cracks between the tiles. The sink above him was smeared with red, shards of broken glass scattered across its surface and the floor.

“By the Norns…” Loki’s voice wavered before his instincts kicked in. He stepped forward, only to feel his foot skid on the blood-slick tiles. He fell hard, his palms catching his weight as they slapped into the crimson mess.

“Thor!” Loki’s voice sharpened as he scrambled toward him, his hands slipping in the blood as he reached for Thor’s shoulders. The sight of Thor’s trembling form, his massive hand clenched tightly around a shard of glass, made Loki’s heart stutter.

“Are you out of your damned mind?” Loki spat, his tone sharp, cutting. “You stupid, idiotic—” His voice broke as he wrestled the shard from Thor’s hand, throwing it across the room. Blood splashed even further, staining Loki’s face, his hands, his night tunic.

Thor didn’t fight him this time. He barely reacted at all. His head lolled slightly, his eye glazed over, staring at nothing. His lips moved, but no coherent sound escaped.

Loki grabbed his face, his fingers digging into Thor’s jaw as he forced their eyes to meet. “Look at me!” he barked, his voice shaking with fury and something far too raw. “Don’t you dare drift off now. Not like this. Not while I’m here!”

Thor’s gaze flickered, his breaths shallow and uneven. His lips parted, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest, but still no words came.

Loki’s fingers tightened, his knuckles whitening. “I am here, do you hear me?” Loki shook him, his own breath hitching. Thor’s posture hugged forward. “You don’t get to do this,” Loki hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You don’t get to leave me like this, you hear me? You don’t get to tear yourself apart and expect me to watch.”

Thor’s body trembled beneath Loki’s touch, and for a moment, Loki thought he might collapse entirely. Without hesitation, Loki surged forward, wrapping his arms around Thor’s blood-slick torso in a crushing embrace.

“No,” Loki muttered, his voice breaking. He took Thor’s bloody palms in his own and pressed, nearly punitively. “Stop, stop, stop!” Who was he talking to, Loki was not certain.  “Whatever this is, you don’t get to drown in it. I won’t let you.”

Thor’s chest hitched, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips. It wasn’t a word—not quite—but it was something. A sound of raw pain, of grief too vast to contain.

Loki’s hands slipped on the blood, but he held firm, his arms tightening as though he could physically keep Thor from falling further. “You idiot,” Loki muttered, his voice softer now, his lips brushing against Thor’s temple. “You absolute idiot. Do you think for one second I’d let you go?”

Thor’s hand, trembling and bloodied, reached up slowly, weakly gripping the fabric of Loki’s tunic. His eye finally focused, locking onto Loki’s face. “I… I can’t…” The words barely made it past his lips.

“You can,” Loki countered, his tone fierce. “You will. Because I refuse to let you do otherwise.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, Loki holding Thor tightly, his sharp words softened by the desperate, almost feral way he clung to him. The blood between them was warm, sticky, a stark contrast to the icy cold that had gripped Thor’s soul.

“I’m here,” Loki whispered, his lips brushing against Thor’s ear. “I’m here, and you’re not allowed to do this. If you can hear me, if you can even feel me, then fight this,” Loki growled, his voice raw. “Don’t you dare give in. Don’t you dare leave me to clean up your blood and bury what’s left of you. Not while I am still breathing.”

Thor’s trembling hand found Loki’s arm, weakly clutching at the fabric of his tunic. His lips parted, and for the first time, his eye flickered with something like recognition.

“Loki…”Thor’s body sagged against Loki’s, his strength ebbing away as exhaustion took hold. “Are you? Breathing?”

“Yes, Sváss. Yes, I am breathing.” Loki offered fervently, and kissed him brokenly, desperately. Against him, Thor sobbed.

Loki’s chest tightened, the icy knot of fear in his stomach threatening to consume him. He grabbed Thor by the front of his tunic, yanking him forward with a force that belied his slender frame.

The sound of his name, broken and hoarse, made Loki’s breath catch. He pressed his forehead against Thor’s, his voice lowering to a whisper.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m here, Svass. Look at me. It’s not cold. I’m not cold.”

Thor’s breaths hitched, his body sagging further into Loki’s hold. His bloodied hand slipped, smearing crimson streaks across Loki’s arm, but Loki didn’t flinch.

Thor’s trembling slowed, his eye focusing on Loki’s face. His lips moved again, forming the faintest whisper. “Loki… I don’t know how…”

“You don’t have to know,” Loki said fiercely, his arms tightening around Thor as though he could hold him together by sheer will. “You just have to let me be here.” Now his words were low, nearly foreign on his tongue, unlike the ones he was so eloquently wielding. But this was an uncharted abyss like no other. And if Thor need to hear hi, he would speak all the words he had never allowed himself to utter.

Thor’s body went limp, his head falling against Loki’s shoulder as his breaths evened out into shallow gasps. Loki held him there, his own knees shaking as they sat in the pool of blood, shattered glass scattered around them.

For a long moment, they were both silent, their ragged breathing the only sound.

Loki closed his eyes, his hand sliding through Thor’s blood-matted hair as he whispered into his ear. “Svass, let me see it. Let me see what haunts you, Thor. I can erase it from within your mind.” Thor’s answer was a shuddering exhale, his hand clutching weakly at Loki’s sleeve.

The offer was tempting, yet Thor found himself shaking his head. “I can’t see it again, not now, Loki, Loki don’t bring it forth, not again, Loki—"

“Hush, hush,” Loki offered, cradling him against his chest, kissing the crown of his head, aware of the picture they would paint in the eyes of a stranger, yet utterly uncaring of it all the while. “Breathe, Thor, please. Nothing will haunt you, I will not let it.” Loki assured hurriedly, his lips swallowing the terrified calls for mercy. “I will not bring the nightmare forth. I swear. I will not bring it forth, Sváss. It will pass, Thor. This too, will pass.”

It was a broken lament that got lost amidst the blood, the night and all the jagged shards Thor’s soul had been shattered into.

Shards Loki’s hands, despite their elegance, could not put back together…

And the night raged on.

But for the frst time, Thor dared to breathe. All else, would have to wait.

End of Part 2