Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When you wake up, the light that blinds you is golden.

Your eyes blink rapidly, trying to clear your vision. But there is a pounding in your head that makes it hard to focus. You wince but force your eyes to stay open, and, slowly, the details start to register.

The floor was made of gold-veined marble, with different furs covering the floors. In front, there were bookshelves lined along the wall, a great, colossal door separating them, and directly in front of you. To the left side was another door, smaller but no less grand. On its left was a large fireplace with plush chairs in front and a vanity on the right. But on your right side was…

You sat up, staring. But as you move, a silk sheet slipped off of you. You stare at that instead, moving a hand to run over the surface. It felt wrong to touch, and your hand recoils like it's been burned. Bile rises as you look away. It felt too… delicate. Too soft. 

It wasn’t right.

Your attention is grabbed by the right once again. The whole side of that wall is a window, and it takes a second to find the glass door that blends in. Below the glass is a golden balcony. Beyond the glass, a cloudless sky with the sun's light pouring into the room.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, almost wincing again at the soreness there. You pause when your feet touch the ground. It was warm. It wasn’t from the sun. It felt as if the floor itself had been heated from the inside. 

Magic… Seiðr.

The words struck you like a lighting bolt. Seiðr continues to ring like a distant bell. You don’t know how you know it. You don’t know why it sends a shiver down your spine or why your mouth shapes the word again without thinking.

“Seiðr,” you whisper.

It gives you nothing in return. No answers. No clarity. But it feels like a promise all the same. 

You rise fully to your feet, steadying yourself on the bedpost. It was a huge four-poster bed; it felt like it was going to swallow you whole. Carved headboard, sheets of spun golden silk, and pillows so plush it felt. Opulence. That’s what it was. That’s what all of this was. 

But it wasn’t yours.
You knew that.
Not in your bones, but in your soul.

You steadied yourself and walked to the balcony. The glass door opened at the slightest push, as soon as you found it. 

Your eyes widen as you look down. It was a beautiful city, seeming to glow in gold as well. Each of the buildings was elegant, their rooftops were either domes and spires that shimmered beneath the rising sun.  Even farther on was an endless sea that seemed to just fall off. The sound hit you next, an almost distant hum. Very faint voices, laughter, yelling. Black birds you couldn’t name circled high in the air; their cries were far closer than any voice down below. You almost didn’t hear it, but somewhere, music played.

It was beautiful.

 Sickeningly so.

Your hands gripped the railing, knuckles white. All of this screamed wrong, even as your eyes drank in the peaceful view.

You felt like a ghost in someone else’s life.

A gust of wind tugged at your hair, brushing across your skin like a whisper. You close your eyes. Focus.

Something is missing. Someone is missing.

A face, blurred, stern expression and a red mark flash behind your eyelids.

Gone.

You shake your head, forcing yourself to breathe. Nothing made sense. You knew words, but they had no meaning or image in your mind. 

You turn,, each step you take to go back inside reminds you that your body hurts. A dull ache now, your muscles tight like they’ve been worked to exhaustion or… punished.

You shudder, but you walk around the room to see if it can give you any clues to who you are. 

You pause when your eyes fall on the vanity again. But it is not the vanity itself that gets your attention. It’s the mirror, framed with what looks like gold and pearl, delicate designs woven into the edges, that holds your attention. 

Without thinking, your feet take you to stand before it. The reflection that greets you-

You flinch.

That’s not-

You don’t recognize the person looking back. 

To be fair, you can’t remember what you are supposed to look like. But you know that the person looking back at you is not you. This was the most wrong you had felt yet. The person that is looking back has short black hair and pale skin. Their face is unmarred as well, not a scratch. Too perfect. It was almost like a sculpture, carved by hands that didn’t understand you. Wide green eyes, thin lips parted in confusion. 

Not yours.

You jump when the door opens behind you. 

You spin around to see two figures enter.

The man is old but commanding without even trying. He has on golden armor that catches the light, casting an almost divine sheen across the floor. An eyepatch covers his right eye. Beside him walks a woman draped in green and gold. Her expression is calm and composed. Her hair is braided back, and her eyes are kind.

For some reason, you feel uneasy when you look at the old man. 

Odin.

You don’t know how you know his name, only that it crashes through your mind with the same weight as Seiðr.

He, Odin, is also the first one to speak.

“Good,” he says, but he says it as if he’s assessing something. “You’re awake.”

The woman beside him steps forward and takes your hands gently. There is a faint smile on her lips, but you catch the glimmer of caution behind her gaze.

“How do you feel?” she asks softly. “You’ve been resting for some time.”

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Odin’s eye seemed to sharpen at that, but he didn’t move.

You swallow.

“I… I don’t know,” you finally manage. Your voice is hoarse, like it hasn’t been used in a long time. It cracks. “I don’t… know anything.”

There’s a flicker in Odin’s expression- so brief you almost miss it. Disappointment? Annoyance? You can’t tell.

Her brows knit together. Her smile dims but doesn’t vanish. “That’s alright,” she murmured. “Your illness took a heavy toll on you, We don’t know when, or even  if your memories will return at all.”

Illness? That doesn’t feel right. Nothing about your body feels sick. Used, maybe. Like a tool worn too thin. But not ill.

You glance at Odin. He hasn’t taken his eye off you. He watches like you’re a puzzle he’s solved before, but now a piece’s gone missing, and it’s inconvenient.

“Do you remember your name?” She asks gently, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that might’ve been maternal if it didn’t make your stomach twist. You flinch slightly, more out of instinct than thought.

Your lips part, and your tongue moves. But again- nothing.

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.”

“You are Loki.” Odin says almost immediately, and this time, he seems to relax and seem pleased. “My Ward.”

The woman’s hand tightens just slightly on yours. Her expression stays soft, but her eyes flick toward Odin for a fraction of a second, unreadable.

You stare at him.

Loki.

The name sinks into your skin like ice water, pooling in your chest. The sound of it is unfamiliar. Not wrong like the silk sheets or like the perfect reflection in the mirror or ike all the gold around you that doesn’t mean anything. But not right either.

Your mouth shapes the word, soundlessly.

Loki.

It feels like a mask.

A lie.

Something coils in your stomach. Something that doesn’t belong to you. Something that fights.

But Odin is already walking toward you, breaking whatever fight you had. He stops in front of you and places a firm, heavy hand on your shoulder.

“You’ve been through a great ordeal,” he says, “But you are safe now. You’re home.”

Home.

Another lie wrapped in gold.

It has to be.

Your body doesn’t remember this place. Your soul refuses to.

She gives you a small nod, like she’s trying to encourage you. “We will help you, Loki. Your memories may be lost, but you are not alone.”

You look between them.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

You want to scream.

But the words stay trapped in your throat like everything else.

Odin speaks before you can, and you’re thankful because you have no idea what to even say. “You need rest for now, we’ll speak more at supper. Frigga will stay to help you in any way you need.”

He turns without another word, but Frigga remains. Her presence is much lighter than the old man’s. Frigga watches you quietly, patiently.

"Will... will I remember?" you finally ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. 

Frigga’s expression seems softened even more, and she answers with a gentle certainty. "Memory is tricky, Loki. But you will remember what you need to when the time is right."

That answer doesn’t feel right, either. But you didn't much it. 

Your eyes drift back to the mirror. You study the face that isn’t yours.

You touch your cheek. The skin is smooth. Clean. Untouched.

Your fingers curl against your palm.

Whoever you were, you are not who they say you are.

This room is a prison built of beauty. 

And somewhere, someone is still missing.

A face in shadow. A red mark. And a voice you can almost hear saying your name-

“Atreus!”

Loki turn away from the mirror and looked over at the the woman and force a smile, “Tell me what I need to know.”

Chapter Text

Loki learned a lot with Frigga over the next few days and dinners with the two older Gods. He barely left his room other than those dinners. Odin had said it was best to keep gathering his strength in his room then to get lost in the castle. The books in his rooms didn’t help, most of them written in an older dialect of Asgardian he had only just started to puzzle through. Ancient myths, dry chronicles of war, and detailed information on diplomacy were the only books of note, the others being blank so he could add his own in time. Frigga had been his best source of information so far.

First, he was Odin's adopted son. 

Frigga said Odin had taken him in, when he was around ten, after Woden, Odin's brother from another mother, fell in the last Great War with the Frost Giants, claiming it was his duty to honor Woden’s final wish- to protect the boy. “You were so small,” she murmured, brushing a strand of his dark hair from his brow. “Your eyes burned with questions even then.”

Loki had pressed her gently. “And Woden? What was he like?”

Frigga's smile faltered, grief flickering behind her composed expression. “He was fierce, stubborn. A warrior to the end. But he loved you, Loki. Fiercely. He gave everything to ensure you'd have a future.”

“And you?” Loki asked, quieter this time. “Did you ever see me as yours?”

She cupped his cheek in her hand. “You’ve always been mine.”

Second, since Odin had taken him in, about four years ago, he had been in poor health. Nothing deadly, nothing dramatic- just… off. He would be bedridden for months at a time. The longest time before now out of bed had been just over two weeks. The royal healers had called it nerves, exhaustion, “an adjustment period” for a growing boy pulled from war and placed in a world of gold.

Third, years were much longer than he first thought. What he was thinking of was what they called a Midgardian year, which he body was used to. Without Iðunn Apple’s, his body aged like any Midgardian. But now that he was in Asgard, he would age like them. He still didn’t know how long either of those years was or what a Midgardian

And lastly, somehow, the biggest shock of it all was that he had a brother. Thor. Odin and Frigga's biological son.

Loki had heard the name spoken in passing, mostly by servants when he pushed his ear to the door. They spoke highly of him, but had just a touch of fear. Thor, the golden one. The stormbringer. The heir.

But Frigga had talked differently of her son. “He was a whirlwind even as a babe,” she’d said one morning over tea, her fingers idly turning her cup. “Finding ways to move before he could walk. Always making a storm before he understood what it meant to hold it.”

She smiled as she spoke, but there was a note of worry behind it. For what, though, Loki couldn’t say.

“He was so very curious about you when you first came,” she continued, “You were so quiet. He couldn’t understand it at first- he thought perhaps you were broken. He would sit beside your bed and talk to you, even as you slept.” Her eyes grew distant, “ He asked us once… if you were a star that had fallen from the sky.”

She looked back up at him, her eyes focusing on Loki.

“He calls you little Stjarna.”

Loki had looked away, uncertain how to feel about that.

A part of him was warmed by it. It was nice to imagine- a child his age sitting beside his bed, asking if he were a fallen star. It was sweet. Strange. But sweet. Another part recoiled. A nickname born from pity? Or awe? Or something else entirely? He didn’t know. And the not-knowing gnawed at him.

But he guessed he would have a chance to learn the truth shortly.

Thor had been away at the border outposts near Jotunheim, training under the watch of one of Odin’s most trusted generals. Even though he was only fourteen, Thor was already being shaped into a king’s heir. Loki had heard from the maids that Thor had led his first real charge during a skirmish. Nothing serious, but enough to send a message to their enemies.

Now, he was coming home.

Everything in the palace seemed to be in a buzz. 

Servants hurried through halls with silver trays and folded linens, murmuring instructions to one another as they scrubbed stone and polished gold. Guards had started to straighten their backs with each footstep, banners were dusted and re-hung, and the air itself seemed to hum with tension. He only knew this because he kept watching for the creaks of his door. 

All he knew was that the palace felt alive in a way it hadn't since he woke.

Odin was... also different with Thor's imminent arrival. The king seemed loosened. Laughed more. His golden boy brought sunshine with him, it seems.

Loki sighed, curling into a ball outside on the balcony.  He wasn’t sure what he was meant to feel. Nervous? Excited? Jealous? It was all so confusing. 

Before he could spiral too deeply into the thought, a knock startled him. Frigga poked her head into his room, looking around to look around till she saw him outside. When she saw him, her expression softened with amusement and concern.

“Are you hiding?” she asked softly once she came up to him.

Loki didn’t answer right away. “No,” he said finally. “I’m watching.”

Frigga smiled. She made herself comfortable next to him on the floor. “They’ll be here within the hour,” she said softly. “You don’t have to come down if you’re not ready.”

Loki hesitated. “Would it be... rude if I didn’t?”

Frigga seemed sympathetic as she pulled him into her arms. “No. But I think he’d like to see you.” A pause. “I think you might like to see him, too.”

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Loki admitted softly. “What do you say to a brother you’ve never met?”

Frigga tilted her head, considering him. “You don’t need to say anything clever. Just be you.”

He scoffed. “That’s the problem.” He didn’t know who he was.

Frigga moved her hand and gently tapped his nose. “Then perhaps let him help you find out.”

Loki blinked at her, unsure how to respond. He wanted to believe her. That it could be that simple. That maybe… someone out there could help him piece together the jagged edges of whatever self he was meant to be.

The silence stretched comfortably now, Frigga holding him closely to her. This was… nice. And for the first time since he woke up, he was starting to feel… comfortable

The horn blew loudly, eventually- a deep, echoing tone that rang through the palace.

He’s here.

The reception for Thor was held outside, apparently because any of these types of gatherings ended up being loud enough to shake the palace walls.

Frigga had said it with a fond sort of exasperation as she adjusted Loki’s collar one last time before they stepped out. “Your brother has never understood the meaning of a quiet return,” she’d said, smoothing his robes. They were a deep green with silver threading that itched. “Best to let the wind carry the noise than have the chandeliers fall in the dining hall again.”

Loki wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

But when they did end up waking out together, Loki holding on Frigga hand in a death grip, he understood.

There was music- drums and horns and pipes that wove through the evening air like living things. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, of guests. Warriors in gold and leather armor raised goblets and laughed loudly. The sound of clattering plates join thr laughs as well as the sound of breaking cups. The scent of meat and spiced mead mingled on the breeze.

And at the center of it all was Thor.

Loki didn't know what to fully expect from the Prince, even with all the stories. He knew the other was around his age but he had thought Thor would be more…distant. Older somehow. Sharper around the edges, like his father. 

Instead, Thor was bright.

His laugh rang loud, noticeable even from this distance. His golden hair seemed to glow in the sunlight. It was messy as well, from the wind or the fight, Loki couldn’t tell which. The boy was only a little taller than himself, but much shorter than the Thor in his head.

Thor looked like he belonged in the middle of all this.

Loki, very suddenly, felt like he didn’t belong anywhere.

He shrank behind Frigga slightly, watching as Thor laughed with a group of other boys, three of them, with Odin standing behind his son. The All-Father, as Frigga had said to call him, looked the happiest Loki had ever seen the old man.

Loki’s hand ttightened around rigga’s hand.

He hadn’t seen Odin smile like that- not once. 

Not in the quiet mornings when he sometimes watched Loki and Frigga in helping Loki get his strength back and poke at his memory, where he tried so hard to remember who he was, not in the dinners when Odin watched him like a puzzle missing too many pieces as they ate. 

But here, now, Odin was smiling. Laughing even, a proud gleam in his one good eye as he clapped a hand on Thor’s shoulder and said something that made all the boys laugh.

Thor didn’t flinch at the touch. He seemed glowed brighter from it, in fact.

Loki looked away. Something turned in his stomach. An impression of a memory seemed to flash in his vision. 

The ghost of a hand on his shoulder, but colder. Rougher. Words spoken in a deeper voice. “…You’ll have to try harder, boy.”

Loki blinked. The sound was gone before it finished forming, swallowed by the music and cheers around him. Frigga’s hand gave his hand a squeeze.

He looked up at her. She smiled gently, helping him focus back to the present. “You’re doing just fine,” she murmured, brushing her thumb gently over his knuckles. With that, Frigga gently tugged him forward.

Thor spotted them almost instantly as soon as they started to walk again. Or rather, he noticed Frigga.

His grin widened. “Mother!” he called, striding toward them. “I thought you weren’t coming out until dessert!”

Frigga arched an eyebrow. “I came for the main course,” she said smoothly, then stepped aside. “And someone else came with me.”

Confused, Thor looked down and his gaze landed on Loki.

For a second- just a second- Thor froze. His grin didn’t falter so much as…hesitate, caught between expressions like he was trying to figure out what he was seeing. Loki watched his face carefully, bracing himself for… something.

Then Thor’s expression softened. Not out of pity or confusion, but in recognition.

“Loki?” Thor asked, voice lowering just a touch.

He shifted uncomfortably as he gave a stiff nod.

And then Thor’s face split into the biggest grin Loki had ever seen.

“You’re awake!” Thor all but shouted, beaming. “Ha! You’re actually standing!” He stepped forward like he meant to pull Loki into a hug but caught himself at the last second. His hands twitched at his sides.

“I mean- uh- hi,” Thor said, more sheepishly. “I didn’t think you’d be… out here yet.”

Loki blinked at him. “Neither did I.”

Thor laughed again, a loud, delighted sound. “You sound better already. I mean, not that you sounded bad before, but- you know. You looked dead for like three weeks and now you don’t! So. That’s good.”

Loki stared at him.

Frigga covered a laugh behind her hand.

Thor looked briefly panicked. “Wait, was that rude? That might have been rude. Sorry. I just—I’m glad you’re okay. Really.”

Loki’s voice came out quiet. “I think you talk too much.”

Thor lit up. “Everyone says that!” He reached out and ruffled Loki’s hair without warning, and Loki flinched before catching himself. Thor’s hand stilled.

“I used to do that when you were asleep,” Thor said, quieter now. “Sorry. I just… it’s good to see you awake.”

Loki didn’t know what to say to that. So he just nodded.

Thor didn’t seem to mind the silence. He stepped back, giving Loki a little more space, but the grin never left his face. Looking at him felt like looking at the sun.

“Well,” Thor said, glancing between him and Frigga, “you should come meet the others! Everyone’s been wondering about you.”

Loki took a half-step back instinctively. Frigga’s hand on his shoulder kept him grounded, instead of letting him fall into a panic.

“I think,” Frigga said gently, “Loki can decide when and if he’d like to meet anyone tonight.”

Thor hesitated, then nodded. “Right. Yeah. Of course.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish again. “I just mean- I think they’d like him. You’d like them too. I hope so. Sif’s here, and Volstagg and Fandral and Hogun. They’re kind of idiots, but in a fun way.”

Loki’s eyes flicked past Thor, back to the group near Odin. The boys were still laughing and talking amongst themselves, occasionally glancing in Thor’s direction. One of them, a girl with braided blonde hair and a sharp look in her eyes, noticed Loki and tilted her head slightly.

“Maybe later,” Loki said softly. His voice still felt too small for this place.

Thor smiled like that was the best answer he could’ve gotten. “Yeah. Later’s good.”

Then he looked over his shoulder. “I should probably get back before Volstagg eats everything.”

Frigga chuckled. “Go on, Thor. We’ll be here.”

Thor gave Loki one more look, something like a promise, then turned and jogged back to the others, calling something about “saving the roast before Volstagg claims it as a spoil of war.”

As soon as he was gone, Loki let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“You handled that well,” Frigga said quietly to him.

Loki didn’t answer right away. He was still watching Thor’s retreating figure. Loki’s fingers itched, but he had no idea why. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Loki said at last.

Frigga smiled gently. “You didn’t run. That counts.”

Loki looked up at her, uncertain. “Should I have?”

“No,” she said, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear again. “But I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

Loki hesitated, then looked back at the crowd. He didn’t say it aloud, but the feeling was still there, like his skin didn’t quite fit, and someone might realize he wasn’t meant to be here. That if they looked close enough, the stitching of his skin would come undone.

“Does he always smile like that?” he asked, quietly.

Frigga followed his gaze. “Thor?” She hummed. “He has many smiles. That one-” she looked down at him, “-is reserved for those he loves most.”

Loki blinked, startled.

Frigga looked at him as though she already knew what question he was about to ask. “Yes, Loki,” she said softly, “that includes you.”

The words sank into him like warm water, soothing and strange.

He looked down at his hands, still slightly trembling from the noise, the memory, the Thor, the everything. “I want to go back inside.”

Frigga didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” she said, wrapping an arm gently around his shoulders. “Come, we’ll sneak back through the kitchens. The cooks are far too busy to notice us.”

Loki leaned into her touch without realizing it, not noticing the look Odin had gave Frigga as they left.

That night, Loki curled up in front of the window, knees pulled up to his chest again. He was lost in thought as he stared up at the stars.

He hadn’t said much after asking to return inside. Frigga had stayed with him for a time, helping him change out of the formal robes and into softer ones, and had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders when he shivered. She hadn’t asked any questions, only pressed a kiss to the top of his head and whispered that she’d be just down the hall if he needed her.

He sighed, looking down at the floor and curling into a ball tighter. His head felt like it was full of everything and nothing at the same time. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there when a soft knock came at the door.

He tensed, but didn’t answer right away.

“Loki?” came a quiet voice. Thor’s voice.

Loki stiffened further, then he cautiously called out, “What do you want?”

The door creaked open slightly, and Thor poked his head in. His hair was a little damp, like he’d just bathed, and he wasn’t wearing armor anymore, just a soft tunic and loose trousers, looking less like a prince and more like a boy now.

Thor stepped inside slowly. He didn’t come all the way, just holding onto the door.

“I, uh… I didn’t want you to be alone,” he said, his voice softer than a few hours ago. “But… I wasn’t sure if you’d want company.”

Loki didn’t respond at first. Just staring at the golden god, trying to piece together something with all the pieces missing. “You don’t have to pretend,” he murmured eventually, not looking at him. “I know I make you uncomfortable.”

Thor blinked at that, confused. “You don’t- Loki, you don’t make me uncomfortable. I’m just… I don’t know how to do this either.” 

The young thunder god walked into the room. He paused a few steps away from Loki and then sat down on the floor, mirroring him. “I’m used to knowing what to do,” Thor admitted, his hands resting on his knees. “In battle, in court, in training… but with you, with this, I don’t. And that scares me more than I’d like to admit.”

Loki stayed quiet, his eyes flickering up for just a second before dropping again. “You look at me like you know me,” he said after a pause, voice low. “But I don’t know you. I don’t know myself. And…” He hesitated, “It feels like it’s all my fault.” His voice broke at that, but he sniffled to try and cover it. 

Thor’s gaze softened. “That’s not your fault.”

Loki let out a soft scoff, but it lacked any real heat.

“You were always curious,” Thor went on, like he was remembering aloud. “I never got to go into your rooms often when you were bedridden, but when I was and when you were awake, you always asked questions.” He scooted himself closer to the dark-haired god. “The healers said the potions made you groggy, but it never stopped you. You asked so many different things, like if the Nine Realms had nine different kinds of dreams.”

He glanced over at Loki, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “You used to say you were going to find a way to make your dreams last longer. Said sleep was the only time you could be anything.”

Loki shifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. His grip on the blanket relaxed slightly. “...why did you call me Stjarna?”

Thor blushed and looked down. “You remembered that?” Thor asked, embarrassed. 

Loki didn’t answer. He just turned his head slightly, not quite meeting Thor’s eyes.

Thor exhaled slowly. “You were small. Sickly, quiet, sometimes afraid. But when you looked at the stars, you looked… alive. Like they meant something. Like you were searching for something out there. You used to press your face to the window glass at night, no matter how cold it was, just to watch them.” He offered a faint smile. “I asked Mother once what the stars were made of. She told me they were made of light and magic and a little bit of hope.” The boy blushed again and looked down, scratching the back of his neck, “I thought you were made of that, too.”

Loki blinked.

He stared at Thor, not bothering to hide how caught off guard he was. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Something in his chest ached, something he didn’t know how to name. 

But when he found his voice, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “You're silly.”

Thor looked up at that, startled for a moment, then he laughed. It wasn’t loud or mocking, just quiet and warm, something made Loki smile. “Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing at his neck again with a sheepish grin. “I guess I am.”

Loki relaxed, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders. He wasn’t sure where to go from here, but he wasn’t as uncomfortable with Thor anymore.

Thor tilted his head. “Can I stay?” he asked, “Just for a while. I used to sneak in sometimes to talk with you.”

Loki hesitated, but he gave a tiny nod and shifted over, an invitation to join. 

Thor didn’t hesitate this time. He moved in quietly, settling beside Loki without a word, his knees nearly touching his own. It was… comfortable, in a way Loki didn’t expect.

They both looked out the window for a moment.

“I used to tell you stories,” Thor said after a while, voice barely above a whisper. “Made-up ones. About dragons that lived on moons and sea serpents that sang lullabies. You always asked for more- even when your eyes were closing.”

Loki gave a faint hum. “That does sound like something I’d do.”

Thor chuckled. “Yeah. You were a pain about it.”

A quiet beat passed, and then Loki whispered, “...Will you tell me one now?”

Thor blinked, glancing at him. Loki didn’t look up.

If he had, he would have seen Thor’s smile, a gentle thing that didn’t seem normal for the young battle god of thunder. “Of course.”

As Thor started to talk, Loki let his head fall onto Thor’s shoulder. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he wouldn’t be mad to call Thor his brother.