Work Text:
Loki’s laughing and he’s drunk. Both of these things strike Thor as strange, even though they probably shouldn’t. Loki has been of age for some time, and drinking heartily at feasts has always been accepted, if not encouraged. This is, of course, normal for Aesir.
Which is probably why Loki doing it strikes Thor as strange.
Loki, always having to be different from everybody, doesn’t like alcohol. He says it messes with his sense of self and impairs his judgement. Thor had responded that that was the point of mead, but Loki had given him a sour glare and wouldn’t say more on the topic. Thor had shrugged it off as another one of Loki’s oddities.
Indeed, Loki has made an effort to avoid all the mead at feasts for years, and has done a successful job of it, too.
So why, now, is Loki drunk?
Studying his brother from across the feasting hall where he’s gathered with some minor lords and other political figures, Thor can see that his balance is tipsy and he’s still laughing, a goblet in one hand, his other moving rapidly as he explains some sort of story with the other. His face is so spread with joy that it makes Thor hurt a little to realize that it’s been some time since he’s seen his younger brother look this carefree.
Maybe that’s all this is. Loki wanted to relax for the first time in years, and finally decided tonight was the night to dull his senses.
But this week, of all weeks? When they’re celebrating their father’s three thousandth year as king of Asgard? When all the Nine can come to celebrate with them and stare at them? Thor would have thought that his self conscious sibling would have made even more of an effort to avoid intoxication rather than embrace it.
Chewing on his lower lip, Thor leans toward Sif, who is standing next to him. They’d just finished a conversation with a governor from Alfheim, and Thor was turning to say something snotty to her about the man when he’d noticed Loki across the room. He’s starting to gain an audience. Thor wonders if that is a good thing.
“Does Loki seem off to you this night?” he asks her. He himself has had plenty to drink, but he’s still clear-headed enough.
Sif looks at him, then across the room, studying his sibling for a moment. She shrugs. “He’s obviously drunk. Everyone’s not themselves when they’re drunk.”
“Loki doesn’t get drunk.” Thor says flatly.
Sif raises an eyebrow, shooting him a sideways glance, then she remarks dryly, “And we wonder why he’s such a pain in the rump.”
Thor sighs, annoyed that she doesn’t seem to understand his concern. “Why is he drunk this night of all nights? I would have thought he would avoid it. For a private party, maybe, but this? In front of all the realms?”
He smiles at a passing princess and her companion, the two ladies giving him flirty smiles. Normally the sight of the pretty blondes would have him happy to play along, but he’s in no mood for female companionship this night. Maybe earlier, before he noticed Loki’s strange behavior, but not now.
“Perhaps that’s why,” Sif suggests, sounding tired. Maybe even a little bored. “Your brother avoids social events like they’ll do him harm. Maybe the fact that all of the Nine is attempting to stuff itself into the Great Hall has finally done him in.”
Thor frowns, but concedes to her point. Perhaps that’s all this is. Loki just thought getting drunk would help take the edge off of the brutal amount of socializing they’ve been required to do by their father.
That would make sense, wouldn't it? The less Loki could remember of these long nights the better.
Thor forces himself to turn his attention away from his brother for a moment, grasping the hand of a nobleman and asking him for his name.
Across the room, Loki is talking with some diplomats from Niflheim, and still drinking.
Thor loses him eventually in the crowd, but still feels lingering concern. Despite what Sif said, Loki's behavior is off.
Although such social events normally don’t phase him, Thor finds himself worn and weary by the time he’s permitted leave. It’s well past the second bell, and Thor is exhausted and has no desire to talk to anyone for the next few hours. All he wants to do is sleep. Tomorrow will be much the same, however, as anyone who’s anyone in the Nine and even those beyond have attempted to make an appearance on Asgard.
(Except Midgard and Jotunheim, because they weren't invited and Thor wouldn't have cared for them anyway.)
Showing support for Odin shows support for Asgard and Thor knows that this is all one political game wrapped up in a party.
The details of it annoy rather than bore him, because he knows that one day this will be his game to wrestle with, and he has no more enthusiasm for that now then he did when he was learning about it as a child.
Later, when Thor opens the door to his room, he’s already started removing his heavy cloak and stops when he sees Loki standing in the middle of his chambers, looking dazed. His gaze is focused forward on nothing, his hands lax at his sides. He looks like he’s being suspended by strings rather than holding up his own body weight, the way that he’s hunched in on himself.
Thor drops the cloak on a nearby chair and removes his helmet, shaking his hair loose. “Loki?” he asks, somewhere between annoyed and concerned. He really had been looking forward to sleeping, and has little desire to entertain his brother’s dramas. Gods, he winces internally, that sounds awful, if his sibling needs him. But still.
Loki doesn’t look at him.
Almost as if he doesn’t realize that Thor is there.
“Are you well?” he asks. Loki still doesn’t answer, apparently deaf as well as blind.
Thor’s brow furrows, and he moves toward his sibling, annoyance fading to proper concern, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. When his hand makes contact with Loki’s arm, Loki jerks, head snapping up. His glazed eyes focus beneath the shadows of his helmet, and he smiles. It’s a lazy, tired thing, and doesn’t look like Loki’s usual expressions.
His brow furrows as he stares at Thor, “Whaaaat,” he slurs, then seems surprised at this, blinking a few times. He wipes at his mouth almost subconsciously, then says, “what are you doing in m’quarters?”
Drunk, Thor reminds himself. Very drunk, apparently.
“Loki,” Thor sighs, tossing his helmet toward a couch. It lands with a muffled thump. He grabs his sibling’s arm gently, “Just exactly how much did you have to drink tonight? These are my quarters, not yours.”
Loki stares at him, head tilting a fraction. “O-oh?” There’s something wolfish in his smile. “Not too much, brother. Just enough. S’rry, for the intrusion.”
He moves to pull away, but Thor stops him, tightening his grip. “Let me take you back to your rooms,” he sighs, looking longingly at his bed, exhausted. “I don’t believe you’ll make it there on your own.”
Loki snickers, and Thor shakes his head. He takes his sibling back to his rooms without another problem, though Loki is leaning against him heavily by the time they get there. It’s as if he’s forgotten how to walk properly. Thor watches as Loki pulls off his helmet and then collapses against the mattress, still in all his armor.
“You’re going to sleep like that?” Thor asks. He receives a muffled grunt from his sibling. Thor rolls his eyes. “You might regret that later,” he warns, but Loki ignores him, laughing softly to himself. Thor shakes his head and leaves his sibling to regret his choices by himself, exiting the room. He closes the door behind him, considering this to be over.
Loki would wake up with a hangover that would ensure he avoided mead for the next century, and they could return to their normal roles. Loki's never held his liquor well, and tonight, he expects, will be no exception.
If only, Thor thinks longingly with foresight, that had really been the end of it.
000o000
Thor wakes up to pressure on his leg. Thinking it the blanket, he kicks out a little and rolls to his other side, but the discomfort doesn’t ease. It only gets worse. When something sharp digs into his calf, Thor swears, throwing himself upright. He stumbles off of the mattress, landing hard on his elbow.
A jolt of pain shoots up his arm with throbbing intensity. Thor blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the dark.
The pain only gets worse, and Thor manages to snap his fingers to utilize the spell set in place to alight all the candles in the room.
With the light, Thor can see that there’s a large black snake wrapped around his leg, digging it’s fangs into his calf. His leg is bleeding from several puncture wounds, and Thor swears darkly, grabbing the creature just behind the head and pulling it up gently. The feeling of fangs being pulled from his flesh is nauseating. The snake hisses at him, tongue lashing out to show it’s displeasure.
“The feeling is mutual,” Thor grumbles, starting to uncoil the creature from his leg. The skin beneath is pale and beginning to bruise.
Thor gets to his feet, feeling slightly light-headed, but though the wounds hurt, Thor knows that this snake isn’t poisonous. It wouldn’t be. Loki likes his games, but not at the expense of someone else’s safety.
That gods-forsaken, crass, lie-twisting idiot.
This was why he was in here last night, wasn’t it? Not because he was actually drunk, but because he thought it would be hilarious to dump some mischief into Thor’s room when he’s already exhausted. He couldn’t have waited until the celebrations were done?
Thor carefully maneuvers the snake in his arms, letting it squirm as he adjusts his hold so as not to hurt it. Thor closes his eyes briefly. Part of him wants to storm into Loki’s rooms and dump the snake onto his bed, seeing if his brother finds it so funny when it’s happening to him, but he’s too tired. But he has little desire to chase down a snake later either, so he reluctantly goes to the doors and asks for a servant. Then, after a hesitation adds, “and get one who’s not afraid of snakes.”
000o000
The day blurs after Thor wakes up for real, shuffled from meeting to meeting to some game or event that he’s asked to take part in. He doesn’t have time to approach his brother about the prank. Not that his sibling cares. His brother doesn’t even bother to put distance between them like he normally would have at a particularly vicious bit of mischief like this.
Loki stands next to him, he works with him, and acts as though nothing is amiss. He’s laughing and wide-smiled, looking more carefree than Thor has seen him since they were children. The hangover did not, apparently, teach his sibling any sort of lesson.
Beyond his apparent affair with striking happiness, Thor notices that Loki moves a little strange all day. As if his body is too slow to respond to him sometimes, he looks surprised when he can’t grab something, or loses his grip on things. Escalating clumsiness, however, has always been a sign that Loki is comfortable, and Thor doesn’t think much else of it.
But he does, however, notice that people around Loki start to get struck with strange misfortune. Weapons become slippery, people lose their footing suddenly, or they’re unable to keep a hold of cutlery. Despite no evidence to point to him, Loki’s unrepentant smirk reveals that he’s the master behind it all, and Thor shakes his head in annoyance and some disgust.
This week of all weeks, Loki? Truly?
Loki has always understood that there is a time and place for his jesting, and Thor doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly lost that ability. Their mother even pulls him to the side at one point, and Thor watches as they exchange a few quick words before Loki, with that same wide-smile, assures her of something, and she nods, walking off.
Thor tries not to roll his eyes at his brother’s obvious fibbing and spins his sword to stretch his wrist.
The tournament carries on, and though Thor is impeded by his leg, he still wins all he participates in.
In the midst of that evening’s feast, after sharing pleasantries with dignitaries and rulers alike, Thor finally turns to his sibling, seated beside him, and says, “The snake. It wasn’t funny.”
Loki looks up at him. Eyebrows lifted, lips pinched together and the creases around his eyes narrowed, he looks the perfect picture of innocence. But Thor isn’t stupid, and knows his brother better than Loki probably thinks. “What? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Loki says.
Loki takes a sip of mead. It’s his fourth glass so far, which is already four times more than he would normally partake of. Thor doesn’t know why he’s been counting, but Loki’s odd behavior has made him far more aware of his brother’s haptics the last two days.
Thor feels guilt squirm in his stomach as he realizes this is probably the most he’s paid attention to his sibling in some time. It hasn’t been intentional, of course not, but courtly duties have kept him busy and his family became a distant thought. Not for the first time, Thor silently curses the additional responsibilities that Odin has given him since naming him prince-heir.
“The snake,” Thor repeats, keeping his voice low. His expression, he’s certain, refuses to comply with his attempts to keep it neutral. “It wasn’t funny.”
Loki takes a swig of wine. He smiles at Thor, stabbing his fork into a grape. “No?”
“It bit me, Loki.” Thor says angrily, “Multiple times.” He didn’t have time to go to the healing ward before the ceremonies started, so he’d had to settle for using the supplies that he already had in his room to clean and wrap the wounds. They’ll be gone in a day or so, but that’s beside the point.
“Oh dear,” Loki shakes his head, sighing, “so unfortunate. You really should keep better track of your pets, brother.”
“Loki!” Thor hisses, incredulous.
Loki turns away from him, asking a passing servant for a refill on his glass. More alcohol.
What on the Nine is wrong with you?
Through gritted teeth, Thor asks, “Haven’t you had enough of that tonight? The feast isn’t even halfway over.”
Loki doesn’t look at him, placing the fork into his mouth and chews the grape before saying, “You’re always telling me to lighten up, brother. I’m doing that. Stop scowling, you’re beginning to attract attention.”
Thor forces his expression to go flat and relaxes his hands. He opens his mouth to say something else in protest to his sibling’s behaviour but stops when the servant returns with the pitcher of wine. As the girl pours the liquid, Thor catches a reflection of his sibling. Loki’s eyes are yellow. Thor pulls his gaze up, confused, but Loki’s eyes stare back at him cooly, the familiar forest green.
What..?
No. It was nothing. His mind is playing tricks on him. He must have caught a reflection of his brother’s helmet. But why then, a soft voice in the back of his mind protests, did Loki’s eyes look like they were glowing?
Thor’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing. Unlike what Loki believes, Thor knows when to be quiet. He studies his brother’s face for a moment, trying to keep his own expression angered. Loki is palid, faint gray smudges rimmed beneath his eyes. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in days. His hand, firmly gripping his glass, is trembling faintly.
Has he slept at all since the party began three days ago?
If he hasn’t, that would explain a great deal. Loki’s pranks have a habit of getting nastier when he’s exhausted. Maybe that’s all this is, then. Loki unable to sleep and taking out his frustrations on the world around him. And it’s not as though the mischief has done anyone any harm. Thor’s leg aches, but he was still able to participate in everything.
That must be what this is.
His mother, seated beside him, asks him a question and Thor turns his attention away from his brother to answer.
But he’s all too aware that in his peripheral vision, Loki’s cups of mead keep building up and up, as if he’s starved for it.
That night, again, Loki has a cluster of people around him. He’s talking animatedly and has that same wide smile on his face that Thor is beginning to distrust. Thor watches as Lord Elron of Niflheim pulls his brother to the side to say something to him, and the two of them engage in conversation as if they’re old friends. Which is funny, Thor thinks, because he’s pretty sure that Loki’s barely spoken to him before.
000o000
On the fourth day of their father’s party, Thor doesn’t see Loki. The events of the day barely put them in the same room, let alone side by side, and Thor is beginning to find himself strained from all the social interactions. Although he’s one to welcome companionship, it’s more often with people that he knows and trusts. Everyone has their limits.
The political air of this entire event makes having an enjoyable experience hard.
Even the Warriors Three and Sif are starting to show the strain, and Thor knows that they have far more patience for this than he does. Their shared attitude is a relief, however, and Thor finds them before the feast and slides up beside Fandral with a groan. “Asgardian parties are one thing,” he says without prompting, “but I tire of everyone in the Nine pretending as though we are old friends.”
Fandral snorts, but doesn’t take his eyes off the crowd. “ You? You’re tired of this? But you love people.”
“Not in this excess.” Thor mumbles. He’s found that the entire event has, for the most part, been enjoyable. But even he is beginning to become overwhelmed and wishes that the whole thing would be over. His father doesn’t seem to share his attitude. He’s basking in the praises, congratulations, and gifts as though he was made for them.
And it is something worthy of celebrating, truly. Three thousand years on the throne. The gradual decrease of war and increase of peace. It’s something that Thor is proud of. Something that he wants to have joy over. It’s just...hard, after so many days.
And his leg is beginning to throb, making his mood even lower. The snake bites don’t look any better than they did yesterday. If he’s being honest with himself, they almost look worse; leaking pus and blood. He knows he should see Eir, but again, having the time is a distant thing of the past. They’ve prepared for this event for months and Thor sneaking out to go get his leg looked at would take up time they don’t have. The party was planned with the idea in mind that no one would be sick.
It’s just for three more days, he reassures himself. The wounds will be gone by then.
Fandral wanders off a few minutes later after sharing a few more comments with him.
“You look pale, are you alright?” Sif asks him, nudging his elbow gently.
Thor shrugs. “I suffered an injury to my leg yesterday and am still feeling the after effects.”
Sif’s eyebrows raise and she glances toward his feet. “In the tournament? You seemed fine.”
“No, before.” Thor explains, unsure why he’s being so tight-lipped about this. But he knows that Sif is not always... fond of Loki, and this will just raise her ire against him, and cause an unnecessary scene. It’s not as though his leg is in danger of falling off. It’s just a little uncomfortable. And besides, Loki is already stressed about this whole event. He doesn’t need to make this worse.
“Did you have Eir look at it?” Sif asks.
When, he wonders in an almost abstract way, will I have the time?
“I will,” he promises.
Sif seems appeased at this and drops the subject. Thor is relieved. They’re soon called to the feast and seated, then his father rises to start a long speech about peace and posterity and other important things Thor should pay attention to but doesn’t.
Instead, his attention is drawn once more to his brother. Loki looks worse today than he did yesterday. His skin looks almost translucent. The smudges beneath his eyes are darker and his lips are washed of any color. The fine tremble Thor remembers from yesterday is worse.
This isn't sleep deprivation.
Thor knows what that looks like on his brother, and it's not…this. This is something else. He looks sick. Really, really sick.
Casting a quick look toward his father to make sure his attention is still on the Great Hall, Thor kicks Loki's boot discreetly under the table.
Loki's hand slaps onto the tabletop loudly with surprise, but thankfully no one besides their mother seems to notice. Loki's dark eyes lift to him, irritation obvious.
"What?" He demands, voice barely audible. He and Loki have long since mastered talking to each other in these events discreetly.
Thor looks straight ahead. "What's wrong with you?"
Loki's hand trembles across the tabletop, and Thor sees him eye the wine with something close to desperation. "Nothing." He snaps. "I'm fine."
Obviously.
"You look terrible."
"I'm fine ."
"Are you sick?"
Loki's hand curls into a fist. "Drop it."
"Loki, I--"
Discreetly, because that's what they do in these feasts and what they've always done, Loki grabs Thor's wrist. His grip is painful. Not because it's tight, but because it's hot. Like he slapped his wrist against white-orange metal in a forge.
He inhales sharply, wondering what on Helheim this is. It's not magic. Even as little as he knows about sedir, every child is trained to sense it.
Loki's skin is just… hot. And not fever hot. Fire hot.
"Drop it," Loki snarls obliquely, then let's his wrist go. Thor exhales sharply. Loki turns away from him and gives rapt attention to their father as though they haven't already heard some form of this speech four times already.
Thor pulls his wrist into his lap and rubs at it, frowning. The skin is red, but that seems to be the extent of the damage.
Still.
What on the Nine?
Loki wouldn't do that. He wouldn't harm Thor on purpose. They pummel each other like all brothers do, but only when they know the other will hit back. This…was different. It was cold .
It wasn't Loki.
The thought, wet and slimy, slips into his mind as though it's been waiting for entrance for days. Thor looks at his brother from the corner of his eye, but can see nothing wrong with him. Visually, beyond looking exhausted, he seems fine.
But he isn't.
He obviously isn't.
Why hadn't Thor said anything before now?
Their father ends his speech and raises a toast. Thor lifts his glass, thankful Loki grabbed his left wrist instead of his right, and takes a drink to the king. Loki downs the entire glass of wine.
His fingers curl around the empty glass in what Thor would almost think is anger.
Almost immediately, he calls over a serving boy to refill the glass.
Thor's eyes narrow, and he watches his brother for the rest of the feast. Loki barely picks through the food, but anything with alcohol he consumes. He drinks. And drinks and drinks.
Gods.
What is wrong with him.
Loki doesn't drink this much. He's never drunk this much. This is beyond simply trying to relax himself. It's beyond anything Thor's seen Loki do, even in the midst of self destructive cycles.
With the amount of alcohol he consumes, Loki should be black-out drunk, unconscious, or even dead. Alcohol poisoning is not something to jest over.
Thor considers the possibility that Loki is attempting to harm himself, and dismisses it. This feels like something else.
So if it's not that, then what?
Loki has never been prone to drinking away his problems. Thor is. If their positions were reversed, all this would mean is that Thor is deeply upset by something. But Loki seemed fine before the celebrations began, if a little apprehensive of them.
So what…?
Unbidden, the memory of Loki's eyes flashing yellow in the wine comes to mind. Not the reflection he tried to sell it as to himself, but glowing embers.
It was unnatural.
But an explanation ?
What could that even mean?
Maybe he did just imagine it, or it was some form of magic. But Loki just burned his hand by touching him, and he's drinking enough alcohol to put Thor under the table several times over and Thor doesn't know why.
Thor bites his lower lip, chewing absently on food that tastes flavorless. He picks up his glass and, with a morbid drive pushing him forward, tilts it the right way to catch Loki's reflection.
It's only with skill and years of practice that he doesn't drop the glass.
In the reflection, his brother's skin is a sickly yellow. Amber eyes are sunken into the skull. He looks…he looks ancient and cold and empty and gods.
That's not Loki.
What the Norns?
Thor swallows thickly. He sets the glass on the table, his appetite having left him.
If that's not Loki, then where is his brother? What happened to him and when? Thor's only noticed this weird drinking habit in the last two days, but what if it's been longer? What if Loki has been missing for weeks and Thor hasn't noticed?
Norns, curse it!
Thor's hands clench into fists. He forces himself to breathe out steadily. Slowly, deliberately, he stretches out his fingers and reaches for the glass.
He doesn't drink most of it, and before the feast is through, Loki finishes the glass for him.
Thor stays back at the table. He watches as Loki smiles with a smirk that's not his and laugh with people he'd normally avoid. Lord Elrod approaches him again, and talks with him in earnest about something.
Loki waves him off and Lord Elrod leaves with a huff a minute later.
Thor chews on the inside of his cheek and wonders what he's supposed to do. Should he tell someone? This may be magical in origin. The person he would normally take this too, of course, is Loki , but that's not an option. His parents are too busy, and Sif and the Warriors don't know any more about magic than he does. Frustrated, Thor has come to no conclusive answer before the evening's celebrations are concluded.
He doesn't reach out to anyone, and follows his brother to his quarters. Loki's balance is crap, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.
The hall is empty of guards or servants when Loki stops suddenly and looks back at him. His brother's face looks even worse. "Do you need something, Thor?"
Thor hesitates, unsure whether to go around this or just plow through. Loki would tell him to use his brains. Loki isn't here. "You're not my brother."
Loki pauses. He stares at Thor for long seconds before laughing, hard.
Thor's stomach muscles tighten in discomfort and anticipated embarrassment.
"How much did you have to drink?" Loki asks.
"Not as much as you." Thor grumbles. "You never drink."
"I'm seeing what I've been missing!" Loki waves a hand, flippant. He's smiling again. "And it's been most enjoyable. You were right, brother. I did need to loosen up."
Thor frowns. He rubs at the burn, and forces himself to remember why he's here. The demon hiding under his siblings face.
"I don't believe you. Where is my brother?" Thor advances a step toward him. Loki's smile widens. He lifts up a hand.
"Thor, calm down. You're exhausted and you're not thinking straight. Too much wine to the brain." He taps the side of his head knowingly.
It was not, Thor realizes, a denial.
He gets into his brother's personal space, and the thing leans back from him. Despite having drunk so much, Loki doesn't smell like alcohol. He almost smells...charred. Thor thinks of his wrist. "I know you are not my brother," he says lowly. "I saw your true face in the wine. Your yellow eyes."
At this, at last, Loki's eyes flick to the right with panic. He starts to sputter an excuse.
Ignoring him, Thor continues, pressing this advantage, "My brother doesn't drink. So I'll ask again, what are you?"
Loki's smile drops. His expression hardens. He lifts up his hands, wrists exposed. "Fine, you've caught me. I'm guilty of drinking, so obviously we're no longer siblings."
Thor grabs the front of Loki's armor, hauling him forward. "Don't play games with me. I'm not stupid. I know my brother. And the longer you wait to tell me what you've done with him, the more uncomfortable your life will become."
Loki's quiet for long seconds, digesting that. His trembling hands curl at his sides and he sneers, "You going to torture me, Odinson? You should know that your brother is still up there. We're the same. Cohabitation. You can't hurt me without hurting Loki."
An admission.
This isn't his brother.
Thor doesn't know if he's relieved or not by this. His brother is... possessed? That's what this is. Cohabitation. Possession.
Gods.
His fist tightens. "I think Loki will understand."
Loki smiles. "You under estimate your charms, Odinson. Your brother is already weeping, and there's no need to make that worse. He's been begging for help for days and where have you, his beloved brother been? Throwing logs and punching people. So typical of you "
Thor's teeth grit.
If I had known…
I should have known. Why didn't I know?
Loki's hand moves. It's a blurred action that Thor registers on a subconscious level. Years of training and fighting have ingrained these movements into him. The dagger clasped in his hand comes up, but Thor is already out of the way.
Loki's expression twists and he swings the knife again. But this isn't Loki. If Loki decided to stab him, Thor has no doubts he would. This... thing's movements are slower and heavier, as if it's not accustomed to a body.
Thor ducks out of the way, and throws a heavy punch to his brother's face. The sound makes him wince and Loki topples to the floor. His head smacks against the smooth stone with a crack and Thor swears under his breath.
He'd just wanted Loki to stop. Unconsciousness wasn't the goal.
Gritting his teeth, he moves toward his sibling and sees that beneath his helmet, a trail of red is beginning to leak down his brother's head.
Thor swears again.
Then, with far more gentleness, he carefully gathers his sibling into his arms.
000o000
He doesn't wait to be called in before he enters his parents chambers. His parents, thankfully, are still awake. Odin is sitting beside Frigga while she removes pins and pearls from her hair, sending it cascading down her back in long, golden waves.
His father gets to his feet as they approach. "What happened?" he demands.
Thor shakes his head, unable to find the words to explain. Loki’s possessed by something. His eyes are amber and his skin is yellow. I don’t know when it started or how. His mother catches sight of them in the mirror, however, and stands up quickly. Thor manages to catch a glimpse of that same yellow-skinned reflection he saw in the wine in the mirror. So it’s not just alcohol, then, but all reflections. How has no one noticed? It’s not as though Asgard is a dirt-coated barn.
Frigga turns around to face them, her expression pinched. “Thor,” her voice is careful, “set your brother down.” She points to a couch, and Thor moves there, resting his sibling onto the furniture. Loki, still limp and unresponsive, makes no sound as he’s settled.
“There’s--there’s something in him.” Thor explains at last, looking up at his parents.
Frigga comes toward her youngest, fingers moving rapidly in some sort of spell. She moves toward his brother. Loki doesn’t respond to her, nor her magics. Watching the two of them, Thor is struck again with how much he wishes that he understood sedir.
“How long has he been unconscious?” Frigga asks. She kneels down beside the couch and removes the helmet. Thor winces at the sight of blood trailing down his brother’s face.
“Not long. Less than ten minutes. That was my doing. After I confronted him, he attempted to stab me.” Thor explains.
Frigga looks back at him, her eyebrows raised. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” Thor confirms.
His mother’s lips twist. She turns back toward Loki, her eyebrows drawing together unhappily. She casts some sort of spell over Loki’s form and Thor watches as a golden haze of magic settles across his brother. The magic snaps unhappily, making a low whine.
“What is that?” Thor asks.
Frigga shakes her head, flexing out her hand to withdraw the spell to herself. She looks at Odin, and the two of them share a knowing look. Thor blows out a breath in annoyance, wishing he understood. Or that they were bothering to include him in their findings.
“There is something in him, isn’t there?” Thor asks. “I’m not imagining that?”
“No.” Odin says. Thor waits, but his father doesn’t append anything further. Thor presses his lips together, taking a step back. Frigga leans over Loki, her hands reaching out to do... something, but Loki’s hand snaps out, wrapping around her throat.
Thor tenses, already moving forward.
Odin’s hand shoots out, pressing against his chest. The silent don’t is obvious, but Thor has to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from moving.
“I wouldn’t,” Loki warns. His voice has grown nasal, low and whiny. Not Loki’s voice. Something else. Someone else. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of damage that I can do coming out. You tear me from him, I pull everything I can in the process.”
Norns.
“You really believe that you can beat a son of Odin?” Thor scoffs.
His father’s posture tightens visually at Thor’s words. Tensing. Waiting. And Thor doesn’t know for what. They need this creature to release Frigga, and they need it to release her now. What if it grows bored and decides to snap her neck instead of just holding her there? What it’s doing now is a threat. But it could do something worse. Something far worse.
The thing in Loki snickers. “You believe you can stop me just because you bear a family name?”
Thor’s teeth press together tightly, his jaw tensing. “Get out of my brother.”
Not-Loki’s simper grows and he snaps his wrist sharply. Frigga shudders, and Thor releases a horrified sound. Not-Loki laughs. “Make me, Odinson.”
Frigga crumples to the ground beside the couch, utterly boneless, and Thor can’t breathe. He can’t move. He should be filled with an irrepressible rage, but all he can do is stand there and try not to puke. Amma…
Odin lifts a hand, his body radiating fury, and Loki’s body is smacked against the couch. He whines low in his throat, his limbs beginning to tremble. “I’ll kill him, Allfather!” it screeches, “I’ll turn him senseless and there will be nothing you can do!”
“Your threats mean nothing to me, demon, begone!” Odin shouts. He jerk his wrist forward, and Loki screams an awful, ragged sound, gagging. Then something starts to pour out of his mouth, eyes, ears and nose. Spilling from him like smoke. Yellow smoke with amber-tinged veins. When the essence has left Loki, his brother slumps against the couch, and the yellow smoke dives for Thor--
Only to be caught in some sort of glass jar, sucked in with a strange squelching sound. Frigga shimmers into view a moment later, popping the cork onto the bottle without a word as the illusion of her crumpled form vanishes. Not dead, then. A trick. He closes his eyes, exhaling in relief.
The smoke pounds against the glass angrily, but it’s efforts are futile.
“What was that?” Thor asks. As he has been since he entered the room, he’s ignored.
Frigga moves toward Loki, clasping his hand in her own and feeling his forehead. “Loki?” Her voice is soft, “My son?”
Loki moans, then his eyes squint open with effort. He doesn’t try to sit up or move away from Frigga’s hand. He looks bone-weary and exhausted. Without...the creature there to play his face into happiness, Loki looks the part of a corpse. Every washed out feature only looks more intensified, and he’s leaning heavily into the couch.
“Loki?” Frigga repeats, “It’s over, you’re safe.”
Loki mumbles something incoherent. His gaze looks like it’s having trouble focusing on anything, skittering across the room. He blinks rapidly, trying to take in his surroundings, before his eyes slip shut and don’t open again. He exhales a hitched breath. Then his breaths even out. He’s asleep, or unconscious, or some mixture of the two.
Frigga sighs and rises to her feet. She looks between Thor and Odin, then glances at the jar in his father’s hands. “I think,” she says slowly, carefully, “that we need to discuss the last few days.”
Thor nods, and begins to explain everything that he noticed to his parents. Loki’s mischief, the snake, the obsessive alcohol consumption and his sudden thrill with social interaction. Frigga and Odin listen without interruption to these observations, their attention almost stifling.
When he’s finished, Frigga looks toward Odin with a frown. “A wine demon, then?” she asks.
“A what?” Thor asks.
“I believe so,” Odin agrees. The smoke in the jar has gone still as if pouting, and the sight of it makes him nauseous.
“A demon that can’t survive without a host,” Frigga explains to Thor’s earlier question. “It needs wine and alcohol to live, so it possesses a host to drink until their bodies give out. It’s more of a parasite than a demon. They're also prone to mischief when they’re satiated, which would explain a great deal of Loki’s recent actions.”
Thor nods, still confused, but less so than he was earlier. “Didn’t it say it would cause permanent damage to Loki if you exorcised it? Is he okay?”
“He should be,” Frigga assures, “parasites like this will do anything to keep their hosts, including make promises they can’t keep. Their one weakness is reflections. Their true form shows. It’s strange, though,” this last part is said quieter, “because these particular types of demons are often found in Niflheim, not Asgard.”
Thor thinks of Lord Elrod, talking with Loki every night that he saw, and wonders suddenly. The dwarven nobles have always hated Loki since he stole from them, as if Loki’s lips were not enough compensation for the crime. But to attempt an assassination on the prince of Asgard in the middle of a celebration? What type of rash idiots would they have to be?
The same sort of rash idiots that live in a star.
Thor releases his lower lip, folding his arms across his chest. “Lord Elrod was talking to Loki frequently the last few days.”
Odin’s expression darkens, his hand tightening on the glass jar. “I see.” He says, flatly. “I will speak with him tomorrow. An insult like this will not go unanswered. He will face the wrath of Odin for his idiocy.”
000o000
They take Loki to Lady Eir, where he spends the next week unconscious. Lord Elrod admits to the crime after some pressure from Thor’s parents, and the man is promptly banished from Asgard for the rest of his existence and required to pay a hefty compensation to the Asgardian Royal Funds for Loki’s troubles. Not that Loki will care for the money.
Thor thinks they should have just executed him. He would have.
Lord Elrod tried to kill Loki. That’s unacceptable, even if it wasn’t successful.
When Loki finally wakes up and is well enough for conversation, Lady Eir assures them that his mind remains untouched. The creature’s attempts to do him harm failed because of his sedir.
After Thor finally gets the chance to see his brother, he sits down on the chair beside the bedside and says, loudly, “You’re the lucky one.”
Loki looks at him incredulously. He looks better than he did. His cheeks have color again, and he looks less exhausted. The wine demon was determined to wear his brother down to bone, and nearly made it there.
“Explain that.” Loki’s voice is soft. His eyes hold shadows.
“You got to miss the rest of the celebration,” Thor says. “You didn’t have to endure any more of Father’s speeches.” He means it in jest, but Loki doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even give Thor a sympathetic smile. He looks...kind of dead. Emotionless. This is familiar, and it hurts.
The demon was happier than you are.
“Yes. Well. I never heard any of them in the first place.” Loki says after a moment.
Thor’s brow furrows. He shifts his hands anxiously, rubbing hard at his fingers with his thumbs. “The demon was in you for that long?”
Loki looks away from him, playing with the blanket. “Lord Elrod and his companions approached me the morning of the first day. They released the demon and were waiting for it to kill me. So no, Thor, I don’t remember any of the celebrations. Especially not Father’s speeches.”
I didn’t notice until the second day.
Thor feels sick. “I’m sorry, brother.” Thor says, honestly, his fingers still moving rapidly. “I would have helped you sooner if I’d known.”
Loki looks at him for a long moment. His lips stretch into a strained smile. "I know," he says, sincerely. His eyes hold an emotion Thor can't place as his brother continues, soft, "You are nothing but observant."