Chapter Text
Asgard, 2010.
Damn.
Loki had intended to send himself back only a few weeks—two months at most. Plenty enough time to rally, to prepare before pacing the Mad Titan. But here he is, standing in a moment from eight years ago, only days from his own fall from grace. The scene is painfully familiar, yet so distant from the horrors Loki know will come (and had lived through).
Sif stands in front of him, her eyes searching his with a plea that Loki remembered all too well—her desperation to undo Thor’s banishment palpable. Fandral sits off to the side, nursing his wound with his tunic off. Volstagg is holding a cup of ale while his frostbite being tended to by Hogun. All of them, so young and carefree and unaware of the looming tragedies that would—will?—reshape Asgard.
Loki blinks, his vision swimming as the pain in his head begins to pulse like a war drum. Eight years. It has been eight long years since that misguided journey to Jotunheim, eight years since Thor’s banishment. The memories swirl like a storm in his mind—too much, too fast.
He tries to focus, to pull himself together, but his head feels like it is being split open from the inside out. A consequence of straining my magic, no doubt.
"You must go to the Allfather," Sif implores, breaking through his daze. Her voice is urgent, her eyes wide with hope. "Convince him to change his mind about Thor."
The pounding in his skull makes it nearly impossible to think. He knows what comes next—he’s lived this moment before. Back then, he had dismissed her concerns with a biting remark, feeding into their suspicions about his true motives. But now, with the burden of his future mistakes weighing heavily on his shoulders, Loki can’t bring himself to be that callous again.
He forces a smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace as the pain in his head intensifies. His vision blurs, and he feels like his mind iss unraveling.
"Has it not crossed your mind," Loki manages through clenched teeth, "that perhaps I tried to interfere? Because I did, and Father shouted at me for it."
Sif looks taken aback, her face softening with regret. She immediately tries to rectify the situation. "Forgive me, Loki. I didn’t realize—"
"But all the same," Loki interrupts, his voice wavering. The pain is almost unbearable now, but he pushes through. "I shall ask him again, if only to ease your concerns."
Sif’s shoulders relax, and a small, tentative smile touches her lips. "Thank you, Loki. Truly."
Loki nods weakly, but the agony in his head is becoming too much to bear. He needs to get away, needs to clear his thoughts and regroup, but he can’t muster the strength to move. The magic, the strain, the Infinity Stone—it’s catching up to me.
His legs give out beneath him before he can take another step. He collapses to the floor, his vision spinning as darkness begins closing in on him. The voices of his companions swirl around him in a muffled haze.
“—happened to Loki? Did— wounded in—”
“Not that I know… he didn’t say anything… he wouldn’t have told us, would he?”
“—so careless… we should’ve asked if he was alright—”
Loki can barely hear them over the roaring pain in his skull. He tries to fight it and stay conscious, but the world is slipping away from him. As he sinks into unconsciousness, the last thing he feels is being lifted.
And then, once again, there is nothing but silence.
***
When Loki wakes up, his head still throbs in pain. A soft touch grazes his face, fingers brushing his cheek with the gentleness only one person could offer. Murmured words of comfort drift to his ears, the sound soothing, pulling him from the darkness. He knows this voice, knows this presence so deeply.
His heart races, his mind scrambles to catch up, and through the fog of disorientation, a face materializes in front of him, the familiar outline stirring something broken inside of him.
Mother.
“Shh, you’re alright, darling,” Frigga whispers.
And in that instant, all the grief he has buried since her death in the last timeline, all the sorrow he tried to suppress in the name of survival, comes crashing down on him.
Loki’s breath catches in his throat as his vision blurs with tears. He hasn’t wept like this since her death, since he mourned her in the silent depths of his isolation, but now it’s as if a dam has burst inside him. The tears flow freely, unstoppable, streaming down his face in great torrents.
He feels himself trembling, shaking like a leaf in a storm. His sobs rack his body, uncontainable, his breathing shallow and broken. He must look pathetic, like an overgrown child bawling in his mother’s arms, but he can’t help it. He feels like a child again, lost and scared. A very large, broken child.
His heart aches, twisting painfully at the realization. Frigga—his mother—the one person who had loved him without hesitation or condition, the one who had believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. She’s here. Alive. And Loki can do nothing but collapse into her, burying his face in her robes, clutching at her like he did when he was younger, when the weight of Thor’s shadow felt unbearable.
The tears come in violent waves, his sobs ragged and unrelenting. He weeps, not with the dignity of the prince of Asgard, but with the grief of a son who has lost everything. Arms wrap around him, pulling him into that familiar, comforting embrace. It takes him a moment to realize she is stroking his hair, murmuring soft words meant to calm him, words that sink into the raw ache in his soul.
“Amma, I’m sorry,” he chokes out between sobs. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I should’ve— I didn’t— I lost you, and I couldn’t…” His voice breaks entirely, his words crumbling as the weight of his guilt crushes him. His tears soak into her robes, and he can’t bring himself to let go.
Frigga, for her part, holds him tightly, her own heart breaking at the sight of her son’s pain. Never had she imagined seeing Loki like this—so vulnerable, so fragile, so consumed by grief.
“Shh, my son,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek against his hair. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Her voice is filled with love, with unwavering understanding, though she has no idea what torment is driving him to this breaking point. “I’m here. You’re safe. Whatever it is, we will face it together.”
But Loki knows better. He knows what he’s done, how he has failed her, how he’s failed his family. Even with his knowledge of the past and the future, he’s brought nothing but chaos, only repeated his mistakes. And her forgiveness, her tenderness, only makes him cry harder. How can she forgive him so easily when he had failed her so completely?
Loki feels like a child again, like the boy who once sought comfort in her arms, crying over why he could never be as good, as beloved as Thor. But none of that matters now. Pride, power, ambition—they all pale in comparison to this moment. Right now, he’s not a prince or a god. He’s just a son who has longed for his mother’s love, who’s desperate to feel it again.
For what feels like an eternity, they stay like that. Loki clings to her, and she cradles him, whispering soft reassurances that only deepen the ache in his heart. He can’t explain this sudden outburst, this flood of emotion, this overwhelming relief. She likely thinks this is all a result of their harrowing journey to Jotunheim.
Loki doesn’t care. All that matters is that he’s been given this second chance. To be with her, to feel her love once more. He won’t waste a moment of it.
As his tears begin to subside, exhaustion takes hold of him. His body feels heavy, his mind slipping into the quiet lull of sleep. He lets himself drift into sleep, holding onto the comfort of her presence like a lifeline—secure in the knowledge that, for now, he is home. With her.
If this is a dream, it’s a cruel one… but let it not end. Let me not wake up only to find desolation.
***
Loki awakens a second time to the soft glow of his chambers, the familiar weight of his body pressing against the silken sheets of his bed. The grandeur of the royal palace looms around him, gilded columns and celestial tapestries hanging just as he remembers. For a brief moment, he wonders—was what happened with Mother only a dream?
His heart races as he throws off the covers and stands, his senses sharp, scanning the room. Is it some sort of illusion? No, it feels too real, too vivid. Loki catches sight of himself in the mirror across the room—his face, youthful and untouched by the events that had broken him in recent years. It’s real.
The realization hits him like a thunderbolt now that he’s no longer suffering a throbbing headache. He rushes to the balcony, the familiar sight of Asgard’s golden spires confirming it. This is Asgard. He feels the air shift around him, thick with magic and memories. The last time he had been here... Ragnarok had already razed everything to the ground.
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. He stiffens. He knows who it is before he even turns around. He remembers quite clearly his last moments with this person. I love you, my sons. Remember this place. Home.
Odin. He must have heard from Frigga that Loki wept like a baby earlier. But Loki has thought that by now his father should have fallen into Odinsleep.
“Father, should you not be in your chambers?” Loki says, hoping the tremble in his voice goes unnoticed.
Odin stands before him, regal as ever, his one good eye piercing through the air between them. Loki stiffens, not ready for this reunion—not after all the regrets, all the choices that had led to their final parting. His father, who had once seemed so untouchable, so unyielding, now feels like a shadow of the man Loki once revered. Still, the weight of Odin’s gaze is as heavy as ever.
In typical Odin fashion, the Allfather does not answer Loki's question directly. Instead, he shifts the conversation, his voice measured but laden with judgment. “I had expected such foolishness from Thor. Not from you, Loki. Why did you not persuade your brother otherwise?”
Concern, perhaps, but dressed in disappointment. Classic Odin.
Loki feels the familiar sting of resentment rise in his chest, but he fights it down. “Perhaps I am capable of such foolishness too,” he says, his tone bitter, but quieter than he intended.
Odin's eye narrows, scrutinizing his son’s response before nodding curtly. “At the very least, you acknowledge your faults. That is the mark of a king.”
Loki’s heart stops for a moment, his eyes widening in disbelief. That may be why he’s still putting off Odinsleep. He stares at his father, processing the implication behind those words. A king? Him? A laugh bubbles up in his throat, but it’s bitter, humorless.
“No,” Loki says, shaking his head as he turns his back on Odin, unable to look him in the eye. “If Thor is not fit to be king, then neither am I.” His voice is softer now, laced with something akin to exhaustion. “Make Mother regent again when you sleep, Father. Besides...” He pauses, his heart heavy with the weight of his knowledge. “The people would never accept me as their king.”
Odin's brow furrows, his voice stern but laced with confusion. “Why not? You are a prince of Asgard.”
This time, Loki turns, meeting his father’s eye directly. He holds that gaze for a moment, before his shoulders slump, his expression softening in a way that almost feels foreign to him. “We both know that isn’t true, don’t we?” Loki’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through the air like a dagger.
Odin staggers, ever so slightly, his face betraying a rare moment of vulnerability. His one good eye widens, the shock clear. Loki can see the cracks forming in the Allfather's stoic mask, and for the first time in a long while, Loki feels he has the upper hand. But it doesn’t bring him the satisfaction he expected.
Last timeline, he remembered confronting Odin in the Vault after holding the Casket of Ancient Winters to confirm what he learned in Jotunheim. Loki remembered lashing out at his father for lying about being a bastard that caused him to go to Odinsleep quicker than expected. Now, he wants to avoid that.
Softly, Loki speaks. “Why did you hide it from me?” His voice trembles, but it’s not anger that drives him this time—it’s something deeper, something far more painful. Far sadder.
Odin takes a deep breath, the weight of centuries seeming to press down on him in that moment. His expression remains calm, but Loki can see the cracks forming—the cracks that had always been there, hidden beneath the Allfather’s stoic façade. This time, however, Odin does not answer immediately.
The silence stretches between them, thick with the weight of years of deception. Loki feels his heart pound in his chest, the resentment that had burned inside him for so long mingling with a strange sense of sorrow. He doesn’t want to feel this way, doesn’t want to care anymore, but he can’t help it. Standing face to face with Odin again, he feels the old resentment creeping in, the bitterness rising like bile.
“I wanted to protect you,” Odin finally says, his voice softer than Loki has ever heard it, barely more than a whisper. “Of course, I thought that through you, we can unite the realms. But those plans didn’t matter anymore. You’re my son. Not a pawn, nor a tool. You may not share my blood, but you were raised as my own. You are a prince of Asgard, Loki. That has always been true.”
And for the millionth time, Loki feels his heart break. Because despite everything, even if he didn’t feel it all those years ago, even if he tried to brush off Odin and his influence, despite how cold and distant his father had always seemed, even after Loki failed and even in Odin’s last moments – the answer had always been the same. You’re my son.
“All the good that it did.” Loki laughs, but it’s a hollow sound, devoid of any real humor. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to feel the cold seep into my skin, and realize—”
His voice cracks, and he turns away again, unable to face Odin. “To realize I am one of the monsters you told me stories about?”
There is silence for a moment, broken only by the faint rustle of the breeze through the golden halls.
Odin shakes his head, but his words are slower now, more deliberate. He looks tired—so tired—but at least this time, Loki knows he will not collapse as he had last timeline. “I never saw you as a monster.”
Loki stands still, his back to his father, tears threatening to spill over. He had wanted this moment for so long, had imagined confronting Odin, making him feel the pain of his lies. But now, standing here, all Loki feels is a deep, hollow ache. The anger has dulled, replaced by something far more painful.
Loki swallows hard, forcing himself to stand straighter, to face Odin with the bravado he’s perfected over the years.
“Then perhaps you should, Father,” Loki says quietly, turning around with a brittle smile on his face. “I’ve been known as the Silvertongue, Liesmith, God of Mischief, and now… now I am giving you a truthful confession.”
Odin’s brow furrows in confusion, his expression uncertain.
“One of my latest tricks,” Loki continues, his voice calm, controlled, “was letting the Frost Giants into the Vault. It was all part of my plan to prove that Thor was not ready for the throne. I planted the seed in his head to journey to Jotunheim, fully intending to get us out before any real trouble started. But, of course, I should have known better—Thor’s temper did the rest.”
He laughs bitterly. “And now, here we are. Thor is banished, Asgard stands on the brink of war… and it’s all because of me. So, you see, Father?”
Loki’s eyes glimmer with unshed tears, his smile a twisted reflection of pain. “I may not be one of the monsters, but I am still one.”
Loki braces himself, expecting the worst. For Odin to lash out, to collapse into Odinsleep from the shock of his betrayal. Perhaps a stern banishment, a fitting exile to Midgard. No, that would be too kind. Odin had always been harsher when it came to him. Niflheim, perhaps?
But none of that happens. Instead, Odin chuckles—a quiet, humorless sound that catches Loki off guard.
“A monster? Then perhaps I am one, too. Even without meaning to, I seem to have a gift for instilling the wrong ideas in my children,” Odin says, his voice weary, reflective. “I tried to cultivate strength, wisdom, a sense of duty, and yet… I failed. I failed you, Loki.”
He looks up at Loki, his eyes softened by something unfamiliar—regret. “Your lawless nature, the storms within you… you inherited from me. You are my son.”
***
Loki counts himself fortunate, if not surprised, that he hasn’t been cast out of the palace after confessing his hand in the Frost Giants attack during the coronation. He had braced himself for harsher consequences, prepared to be exiled or worse. But Odin, ever the pragmatist, seemed unwilling to lose two sons in the midst of a brewing conflict with Jotunheim. Loki is still an Odinson—still raised as a warrior of Asgard, even if his preferred weapon is seidr rather than sword. Odin knows that losing him would be a costly move in their time of need.
Or perhaps it’s more than strategy. Or it could be that his father fears Loki will lose his way permanently. Perhaps Odin fears what Loki might become if pushed too far.
Or, he fears losing you. Loki immediately shuts that thought down. The thought stirs uncomfortably within him. He cannot afford hope. Not now. Not when he knows how easily that hope can be shattered.
But Loki is able to convince Odin to fall in his Odinsleep. As it stands, neither he nor Thor is ready to sit in the Hlidskjalf, not that their father will trust Loki with the crown anytime soon. As such, Odin shall pass on the crown to Frigga once more. Loki swears to him that he will do his best in supporting Frigga, the Allmother, as she once again takes on regency. The promise seems to settle his father, who relents, trusting Loki to fulfill his duty. The gesture is oddly sobering.
Maybe Odin isn't as blind as Loki had thought. He must know that Loki will do right by Frigga. Perhaps, on some level, Odin even understands that Loki’s bond with his mother has always run deeper than his loyalty to him.
It is likely that Odin counts on that very bond to keep Loki from going astray. A calculating move, perhaps, but one that Loki cannot fault. After all, he would never betray Frigga. Never.
As Loki paces in his chambers, thinking hard about what is going to happen – he is once again knocked out of air as a familiar voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts.
"Elder brother?"
Loki stiffens, eyes snapping up toward the doorway. There, in all his radiant glory, is his younger brother—Balder. Loved by all. He is light and joy incarnate, untouchable in his purity and goodness. He is gentle and warm—everything that Loki isn’t. He looked exactly the same as Loki remembered: golden-haired with streaks of white, a youthful, boyish face, and an aura of warmth that seemed to light up the entire room.
Loki’s heart clenches. He feels the ground beneath him sway as memories from the last timeline crash over him in waves. He failed him too. In the last timeline, Balder’s death had been senseless, a casualty in the grand cycle of fate that seemed to take everyone he cared about.
Last timeline, Balder didn’t join them in Jotunheim—he even chided Loki for going through with Thor’s insanity. He was equally heartbroken with Loki’s betrayal. When Loki came back from his failed scheme in Midgard, he resented Balder as he reminded him of what he could never be, that he did not belong. But he still held affection for his brother as he agreed with Thor’s decision not to bring him to Svartalfheim with them in order to keep him safe.
Balder sulked for a bit but he wouldn’t be Balder if he didn’t forgive. The three of them journeyed to Midgard to find Father, only to discover that they had another sibling. Hela imprisoned Balder while Loki and Thor were on Sakaar, keeping him at her side as his death signaled the beginning of Ragnarok.
When they came back to Asgard, Thor rescued Balder. During the final battle, Balder even allowed a smart quip of seeing a resemblance between Hela and Loki and asked if he and Thor were really the adopted ones. Loki swiped at him for that.
Loki remembers the way they fought side by side in Asgard’s final moments, just as they once had, just as brothers were meant to. They had planned for Loki to summon Surtur using the Crown of Black Fire and the Eternal Flame but Hela figured it out, not letting Loki out of her sight. That same fight, they lost Balder to death.
Looking back, perhaps Balder walked knowingly to his death in order to save Asgard from Hela. When Hela was about to strike Thor, faster than anyone could predict, Balder pushed Thor out of the way and into the immediate vicinity of the sword’s swing. Loki didn’t think he ever screamed so loud until that moment.
“What a waste of blood,” snarled Hela. “Even with your sacrifice, you Odinsons could never defeat me!”
“Sister… you tried so hard to keep me alive. Remind me again why that is?”
Hela’s eyes widened in horror. Balder, in his last moments, laughed and spat blood in Hela’s face. “We know we can’t defeat you… but he can.”
And Surtur appeared in time to lay waste to Asgard. Hela panicked and tried to escape but Balder held him close, a move that lodged the sword that came from Hela’s hands deeper into his body. Balder turned to Loki and Thor’s stricken faces and grinned.
“Go, run, my dearest elder brothers… and rebuild Asgard from the ashes. I face Death with the certainty that Asgard lives.”
Surtur noticed them and he brought down the sword upon them.
“Let go of me, you crazy buffoon!” Hela screamed as she struggled to avoid the sword from hitting her directly but Balder has her firmly locked in place.
Loki was forced to push Thor to his portal in order to escape. Together, they cried together as the Statesman left Asgard. Loki and Thor were inconsolable in the following weeks. And then, they were once again witnesses to Asgardians’ death when Thanos invaded them.
And now, here Balder stands, alive again. And Loki… Loki can hardly breathe.
Balder’s face is soft, almost hesitant, like he’s unsure of how to approach this delicate moment. Loki immediately gets the faint idea of what this visit is about.
“You overheard,” Loki says, his voice low but edged with a tremor he can’t quite suppress. It’s not a question.
“I didn’t mean to listen in, but…” he admits quietly, the usual brightness in his voice muted by the weight of what he must have overheard. His voice trails off, and his brow furrows with concern. “Loki, is it true? What Father said? About—”
“Yes,” Loki snaps, cutting him off before Balder can finish the sentence. His heart aches, the admission tearing something open inside him. “Yes, it’s true. I’m not your brother. I’m a Frost Giant.”
Balder takes a step into the room, hesitant but determined, as if he knows exactly how fragile this moment is. He steps forward, his eyes softening in that way that always managed to make Loki feel small, vulnerable. It had been so easy to dismiss Thor’s overbearing affection, but Balder—Balder had always been different. Kinder. More thoughtful. And now, faced with his brother’s gentle concern, Loki feels that familiar wave of self-loathing rise within him.
“You’re wrong, you know,” Balder says, his voice firm yet gentle. “You are my brother. Always have been. Always will be.”
Loki looks away, his chest constricting painfully. Of course Balder would come. Of course he would reach out, even after hearing Loki’s confession, after learning what he truly is. Loki, the Jotun child, the Liesmith, the one who betrayed Thor. How could Balder, of all people, forgive him for that? How could he not look at Loki now and see a monster?
Trying to hide the ache that’s beginning to build behind his eyes again, Loki scoffs. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen what I’m capable of. What I’ve done, what I will do.”
Balder frowns but doesn’t move from where he stands. His gaze is unwavering, warm, and full of something Loki can’t bear to look at—love. Pure, unconditional love. The kind of love he doesn’t deserve. He can’t. Not after everything.
“Loki,” Balder continues softly, “I don’t care what you are. You’re my brother. You were there when I took my first steps, when I learned to fight, when I…” His voice falters for a moment, but he regains his composure. “I don’t care if you’re an Aesir or a Jotunn or something else entirely. You’re Loki. That’s all that matters to me.”
Loki feels a sharp sting behind his eyes, and before he can stop himself, the tears begin to form again. Damn it, not again. He travels in time and suddenly he’s emotional all the time. Will these tears ever stop? Gods damn it.
“How can you say that?” Loki’s voice cracks, trembling with the weight of years of shame and self-loathing. “I am not like you. I am not like any of you.” His throat tightens. “I’m a Jotun. A monster. You don’t know the things I’ve done, Balder. You don’t know what’s coming.”
That’s it. Push him away. Again. That’s the only thing you’re good at, Loki, pushing people away, a traitorous part of his mind whispers.
“I know you,” Balder says, stepping closer, his voice filled with certainty. “And I know you’re not a monster. Whatever it is you think you’ve done or will do, I know it doesn’t define you.”
Loki shakes his head, trying to push the words away, trying to drown out the kindness that feels like it’s splitting him open. But he can’t. Not with Balder standing there, not with that gentle smile and those open arms, offering him something he doesn’t deserve. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Love.
And all at once, the dam inside Loki breaks.
He stumbles forward, unable to hold back the flood of emotion any longer, and Balder catches him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Loki sniffs, and for a moment, he’s no longer the god of mischief, no longer the fallen prince, no longer the monster he’s come to believe himself to be. He’s just a brother. A grieving, broken brother in the arms of the one sibling he never thought he’d see again.
Loki snorts, the sound sharp and self-deprecating as he pulls away from Balder’s embrace, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His usual sardonic mask slips back into place, but it’s thinner now, more fragile. “What kind of elder brother am I, crying into his younger brother’s shoulder? I’m unreliable, aren’t I?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” says Balder kindly but his eyes twinkle with amusement.
Loki glares flatly at him. “Continue that and I’ll show you why Thor is jumpy around me and my daggers.”
Balder chuckles softly, the sound light and full of affection as he takes a small step back, giving Loki the space he needs.
"Ah, yes, the infamous daggers," he teases, his tone playful but without malice. "Thor has regaled me with more than a few stories about how you like to keep him on his toes."
Loki huffs, rolling his eyes, though there’s a glint of amusement hidden behind his irritation. "Of course he would. It’s always about him, isn’t it?"
Balder grins, the same warmth that always seems to radiate from him filling the room. "He does have a way of making everything sound more dramatic than it really is."
Loki narrows his eyes at Balder, but there’s no real venom behind it. “I’d say you’re just as bad,” he mutters, though his words lack their usual bite.
Balder raises an eyebrow, still smiling. "This is coming from you? The most dramatic out of us all!”
Loki snorts again, though the sound is softer this time, less harsh. He rubs a hand over his face, the weight of his emotions still clinging to him despite the lighthearted banter. His heart is still raw from the flood of memories, and though his usual mask has slipped back into place, it’s clear to both of them that the cracks are still there.
"I meant what I said," Loki finally mutters, his voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly would shatter whatever fragile peace they’ve found. "About being unreliable."
Balder chuckles softly, the sound light and disarming. “You’re not unreliable, brother. You’re more than you give yourself credit for. In fact, I’ve always looked up to you. We all have.”
Loki freezes at that, his mind racing to comprehend what Balder just said. Looked up to him? That really doesn’t make sense.
“You’re mistaking me for Thor,” Loki says quietly, almost to himself. “I’m not him.”
“And you never needed to be.” Balder’s words are gentle but firm. “You’ve always been you, Loki. And that’s enough.”
For a moment, Loki doesn’t know how to respond. For so long, he’s defined himself by his failures and his misdeeds. The idea that he could be worthy of admiration feels foreign and unsettling. His instinct is to deflect, to brush it off with some witty remark, but Balder’s sincerity is like a weight he can’t shake. It roots him to the spot, forces him to confront the possibility that—maybe, just maybe—he’s been wrong about himself all along.
“I… I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
Balder smiles at him, that warm, unshakeable light in his eyes. “You’ve always been my brother. And that’s all that matters.”
Loki looks away, swallowing the knot in his throat. He’s not sure he deserves this kindness, this unconditional acceptance. But for now, in this moment, he allows himself to believe it—just a little.
"Now, about those daggers," Balder says, changing the subject with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Thor may be jumpy around them, but I think I could take you."
Loki’s lips twitch, the corners threatening to curl into a smile despite himself.
"Is that so?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t recall you being particularly quick on your feet, brother."
That’s a lie, of course. Balder is the fastest one of the three siblings.
Balder, knowing it's a jest, only chuckles. "Perhaps not, but I have my own tricks up my sleeve."
Loki rolls his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. "Careful, or you’ll find yourself in need of more than just tricks."
Balder grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "I’ll take my chances."
“Still,” Loki mutters after a moment, his voice dry, “you’d think I’d be the one offering comfort, not the other way around. I must be losing my touch.”
Balder laughs, a bright, joyful sound that fills the room. “Well, we can take turns, can’t we?”
Loki can’t help but crack a genuine smile at that, despite himself. “I suppose we can.”