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Stitches

It had taken every trick in Loki's considerable repertoire to arrive in Asgard ahead of Brokk and Eitri. As he strode down the halls toward his Odin's throne room, he tucked his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He fought to control his breathing, to appear calm and in control. The effect was ruined by the tattered state of his coattails, by the wildness of his hair, and the vivid streak of blood that had run from his forehead and past the corner of his eye.

He would explain it, all of it to Father. Well, all that he safely could. Thor's part in the escapade, he would leave out. As much as it gave him pleasure to tweak his brother whenever possible, he owed Thor this one and he would keep his peace. But Father would understand, would no doubt see the cleverness in the plan, would appreciate the gifts he had brought back in addition to the newly-rescued Mjolnir...

The throne room was filled to the point of bursting, though that was not unusual for the day and time. The court turned to look at him, his footfalls loud and hollow, but he told himself that, too, was not unusual.

Then across the crowd of gathered Aesir, he spotted the dark, stumpy forms of the dwarven brothers. His breath caught in his throat with shock, and there was a slight stutter in his step, but otherwise his expression was well-schooled enough to not show his dismay.

Head high, he walked to the steps of the throne and dropped to one knee. "Father, I have won gifts for you, and for the Queen." With a clever movement of his hands he turned the armlet, the golden boar, from the pockets in space he'd used to hide them, and set them on the floor. Mjolnir, he still kept hidden, the titanic weight a strain on his magic that was beginning to make his head pound. He imagined that the dwarves had the common sense to not mention Mjolnir as part of the wager and spoils he had won; surely they must have kept that silent if they were playing for Odin's sympathy.

"Loki." Odin's voice rolled like thunder. It was not the tone that Loki had hoped to hear his name spoken in. "I have been told that you won these gifts dishonorably."

Loki looked up, meeting his father's eye. He saw nothing there but a mirror, that showed a pale but resolute image. "I would beg to differ. I promised them my head, but gave them no leave to touch my neck. It is no fault of mine if the good dwarves did not fully consider the terms."

Brokk cursed him; Eitri grabbed his brother's arm. "We no longer desire his head. We accept your judgment on this matter," the dwarf said.

Loki's eyebrows went up. "Judgment?"

Odin stood. "You have treated friends of Asgard falsely, Loki. It is luck for all of us that they have accepted this, and ask but a pittance in return. The people of other realms might not be so kind." Odin's voice became cold. "Words have as much power as actions, Prince. And you must consider your words, and your wagers more carefully for what they could cause."

Loki bowed his head. "Of course. I understand."

"I don't think that you do." Odin said. Loki looked up sharply to see him wave a guard over. The man held a tray, with a spool of coarse black twine and a needle. "Brokk and Eitri have proposed a punishment I find most fitting. Your words have caused much trouble, Loki. It would be best if you take time to think before speaking so glibly again." The court dissolved in an uproar.

It didn't have to be spelled out any further than that. Loki swallowed hard, but he could also see no path of escape in his father's face. And he refused to beg shamefully in front of the entire court. His head felt strange, light and far away. "I understand."

It was only then that he realized that the noise of the court was not disagreement or protest.

They were laughing.

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Her stomach churned unsteadily but Sif gave a single nod of grim determination. The shears were lain aside as she took a deep breath to steady herself. Shifting her position, she braced her legs to either side of Loki's as she leaned over him for a better angle, one hand coming to gently but firmly grip his jaw. She was careful to move none of his skin, but her fingers were deft and swift as she began to tug the threads from his flesh, ignoring the way her eyes burned or the cold sweat that trickled down her spine as she bent to her unpleasant task.

This was the worst of all.

Loki strained against his brother's grip, clenching his teeth until something in his jaw cracked and he tasted lightning.

And then it was done. The pain didn't end, but it was done. As Sif stepped back, he opened his eyes. He knew he should thank her, should say something but the very idea of speaking was unimaginable.

His stomach rolled.

Loki twisted out of Thor's grasp and snatched up the basin from the floor. He dropped it. His fingers were slippery and didn't seem to be working right. He bent to pick the basin up again, but instead dropped to one knee and retched.

At least he had his back to them, he thought bitterly. It could always be worse. And he now had some idea of what worse might look like.

His stomach had been clawingly empty when his father had ordered his lips sewn shut. All he retched out now was all of the blood he had swallowed. He propped himself up on the floor with shaking hand. His breath came out in sharp pants like he had just run a race. Fresh blood leaked from his lips and fell into the basin.

He could do nothing but close his eyes again and try to forget the sight.

Edited 2011-12-16 05:44 (UTC)

Once Sif had pulled the final stitch Thor's hands seemed to lose their strength and Loki finally twisted free of his grasp. His hands felt numb from tension or strain, and he had to lace his fingers so that they would not begin to shake again while Loki bent over the bowl.

He took a shallow breath before he again dropped to his knees beside his brother. The flat of his palm rested against Loki's back, moving in a slow circle. His mother had once done the same for him when he first drank too deeply of wine no longer cut with water, but this carried none of the easy warmth or the simplicity of that. He wanted to shut his eyes against the sight but he could not.

Instead, he lifted his eyes to Sif, dark and hollow with weariness. "Thank you, Sif, for all that you have done. Will you do one favor more and fetch some water and a cloth?"

Thor's voice was thick with strain and Sif couldn't blame him. This was the worst sort of punishment Odin could have devised for his sons and she hated him a little for it. She met Thor's gaze over Loki's back as the dark prince's shoulders hunched against another heave of his stomach and she knew her own expression was as haunted as Thor's.

"I already have it, my prince," she answered softly, retrieving the pitcher and cloth she'd brought back with the basin earlier. She set them at Thor's knee before fumbling for the satchel at her belt. She always kept emergency supplies on hand these days - a trick she'd picked up from Hogun that had probably save her life a time or two. Having returned with the Warriors Three shortly before they were summoned to the throne room, she still had it on her. Although at the moment, the small chunk of healing crystal was less than she would have wished, but it was still better than nothing.

"There is this, as well," she spoke, holding it up to the light. "It isn't much but it should at least ease the worst of it."

They'd already come this far after all and if there was disobedience, it had been entirely at her hands. Odin did not have the same freedoms in punishing her as he did his own sons. And to her, this was worth risking punishment for.

Loki forced himself to take deep breaths, to try to hold them in and let them out slowly through his nose. Thor's hand at his back was oddly soothing; it made him think of their mother. He was too old to wish for that sort of comfort, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

Everything seemed to have escaped his stomach. With exaggerated care he pushed the basin away, then sagged against his brother again.

Trying to keep the semblance of dignity was a battle he'd already lost.

He made to try to pick up the water pitcher when Sif set it near him. He thought better of it when he noted how much his hand still shook. Spilling wouldn't help anyone right now. He let his hand drop uselessly back to his side.

He raised his head slowly, like it weighed far too much, when Sif spoke again. He regarded the stone in her hand with horror. Normally, Loki believed that rules did not apply to him, and would have been eager to end the pain and avoid scars. But with the way Odin had been now... He no longer had that certainty, and he feared what his father would do to Sif. And to Loki himself. Would breaking the edict of no help get his mouth sewn shut again out worse? He felt he could no longer predict what happened.

Loki shook his head, then managed a ragged but emphatic, "No." He felt that he should probably explain his thoughts, but the idea of speaking that much right now was just too daunting. He shook his head, then looked over at his desk. The bottle that he kept there for his normally rare headaches was visible among the drifts of papers. He tried to remember if he'd showed it to either Sif or his brother before, but it was difficult to think, let alone pick out such a minor memory.

Finally, he simply said, "Headache," and pointed toward the desk. The word came out strangely formed, his lips unable to move properly around the pain. Hopefully one of them would know what he meant.

Loki let his head rest on his brother's shoulder. His face was already such a mess that he didn't notice the thin dribble of blood that flowed down his chin and dripped onto Thor's sleeve.

He hadn't even noticed the pitcher. Thor nodded his thanks mutely, and instinctively wrapped an arm about his brother again.

Loki was not weak. He was proud and graceful, sharp and subtle as a knife. His hands were quick and deft as his tongue. Though Thor mocked him for it, he knew all of these things so well he had the luxury of taking them for granted until now.

The futility of Loki's silent fumbling was unbearable. It spoke too openly of how deeply he had been harmed by this. Thor wouldn't have wished this on the worst of the Jotunn, and Loki was the furthest thing from that. He was Thor's brother. He swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising emotion that would serve no one.

He knew what Sif held from the way Loki tensed against him, so he didn't look up. He dipped a cloth directly into the pitcher. It took too much will not to flinch at the sound of his brother's voice. "Leave it, Sif. The Allfather may not hesitate to --" His tongue seemed to catch on the word 'repeat'. "Just leave it. We don't know yet what he'll do when he comes to know of this."

He followed Loki's line of sight to his desk, strewn liberally with paper. Thor used his own to pile tokens from maidens and swords that needed sharpening, so he only vaguely recalled what anything on Loki's desk was meant to be for, except perhaps to give himself a headache from all of that reading. He had something for that, didn't he? Something for pain.

"The bottle?" He couldn't imagine the papers being of any use. He glanced in askance at Sif. He hated asking her about like a servant, but he was unwilling to move from Loki's side, and not entirely certain that his brother would support his own weight anyway.

He moved the cloth to Loki's brow, cleaning the sweat and tears and blood face with care. Though his lips were the most gruesome, Thor would leave them for last, cleaning around them carefully so that he would not tug the skin.

Edited 2011-12-17 04:16 (UTC)

At Loki's emphatic denial and Thor's agreement, Sif's fingers clenched about the crystal, but she acquiesced, tucking it reluctantly away once more. The last thing she wanted was to invoke further punishment on either of her princes, so until she could find a way to be sure her actions would have no repercussions, she would wait. It grated on her, her inability to do more, but there was nothing that could be done. Not yet.

At least Loki gave an alternative. Sif followed the unsteady point to spot the bottle on his cluttered desk, recognizing it. Loki didn't get as many of the terrible headaches as he had when they were growing up, when he was still testing the limits of his magical strengths, but she was familiar with what he took for it. Hopping to her feet again before Thor could even request it of her, she retrieved the bottle and grabbed a small round cup from the washstand, thinking that might make it easier to drink from.

She returned to the princes' sides, she knelt down in front of them once more and lifted the bottle. "This one?" Sif asked Loki, wanting to be sure. "I'll pour it for you, but you'll have to let me know how much is enough. I don't know how much you take," she added, spilling some into the bottom of the cup.

One of Loki's hands clenched around a handful of Thor's cape; he made himself hold stock still as his brother began to clean off his face. It was humiliating, but he couldn't do it himself.

Just stop thinking about it.

And the contents of that little bottle would certainly help with that effort.

Loki held up one hand with his thumb and forefinger a healthy distance apart, enough to indicate that the little glass should be half full. That was more than he'd ever taken for a headache, but he knew that it wouldn't harm him - it would just render him numb and insensible. Both of those options sounded very nice right now.

Hopefully Sif wouldn't argue with him. She knew what he kept the stuff around for, but he was fairly certain she hadn't seen him actually take any recently, so with luck it would be believable.

As she poured, he turned his attention to Thor. For a long time, he just watched his brother, eyes wide with the steadily increasing pain as Thor cleaned the skin closer and closer to his mouth.

When Thor made to refresh the water on the cloth by dipping it in the pitcher, Loki caught his wrist for a moment, and gave it a light squeeze just to make sure he had Thor's full attention. "After. Get. Your bloody. Hammer. Out." It had the same ragged, firm tone as his command to Sif had held. And it hurt to try to enunciate so carefully, but he wanted the message to be clear. A lot of the pain in his head would ease if he was no longer in the presence of a magical object that clearly didn't like him.

He searched for understanding in Thor's eyes before giving his brother's wrist another squeeze, one he hoped conveyed a measure of what he could not currently convey with tone or words - that it wasn't a request made out of anger or some sort of petty vengeance. And he supposed once Thor had taken the damn thing elsewhere, he was welcome back into his room. It wasnt as if Loki would be able to stop him, not in the condition he intended upon being in shortly.

Thor felt cold all over. The gore itself didn't bother him so much - he was a warrior, whatever else he might be, and he had been close to open wounds and the stench of vomit before, though it was Loki's blood that seemed to overwhelm his sense of smell and turn his stomach.

He had never seen his brother's eyes so wide and full of pain. He breathed shallowly, and too quick. When Loki caught his wrist he was so startled that he dropped the cloth into the pitcher. Any other time, his brother would have teased him for his clumsiness. He met Loki's gaze for a moment more then nodded once. Mjolnir had not stopped calling to him since he had been separated from it. Perhaps Loki felt it too, in a different sort of way. He didn't question it or think on it too deeply - he knew it was important to take it away, and that was enough for him to do so.

He squeezed his brother's shoulder once before he started to separate from him, letting Sif take his place at Loki's side. He needn't ask her to take care of him. He knew that she would. "I will return."

He cast one last concerned glance in his brother's direction before the hammer bolted into his waiting hand. Its power rolled into him again, like thunder, and he remembered instantly why he thought they would find no equal together. Now he knew better.

Thor shut the door behind him as he went. Returning it to the vault was pointless, but his room wasn't far from Loki's.

Sif easily shifted into Thor's place, letting Loki lean against her shoulder. She was nowhere near as broad or strong has Thor, but she did her best to lend her strength as she could. She nodded at the elder prince as he called the hammer to him and strode from the room, then turning her full attention on the prince rested against her. One arm carefully twined about his waist as she brought the half-filled cup around in front of him

"Here," she murmured softly, lifting the cup to his lips, being careful not to spill any. "Drink. I will hold the cup steady for you, my prince. This should take some of the edge off, I hope."

The moment Mjolnir was back in Thor's hand, a lot of the weight that had been pressing into his mind was gone. The moment the hammer was out of the room, all that was left was just the pain of having strained himself badly for holding the thing so long. It felt far more manageable in comparison.

Still, he was grateful to have Sif to lean on. And the rational part of his mind that he could now think with also noted that it didn't hurt she was also far prettier than Thor. Not to mention not his brother. And female. And not the one that had sewn his lips together in the first place.

He felt so much better with Mjolnir gone that a smile actually tried to form on his lips in answer to Sif's question, though one agonized, burning pull against the wounds on his face stopped that. He covered her hand with his so he could feel like he was at least involved in the act of drinking. While his fingers still shook, to him at least they felt much steadier.

The cool glass burned against his lips. Loki drank the medicine quickly. The cloying taste of liquorice was overpowering. It mixed unpleasantly with the constant earthy taste of blood, and he had to swallow against his stomach rolling in response. He had himself mastered well enough again that he was able to control the urge and throttle it.

The glass came away from his mouth with the rim well bloodied. For a moment, Loki wondered how bad it looked - he knew how bad it felt but the two were often very different. His gaze flickered toward the mirror near his wardrobe, but the angle was wrong.

Maybe that was for the best.

He let out a shuddering sigh through his nose and rested his head against Sif's shoulder. It was only a matter of time now before the lassitude of that drug would steal through his limbs and numbed him to the world. He was looking forward to it. Of course, the process never felt quick when he was half-blind from a headache, and it would no doubt feel equally slow now.

Edited 2011-12-18 01:27 (UTC)

Sif paid little attention to the cup, laying it aside carelessly when he finished the potion and rested his head against her shoulder. Arms squeezed him lightly in comfort, her cheek resting atop his head for a moment as she gave herself a brief moment of relief. She knew his brew for his headaches was potent and fast-acting, although it might not seem it to him when he was in pain. Still, it was better than nothing, and she could abide that for now.

Still, the floor was hardly a comfortable place to stay much longer and her arms tightened about his waist for a second before she picked her head up once more. "Come, Loki. At least come stretch out on the bed while you wait for the brew to take affect," she spoke, her voice hushed, her manner sober as she gave him a slight nudge, still fussing over him. "I'll stay with you a while, if you wish? Or go, if you'd rather?" Her voice wavered into uncertainty for a moment, not wanting to overstay her welcome if he wanted to rest in peace.

Loki shook his head. "Still bleeding," he said, after a moment of considering how he wanted to distill that message down. Though without healing, he supposed he would be bleeding for some time to come because that's what wounds in the mouth tended to do. Perhaps if he lay on his side with a towel under his face, that would work well enough. "Messy," as the only comment he could really make to the notion or the reality.

He wasn't certain if he wanted Sif to stay or not. Part of him just heartily wished both her and Thor elsewhere, because their constant worrying just made everything worse, and he'd never been the sort that craved attention when he was wounded or sick. Rather he tended to resent it because it made him feel helpless and more humiliated.

Yet.

The logical part of his mind pointed out that it would probably be best to have someone with him, as a sort of backup plan. And a far less rational part of him simply did not want to be alone, and refused to be budged from that position no matter how childish it seemed.

He sighed quietly, letting his eyes drift shut. "Stay." For a moment he found one of her hands at his waist and gave it a soft squeeze. "Please." It didn't seem right to make this sort of thing seem like a command.

It was easier leaving Mjolnir behind a second time. He dropped it on his bed, his fingers brushing the haft once before before he turned from it. He still felt its strength in him, but it was a futile sort of thing. Raw strength could not remedy pain, or undo what had been done this day.

When he returned to the room he caught the last of what Loki had said, curled against Sif so they both looked strangely small and dark. There wasn't very much left to be done. He saw that the cup had been drained, and Loki had closed his eyes.

Thor crouched before them. "Come," He said softly. "We will get him into bed."

Edited 2011-12-18 02:25 (UTC)

"You let me worry about the mess," Sif countered, her lips quirking faintly at Loki's protest. "You just focus on getting comfortable and getting some rest." When his hand found her own, her expression softened again and she gave him a light squeeze in return before starting to help him upright. "Of course I'll stay, Loki," she answered, her arms anchored around him.

And then Thor was back and she smiled up at him gratefully as he lent her his strength in getting Loki on his feet and moving. Between the two of them, they stripped off his messy coat and got him into the bed. Sif fetched more towels for the pillows, knowing Loki would protest until it was done. He was ridiculously fussy at times, which normally she would have teased him over, but she did so without comment for the moment.

With that accomplished, she sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out, brushing a loose curl from Loki's brow. The scars were still a mess and seeping, but the bleeding looked as if it had slowed somewhat, which was good. She didn't look too long, feeling her stomach churn with clashing emotions, but lifted her gaze to Loki's instead. "Has the brew started working yet?" she asked of him, not wanting him to be in pain.

He was still in full possession of his faculties at first, but he let Sif and Thor manhandle him anyway. It would help them feel useful, he told himself. That was the reason for it. Than midway through the process the brew started to hit him, probably because he'd taken it on an empty stomach. He had to lean rather heavily on Thor when they pulled his coat off. He considered protesting that he was being put in bed in his tunic - it was also a ruined mess, as were his pants - but it just seemed like too much trouble to even bring it up.

By the time he was fully stretched out in bed, he was about where he'd wanted to be - numb and insensible. The pain still existed, but he no longer cared that it did.

He managed to pry one eye open when she brushed his hair back; the pupil of it was large and unfocused. What she said didn't quite make sense to him, the words echoing and far away. He made an incoherent mumbling sound and let his eye drift shut again.

Thor pulled the covers up and dropped a hand on Loki's arm one last time. He would have given it a light squeeze, but his his hands still seemed to feel the phantom trace of Loki struggling against them and he couldn't make his fingers close again, even gently.

"Sleep, brother."

He didn't think that Loki heard him, but it hardly mattered if he did. He was no longer in pain. That was what mattered.

Without Loki leaning on him for support, Thor sank to the ground beside his bed, leaning back against it so he could hear his brother's still uneven breathing behind him. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, but it did not stop the tears leaking from them. His strength seemed to desert him. There was so much shame in this already, he could not be bothered to posture at pride in front of Sif, who already knew him too well.

Seeing that Loki was already drifting off, Sif let him be, tucking the covers around him gently as she did her best to make sure he was comfortable. She had no intention of leaving - she would stand guard for as long as necessary, she only hoped that he would heal quickly, and that the brew he'd downed would help him rest a while. Her fingers fumbled for the satchel at her waist and she tugged the crystal out once more, staring at it with a small frown for a moment before she laid it on his bedside table. Perhaps he wouldn't have as many reservations about it when he had the strength to use it on himself. Odin hadn't forbidden him all forms of healing, after all, just that he wasn't to have help.

She still felt no regret for disobeying that particular command. She doubted she ever would.

A quiet sound drew her attention from Loki's still form to see Thor crumpled by the side of the bed, his cheeks wet with tears. The sight shocked her for a moment and she hesitated before shifting on the bed, still keeping close enough to Loki that she would feel if he stirred, but reaching out to clasp Thor's shoulder.

"He will be alright, my prince," she whispered to him softly, not wanting to disturb his brother, but sensing he needed just as much comfort for other reasons.

Thor tensed under her hand, but didn't pull away. The image of his brother's face filled with pain seemed etched into his memory so that it was all he saw when he closed his eyes and wished for darkness. He breathed in, but it was unsteady still.

"In time, perhaps." When he opened his eyes again, he couldn't meet her gaze. His own was bleak and far away. Thor closed his hand and opened it again, as if unconsciously feeling for the hilt of blade or hammer.

"I am more a fool than a prince, Lady Sif. This needn't have happened - any of this. He is my brother, and with my own hands I have wronged him so deeply I cannot make it right again."

He would not normally have spoken so honestly, but with Loki still bleeding nearby and his strength all used up, he could do nothing else. The healing crystal Sif set on the nightstand caught the light, and he thought of using it while Loki was not awake to protest. Who would pay for that? Loki still, though he had no part in it? Or Sif for bringing the crystal to his aid?

Sif leaned down, wrapping her arms about his shoulders as she tilted her head against his own, giving him a light squeeze. "Thor... no one could have guessed this would happen," she answered softly, wishing there was more comfort she could offer him as well. "You never intended for Loki to get hurt, not like this. Even he knows this." It made her furious with Odin all over again, seeing the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. "He will heal. At least, if your father's intentions were for you to both learn that there are consequences to your actions, it is not a lesson that will ever be forgotten."

Despite her best attempts, she couldn't keep the edge out of her voice, or the tremor that slipped through her as she glanced back at Loki once more.

Thor reached up to grasp her arm, perhaps to remove it gently, because he was still prince and a man besides, and he should not be seeking the comfort of a friend. He deserved to bear the weight of this.

Yet he didn't pull her away. He squeezed her arm lightly. Loki's pain did not seem to less with Sif's arms about his shoulders, but it was an odd sort of feeling. The last time Sif had wrapped her arms around him he'd ended up with a bruised tailbone, her cheerful smirk finding him every time he sat down.

That was the way things ought to be: the weaknesses they found in each other shallow enough to be laughed at until they were trained out. But it was not the way things were, and Thor had always been a man of the present.

"It matters not what I intended." Thor replied bitterly, but the sharpness of his tone was directed inward. Sif seemed to draw him back after that, and he took strength from her before he turned, reaching further behind him. He caught a lock of her dark hair and met her gaze. "Loki knows already that there are consequences to his actions. It is I who did not see I would bring harm to those I would protect with my life."

And then he did shift away from her, but only to stand and reach for the crystal she had brought. Loki's ruined lips seemed to settle it. His mind was made up. "I will speak with father and make him understand." He moved to use the crystal on his brother.

"What Loki knows and what Loki does does not always add up," Sif remarked, but there was no biting edge to her words. She shifted to the side, giving Thor room although she gave him a worried look, concerned over what disobedience might cost him, or Loki. "He should not have wagered what he could not afford to lose. Neither of you should have. That does not mean I agree with... with this. I don't. It was unnecessarily cruel. It was wrong," she added , her fingers clenching momentarily into a fist before she reach out to brush her fingers against Loki's brow once more, as if to reassure herself that he was still alright.

"Are you sure it is safe to do that, my prince?" She asked Thor quietly, watching him as he picked up the healing crystal. "Your father could be most upset with you. I do not wish either of you to find yourselves in more trouble with him. It may be that he would be more lenient on someone not his son, if his command was not heeded. Especially when one is possessed of more... delicate sensibilities of the female gender."

Someone had spouted off that bullshit about her several years ago, foolishly within her hearing. The warrior had never made that mistake again, but that did not mean Sif didn't occasionally pull the female card with it played to her advantage. She prided herself on being an expert at every weapon she wielded.

[Continued here.]

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Stitches

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(kind of disgusting I'M SORRY)

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