theirlithium | le stitching and hideousness

le stitching and hideousness

When Odin made the ruling, Thor nearly marched up to the throne, appalled and horrified that he could do something so cruel, so inhumane, so vicious and humiliating to his own son. If Odin even considered him that at all - Thor was beginning to doubt, though he would have insisted it otherwise any other day. But half a step towards him and Frigga, eyes red and tear stained, placed hands on his chest - his mother's will the strength of a thousand men on stilling him. 'It is not death, my son. It is not death.' Eyes still on his father, who stared back impassively - the stoic, solid wall of finality he was to all of Asgard. He had always been. There was no arguing, and the longer Thor stood glaring fury and indignation the farther away the scuffling of Loki's feet against the marble floor and the muffled cries he let out behind the muzzle got as the guards carried him out to preform the punishment. A cold panic rose in him and he ran from the steps of the throne, after the guards, and shoved them aside, yanking his brother, weakened, wounded and damned, to his chest from them.

For a moment the throne room was silent, expecting this to be the calm before the storm that would be the Crown Prince and Asgard's King's clashing of wills, but when he turns back to the Allfather, there is only a silent pleading him his eyes. "...I will do it." Let me do it.

He wouldn't allow the guards to push this hideous thing on that which he loved most and let them suffer his hatred for something they could not help, and he wouldn't allow Loki to suffer this, weeping, shaking, screaming, in anyone's arms but his. Silence held the room as the Allfather considered granting his golden sun this concession, and all stood still, until there came a minute nod from Odin, allowing it. Thor's eyes fell to the brother clutched close to him, emotion he wouldn't allow shown here welling in his eyes before a hand drifted to the back on his neck to guide him from the hall, towards their quarters, a trio of guards behind to ensure the task was done.

He knew he would not be allowed to issue him anything to dull the pain, but with insisting they be allowed to change into more comfortable clothes, citing the Loki would likely want to sleep directly after, he managed to grant them time for Thor to help Loki from his armor, unsupervised. After all, not many would argue with him when Odin wasn't in their presence. Moving towards a curtained area next to a closet, he pulled his brother behind him, going for a small drawer within it the closet the second they were out of sight. He shuffled through it to pull out a small vial, and after helping Loki from his muzzle, hurriedly pushed it into his hands, speaking with whispered urgency. "It's a sleeping drought, take it now. Hurry."

If he stalled enough, perhaps the drought would take effect in the middle of the process and the guards could assume his brother merely passed out from pain. It was the best he could give in the circumstance and it was not nearly enough.

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In any other instance, at any other moment, Loki would have refused out of pure stubbornness. He had been in the dungeon of Asgard for days, suspected a dozen rulings but not this, never this. Even more so when Thor had stepped up to take the place of the guards; how could he offer to do such a wretched thing? Did he love the Midgardians so dearly that he would clip Loki of the last vestages of himself? Even when he could read the anger, the pain, he could not comment; had none to offer to occupied with his own horrific thoughts. He would be lost to the world like this; soundless and without ability. A magic thread running through his lips, like a muzzle he could never remove-- and it pained him to think that Odin would desire something so cruel.

It was not a fate any Asgardian would suffer; even were the crimes the same, not Thor-- never Thor-- but Loki... The bastard son of Laufey, a farce of a price, he could suffer because he was not Odin's true son. Frigga would stand by because she not his true mother; hurt by his actions and without the forgiveness of love he doubted things could ever be repaired. He was not being put to death-- but he wondered if this was not worse. Stripping Loki of everything that made him Loki; surely he is a small step above the walking dead.

Were he not gagged at the time he might have lied; pleaded, asked for forgiveness, or even screamed in the outrage of it all. They had lied to him for so long, kept him as a pawn to be used-- in ways he could not even see the logic of, and now he was to be silenced when he could prove to be of no other use.

Perhaps death was a better option.

His lips part and he can feel the cool liquid slide past before he even has the chance for words. He would flee, fight, but he knows it to be of no use-- not with the metal still clinging to his skin, stripping him of his magic. Soon he would be less, even less than a mortal; just something kept because killing it would bring about too much guilt. He knew he would not be able to speak once it began, knew now was the last time he would be able to freely.

That dark part of him, the one that coiled like a snake in his gut, ready to strike at any moment told him to wound Thor-- to make him feel just a fraction of what Loki knew he was going to. Even as he can feel the haze begin to creep up his bones it just brings a surge of panic with; an anxious breath, an uneven glare.

"A brother for a throne, how quaint."

The chain had been removed from the cuffs at his wrists, but the metal still remained, limiting his magic so leave him as something docile and harmless. He hadn't expected to get any kind of thanks from Loki for this (it was a hideous thing that he would volunteer to do it) but he knew if the task had gone to the guards, it would mean Loki held to the cold, damp floor of the dungeon, alone and terrified, as the beat him to a sufficient enough stillness to thread the twine through his skin. There would be no drought to make his mind hazy and half present and he would be left in a cell with no means of bandage or ointment to help the wounds heal after. And he would be alone, as he had been so often of late - alone and perceived abandoned. This might drive Loki even farther from him but Thor would rather he did what he could to soften this and have Loki hate him for it.

Once the vial is downed, he hid it back into the closet and heard Loki's words pass over him like a stab to his chest. There was an ache in his throat and as he turned back to him, hands clasping either side of his face, fingers curl at his cheeks and face inches away from him, he speaks in a rasped rawness that feels torn from him, wetness not yet fallen in his eyes. "I would defy all of Asgard for you if I could, but I can't, brother." It was like admitting some heinous defeat, tone almost desperate. This one thing he'd sworn to do all of his life, he couldn't preform. He'd failed. "It's this or death." Muttered low and bordered on ashamed. "This is all I can protect you from."

Silent after that, he goes about pushing Loki's coat from his shoulders, detaching armor clasped to his form. They'd expect them changed when they return and if they didn't hurry someone would come looking, but still, he wanted to take up as much time as he could to let the drought take effect. He wouldn't mind them coming to prod, but if Loki were to pass out before they started they'd know he slipped him something. He'd have to time it well. He went about pulling fastenings loose and lost in his own head with a frown on his lips and brows knit tight - something so mechanical in his movements, notedly not looking at Loki's eyes again.

Once the most of it was loose, he turned to the closet to retrieve robes that no one had removed after Loki's fall. Thor hadn't let them. Holding them out to his brother and staring at the ground around his feet, he waited for him to slip from the rest of his armor and take the robes from him.

Edited 2012-11-08 04:49 (UTC)

He saw little difference between this and death; his eyes said so but his lips offered nothing. Just a silent purse as they clutched together and he wondered if this was anything like his future-- so many things to say and none able to pass his lips. A doll that flits about the palace aimlessly; weaker than the Aesir children. Not a god, not a mortal, not a thing but a decoration to line the halls. Were he even allowed that-- he did not know where Odin intended for him to be kept-- chained in the dungeon? Locked in his chambers? Did it matter? Most knew now that Loki had broken the laws of Asgard; and for little that Odin cared of the Midgardians he took no pleasure in being defied. None would want to be in Loki's company now, if they ever had before.

Clasps and buckles snap and fall; a slow, almost drained sort of movement stripping him of his royal garb. He doubts he will see it again, as he no longer believes himself a prince of Asgard. No, now just a puppet to dance and scream for their amusement. To bleed to the entertainment of all. They had hated him, for so long-- even before he had proven himself worthy of being hated-- but he had believed Thor the exception to this. Stubborn in all things, his love included, had believed his brother would stop such a thing but he had not.

Loki cannot help the dark part of his mind that tells him he would have for Sif or Jane.

He has always been pale, a light tone amongst all the gold of Asgard; but more now so after his fall from the Bifrost. Skin stretched taut over muscle, pale and marked, drained of most of the color-- aside from the ridges of red that line the underside of his eyes. Ill from diseases unknown, ill in his mind.

The robe slips on with ease, green coiling around his flesh, cut and tailored to his form; something familiar, yet it brings him no joy. How could one settle into happy memories with the knowledge of all their falsehoods and lies. Thor his not-brother, Odin who claimed to be his savor but perhaps was his tormenter and Frigga; who may have truly loved but not enough to say what Odin had not, did not love enough to defy his words. Odin, the All-Father; who saw himself the master of all. Loki would burn him for this, burn Asgard, perhaps.

After Loki relieved his hands from the robes, Thor went to removing his own armor, hastily tossing it aside with little care and roughly pulling his own robes onto his limbs, staring hard at the wall opposite to them. He took time tying the strings of the pants and for a long moment he just ran the hem of the shirt between thumb and forefinger. Stalling. He didn't want to do this. He didn't know if he'd even be able to force himself to. He'd told himself earlier, he just would, like he forced himself into battles before and forced himself into any other sort of thing that required doing.

Finally, he turned to face his brother, and as his eyes scraped over him, mouth freezing before he attempted to push words from it, his body seized and he couldn't find it in him to walk them out into the room, to set this in motion. A hand raised to grip at the front of Loki's tunic, the smooth silk gentle and fragile seeming under his calloused hands, and he wasn't sure what he meant to do. His body moved itself as he tugged the slighter form forward and wrapped heavy arms around Loki's shoulders, tucking him to his chest, chin resting on Loki's shoulder and he tried his best not to let his muscles shake.

Glancing up, his eyes went to the window across the chambers, behind Loki, and his jaw tightened, running scenarios through his mind. The guards would be easy to defeat. He could take Loki and escape through there and not return until Odin swore to take back his sentencing. But Odin was clever and shrewd and knew Thor longer than he had known himself. No doubt there would be measures ready for him. Not to mention the fact he'd left Mjolnir in the throne room. He would be little surprised if Odin himself was standing beneath the window, Gungnir in hand. They wouldn't make it out. And Thor's actions would come down even worse on Loki.

"Sir?" A voice came as one of said guards rounded the corner, then, upon seeing the pair embracing, immediately turned his eyes down as if he'd intruded on something incredibly intimate. But he did not move from there, the pressing of the matter at hand still present and stood for. Thor tried to keep the growl in his throat down just for spite at this person pushing him towards that, and responded tersely. "Shortly."

Arms falling from Loki's shoulder, he forced his feet to move, hand on Loki's neck pulling him along.

The hug was unexpected, his body tightens, stiffens, as if recoiling from the touch. Why was Thor so insistent on presenting his love; it would do them no good, Loki would still be ruined and Thor would eventually forget him. It had been easy as they grew-- Loki so slight, so different, not the sort Thor's friends fancied. Once he was dropped back into whatever cage they deigned him worthy Thor would visit-- perhaps for weeks, perhaps months-- but he would forget Loki. This he felt, so deep inside it burned. Thoughts twisting in the darkness; because Loki's heart was too broken to believe anything else. He does not pull away, but he does not return the hug either.

Loki had come to wonder about his place-- even long ago-- amongst the royal family of Asgard. Even when he attempted to do right, attempted to claim Odin's attention with his magic or trinkets he always felt himself slipping deeper into shadow. Was he meant simply to be a foil to Thor? Great and golden, beloved warrior-- with the sickly brother who had done nothing but tested his patience and love. Perhaps Loki was always meant to be rotten, always meant to be ruined so Thor had something to stand against; and should it surprise him so? Any who looked upon them and had not known would have never called them brothers, for Thor was sunlight and Loki shadow. A balance, one he did not get the pleasant end of.

The grip to his neck is a painful reminder of how it had all begun-- the coronation, the trickery-- he had been bad, but had he been that bad? Could it have happened if Thor and Odin were not so brash or predictable? If the Warriors Three and Sif had not defied Odin's last act and his first as King? The thoughts, those thoughts, plagued him but at the same time he found he did not care. He was always damned to be Loki; and it was better for them to remember the monster he acted like than the one they had always assumed he was.

He doesn't resist as he's pulled, almost dazed with the medicine and horror-- what would he do? Fight Thor? Perhaps, if the tension that rolls through his body once they get to the hall is evident. He can see the box, ornate and gold-- so embellished for something meant only to bring him pain and silence. Magic imbued thread, a thick needle for puncturing flesh. Loki's demise.

Loki was guided to sit at the edge of the bed in Thor's chambers and the thunderer himself when to the box, a finger trailing over the embellished edge of it and something like disgust on his lips before he flipped the lid open. He eyed the thread and needle inside with a certain scrutiny, considering destroying it now, setting it to flame. It would only infuriate Odin and possibly bring another harsher punishment on his brother, though really, his mind couldn't come to worse. But of course, he would have never imagined this either.

"Ointment for the wounds and a cloth for the blood." He commanded near on hoarsely to one of the guards behind him before angling his should slightly back, eyeing the man looking as if he was about to protest. "You. Go." The next word was growled, erasing any acceptance of refusal. You don't often disobey the Crown Prince. "Now."

As he watched the man exit for the infirmary behind him, he saw the chamber door swing open, a small glimpse of who could only be Heimdall standing guard outside, and in the small moment he was visible, their eyes met and he knew Heimdall had seen the drought slipped to him. And knew that he had allowed it without interference. Though the one thing Heimdall's presence there did assure was that Odin was elsewhere, waiting for him to attempt an escape. He almost let out a sickened sort of laugh. Of course his father would not trust him. All in Asgard knew no one loved Loki dearer than Thor.

Turning back to the box holding the torture that would be set on his brother, he carefully raised the needle from it, looking it over critically. He didn't like the thickness of it, but he tested the point against his finger, drawing a little blood. Good. The sharper the better - the easier it could slide through skin the less time and pain this would cost. With a sort of soullessness in the actions, he pulled up the thread, wove it through the eye of the needle, cut it at the needed length and tied the knot at the end. Shortly the man from the infirmary returned with the requested items and Thor had no more reason to stall. His eyes lifted from the box to Loki, the needle held ready in his hand, and he took the couple steps to sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

He sat there next to him for a long moment, eyes on the sharp piece of metal in his hand, and up until this point it had had a certain element of unrealness to it. But here he was, about to commit this unforgivable act upon his so beloved brother and he lifted his eyes to meet with Loki's searching with lips parting in words he didn't have - they could never be enough. As tears he had tried so hard to keep from falling welled at the edges of his reddened eyes, he brought a hand to Loki's head, gently stroking finger through dark hair as he tugged his brother to rest against his chest, eyes closing for a moment as he pressed lips to the top of his head. Not as a kiss, just some desperate sort of clinging as if it would change anything. I can't, I can't, I can't strung through his mind like a mantra, but he dare not voice it for knowing Heimdall was just outside waiting to relieve the duty of him. Fingers combed lightly through the hair at the side of Loki's head and the tears welling in his eyes began to drop as he blinked, landing against Loki's hair beneath him. "I'm sorry." Whispered so quiet no one besides them in the room would hear it. "Brother, I am so sorry."

It's in this moment, with these tears, that he knows Thor will go through with it. Perhaps he had always told himself he had known, but till the moment he sat there, feeling the way he was starting to come apart, did Loki know that Thor was going to take the needle to his flesh without a doubt. It was guilt, already beginning to build, for the act he was going to commit. Some sort of placation for him, as if Thor's sorrows would in any way make up for what Loki knew was his fate. Perhaps he earned it, a stitch for each life he had taken upon Midgard. It had been a blur, a stroke of madness-- he felt twisted inside of himself and now he felt that same sort of haze crawling into his brain. He knows it is the sedative, that it is trying to calm his nerves but all it does is make him feel more exposed, vulnerable, like a wound unable to close.

He feels the way his heart thumps so heavily in his chest, with a force that's almost painful and he has to suck in a breath. The needle will push, it will tear and he will be sealed away to his own mind. Another shudder rolls down his spine as he finds a stinging in his eyes not all that unfamiliar. Choking down a sound he knows to try to flee would be foolish, to resist more so because they will stop him-- force him into this, if not Thor then another-- because Odin will not let him go unpunished, he never has. It's these things, the fear of losing his essence, his magic, what had made him more than nothing-- if only slightly-- that finally cracks that barrier and he sheds a few silent tears. "Thor, please..." The words are a whisper upon his breath, how could this be allowed, more so how could Thor do this?

Perhaps the cruelty of the guards would have been easier to face than the pain he could hear in Thor's voice; he ought to hate him, more than he ever had, but as he sat there all he felt was horror in the pit of his stomach.

The sound of his voice, desperate and pleading, had Thor clutching him closer to his chest, salty tears dripping freely from him by now as he held him so tight, like he thought it would be as easy as standing guard by him, but how to protect his dear little brother from himself? It occurred to Thor then, hearing the whisper and ghost of held in sounds coming from his brother, that that would be the last time he'd hear his voice, listen to him laugh, teasing, joke or even curse him. He'd never see another smile as it would pull painfully at the wounds - the train of thought wrenched a sob from him that was choked down in his throat, lips refusing to part, ending up an odd sort of choking sound before he pulled back to lift Loki's face to him.

Fingers wiped at the tears spilling across his cheeks and his lips trembled slightly with words he couldn't fathom - there was no comfort for this. Placing the needle aside for a moment (he could hear the guards taking uneasy steps forward at the action) he brought both hands to frame Loki's face, blue eyes catching green while he spoke in a desperate whisper. "I will fix this, I swear to you brother, I will find a means to fix this."

He can't imagine an eternity with his brother a silenced doll, a ghost like vessel of the man he was, but there was no other way around it and he knew that. A thumb moved to brush against Loki's trembling lips and he could already imagine how he'll look with crimson streaks slipping from them, coating them, running off his chin. He closed his eyes tight shut to will it away, but he could see it play even there. In a fumbled rush, he pressed his lips forward to Loki's, pouring every agonizing sorrow and aching apology into it and knowing it all means absolutely nothing. When he pulled away, forehead pressed to his, he whispered harsh and fast, for there was a pressing presence at his side meaning to force him on. "I love you more dearly than all Asgard, brother. Never doubt that." Loki had once said something very similar to him and even through all their strife he'd still felt it was true - though he doubted Loki could believe it after what he was about to do. But as he blinked his eye open there was a gloved hand holding the set aside needle near his shoulder, and swallowing was like daggers going down his throat.

"Your Highness..." The guard urged and Thor lifted a shaky hand to retrieve the needle. A deep, ragged breath and he willed his hand to steady as he brought the needle up to Loki's skin, expression twisting into something pained as he held it there, just under the corner of his lip. A hand held tight against the back of Loki's head, not sure if it was meant to comfort or to hold him in place, and Thor willed himself not to look to his brother's eyes, as he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it if he did. Jaw clenched tight and fingers turning white with how tightly he held the needle, he cursed himself and all that he was and all that he'd failed and all that brought them to this point and with one quick shove, pierced the first hole into his brother's soft skin.

For all he lied to himself, for all he would like to curse Thor and accuse him of untruths he cannot. He knows Thor will try, at least at first, but he doubts Odin will allow him to get far. Loki's silence has always been wanted-- not even just for his lies, but for the fact he would tell the truth none wanted to hear. Would tell men of their errs and women of their deceit, his honesty was as hated as his lies. He cannot find it in him to feel for Thor, in his task, perhaps because in the end it will be Loki and Loki alone who will feel the pain of the metal in his flesh.

A small, shocked gasp gets past his lips at the press of Thor's own and for several long moment he doesn't know how to react. He could lash out-- but would that not just make his punishment worse? Perhaps, were it another moment, another time or reason he would feel pleasure at the warmth or the concern, but as it stands all he can feel is an empty sensation attempting to overtake his entire being. Thor and all his claims of love, even if Loki changed-- decided to welcome them, he would never be able to return them again. Not a kiss, not a laugh, not a word.

It takes effort for the needle to push through flesh, soft around his mouth but still not easy. He cannot keep himself from trembling, cannot still the faintest whimper till the thread begins to pull through his flesh and tears shed anew. But the magic already takes hold, strips him from sound and while breath leaves him in rapid puffs Loki is unable to protest, to plead or even cry out about the pain he feels. Silenced so quickly, the other stitches just an assurance that he will stay that way-- pain inflicted in effort to teach him a 'lesson'.

Blood rolls down his jawline, like some sort of dark caress, bright red against pale skin. Were he in a jesting mood-- or able to speak-- he might have mocked the colors resemblance to Thor's cape. Instead he's left silently watching the needle plunge in and out of his skin, dragging forth more blood. He can taste it in his mouth, the copper, thick and strong and he wonders how long this taste will last. The needle is thick, the thread almost thicker, and each pull is painful not just for the peirce but for the way it pulls the thread through his flesh, tugs it and rips at the holes already made.

His entire body trembles, a betrayal of his will-- and he's glad that he's unable to make a sound, because he does not think he would be able to handle it had those watching had seen him cry out.

And that soft, short, cut off whimper was the last Thor heard from his voice, knew it would be the last thing, and with lips pulling back to show teeth gritted in a sort of agony, he couldn't help the noise that came from him - an animalistic sort of pained groan. The cold metal emerged on the other side of Loki's lip drenched in crimson and as he pushed it as quickly as he could through the upper lip, he felt warm blood, Loki's blood, trickling down against his palm, coating his fingers - his brother's blood on his hands. He'd asked for this. How stupid he had been to ask for this.

Thor pushed himself to keep a certain speed through to the task, diving immediately to the next spot to pierce, because the sooner it was over the better. Had it been any other sort of thing he might have told Loki 'tell me to stop if you need rest', but it mattered little then. Tears now freely flowing down his cheeks, blurring his vision around the edges, he could only keep up a raspy, whispered babbled, nearly incoherent chant of "I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry" as if it meant anything or changed anything or would numb the pain he was readily inflicted on that which was most dear to him. Loki would never forgive him for this and nor would he forgive himself. Stupid, reckless boy, thinking you could make this any less horrifying.

He could only will that the sedative would take effect soon, would cloud his senses, and that this torture wouldn't be so sharp that it would negate the effects. Thor didn't bother wiping up the blood yet, let it run free over Loki's lips, chin and neck and over Thor's fingers, hand and arm, dripping on the bed sheets below them, because pausing to dab at it would mean taking longer in this process and he wouldn't stretch it out longer than he had to. He could only thank Loki for not thrashing and making it harder. He didn't want to have to pin him down. Couldn't imagine the horror of it.

The thread was about halfway across Loki's mouth and Thor was trying to make sure the stitches were spacious enough that a straw would fit, some means of getting food or water to him would be possible. A sickness settled in his stomach and Thor Odinson was not often made sick at the sight of things - having been through battle after battle and witnessed a great array of things - but this abject cruelty twisted in him and clawed at his insides and he hated his hands as he watched them work. Swallowing hard as the needle pierced skin again and he felt Loki tremble under his hands in what would have been a cry to stop, he swore to himself that he wouldn't allow him from his sight after this was done. If Odin wished to stick Loki in some damp cell below the city, he would have to pry him from Thor's hands to do it. He would be anything Loki needed him to be and he would make himself a wall between his brother and whatever would seek to hurt him further. If he needed something to sink nails into and claw at and beat and wail out his agony on, he'd be that too. For there was no worse thing Thor could do at Loki's side now than what he currently watched his hands mechanically preform.

It's good for the support of Thor's arm, strong as always, that kept him from slumping too far-- kept him from making things worse. He could feel his mind beginning to slur, blurring at the edges as his body was losing what will he had to keep it together. He wished the others were gone, that it were he and Thor alone, so that his trembles and failures would not be a tale for others to hear later. Most would take pleasure in seeing Loki suffering so, because all thought him horrid-- truly, and he wondered sometimes how close to the monster he really was. Monster enough for Odin to see him tortured.

His breath begins to leave in panicked puffs through the small gap left between his lips-- a gap that was rapidly being closed off to him. It's obvious he's beginning to panic-- the knowledge that he would be forced into silence, forced to never again voice his opinion-- taken away his last ability to resist or refuse-- it frightens him truly. For once he forgets there are others there, feels the way his tears fall so freely and his hands tremble inside the heavy metal that digs into his flesh. His hands curl into fists, tight enough to leave marks even when his body is beginning to defy him. Sleep had sounded like a blessing at first; but now he fears sleep, fears waking with the entire world changed and his body taken away from him-- wonders if it would be merciful for him to choke on his own blood in his slumber.

An outward breath causes the stream of blood to bubble, drawing down his jaw and staining his skin, unable to stop his entire body from going into a hard tremble. His magic sealed with his words he cannot heal the wounds, cannot even offer as much resistance as he would like. Stuck against Thor's firm hold he does not know if the strength was the same comfort it had been previously. Like he was trapped in a vice, unable to stop the pain that kept coming and eventually he finds himself with the inability to move his lips. Sealed together with the magical thread all he can do is shed silent tears and stuttering breaths tainted with blood.

His silvertongue silenced for good.

He felt Loki's body begin to slack more and hoped that his mind was being taken far from this sickening thing that was happening to him. There would be nightmares that night, he knew. And it occurred to him that Loki wouldn't be able to so much as whimper from them. Wincing, he leaned in closer, now on the last few stitches and resolved to get them done quickly, even as Loki's trembled like mad under his hands. He wanted to draw him to his chest and pet his hair and never release him but the task had to be finished.

Pushing the needle through the final space on the other corner of Loki's lips, he made a quick knot and hastily cut the excess thread - a second later the cursed needle, drenched in his brother's blood, was thrown across the room to be damned and forgotten and he was pulling Loki to his chest. A hand combed at Loki's hair as he held the now seemingly frail and fragile man to him, whispering hoarse, soft things in his ears. 'It's over now.' 'Nothing else will happen to you.' But how can he swear 'nothing else' when he couldn't even prevent this? The guards had had enough sense about them to get a bowl of water for the cloth and set it at the bedside table near them.

Legs pulled up onto the bed, he adjusted Loki to cradle his blood soaked brother to him, dark head propped on a shoulder and a strong arm behind his back. Surveying the mess of bubbling blood from between his lips, making a gory trail down his chin and neck, Thor pulled up the wet cloth and began wiping away at his neck, his chin, return the cloth to the bowl to soak out the blood, before coming to dab gently at the wounds themselves, knowing it would sting, but he'd need to get the blood cleaned away before anything medicinal could be applied to soothe the burn. But it would be a long time before the bleeding would stop.

Setting the cloth aside for a moment, he brought a hand to wipe at the tears sprung from Loki's eyes, knowing the proud man wouldn't wish anyone to see them. Far too late now, and he was sure they were long from stopping, but Thor cleaned his little brother's cheeks and eyes as best he could, unconsciously rocking the both of them side to side, shh's and it's over's slipping from his lips like promises he couldn't keep but so desperately wanted to.

He would not know how to respond even if he could, the physical pain secondary to the emotional, but it still manages to flood his mind. He wanted to scream, to sob brokenly, to yank away and hide from the world but his body wouldn't comply. Instead he is pulled limply against Thor; he's sure it's meant to be comforting but it's only more painful, the press of even the slightest thing against his wounds caused a heavy pulse of pain. Nothing else... The words aren't a comfort, what worse could come for him? He was already stripped of what made him Loki, of what made him more than mortal; what else did Thor think they would be able to take from him? He was not sure if he wanted to find out.

He flinches, which is an odd action for him at all, but the press of the wet cloth and his already deteriorating sense of self in the face of the drought and pain makes it hard to hide or stop such impulses. The cloth stings and the blood doesn't want to stop. All would now see the marks of his defiance, the scars of his punishment, thread laced from lip to lip he could not hide from what he had done-- could not hide from the fact Odin saw fit to inflict it upon him. Thor had stepped forward, but Loki wondered if it had not done the both of them damage when all is said and done. His brother; for all his lust for battle was a gentle creature at his core, in his heart, a fact Loki had exploited, had run from, but now he almost feels regret. A sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he stares up; wishing he could stop his own tears but entirely unable.

Thor... Thor Thorthorthorthor-- he wants to call to him, does not know what he would say if he could but it matters none because he cannot. He cannot even plead to his own brother, cannot ask for comfort or respite because he has lost the right to do so. Instead he just curls his hands around the robe, holds as tight as he can because he does not want to be drawn away. He does not want to have to face Odin like this, to be returned to the court like this, a mess unable to even hold himself up. A sob hitches in his throat but no sound is produced; instead he just presses his forehead against Thor's own and cries. He's falling apart, falling asleep, he doesn't know which will happen first and he's terrified by his own inability to stop it.

The guards left some time ago unnoticed by Thor, as their presence was no longer required and being in the room had seemed like an intrusion on something deeply personal. Which it was. As Loki's tears continued to roll down his cheeks in waves, blood still dripping merciless from the wounds, Thor watched him with a grimace, his own face soaked in salty moisture and eyes red and aching. He wanted to scream, to sob, to rage through the palace and destroy everything in his wake for what had happened here, but all he could find himself able to do was bitterly wish that Odin gained Heimdall's sight, if just for this. If just to see what sickening, twisted horror he'd inflicted and how it left both his sons broken and in agony.

He brings the cloth again to gently try to soak up the blood still falling in small rivers from the punctures in his skin, so very careful with him knowing it must still be agonizingly painful. Staring at the twine soaked dark with the fluid, he can only think I did this to him, I did this to him and Thor thinks he deserves each stab, like a knife sinking sharply into his heart and twisting with a jerk every moment that the pain still throbs at Loki's nerves. His brother's blood still coats Thor's hands, trapped under his fingernails and soaked into the lines of his palm, and he thinks it will be there forever. He'll never shake the sight of it.

He drags his gaze from his brother's lips long enough to connect with his eyes - large, emerald orbs wide and pleading at him, reddened and watery and his mouth drops open, trying to figure what he wants from him. This will be their communication from now on. Loki desperately trying to reach him and Thor so lost to translate. Still, there's a hand curling tight at him and the arm holding him to his chest squeeze him closer, despaired in how he knows that's all he can do. Putting the cloth to the side as their foreheads press together, Thor puts a hand on Loki's cheek, tears now flowing in excess as some fall to mingle on Loki's cheeks with his own, and the elder brother leans back against the headboard, gathering the slight, trembling form up to him as he whispers soft things with a raspy, torn voice, 'I have you's and 'No one will take you from me's and 'I'll never leave you alone again's.

It's a mercy of Thor's that allows Loki to sleep, normally he would have kept form sleep with the pain rolling through him, but now he was slipping under the last cloying grasp of the mixture rolling through his veins. It had been competing with adrenaline for some time, but now that it was just him and Thor it was winning out; combined with his emotional exhaustion he didn't stand much of a chance. Eyes slipping closed he let himself be cradled, let the comfort-- what of it he could find-- take over and eventually just sink. It takes him a bit but soon enough he's slumped against Thor, slipping into the oblivion of sleep.

For some time the drought works on him heavily, pulls him deep past the horrors of night but it does not last the entire time. It cannot overwhelm the nightmares-- he had so many as a child, had been so glad to grow out of them-- but now even when he woke in terror he could not cry out. Could not ask if everything was alright, could do nothing other than pull tighter and tremble because he knows it to be a dream. Knows his nightmares aren't real, has to resist the urge to fight Thor because if he pushes him away Loki will be utterly alone. A soft gasp hitches from his breath and he digs his fingers in, doesn't think that his grip might be painful but he needs something to center him to the world. He's caked with dry blood, the stick of tears and the slick of sweat. He doesn't know how long he had been thrashing, how deep he had gone before his body finally jerked out of it-- but he feels sick.

His stomach tightens, twists in a knot and he tries to resist the urge to become sick because he cannot imagine how painful that would be. A few heavy breaths hiss between his sewn lips and nose, as if he can't control his own breathing.

Did he deserve this? Some would believe so, many would delight in it-- but Loki couldn't decide. For all he hated himself the idea of this kind of pain felt exceptional. It was less for the loss of mortal life and more for the defiance of Asgardian laws, laws they held him to while still telling him he was not worthy of Asgardian protection, that he was not an Aesir but a beast and a monster. Odin, the man who claimed to be his father would pass such judgement onto him and him alone. A man who in his time has killed more than his share of mortals; who has done wrongs of his own, yet never suffered such treatment. Loki decided, then, he was not a son of Odin anymore than he was a son of Laufey; he was Loki of Nowhere who belonged to no one.

Thor doesn't sleep for a very long while, too concerned with trying to clean the blood from Loki as he sits with legs stretched out over the mattress, Loki cradled gently between them with head head rested on Thor's shoulder. Several hours he stays up, patting at the dark holes below and above his lips with a damn cloth. Eventually, when the bleeding subsides, he's able to apply some healing ointment to the wounds, easier now that Loki's in such a deep slumber he won't wake from the sting of it. Guilt and despair plague him, twisting deep under his skin to feel like a crushing vice on his chest.

Eventually exhaustion takes him and he nods off, only to be woken an hour or so later by the writhing and pained thrashing coming from the body on his chest - the fingers digging into skin pulling him sharply from drowsiness. Immediately, Thor's hands are on him, wrapped around his shoulders and tugging him tightly to his chest as he arcs around him, protective. Hands pet at his hair, stroke his cheeks, and he murmurs softly, 'I'm here, brother, I'm here.'

He should have known Loki's sleep would be fitful and tortured, as he was given to nightmares before, but it had been so long since he'd had his brother so close. All ruined by what horrid circumstances brought it to fruition. The wounds around the thread had broke open again as Loki had tried to take in gasping breathes upon waking and Thor leans to the side to pluck the cloth up again to dab at them. Some of it had fallen on his chest where Loki had been settled but he pays it no mind. He just mops up the blood and curls an arm around Loki's waist to hold him safe and secure against him. "I have you, it's okay."

When the hold tightens he struggles for a moment before he hears the soft rumble in his ear-- he doesn't know why his body keeps reacting his way, perhaps it was the loss of his words as well of his magic. He felt fearful like he hadn't before; if they decided to subject him to any other punishments after this he had no ability to stop them. Thor didn't seem so inclined, but he had gone through this, had he not? Loki knows it is a horrible thought but he cannot speak his fears, cannot ask Thor what they are to do next; all he can do is hope and bleed and neither seems to be doing him much good right now, nor had they ever.

He barely stops himself from pulling away when Thor dabs at his wounds once more, tending to the stitches he has already ripped-- will probably rip several times over if only on the impulse to try to speak even if all he manages is to make breathy sounds. He knows he cannot heal himself, cannot be taken to the healers either; and he does not want to face the court again, does not want to dine and even more so does not want to dace Odin. Another shudder rolls through him but it is not the pleased ones he once had, instead it's just pain and horror and were he honest... fear.

His throat feels raw and he cannot even manage to ask for a drink, does not know how well that will even work, and all he wants to do is shrink away back into the abyss. Dead. Forgotten. His eyes squeeze closed and he resists the urge to break into sobs again, but he feels so entirely pathetic, wounded as he is. He rubs the back of his hands on his own cheeks, tries to clear his face to keep himself clear of tears, smearing it and the blood across his cheeks and his hands. He feels as if he should do something, as if he could fix himself but he does not know how-- does not know how to take his thoughts away from the obvious.

A wheeze passes his lips as he tries to shift, tries to distract himself but it only seems to make things worth. He knows he will have to face them, and only hopes he can keep Thor with him as he does. His fingers tighten and this time he initiates a hug in his own right, burying his fingers into Thor's skin and wheezing again. Thor-- he knew his actions were contrary but he his stability had already been questionable when he returned from the void, and now it seemed he could not keep himself together.

Thor's hand with the wet cloth follows after Loki smears the blood across his cheek, wiping it clean quickly and muttering calming noises to him, for all the good it's been doing.If Loki wants for anything, he can't tell, only watches him and tries to do what he can to keep his lips and cheeks clean, his body warm, hands never leaving his person as he clutches his brother to his chest, arm around his waist an a thumb rubbing against his side through the thin fabric of his robe.

The hug... comes as a surprise. He hadn't been expecting Loki to reciprocate any of the holding he'd been doing, had assumed Loki was quietly seething at him behind the threads he'd placed there and only clinging him to as the other support for him, so he's still for a half of an instant. Then the cloth is dropped to the side and he wraps arms tight around him, very reminiscent of when Loki would have nightmares ages upon ages ago, and he'd need to curl up next to him as he shivered under the covers of Thor's bed. He buries his face against Loki's neck, a hand stroking the back of his head and the quiet wheezes that leave him send tears stinging at his eyes again that he tries to blink away, raising his head again to kiss against Loki's temple. For a long moment he merely holds him, gently rocking, with lips pressed to the side of his head as if Loki is the most precious thing in the world to him. And in this moment, he is.

"Whatever you need, brother. I'm here." They'd have issue communicating it, but things can be written, gestures can explain. They'd have to. They'd learn a way. And should Odin wish to send Thor anywhere within the next several weeks, months even, he'd have to come into this room and forcibly drag him from his brother. Never would he leave Loki alone again. He'll take him along on any campaign, any trip to Midgard, every meal and meeting. If Loki isn't allowed present, Thor will not attend. He won't abandon him again, ever again. It's the promise he should have made to him a long time ago, should have upheld through all of this.

How could he ask for what was needed if he did not know what that was? He simply felt a mess; in both his body and mind, even his trusted fallback of words failed, he could not communicate what he couldn't comprehend and all of his focus seemed locked upon Thor and the pain of the experience. He had been wounded before, but unable to heal and knowing just why such a thing was being pushed upon him made the experience all the more unbearable. He could see the red against Thor's robe, the darker coloring of blood against the fine silk. For a brief moment he felt a pang of guilt he didn't understand before he choked it down. Slipping his eyes closed he tried to calm the heavy, painful thump of his heart inside his chest to hopefully halt the way he was choking on his own need for air.

It takes him a bit, but finally against his hold, with the comforting murmurs and shielding of Thor's flesh he calmed. At first his breath continued to sound stiff, hard to suck in, but eventually he got a steady breathing pattern down. The tears and his own sickness had made it difficult, but he had finally settled down into a quiet sort of stillness. For some time he just seems content to rest there, held to him and ignoring the fact that the outside world existed. He had been punished, to show his face now would be worse-- he knew that, but he could not tell Thor. He could not make him understand, but perhaps he could simply draw them away from hat opportunity together.

Pulling back a little he finally manage to look him back in the face, a soft breath passing from his nose as he looked over Thor's face. Almost awestruck to see much of his own reflected back at him. The deep level of emotion that brought up in him he didn't think he could name. He had no need to, though, did he? He reaches up, letting a unsteady palm press into his cheek, just holding him lightly and trying to communicate all he couldn't say with his lips, with his eyes. He was not sure if he was thankful or not, but in the end there was some sort of understanding.

Thor searches his face in what looks like desperation, trying to find any request in it, any communication, a painful want to know how to help him, how to comfort him, and far past the hope that Loki would forgive him for such a thing, yet... What he finds there is a tenderness he wasn't expecting to be allotted. Not after what he did, what he volunteered to do, what he allowed to happen. He should have fought, even knowing it would be futile. He should have made a scene, destroyed sections of the palace. And if Odin used it as reason to worsen the punishment he should have continued, refused to be silent until something satisfactory was reached. Anything but this. The palm light against his cheek is nearly breath-taking in how it effects him, and suddenly the welling of emotion in him cracks and his fingers tighten at Loki's sides, near digging into his soft skin, his too-slim, starved waist.

"I'm-- I'm so sorry, brother." It falls as a broken whisper, eyes shutting as he turns his face to kiss against the inside of Loki's palm. He bows forward then, dropping his forehead to Loki's collarbone as hands slide up his back, holding him close and burying fingers in his hair. The muscles in his shoulder shake slightly and he clings to his brother as if in fear of him being taken from him. "I have failed you so many times."

In letting him fall, in letting him suffer alone, in helping him before things went too far, and in this, of all things. How could he even dare to swear to protect him after all of that?

Were he able to reply he doesn't know, again, if he would be able to. The dark part of him that always sapped and cursed should be there, should offer hate and bile as he always has-- but as it stood now he was terrified of being left alone. Of being ruined further, because how much more did he have to lose? In a punishment such as this he felt no love of any, even Thor for a moment, but in that look and his hold he knew that was not entirely true. Perhaps Thor was the last to love Loki, the only, or perhaps it had always been that way. For they had been close for centuries before the schism broke what tenuous threads held their bond together. Now a new thread, coated with blood and Loki's tears, held them. Binding and tight, pushing through flesh, claiming all he had but Thor.

He simply sighs, which causes a flash of pain he tries to ignore, settled against him. Reaching up just a bit more he lets his arms come to rest over Thor's shoulders, nimble fingers burying into his hair and beginning to comb through it slowly like he had long ago when things had been far better between them. It's the only comforting gesture he can muster, the only was he can express that things cannot be changed-- perhaps this was Loki's lot in all things. To fall, to be ruined, to be an example of what not to be. He does not know, but for now he can offer this much-- a gentle touch, a light hold, love-- because those have yet to be taken from him and he will only lose them at the cost of his life.

The fingers in his hair, carding gently, and the careful love he'd not felt in so long, been starved from, and Thor feels he deserves none of it. Though for a long, silent moment, he still, waiting for the tremors that shake his shoulders, his back, as he holds so desperately to his beloved, broken and abused younger brother, clutches to him like a lifeline. How had it all gone so very wrong? How had they come to this? Thor's certain there will be no way to raise back up to the peace and love they'd once felt before. This cannot be forgotten, cannot be forgiven. He'd been waiting so long to have Loki in his arms, but not like this. Never like this. If it had meant he'd never see him again rather than bring this upon him, he'd have resigned to it.

Fingers curl in Loki's hair, threading gently through it from roots to ends before returning against, fingertips brushing lightly over his scalp. Every few seconds, his face would turn to press lips against Loki's shoulder, his throat, enveloping in his love and knowing it is not nearly enough. After several minutes passing, Thor finally lifts his head, eyes still swollen and red in the corners, dark circles formed beneath them and a sickly hue to his sick to make Loki's own, though not nearly as severe. Adjusting, he grabs at one of the thick furs of the bed, tugging them up to wrap snugly around Loki's too slight form, insuring he's securely tucked into it before he presses his cheek against his brothers, palm cradling his head so tenderly. A broken whisper against his ear slides out before he presses a last, lingering kiss to his cheek. "I will never leave you again, my dearest brother. Not until my dying breath."

After a moment, he shifts, rising up from the bed with Loki in his arms, cradled to his chest. They're both still covered in the grime of the fight on Midgard, sweat, blood, dirt and so many tears. A warm bath, with salts and oils that would soothe, even in the slightest, would do Loki well, he hopes. At least a start in cleanse the physical lingerings of what is now past.

Loki knows in the moment that they are said that Thor means the words that roll form his lips, but he does not know if even The Mighty will be able to keep his word in this. There will be much to attend to, even now, in his princely duties-- and after that those of his that will come when he is crowned king. Loki then will have to be left, because for all thelove and goodwill Thor offers him, wants to promise him, he will still form his own family, his own life-- a life after Loki. Once more he will be confined to the shadows but even his voice will not be found, will not bring him to the forefront-- because he is just barely more than mortal and what use to gods have for mortals? He will be a decoration to the palace, and perhaps Thor will see him then, visit so often for a one sided conversation-- but what more than that? None else will strive to put that much effort into occupying Loki; if he felt forgotten before, now he would be little more than nothing.

Thor meant his words and love-- but even now Loki could feel the doubt of reality poisoning it. What would become of them after now?

His head sinks against the solid weight, tries to commit it to memory because perhaps... perhaps what would be best for them would hurt htem both more than he cared to say. Loki would not get reprieve from this, at no moment soon, and he wondered if pushing Thor away would be the only way to save him from sharing their same fate. If Thor felt bound to Loki he would neglect duty and life, would miss the things he had so enjoyed, and would that not be the same as allowing Odin to punish them both. Before he may have delighted in all the attention, but if Thor could show such broken hearted love, Loki did not know if his cruelty could extend so far as to claim it and force Thor to be bound to him with it.

He can smell what is so distinctly Thor, coming form the robes and skin and tucks himself into it-- doesn't even seem fettered when they move; because for all his thoughts and the evenings actions he is exhausted. Needs to simply rest his head in the comfort offered till he is moved. He wants to tell Thor of this-- because for all his anger Thor is the only one who he has found confidence in-- and yet he cannot, so he simply sighs. Sighs for all that has been lost, all that has been found and everything he still does not know.

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le stitching and hideousness

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