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The sky should have broken.
Thor waited for it—for thunder, for the sound of something tearing, for the world to react—because Odin was gone and the world had always bent around Odin’s presence whether it knew it or not, and yet the clouds only drifted, slow and indifferent, the grey-purple light stretching thin over the Norwegian cliffs as if nothing at all had changed.
As if this was not the place where his father had decided to end.
Thor stood where Odin had stood, boots planted too close to the edge, the sea far below churning in endless, uncaring motion, and tried to breathe past the tight, grinding pressure in his chest that refused to loosen no matter how deeply he inhaled. His hands were clenched hard enough that his fingers ached, nails biting into his palms, and still it felt like there was too much inside him—grief, rage, disbelief—all of it pressing outward, looking for somewhere to go.
His mother was gone.
His father was gone.
And Loki—
Behind him.
Thor did not turn right away. He could feel him there, could feel the familiar wrongness of Loki’s presence at his back, that sharp awareness that had been carved into him over centuries of loving and mistrusting the same person in equal measure. Loki was silent—too silent—and that alone scraped at Thor’s nerves until they sang.
Say something, Thor thought, distantly, viciously. Say anything.
Nothing.
Thor turned.
Loki stood several paces away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders drawn inward like he was bracing against a blow he fully expected to land. His gaze was fixed somewhere over Thor’s shoulder, jaw clenched, posture defensive in a way Thor had seen too many times before—the look Loki wore when he already knew how this would end.
Something in Thor’s chest twisted, then hardened.
“You did this,” Thor said.
His voice sounded wrong to his own ears—too steady, too quiet—and that frightened him more than if he had shouted.
Loki flinched anyway.
“I—” Loki started, then stopped himself, swallowing, eyes flicking up to Thor’s face at last. “Thor, listen to me.”
The word listen felt like an insult.
Thor took a step forward without realising he’d decided to move, the ground crunching sharply beneath his boots. “You banished him,” he said, each word landing heavier than the last. “You stripped him of his power. You took the throne and cast him out, and you left him alone here.”
“That is not what happened,” Loki shot back, the fear in his voice edged with frustration now, with something like desperation. “I did not force him to.. to do this. Odin chose—”
“He chose because you put him here in the first place. It was you,” Thor snapped, heat flooding his chest, lightning stirring under his skin in restless response. “You always do this. You push and push until there is only one path left, and then you tell yourself their choice absolves you.”
Loki shook his head sharply. “That is not fair.”
Thor laughed—a short, fractured sound that scraped his throat raw. “Neither was what you did to him.”
The words landed between them, heavy and final.
Loki went still.
For a moment, the sharpness in his expression faltered, something unsettled flickering through before he forced it back down behind composure and pride. “Do not,” he said quietly. “Do not speak as though I wanted this.”
“You wanted the throne,” Thor snarled, stepping closer. “You wanted the power, the authority—you wanted to prove you could stand where he stood.”
“That is not the same thing,” Loki shot back, taking a step forward despite himself. “I tried to hold things together. I tried to protect what was left.”
“You tried to control it,” Thor cut in, the fury surging hot and fast now, burning through restraint like it had never existed at all. “And now he is gone.”
Thor’s hand closed around Loki’s collar before he consciously registered the movement, yanking him forward hard enough that Loki stumbled, fingers curling instinctively around Thor’s forearm to keep his balance.
Loki’s breath hitched.
“I did not kill him,” Loki said, voice strained but fierce, meeting Thor’s gaze head-on now. “Odin was tired. He said so himself. He was ready to rest.”
“And you decided you had the right to let him,” Thor growled, leaning in close enough that Loki could feel the heat of his breath. “You decided for all of us.”
“That is not what I wanted,” Loki snapped back, control fraying at the edges. “I did not want this. I did not want him to disappear like that. I did not want—”
Thor shoved him away.
Loki staggered back several steps before his footing gave out entirely, hitting the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. He rolled onto his side, coughing, then pushed himself upright on one hand, eyes blazing even as pain tightened his features.
“Thor,” Loki said, forcing himself to stand. “Stop. You are not thinking clearly.”
The words hit something volatile.
“Do not tell me how to think,” Thor snarled, lightning crackling visibly now across his arms as the storm inside him surged closer to the surface.
Loki straightened fully, jaw tight, eyes flicking briefly to the cliff’s edge and then back to Thor—calculating, wary, but still standing his ground. “This will not help you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Hurting me will not bring them back.”
Mjolnir answered Thor’s call with a thunderous crack, flying into his hand and settling there with familiar, brutal weight.
Loki’s gaze dropped to the hammer, then lifted again. “Thor,” he warned, “think.”
Thor swung.
The first blow shattered stone where Loki had been standing a heartbeat earlier, debris exploding outward as Loki leapt aside, green magic flaring reflexively around his hands. The second strike came faster, Thor advancing relentlessly, grief and rage driving him forward as if movement itself might tear the pain loose from his chest.
A blast of magic struck him square in the torso, sharp and concentrated, enough to stagger him back a step—but it only fed the fire.
Thor surged forward again, fist connecting with Loki’s jaw in a solid, bone-jarring impact that sent him sprawling. Loki hit the ground hard, blood bright against the stone, breath knocked from his lungs.
Thor stood over him, chest heaving, lightning dancing uncontrolled along his skin.
“Get up,” he said.
Loki tried.
He barely made it to his knees before Thor’s boot connected with his ribs, the impact driving the air from him in a broken gasp that echoed unpleasantly in Thor’s ears. Loki curled instinctively, one arm wrapping around his side, the other bracing against the ground.
“Thor,” Loki rasped, breathless, “stop—”
Mjolnir rose again.
Somewhere, buried deep beneath the fury and the grief and the roaring storm inside him, a small, distant voice whispered that this was wrong—that this would not fix anything—but Thor did not listen.
He could not.
Thor did not stop.
He should have—some distant, quieter part of him knew that, the part that still remembered how to breathe without fury in his lungs—but grief was loud, and heavy, and it demanded motion, demanded impact, demanded something to strike so it did not turn inward and split him apart instead.
His fist connected with Loki’s shoulder before the words had even finished echoing between them, the impact jarring all the way up Thor’s arm, a sharp, satisfying jolt that cut through the noise in his head for exactly half a heartbeat before it came roaring back twice as loud. Loki staggered, boots scraping against stone as he barely kept his footing, breath punching out of him in a sharp, involuntary sound.
Good.
Thor didn’t give him time to recover.
Another blow, this one to the ribs, hard enough that Thor felt the give beneath his knuckles, the dull crack that told him he’d hit bone, and Loki folded in on himself with a sharp exhale that might have been a curse if he’d had the air for it. Thor barely registered the sound—all he could hear was the blood in his ears, the thunder under his skin, the words that wouldn’t stop replaying.
You always do this.
“You don’t get to stand there,” Thor snarled, advancing as Loki stumbled backward, “and look at me like that, like I am the unreasonable one, like this is some misunderstanding that can be smoothed over if we just talk long enough.”
Loki straightened with effort, one hand braced against the rock behind him, eyes bright with pain and fury in equal measure. “Then stop hitting me and listen,” he snapped back, voice tight. “For once in your life—”
Thor struck him again.
This time across the face.
The sound was wet and sharp, Loki’s head snapping to the side, dark hair flying loose from where it had been slicked back. He tasted blood immediately—Thor could see it, the red blooming at the corner of his mouth, bright against skin already gone pale with shock.
“Don’t,” Thor said, words tumbling out too fast, stacking on top of each other. “Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t tell me how to grieve. Don’t tell me how to think when you are the reason I am standing here without a father and without answers and without anything solid left to hold on to.”
“That is not—” Loki started, coughing as he tried to draw a deeper breath, shoulders hitching.
Thor grabbed him by the front of his tunic and slammed him back against the rock face hard enough that the impact rattled Loki’s teeth. The stone bit cold and unforgiving into his spine, and he hissed sharply, hands coming up on instinct to grab at Thor’s wrists.
“You stood there,” Thor continued, voice rising, breaking, words running together now, “wearing his face, speaking with his voice, making his choices, and you expect me to believe that you didn’t know what would happen?”
“I knew he was tired,” Loki shot back, fingers digging into Thor’s forearms, nails biting through leather. “I knew he was done fighting. That is not the same thing as wanting him gone.”
Thor laughed again—harsh, unsteady, the sound tearing itself out of his chest. “You always have an explanation.”
He shoved Loki sideways, sending him sprawling across the uneven ground. Loki hit hard, rolling once before coming to a stop on his side, breath leaving him in a ragged gasp. He didn’t get up immediately. Thor saw him brace one arm beneath himself, saw the tremor run through it as he tried to push.
Thor was on him before he could fully rise, boot connecting with Loki’s side with brutal force. Loki cried out this time, a sharp, involuntary sound he didn’t manage to swallow back, body curling reflexively around the impact.
“Thor—” Loki gasped, voice breaking despite himself. “Stop.”
“Why?” Thor demanded, looming over him. “Why should I?”
He kicked him again, harder, anger making him careless, reckless, each strike less precise than the last but no less vicious for it. Loki rolled with the blow, hands scrambling uselessly against stone as he tried to create space, to breathe, to think.
“Because this won’t bring him back,” Loki forced out, breath hitching. “Because this won’t change anything. You’ll still be standing here when it’s over, without him. He isn't coming back Thor.”
Thor’s vision swam at that—a flash of something sharp and unwelcome cutting through the red haze—and he hated Loki for it, hated that he was still trying to reason with him, still trying to manage the damage even now.
“I don’t care,” Thor said, voice low and shaking. “I don’t care what’s left after.”
Lightning cracked overhead in response, the air around them vibrating with his barely-contained power. Thor barely noticed. He hauled Loki upright by the collar again, dragging him to his feet only to slam him back down onto his knees, one hand fisted in his hair, wrenching his head back far enough that Loki was forced to meet his gaze.
“Stop telling me what this is supposed to fix,” Thor snarled. “Stop acting like you get to explain this away.”
Loki’s eyes were glassy now, unfocused at the edges, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls. There was blood on his lip, on his chin, smeared dark along his jaw where Thor’s knuckles had split skin. One side of his face was already swelling, bruising purple beneath the pallor.
“If you’re going to do it,” Loki said hoarsely, voice rough with pain and something dangerously close to acceptance, “then do it. Don’t drag it out.”
Thor struck him again, open-handed this time, the force snapping Loki’s head sideways.
“Don’t,” Thor shouted. “Don’t say that.”
Loki sagged, grip loosening, head dropping forward as the strength drained out of him. For a moment, Thor thought he might be finished—that the fight might finally be over—but then Loki lifted his head again with visible effort.
“You’re not angry at me,” Loki said, each word pulled from his chest with effort. “You’re angry that he’s gone. And I’m still here.”
The words hit harder than any blow.
Thor froze for half a second—just long enough for doubt to creep in, thin and unwelcome—and Loki took advantage of it, shoving forward with what little strength he had left, catching Thor off balance. Thor stumbled back a step, surprise flaring hot and brief.
It vanished immediately.
Thor reacted without thinking, lightning flaring along his arm as he drove his fist into Loki’s stomach with brutal force. Loki doubled over instantly, a strangled sound tearing out of him as he retched, bile and blood splattering against the stone.
Thor didn’t stop.
He grabbed Loki by the shoulders and drove him down, forcing him flat onto his back, straddling his hips to keep him pinned. Loki struggled weakly beneath him, hands scrabbling at Thor’s arms, his movements uncoordinated now, sluggish, breath stuttering in his chest. His mouth was moving—words breaking apart, catching on blood and pain—the same sound dragged out again and again, hoarse and broken enough that Thor couldn’t quite make sense of it, only the rhythm of it, the insistence, the way it kept coming back like it was the only thing Loki had left to say.
Please.
“Stay down,” Thor snarled, though he didn’t know who he was saying it to anymore—Loki, himself, the past.
Another blow, then another, each one landing harder, less controlled, Thor’s breath coming fast and ragged as his thoughts spiralled, sentences breaking apart in his head, looping endlessly.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
And you’re still here.
Loki stopped fighting somewhere between one heartbeat and the next.
Thor didn’t notice at first.
He was too deep in it, too far gone, arm drawing back again on instinct alone—until his fist connected with nothing but slack, unresisting flesh, Loki’s head lolling to the side with the impact instead of snapping back.
That stopped him.
Thor’s breath hitched sharply, chest heaving as he stared down at him.
Loki lay still beneath him, eyes half-lidded, unfocused, lips parted slightly as he dragged in shallow, uneven breaths that rattled unpleasantly in his chest. Blood smeared his mouth, streaked across his cheek, darkened the front of his torn tunic. One arm lay twisted awkwardly at his side—most likely broken, though Thor isn't sure when it broke, fingers twitching faintly as though they’d forgotten what they were meant to do.
Thor didn’t move.
For a heartbeat, then another, he simply watched, waiting for the next struggle, the next defiant snarl, the inevitable sharp remark that always came no matter how hard he hit. It took a moment too long for the absence of it to register.
“Loki?” Thor said, the word coming out wrong, too quiet, too thin.
No response.
Thor shifted his weight slightly, and Loki didn’t react—didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, didn’t glare up at him with that infuriating, indestructible stubbornness. His head lolled a fraction to the side instead, breath hitching wetly in his throat.
That should have meant something.
It still didn’t. Thor’s thoughts lagged behind the reality in front of him, caught on the last echo of rage, the lightning still humming under his skin, searching for somewhere to go. He told himself Loki was unconscious. Winded. Being dramatic. Loki always survived. Loki always did.
Except—
Thor’s vision cleared in a rush that left him dizzy, the weight of what he was doing—what he had done—crashing down on him with sickening force. He looked at his hands, at the blood slicking his knuckles—Loki's blood, at the way Loki’s chest barely moved beneath him.
“Oh,” Thor breathed.
No.
No, no, no.
He scrambled back, nearly falling over himself as he rolled off Loki and dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering uselessly for a moment before settling carefully against Loki’s shoulders, as though afraid even touch might make it worse.
“Loki,” Thor said again, louder now, panic threading through his voice. “Look at me. Oh Norns.”
Loki didn’t.
His lashes fluttered once, a faint, reflexive movement, but his gaze didn’t focus. His breathing hitched, shallow and wet, and a thin line of blood escaped the corner of his mouth with the motion.
Thor’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“What have I done,” he whispered.
He pressed his hand to Loki’s chest, feeling the rapid, uneven beat beneath his palm, too fast, too weak. His other hand cradled the back of Loki’s head instinctively, fingers tangling in blood-damp hair.
“I didn’t—” Thor choked, words failing him entirely now. “I didn’t mean—”
Loki stirred faintly at the sound, brow furrowing as though the effort of consciousness itself hurt. His lips moved, soundless at first, then a whisper scraped its way out.
“It’s… It's all right,” Loki murmured, voice barely there. “It’s my fault.”
Thor shook his head violently. “No. No, don’t—don’t say that.”
“If I hadn’t…” Loki swallowed hard, winced. “If I hadn’t taken the throne. If I hadn’t pretended to be him. If I had just… just—”
“Stop,” Thor said, hands tightening helplessly. “Stop talking.”
“If I had died on Svartalfheim,” Loki finished weakly, eyes slipping shut again, “you wouldn’t have had to—”
Thor pressed his forehead against Loki’s, breath shaking, grief finally breaking through in full, devastating force.
“Don’t,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please don’t say that.”
Loki didn’t answer.
He went limp beneath Thor’s hands, breath shuddering once before settling into something frighteningly shallow, and Thor gathered him closer without thinking, arms wrapping around his brother’s broken body as though he could somehow hold the damage together by force alone.
The sky above them was very quiet.