By Blood And By Love, You Are My Brother Always (Loki, Thor, Gen)
Note: I have gen Thor fic and nowhere to post it, unless am I being particularly obtuse and missing the relevant community? I only seem to be able to find slash ones, which are great, but not a suitable home for this little piece (serves me right for writing gen for once…).
Title: By blood and by love, you are my brother always
Rating: How low can you go?
Characters/pairing: Loki, Thor (Gen)
Word count: 1,062
Warnings/spoilers: None
Disclaimer: So you believe I own Thor? In that case, may I interest you in some magic beans.
Summary: “The fever rarely causes problems to Asgardians…Loki, though, has been unable to leave his bed for three days”.
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The fever rarely causes problems to Asgardians, and even then, usually only to those unfortunate enough to be already weakened or injured when it comes upon them.
Loki, though, has been unable to leave his bed for three days. Thor is not one to feel fear, but it scares him to see his brother sweating and shivering, limbs trembling with exhaustion as he mumbles nonsense in his delirium.
He is quiet now, but Thor can remember last night spent desperately keeping hold of that lithe, sweat slicked body as it twisted in a fever dream, green eyes wild and glassy. This is one enemy Thor cannot fight, and he sits at his brother’s bed unable to do any more than try to protect Loki from himself.
The healers enter at regular intervals to frown over their patient, to encourage him with water during his brief windows of lucidity and to force medication into him despite his tight lipped resistance. They had struggled with him at first, trying to compel these mixtures down his throat, some thick and syrupy and others with a bitter smell that reminded Thor of the acrid stench of decayed tree bark.
By night of the first day, Thor’s patience had snapped. He had growled and taken his brother carefully in his arms, the healers retreating at their prince’s anger. With a gentleness he showed few others, Thor rested Loki’s head against his own broad shoulder. When Loki tried to turn his face into his brother’s chest in denial, Thor placed a hand under his chin, and with a thumb stroking across Loki’s pale cheekbone was able to persuade him to drink.
Since then, Thor has overseen all of Loki’s treatments.
The morning of the third day has long since passed. Loki had thrown his covers off some hours earlier, and Thor can see how overheated his entire body is, white shirt almost transparent with wetness. He summons a maid to freshen the bed, going to the door to keep his brother from prying eyes. Loki would not appreciate them seeing him in this vulnerable state.
Thor gathers his brother up in his arms, resolutely not dwelling on the lack of reaction it garners, not a stir of recognition from Loki who is always so aware of his surroundings.
So too does he ignore how small and light Loki feels; how his younger brother, always so strong and capable, seems suddenly so insubstantial and defenceless in his arms.
Instead, he carries Loki through the door to his private bathing chamber, divesting him of clothing and placing him in the cool water filling the bath.
Loki is pliant under Thor’s hands as he carefully wipes the sweat from his body, and the scented water helps to draw away the smell of sickness. Thor is intent upon his duty, smoothing the cloth along the inside of a pale forearm, but when he looks up he finds Loki’s gaze upon him.
For a moment Thor thinks he has come back to himself, but a closer look reveals that his brother’s irises are still glazed, their usual brilliance dimmed and blank.
Still, it makes a smile quirk at the edge of his lips because this is a far calmer Loki than he has seen recently, and he cannot help the hand that reaches out to his brother’s face, cupping a cheek in his palm.
It is a reminder that Loki is solid and real in front of him. Thor does not understand why he has been brought so low by this fever, but he does know Loki, and he will not allow himself to be long defeated by anything.
Loki’s head dips, and it feels like he is leaning into the warmth his brother provides. For all that Thor would do anything to return his younger brother to health, he cannot help but enjoy this closeness. Loki is usually so sparing with his touches, preferring to hold himself separate even when affection is freely offered, that Thor will not reject this opportunity.
Thor knows their mother will arrive soon; however much he has set himself as Loki’s primary carer, the dark haired prince is still Frigga’s son and their queen will not have him go without her presence too long.
Until then, though, Thor will stand guard over his beloved brother.
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Two days later, and Loki’s fever breaks. The moon hangs low in the sky, bathing the prince’s bedchamber in a milky light, and offering a soft illumination to the figures within.
Frigga has been and gone that evening, time spent reading softly to Loki from the book left by his bed. Between its covers are tales of the realms, myths and fables old enough that the truth of them is lost even to the gods, and its pages are thin with use.
She read these to Loki as a child, and the book has remained in his chambers ever since, tucked safely in the shelves even as years passed and countless other, less fanciful, books filled the spaces around it.
She left with the last of the sun, content at least in the knowledge that her son could have no better watchman to keep him company than his own brother.
It is later now, and Thor wakes to the weight of his brother’s gaze upon him. For the first time in almost a week he sees awareness returned to Loki’s eyes. The relieved smile he offers Loki is returned by one that is tired and small, but genuine.
Thor knows his brother, and by the time morning comes and the healers return, his defences will be back up. Yet for all the smoke and mirrors his brother shields himself with, Thor knows that for this moment in time, Loki hides nothing from him.
His hand finds Loki’s atop the bedcovers and settles. With every breath, their fingers brush together in a soothing rhythm.
Thor could close his eyes and imagine them as small children again, back when the only company they cared to have was that of each other, when they knew the other’s thoughts and actions as intimately as their own.
Tonight, it is enough that Loki welcomes Thor in his vulnerability, and for Thor to realise that perhaps they are not so far removed from their younger selves as he has sometimes feared.
Together, in the quiet, they sleep.