Nosiness and friendship
One sunny day, Tony asks Thor to check a pattern of markings on Loki’s back. They’re a strange darker blue, curling around his spine and neck and printing harsh lines on his cheekbones. Tony thought they were some kind of alien vein that were just weirdly colored from the lighting, but they’ve become more defined over time as his skin’s pallor brightens with his slowly-settling body temperature. Tony can’t tell whether or not they’re birthmarks or really weird scars.
Any potential revelations that got Tony excited for are, however, dashed when Thor freezes up, refusing politely. He says they’ve probably got something to do with his frost giant heritage and tells them to read the books he brought them from Asgard.
And that’s when Tony’s hit with the realization that he’s never seen Thor even visit his brother.
Which is actually really weird. Thor dropped everything for the slightest chance that Loki was alive. He rendered himself a wanted criminal by, like, three different planets AND nearly killed himself to top it all off. Tony would imagine he’d be like one of those overly-emotional soccer moms at the hospital when their child gets a scratch from falling off a tree who’d yell at the paramedics when they can’t find a way to fix her son’s skin-deep bruise in five minutes.
But no, Thor almost seems…
Apathetic.
No. That’s not the right word. Thor cares to an annoyingly excessive amount. He bugs Tony and Bruce about all kinds of health-related things, ranging from due dates and body sensitivities to how Loki is allergic to tree nuts and dogs. And he’s never struck Tony as the smartass type, but he has this nasty habit of correcting Tony and Bruce’s medical inaccuracies at every chance he can get, helpfully reminding them “it is quite alright for you to make such mistakes, you are only mortals after all.” (Tony doesn’t care the guy can bench press six of him, he will throw hands if Bruce refuses to intervene.)
But once it involves him personally, he’s out of there. His excuses for avoiding Loki have become increasingly stupid, and it’s really starting to get pathetic. Tony shouldn’t feel as offended as he does—it’s not his brother, after all. He doesn’t even know why Thor’s acting the way he is.
And although it’s absolutely completely factually 100% none of his business, Tony plans to get to the bottom of it anyway.
Thor is doing the laundry when Tony finds him, elbows deep in suds.
“Knock knock.” He taps the door to announce his arrival. Thor shoots him a whiskery grin as he crushes the water out a pair of boxers. We have an update on—” Tony frowns. “You know we have washing machines that can clean our clothes just as good. If not better.” He squints at the boxers. “Probably better.”
“Really? I find the smell of air-dried clothes more refreshing.”
“Why are you doing the laundry? I would’ve thought a person like you would never have to touch the stuff, you being a prince and all.”
Thor pins the briefs to the clothing line. “I suppose you are correct. But how complicated can the washing of clothes be?”
The boxers fall off, tumbling into the bowl of water and spilling soap all over the ground.
“Besides, I want to be of help.” He gets on all fours, grabbing a shirt to wipe the tiles. “While you and Bruce have worked tirelessly to fix my brother’s ailments, I have sat around and fretted like a weeping maiden. I feel as if I am taking advantage of your hospitality.”
“Aww, there’s no need for that, buddy. My machines already do everything around here, they’ve got it under control.”
“Nonsense. I am happy to be of service.”
One of his enormous elbows knock into the legs of the table. The whole thing comes crashing down on Thor’s head. He curses in a different language.
“What progress were you talking about? Has Loki gotten any better?” Thor asks, dutifully scrubbing. The picture is so pathetic that Tony joins him on the ground, picking up a sponge.
“Uh, so-so,” he says. “So good news and bad news: the good news is that he’s finally starting to settle down into a healthy temperature. Healthy for a frost giant, anyway.” Thor winces minutely. “The bad news? He has no sign of waking up any time soon and we don’t know what in the world’s keeping him down under. It’s not a coma, and he sure as hell ain’t dead. It’s perplexing, to say the least.”
“What do you think is wrong with him, then?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Bruce has been studying those cute lil’ brown eyes of his out with those books you got him. Very useful. Oh! By the way, those lines on his face? They’re traditional frost giant lines representing his lineage and rank in society. It’s actually kind of cool.”
Thor snorts incredulously. “…yes. I suppose ‘frost’ giants tend to be rather frigid.”
Tony doesn’t have the heart to make fun of him.
“So I’m curious,” he says. He squeezes the sodden sponge in the bowl. “Are frost giants just, like, a fancier word for Asgardians? Cus I know you and Loki are brothers and he’s one. But you’re not, as far as I know. Unless you’re hiding blue skin. Are you hiding blue skin from me Thor?”
A look of bittersweet amusement crosses Thor’s face. “No, I am not Jotun. Far from it. Loki is adopted. Our fa—The Allfather rescued him when he was a child. His family had abandoned him in their sacred temples for being a runt. Odin found him amidst the ruins of war and graciously allowed him into his own castle. He raised him as own of his own.” He refuses to look at Tony, though his tone rises to an angry, almost pleading, tone. “We share no blood relation. But Loki is my brother in every other way. He is.”
“I get it. Adoption’s a thing here too, you know. I’m not exactly foreign to it.”
Thor turns back to the floor. Trouble swims in his eyes, blurring his vision; he doesn’t seem to realized he’s scrubbing a completely spotless tile.
Tony doesn’t know what to say. Thor’s obviously destressed, but he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it either. There’s a lot to unpack, and he doesn’t even know where to start. Somewhere very far in the back of his mind, he wishes Steve were here—Steve with the understanding smile and the calming voice, who always seems to get whatever he wants while still maintaining every ounce of his red white and blue dignity.
Steve who would sell their asses out to SHIELD for a can of pringles and a hearty handshake, probably.
“So…frost giants, huh?” he starts. Easy enough subject. “Did you say there was a war? Tell me about that.”
“I’m not sure you will find 100 years’ worth of history to be very interesting Stark,” Thor says.
“What? Pshhh, I love history. I almost majored in it in college. Major history geek. Besides, I know pretty much nothing about what goes on outside of earth. And you’re the only alien friend I have, so you’re basically obligated to tell me everything.”
Tony shoots him his classic winning smile. Thor laughs.
Score no.1 for Tony.
“It’s rather a boring tale, I’m afraid,” Thor says. “Our wars are little different than yours: two kingdoms desire wealth. One has it. The other has it also, yet desiring more. They clash, affecting every man, woman, child and beast. Many die and many suffer, but the stronger always triumph.”
“Interesting,” Tony drawls, dragging out the i. “And I’m assuming Asgard was the one with the luxury and shit?”
“Yes. Asgard was and still is one of the most prosperous nations in the galaxy.”
Tony whistles. “In the galaxy? And I thought I was killing it. Good for you, good for you.” He holds up a hand. Thor blinks. “You slap it, buddy,” Tony explains.
Thor gives Tony’s palm a vicious backhand. Tony bites back a shriek. He swears he feels his wrist cave in a little.
He clears the tears out of his throat. “Soooo,” he says very and totally extremely inconspicuously, leaning in. Thor stiffens immediately. “You’re not still mad about the frost giant Asgard war, are you?”
“I should hope not. I learned my lesson three years ago when I was banished to Midgard to learn a lesson on humility.”
“So you’re not mad at Loki?”
Tony immediately senses he said the wrong thing. Thor freezes, his face turning into something unreadable. “What?” he says quietly.
“Nothing,” Tony says quickly. “It was stupid of me.”
“Why would I hold a grudge against Loki over something he had no control over? Over something the ones who abandoned him did over a millennia ago?”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I am not mad at him. I could never be, he has never meant to hurt me.” Thor’s eyes shine. “He never meant it.”
The air smells of ozone. Tony didn’t realize he’d been backing up, but now he’s pressed against the wall leaning back like his life depends on it.
“My work is done here,” Thor says. His voice sounds like shattered glass. And Tony was the one who swung the hammer. “Will that be all?”
Tony nods fervently. Thor gets up and leaves. Tony is left on the ground, cold water soaking through the knees of his jeans. A weird mixture of guilt and piss-worthy terror stirs in his gut.
Thunder booms outside.
If there’s one thing about Tony Stark, it’s his inability to back down from a challenge. This may seem like positive trait, but it’s nearly gotten Tony killed more times than he can count.
That being said, when Tony finds Thor in the middle of the wreckage that was once their living room, he finds himself approaching him before his brain can even scream at him to leave the poor man alone.
“Heeey.” He slides into Thor’s point of view. Thor’s eyebrow twitches momentarily before he switches to a neutral expression.
He nods politely. “Hello Stark.”
“Geez, would it kill you to call me Tony?”
“You seem to enjoy calling me by anything other than my name.”
“Yeah, but I do it with flavor.” Tony waves his hands. “What are you up to now?”
Thor examines the pillow he’s holding, like he’s trying to decide whether or not it would look good in front of a shattered window. “Attempting to clean the mess I made.”
“I already told you that was no big deal.”
Thor looks at the coffee stains in the carpet. Then he looks at the splinters of wood decorating the equally broken furniture. Then he looks at the hole in the wall.
“Then it is for my own pleasure,” he says with a plastic smile. “The gaping hole in the wall was putting a rather bad damper on my mood.” He motions at the tape and Tony hands it to him. “Is there something you wish to speak to me?”
“Can’t a guy run into another guy in his own house? Well. House by extension.” Tony spreads out on a sofa, stretching like a cat. Wariness keeps him from making eye contact with him just yet, but he forces it down in favor of replacing it with practiced nonchalance. “Besides, I’m bored. Bruce kicked me out the lab. He said I was being ‘disruptive’ and ‘thwarting to his attempts at concentration.’ Whatever that means.”
“Hm.”
And wow, there might be a little sass in that hm. Thor’s face is impossible to see from this angle, but Tony can almost smell the cheek, the sauciness. The guy’s finally starting to rub off him. A sense of pride bumps his ego up a few notches before he shakes himself back to reality. Thor’s probably still sore about earlier. Now would be a good time to set things right.
“Are you still pissed from earlier?” Tony blurts out loudly.
Thor flushes. “Ah. That. St—Tony, I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier.”
Tony almost falls out of his chair.
“I should not have walked off in such an inconsiderate manner. That was a moment of weakness, one you never should have been forced to witness. I am sorry you had to see that. It will not happen again.” He sweeps a bunch of glass chips into a dustpan with his bare hands. “You must think me foolish.”
“Wh—” Tony splutters nonsensically. “I’m not—no!” he ends weakly. “No, I don’t think you’re stupid. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have been so inconsiderate, I asked an insensitive question and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Thor shifts, discomfort in his eyes. “Still…it was unbecoming of me to show such sentiments.”
“Are you seriously apologizing for being a little sad?” Tony sighs. He is reminded that Thor still lives in a culture where swords are still the prominent weapon used in battle. Men crying is probably seen as the utmost sin. “Look, I’m not mad. And you shouldn’t be ashamed. I don’t know how you Asgardians do it up there, but down here we like to express our emotions every once in a while. Everyone has emotions, and everyone has feelings. It’s fine if they get the better of you sometimes.”
“I am the crown prince of Asgard,” Thor says, disgruntled.
“Yeah, and let me just say this: fucking so? I literally just said everyone has feelings. Like it or not, your feelings can get hurt.” Exasperation and pity swirl up in Tony. “Geez, you have emotional constipation.”
Wrong thing to say.
“What is it you are here for, Stark?” Thor says and wow, there is definitely sass this time. The frostiness in his voice rivals that of Loki’s skin. “If you’ve come only to mock me, I will not hear another word of it.”
This situation can end in two ways, Tony thinks.
Situation number one: Thor bursts into tears, cries into Tony’s arms and tells him everything. Tony pats him on the head and makes him hot chocolate, comforts him, and the nosy itch that’s been bothering Tony for days will finally be scratched and everything can go back to normal.
Situation number two: This time Thor completely succeeds in throwing him out a window, and he tears up another living room.
Right now it’s leaning towards the latter, and Tony’s starting to plan out what color tombstone would best show the real him.
Your nosiness doesn’t need to cost your life, a wise little voice says in his head that sounds desperately like Steve.
Who let you in here? Tony retorts. This isn’t just for me, asshole. I’m trying to help my friend here. It’s obvious something’s bugging him.
Oh boo hoo, what are you going to do Elon Musk? Give him a credit card?
Hey, fuck you.
Tony can almost see him: short blond patriotic hair, ice blue eyes set in a face of American flawless marble, perfect sparkling teeth of liberty that Tony’s always had the overwhelming urge to knock out with a wrench.
Steve would be able to comfort Thor. Steve would find a way to successfully execute situation number one without fumbling a bit. Thor would probably admit everything without Steve having to lift a finger at all. The idea of such a thing happening grinds against his teeth like hard gravel.
“First of all, I’m not mocking you.” Safe place to start. The question is how easily this can go wrong. “I value each and every one of my limbs and I’d hate to lose one to your righteous fury,” Tony says. Thor rolls his eyes as he picks up a broom. The cheap wood cracks in his potent grip. “Second of all, believe it or not, I’m trying to help you. Just looking at you is giving me stress. And being under pressure and having a lot on your mind? I get that. Just look at my eyebags, you think I wanted these? They ruin my spectacular complexion.” Tony waves a hand in front of his face.
“It is not something I wish to discuss,” Thor mumbles, picking up a pillow, squeezing it until stuffing leaks out the sides. He places it crookedly on the torn couch. It looks so sad on the expensive material; ruined silk on ruined silk.
“Then don’t! I don’t care how you get it out, it just can’t stay in. What did you do on Asgard when you were upset?”
“I flipped tables and broke glass.”
Tony holds up his hands. “Please do not do that.”
The mug in Thor’s hands bursts. Ceramic shards run rivers of blood down his hands and join their fallen brothers on the ground.
Tony curses softly. He reaches forward, to do what he doesn’t even know. Thor jerks away. Tony can’t tell if he’s afraid or offended.
“You’re bleeding,” Tony says stupidly.
“I’ll manage,” Thor snarls.
“I can help.”
“I am aware.”
“But you’re not going to let me, are you?”
Thor digs his nails into his palms. Red darkens the crescents. Tony wants to tell him to stop, but the words stick in his throat.
He wonders what Thor’s thinking about right now.
That’s what scares Tony, because he doesn’t know. Reading people is a habit of his, and a useful one too. There’s so much one can tell about a person by the way they stand, the way they hold things, the way they smile, frown, and laugh when Tony tells them a terrible joke on purpose. Tony’s no Natasha, but his first instinct when meeting someone he’ll be forced to work with is to analyze every detail about them he can. He’s good at it too. Maybe it’s his engineer instinct—to break people down into tiny little pieces so he can study them up close.
He’s never been able to do that to Thor. His walls are up too high. Tony’s climbed, clawed, and torn at them, but they won’t come down. He thought they never would. Maybe that’s why Tony used to avoid him: an unreadable man is a dangerous one. But Thor’s different now. Finding and realizing Loki is alive changed him into something unrecognizable. It intrigues Tony. He wants to meet this new god of thunder. Maybe this one will be willing to be his friend.
He just hopes it’s not too late.
Tony swallows thickly. He sticks his hands into his pockets, poking around for his sunglasses. It’s something he’s known ever since the ripe age of 11: those stupid things have saved him time and time again from numerous awkward situations. By casually slipping them on, he automatically has an excuse to avoid looking someone in the eye without seeming like unmannerly jackass.
How is he supposed to go about this? Asking outright hasn’t worked at all so far, and he sucks at being inconspicuous.
He can always go to Bruce for help. Surely the decidedly unproblematic scientist has a way to get to Thor’s heart of stone. He’s certainly had experience. But that can only be a last resort. For now all he needs is time to think.
He gets to his feet. Thor’s face shifts with a flash. His lips twitch like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind at the last minute.
Tony’s too busy leaving to think much of it.
He spots Thor’s lumbering shadow through the translucent window of the green house. He’s spent the last two hours practicing a speech that would make little old ladies in retirement homes cry—hopefully it’s been long enough for Thor to cool down.
He straightens his shoulders, squeezing the object in his hand for support. Sunglasses are in place. Posture is a perfected casual-guy slouch. He enters the room, sheer will his driver.
Thor sees him immediately judging by the very audible groan of dismay when the door creaks open. Tony spots him hunched over a set of flowers wearing an apron and holding a watering can. He pretends to not notice the way Thor lets out a grinding sigh that still manages to sound royal, like “oh dear, how I wish you would leave me alone this very moment because you’ve been annoying me all day and I hate you very much” in a British accent.
“What is it now,” Thor groans.
“You’re watering flowers?”
“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”
The sarcasm makes Tony wilt. He probably deserves it.
“So I was thinking about our conversation earlier,” he says, shifting his feet on the dusty ground. Thor merely grunts, picking up a pair of pruning shears. “I don’t mean to bother you—”
“Then leave.”
“—and I’m not a therapist or anything, but if there’s something wrong you need to get it fixed. I put together a list of your symptoms that could possibly lead to a mental illness. You’ve been a dick, so I included anger issues, and I also included compulsive business since you’ve been doing nothing but trying to help us with meaningless house tasks all day.”
“How is that wrong? I’m simply being useful,” Thor grunts. He snaps off the head of a rose.
“You just killed one of Pepper’s flowers.”
“It was an ugly flower.”
Tony looks at the fallen bud. The petals are brown and wilting. The leaves are more yellow than green. “I didn’t know you were a gardener,” he remarks.
“You asked me what I did when I was angry. Tending to the greenery was something I enjoyed back on Asgard every once in a while.” He snips stray leaves off the bush. Tony observes the soft, almost tender way he touches them, the way his fingers dance around the thorns with practiced ease. “It was a pleasant change of scenery from the blood of battle I had to face nearly every day.”
“Every day?”
“My father has sent me on countless missions over the course of my life. Wars, trades, the retrieval of family heirlooms. But most were the battles he was too old to fight in.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“Did your father not give you tasks growing up?”
Tony thinks about his father. He says nothing.
“He was not only my father. He was a wise and benevolent king, and he had respect. I made sure of it. I would not hear a word against him, because in my eyes he was incapable of doing any sort of wrong. It wasn’t so hard to obey his commands.” He uncovers a small dandelion in the dirt. A pleased smile peeks out from underneath his beard. It fades as he thinks of his next words. “Until—”
His throat bobs. It looks like his words are caught in his throat and no matter how hard he tries he can’t get them out. Tony has to physically bite his tongue to prevent himself from demanding a continuation of Thor’s sentence. He remembers something his therapist tells him, that sometimes people just can’t talk about certain things so easily. He should give them time and a comfortable setting. And lots of patience.
“I’m surprised you had time for plants then,” he says as jokingly as he can.
Thor smiles a sour grin. “They were my mother’s.”
There’s baggage under that statement. But Tony decides not to press his luck. He clears his throat. “Well I got you a gift.”
Thor perks up slightly. Tony can’t help his laughter. “Down boy. It’s not gold or a cool sword or anything you’re probably expecting. It’s just a. Um.” Now he feels dumb. Thor looks so excited, but the stupid thing is small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Tony throws it at him before he can do something even stupider, like fucking swallow it whole in a panicked craze. Thor snatches it out of the air.
“It’s a stress toy,” Tony says quickly. Thor pokes the bright red ball in his hands. “And don’t worry, it’s like those cheap five below ones you could break by looking hard enough, I designed it especially for you. You can squeeze it, stretch it, tear it to pieces, it’ll go back to its natural form in a snap.” He pauses at Thor looks at him, his sky-blue eyes dewy. The sincerity is the rawest Tony’s seen in years.
“Thank you,” Thor says softly.
Tony adjusts his sunglasses. “Yeah, well. I meant it when I said you need to let it all out somehow. Now instead of breaking my glass you can give this little guy a squeeze.”
Thor holding the toy like a mother bird with her egg gives Tony a vast sense of achievement. Another experiment a success! He may not have gotten the results he wanted, but at least Thor looks a little less like a kicked puppy.
Thor sniffs.
“Wha—oh, come on!” Tony shouts. The ball jiggles as Thor shakes. Tony feels like swallowing lead. “What’s the matter? Did I do something?”
“No it’s just. I,” Thor groans furiously as tears start to fall. Tony can sympathize with the feeling. “Why do you persist on…on whatever this trip of pity is?”
“Huh?”
“You barely know me! I’ve disrespected you, I physically assaulted you. I’ve burdened you in every way possible. And this is how you repay me?”
Tony can’t believe his ears. “Are you serious? What do you want me to do, shove a nuke up your nostril?”
“I can’t keep doing this. I have never been useless for so long. Both you and Bruce have asked nothing of me although you’ve given me everything I have asked for, and I am left feeling like a beggar fallen into good graces by luck.”
“Is that what’s been bothering you?” When Thor stays quiet, Tony throws up his hands. “Dude. I know you’ve probably never even needed to ask for help in your life ever, but as I’ve stated multiple times, we’re happy to help. We’re your friends, and it is our job to make sure you’re okay.” He slaps a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Thank you for trusting us with this, with him. Ok? Thank you.”
He waits until Thor nods wetly to ask, “Now is that it? Is that’s what’s been making you like this this entire time?”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t been visiting Loki, man.” Thor squeezes the ball with both fists. “It hasn’t been that hard to notice. Is it because of all his injuries? I know it can be rough to see a loved one like this.”
“It’s not just that,” he says curtly. He keeps his mouth slightly ajar, like he wants to say more but his brain doesn’t allow it. Frustration curls his face.
“That’s ok,” Tony says quickly. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve done my best to help you. Now it’s your choice if you want to tell me or not. I’ll be there for you either way.”
He smiles until Thor returns it, albeit stretched and painful-looking. He makes a move to leave—the rock he’s been sitting on is beginning to hurt his ass—until Thor’s arm shoots out, grabbing his own.
“Thank you,” he says. His eyes dance out of looking distance from Tony’s. “For everything. You are too kind.”
Tony throws up a pair of finger guns with a click of his tongue. “Tell all your friends.”
Thor chews his lip, Tony’s hand swinging from his absent-minded fidgeting. “I don’t want to be alone. Will you stay?”
Tony smiles so hard he grows a second pair of dimples. “Hell yeah I will.”
“Anything?”
Tony shakes his head. “I’m starting to think we should let off the stimulants.”
Bruce sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. This is pointless, I don’t know why we tried.”
Loki’s stillness seems to taunt Tony. It’s like trying to revive a statue knowing damn well the thing’s made of stone. Still, he nudges Bruce with his elbow as he tugs the rubber gloves off his hands. “Cheer up man. We’ll find another way to wake him up.”
Bruce spreads a book over the desk with a frown. He’d begun documenting their progress a few days ago in a journal, adding notes and data that might be useful in future endeavors. Tony’s caught him going at it at ridiculous times at night even for him—this is the most invested Tony’s seen Bruce in project before.
The door opens behind them. Bruce doesn’t look up from where he’s scrawling at an already-smothered page. “Hey Thor,” he says absent-mindedly. Thor nods amiably, though his eyes are on where Loki lies.
“Thor! Hey man,” Tony says. “We were just finishing an idea we had. No results, but that’s too be expected, it was a shot in the dark anyway.” He makes sure to look away as he brings the used syringe to the sink. “Do you want to see him?”
He carefully soaps down the glass and wipes it dry before Thor answers quietly, “Yes please.”
Thor approaches the bed Tony joins him at his side, offering silent encouragement.
The way Thor looks at Loki reminds Tony of the old days, when Thor was still just a solemn acquaintance. There’s so much turmoil in that brow, in the curl of those lips. Relief. Fear. Regret. Anger. At Loki? At himself? Tony doesn’t know.
There’s something so tragic about the way Thor reaches out a hesitant hand, pressing it almost tenderly against Loki’s neck. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t even tremble. He stays still, body on edge like he’s waiting for Loki to speak, move, smile and laugh and pull a catastrophic prank like he is wont to do in the stories. Tony almost believes he will. Thor is his family after all, Thor’s love for him is damn-near self-destructive. If anything can revive him it would be that.
But this isn’t a story. And Loki stays dead to the world.
Thor sighs. “He still has not woken?”
Bruce shakes his head. “Not yet. He’s getting there, though. He just needs time.”
“Time. Yes.” Thor looks so, so tired. His hand has not left Loki. “Thank you Bruce.” Bruce offers a confused smile.
Thor bends down to press a kiss to Loki’s forehead. “I love you brother. I’m sorry.” Loki’s eyelashes flutter momentarily. Thor turns around to leave, closing his eyes. Tony watches him intently. Something inside him feels hollow.
Bruce gasps. Tony grabs his wrist in instinct, but he soon sees it isn’t necessary. A butterfly, an all-too-familiar bottle green, springs out of thin air. The tiny wings carry it around the room as everyone watches, dumbfounded. It lands on Thor’s nose. Thor lets out a choked noise as it vanishes in a puff, leaving green sparkles on his face.
“Loki?” he says. Loki lies in the same dormant position as ever, unmoving. His eyes, the same green as his magic, are wet.