The Statesman was no more.
Debris floated everywhere, clogging up the previously empty space. Bodies adorned the wreckage here and there, all caught in various states of fear and terror. Here, in the middle of nowhere, the last remnants of Asgard had been destroyed.
He hoped that it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Loki’s eyes blinked open, slowly. It took him a moment to recognize where he was, and another to remember just what had transpired to get him there. Thanos looming over him, gauntlet shining with both the mind and power stones. Valkyrie leaving with all the refugees she could take. Heimdall and Banner (in the back of his mind he wondered what had happened to the latter) attempting to fight the Black Order and failing fantastically. Thor screaming.
Thor screaming.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, and Loki’s eyes widened to their fullest capacity. He tried to move in the weightlessness of space, but the emergence of a numbing sort of pain around his upper neck suggested that something was wrong. He tried moving his arms, tried to shift himself at least a little bit so that he didn’t have to look at the bodies and debris above (no, there was no above in space) him, but nothing seemed to respond.
It occurred to Loki, then, that he was dying.
Loki had died before, so he knew what was happening to him. The familiar feeling of numbness that came with the body shutting down, though this time much slower than the time he’d been stabbed on Svartalfheim. If he was breathing (both Jotuns and Asgardians could survive in space for a short period of time), he knew that it would be labored and painful.
He didn’t want to die. It wasn’t fair. He had just gotten Thor back!
He didn’t want to see Hel just yet.
So he gathered the last of magic, the last reserves he had stockpiled inside himself for a true emergency, and centered it around the snapped vertebrae in his neck, wrapping the broken bones in a green healing energy. He’d never been very good at healing magic, especially for a break this big, so the best he could do was move the bones out of the way and repair the damaged nerves inside his spine so that he could move. Once his magic ran out (which would be very soon) the nerves would freeze and snap in the coldness of space, and he’d be paralyzed and dead again within minutes, but it would buy him some time.
Feeling rushed back into his limbs, and he was suddenly distinctly aware of a body brushing against his. He almost winced away, not wanting to be so close to someone he had let die, but another part of him wanted desperately to know who the corpse was, in a morbid sense of curiosity.
Loki turned himself slowly, and came face-to-face with his brother.
No.
No.
He’d given up the Tesseract to make sure his brother was going to survive, and the idiot had gone and gotten himself killed anyways?!
His throat closed involuntarily, and it wasn’t because of the snapped neck he sported.
Loki let himself move his hands towards his brother, cupping each cheek gently. Thor’s face sported a multitude of wounds, his face trapped in an expression of pure anguish and grief. He was completely still, his lips beginning to turn blue from the lack of blood, and therefore oxygen, running through his body. His arms were wrapped partially around Loki’s chest, dancing lightly against the damaged leather.
It occurred to Loki, then, that his brother had died clinging on to his body.
Memories flashed across his mind, of happier times. Loki learning his magic and Thor martial arts. Playing hide-and-seek in the throne room. Making fun of the prissy nobles that came to visit Odin behind their backs. Fighting each other playfully. Prank wars that Loki had always won, save for that one time Thor had gotten Frigga—Mother—to turn the floors in his room into literal lava.
I am dying, my brother is dead next to me, and yet all I can think about are those useless happy moments back when we were children.
Then Loki detected a shift in Thor’s skin.
Breath catching in his throat, Loki frantically threw his hands around Thor’s neck and searched for a pulse. For a slow, agonizing moment, there was nothing. And then there was a pulse. Slow and steady, but it was there.
Oh thank the norns, brother. You aren’t a true idiot after all.
But they wouldn’t be able to last for long out here. If they were healthy, Loki or Thor would be no problem transporting or flying them away, but Thor’s body temperature was rapidly falling as his body attempted to heal itself, preventing him from returning to consciousness, and Loki’s magic was entirely dedicated to keeping the nerves in his neck intact.
“I have a plan.”
Loki gave his brother a deadpan look from where they were hiding from the current enemy of the month. They were pinned down; Sif and the Warriors Three too far away to help. Thor simply grinned at him, a look that meant that Loki was going to have to humiliate himself again written all over his face.
“I’m calling it ‘Get Help!’”
Another memory. So useless. Why was he remembering those times?
“Oh, a snake! I love snakes!”
Thor bent down to pick him up, and Loki could barely refrain from laughing then and there as he prepared to transform himself back into an Asgardian.
Loki frowned. His magic was running dangerously low.
“It’s a rabbit!”
“No, Loki, that has to be a raccoon!” Thor’s face scrunched up as he regarded the picture of the Midgardian animal in front of them. He looked over to their instructor, who only gave the princes a knowing look. They were being quizzed on the different types of animals in the nine realms. Midgard had always been the hardest. “I think, at least. Are raccoons black and white or brown and silver?”
“Raccoons are brown and silver.” Loki announced as he shook his head, certain that his six-year-old answer was correct. “It’s a rabbit!”
Thor frowned, then grinned. “Well, if you say it is, brother, then you must be right!” He turned to their instructor, and in unison, they answered:
“It’s a rabbit!”
There was a shift in the debris around him. Loki turned, and if he had breath, he would’ve gasped as he saw a spaceship—one of pirate design, but a spaceship nonetheless—arrive at the scene.
So someone had heard The Statesman’s distress call after all.
A little late, wasn’t it?
“Loki, that’s not an apology. You don’t mean it.”
Frigga folded her arms as Sif nursed a stab wound to her side. Loki just scowled, mirroring his mother as he crossed his arms. Sif had been teasing him, saying that he could never be as good as Thor.
“Bite me.”
His magic was almost gone, and with nothing to propel himself against in the vacuum of space, he only had enough strength to send one of them to the ship.
His mouth moved, and even though no sound could be heard without air to carry it, Loki spoke.
“Come now, brother. Let’s do ‘Get Help.’”
He took one hand and draped one of Thor’s arms over his shoulders, and used his other to turn them towards the ship with a tiny burst of magical energy. It had slowed down and turned its headlights on, making it an easy target.
“Get help! Please!”
He slowly drained the magic from where he’d been using to keep the nerves in his neck in place into his hands.
“My brother, he’s dying!”
If he had breath or the strength to laugh, he would’ve at the irony of it all.
“Get help!”
And then he blasted Thor towards the ship.
Loki hurdled backwards as his brother was thrown forwards, and he twirled helplessly as the last remnants of his magic faded away. In moments, the ship and his brother were out of sight.
And all he could see were stars.
“You are an idiot, Thor. I can’t believe we got out of that in one piece!”
Thor just laughed loudly, clapping Loki on the back so hard the prince almost tripped over his own feet.
“You will be happy in the Great Hall, Loki. Honored like a true Asgardian king!”
Loki blinked, confused, but before he could question such an odd and morbid statement, Thor’s form flickered. A woman took his place, in armor surprisingly familiar to Valkyrie’s. Loki reached for one of his weapons, now thoroughly alarmed, but she just winked and vanished.
“Loki! Oh, my son!”
Loki turned once again, and found himself wrapped up in strong yet gentle arms. He stiffened, then relaxed as he recognized who was holding him.
“What’s going on?” he whispered, disbelieving.
Frigga just smiled as she pulled away, cupping his face in her hands. Tears were falling down her cheeks.
“Welcome home, my son.”
Thor’s unconscious body slammed into the windshield of the Milano.
Rocket shouted to wipe him off, but Gamora and Peter hurried to get him inside.