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Within the past two days, Thor had come to a realization. 

One, that Loki didn’t seem entirely enthusiastic about his quest to the deepest woodlands of Vanaheim. 

And two, it was because he was sick.

Of course, Loki would never admit to such indisposition. At least, not in the beginning stages, not even when he was nearing the brink of collapse, and that was, unfortunately, a fairly common occurrence. For him to have fallen sick so abruptly wasn’t necessarily unfeasible, Vanaheim was teeming with illness, and their journey took them straight through the heart of its capital city. Loki attracted viruses like an ill-fated magnet, and to further agitate his misery, summer had long-since felled winter from its lofty throne.

Loki, quite famously, despised summer. In Asgard, he would rarely leave the cool palace halls, only emerging for feasts or festivals once the heat had receded into night. 

So, why he chose to lodge in a winter cabin rather than one built for the heat, Thor had no clue. 

The cabin’s thick, pine walls left little room for escape, trapping heat within and keeping it there, choking the air to a degree that was oppressive even to Thor. Loki surely wasn’t faring any better, and atop his growing illness, Thor wasn’t surprised to find him still in his room come noon. 

What was surprising, however, was Loki’s failure to indulge in what he came there for. He was searching for a plant, Australis astro-something, native only to southern Vanaheim, a key ingredient for a spell he’d been working on for the past several months. Thor might’ve been lacking on his magical knowledge, but he knew well the importance this single ingredient held. Repeatedly stressed, of course, by Loki throughout the days before their trip. 

They arrived at the cabin just after sunrise, and Loki had immediately set out to search for this plant, instructing Thor to unpack as he did so. He returned that evening, plant-less and drenched in sweat, only to make a break for his room, not sparing a word to Thor, looking seconds away from collapse. 

It seemed Loki’s energy had thoroughly been spent, for the entirety of the second day, he sat in the living quarters and read. Loki was hardly predictable, but when it came to his spells, he was as determined as any other warrior. Even if he were sick, why would his efforts to find the plant dwindle so dramatically? Why would he abandon something so important to him?

Thor couldn’t make sense of it, unless Loki was sicker than he let on, but the thought of it made his heart twinge with fear. They were — quite literally —  a realm away from Asgard’s healers, and he doubted any healer from Vanaheim could rival the skills of Eir alone. 

It was now the third day, and Loki showed no signs of improvement. In fact, from what Thor could tell, he’d worsened significantly. He was locked up in his room, and had been since morning, emerging only once to take a few measly bites of the lunch Thor had prepared. It wasn’t uncommon for him to spend his sick days inside his rooms, but the only other occupant of the cabin was Thor, so why would he continue to hide?

What else would affect Loki so much, besides a nasty bout of illness? What if it was some virus born of Vanaheim, and Asgard didn’t have the cure? What if Loki never got better? 

Thor’s feverish pacing had nearly worn a hole into the rug before he remembered what Frigga told him, from the last time Loki was sick enough to warrant healers. “Loki’s body doesn’t react to illness like yours does, my dear,” she had said to him, outside of the medical hall. “You must be patient. He is smaller, and he will suffer more, but he always knows how to fight it. Keep him out of the heat, next time. It makes him worse.”

It stuck with him well enough, and he eventually ceased his pacing to drape himself across the velvet sofa instead. Still, he couldn’t quite ease the tightness in his ribs, his finger thumping heavily on the spruce arm of the sofa. 

Oh, to Hel with it. It wouldn’t hurt to check on him. 

He refused to sit around and let Loki fester in his own misery, growing worse with every passing hour. It would only be for a moment, to gauge the true extent of his illness, nothing more. And if Loki finally admitted to having such illness? Well, that would only be a bonus.

Thor stood from the sofa, leaving no room for second thoughts as he crossed the short distance to Loki’s room. 

He hesitated briefly in front of the modest door, before raising his fist to knock twice. Silence, at first, followed shortly by a muffled, “Enter.”

The door creaked softly as Thor turned the knob and pushed it open, revealing Loki’s room, curtains drawn shut and shrouded in darkness, spare for a single candle lit on the bedside drawer. Loki was sitting atop the bed, legs crossed, dressed in simple loungewear and filing his nails. He stopped to spare Thor a curt glance, then resumed his filing. 

“I hope this is important,” Loki said, his voice hoarse. Jarring, but not entirely unexpected. 

Thor rested his shoulder on the doorframe. “I would say so,” he said. “You don’t sound well.”

“A consequence of disuse, I’m sure,” Loki said. He cleared his throat. “Anything else, or did you intrude solely to enumerate every symptom of my imagined illness?”

His voice didn’t sound any better, and Thor could tell from the tightness of his features that Loki knew it, too. Sweat gathered at his hairline and the collar of his tunic, glistening in the flickering candlelight, and his eyes looked sunken. He was flushed, too, a wash of red spread across both cheeks, barely noticeable through the darkness. So, clearly not imagined. It was hard to take his dismissal seriously when he looked half a sneeze away from death. 

“Don’t pretend,” Thor said. “If you don’t wish to tell me, that’s fine, but don’t pretend everything is well.” 

Loki shot him a glare. “I didn’t ask for accusations. If that’s all you’re here for, I suggest you leave.”

“You’re being difficult,” Thor said. 

Loki placed the nail file down with a huff. “What do you want, Thor?”

“I want to know how you’re feeling. No lies.”

“I feel well enough,” Loki said. He shrugged. “Perhaps a bit warm, but I suspect the same for you.” 

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t everything?” 

Thor balled his fists, digging his fingernails into the calloused skin of his palms. “Fine. Yes, it’s hot,” he said. “Too hot, even.”

Loki’s expression soured. He splayed his fingers out, studying them. “It doesn’t bother me as much. Not anymore.” 

Tell me the truth, cur, Thor wanted to say. He held his tongue. Loki’s words were truthful, in a way. He’d learnt spells to stave off the heat, though he never had the strength to make them last, and it was obvious Vanaheim’s hellish summer was getting to him. That, and the sickness he seemed to have caught. 

Right on cue, Loki sneezed, followed immediately by a round of harsh coughing. 

Thor hurriedly stepped to the side of the bed and patted him on the back, rubbing firmly against the sharp knobs of his spine. 

“Don’t touch me,” Loki hissed when he was done, but all attempts to be threatening were smothered beneath the plain misery in his voice. 

“Sorry,” Thor said, removing his hand. He stopped to watch as Loki produced a handkerchief from his pocket dimension to blow his nose. “You’re clearly not well enough.” 

“It’s allergies,” Loki said, vanishing the handkerchief back to wherever it came from. “It must be. Nothing more.”

“We should go back,” Thor said.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “I’m not finished here,” he said. “It’s supposed to rain tonight. I’m sure I’ll feel better by tomorrow.”

“You haven’t even been searching,” Thor said.

“Nonsense,” Loki said. “I’ve been searching for hours.”

“That was only on the first day,” Thor said. 

Loki fell silent, brows knitting tightly together. “The rain will rid of the pollen,” he said, at length. 

Thor didn’t expect him to go looking, rain or not. Not in such a clearly weakened state. The flush of his cheeks and the darkness under his eyes didn’t scream allergies, and even if it were, it shouldn’t have affected him this much. Unless it was some plant foreign to Asgard, but even then, Loki never had issues with pollen before, so why would a different plant change that? But… what if he wasn’t lying, what if it truly was some form of allergies? Or, what if he only thought it was allergies? Would he truly be that naive, or was it some sick sense of pride?

“I propose a bargain,” Thor said. 

“Go on,” Loki said.

“If you adhere to your promised betterment by tomorrow, I will help you look,” Thor said. “Then, we can leave early. What say you?"

“I don’t need your help,” Loki said, lip curling upward to bare his teeth. 

“Yes, yes, I know, but don’t you want to leave early? Especially with your,” Thor stopped to gesture loosely at his brother, “ailments.”

“You think me incapable?” Loki said. 

Thor shook his head hurriedly. “No, I just think it’ll be faster if we’re both searching.” 

Loki pressed his lips into a pale line, casting his gaze down at his lap. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll start at sunrise.” 

“Good. Great,” Thor said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Loki grumbled. 

Thor nodded, a bit awkwardly. He made his way towards the door, but stopped in its frame, turning back towards Loki. “If you need anything…” He trailed off with a wince at the glare Loki shot him.

“I won’t.”

“Don’t forget to eat,” Thor added sternly, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Thor nodded again. He gripped the doorknob and swiped his thumb over the cool metal, opening his mouth to speak, but decided against it when Loki’s glare deepened. The door pulled shut with a small click, and Thor made his way to the living quarters, sitting down on the sofa and releasing a deep sigh. 

Sunrise, Loki had promised. Thor couldn’t help but doubt it. 

As expected, Loki did not wake at sunrise. Not even an hour later, nor two, nor three. As the early morning stretched into mid-afternoon, Thor’s worry only climbed. 

Sunrise, Loki had said, but it was now well past 2 o’clock, and he still had yet to emerge from his room. The only signs of life behind his closed door were the occasional bouts of coughing and sneezing, otherwise Thor would’ve thought him dead. 

Thor’s internal vow to grant Loki the peace he desired crumbled quickly, he could only listen to so much coughing before he cracked. The exact point of this crack, however, was after perhaps the sixth coughing fit, so severe he was certain Loki would never breathe again. His heart all-but leaped from his chest at the sound of it; harsh, wheezing coughs, rattling in a way that sounded painful.

The coughing had him on his feet, but the following silence had him sprinting, fearing the worst. Coughing meant he was breathing, but silence… He flung the door to Loki’s room open with such force that it clattered against the wall behind it. 

Thor stopped to study the sight before him. Shockingly, Loki had not awoken to his loud entrance, but was instead tangled in the thin sheets, breathing shallowly and muttering under his breath. The bed’s comforter had long-since been thrown to the floor, along with several decorative pillows and the chamberstick he’d been using earlier. 

“Loki?” Thor whispered, and within a few long strides, he was at the side of Loki’s bed. 

Loki stilled, furrowing his brow, only to continue his muttering, which wasn’t muttering at all, Thor realized, but rather pleading. He was begging, struggling visibly against some unseen force, clawing weakly at his bedsheets and kicking repeatedly. Thor felt his stomach twist, hesitating for a moment before gently pressing the backs of his knuckles against Loki’s forehead. The skin there was hot, damp with sweat, and his lips were pale, nearly matching with the surrounding skin.

“Loki,” Thor tried again, louder.

Unsurprisingly, Loki still did not wake, and as he continued thrashing, Thor grew desperate. He planted a hand on Loki’s shoulder, shaking him lightly.

“Loki, brother, wake up,” Thor said. “It’s only a dream.”

Loki’s breath hitched, and to Thor’s horror, a choked keen followed. Thor’s light shaking grew forceful, concern lighting his nerves ablaze, but the shoulder beneath his touch remained limp. 

“Wake up,” Thor urged, the pit in his stomach growing impossibly deeper. 

With one, final shake, Loki’s eyes darted open, sucking in a strangled gasp as he shot bolt-upright. He looked around the room wildly, chest heaving, gripping the sheets beneath his hands with white knuckles. His gaze drifted to Thor, a look of plain terror mounted on his face. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Thor said. He sighed. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”

“Just—” Loki whispered hoarsely. He stopped to swallow, inhaling a few deep breaths. “Just a dream.”

“Indeed. A nightmare, I daresay,” Thor said. He watched Loki struggle for breath, rubbing a trembling hand against his sternum. “Do… do you want to tell me about it?”

Loki shook his head, tilting his gaze upwards to the ceiling briefly before leaning forward to wrap an arm around his stomach. The remaining color in his sweat-glazed face drained rapidly, leaving only a waxen pallor to contrast his raven hair, tangled and frizzy by virtue of his restless slumber. He squeezed his eyes shut, his next inhale stuttering, throat bobbing visibly as he swallowed. 

Thor furrowed his brow. “Are you well?” he said. He extended a hand towards his brother, but stopped when Loki weakly tried to swat it away. 

“Thor,” Loki whispered, his voice desperate. “I think I’m—“

His words ended in a gag, and Thor had only seconds to step away before Loki jerked over the side of the bed and vomited onto the rug below. 

Loki forced out several harsh coughs, mumbling a shaky “sorry” before promptly vomiting again.

Thor stared in shock as Loki heaved, his heart plummeting to his feet. Well, he was right. There was no denying it, now. Loki was sick, possibly sicker than he’d been in centuries, and Thor didn’t know what to do. 

Frigga had always been there through Loki’s various bouts of illness, she was his light, his guiding beacon across the black sea. Now, she was realms away, and Thor felt entirely unequipped. Of course, he had been there, too, through Loki’s ails, he was who kept by his bed even when Frigga couldn’t, but he didn’t have his mother’s touch; her magic. Loki was hardly capable of healing magic, no less healing magic upon himself, which was, from Thor’s understanding, especially difficult. 

A series of rough-sounding coughs tore Thor from his thoughts, and he hurriedly stepped around the mess to  Loki’s side. He reached over and patted Loki’s back, thumping the heel of his palm firmly between his shoulder blades, any resulting protests lost behind a seemingly never-ending battle for air. 

“It’s okay,” Thor said. 

“No,” Loki moaned. “Hold— hold on. I’ll get it.”

With a wave of his hand and a brilliant shimmer of green-gold, the mess on the rug disappeared. Almost immediately, Loki was wracked with a full-body shudder, and Thor swore under his breath as he rushed into the en suite bathroom to fetch the trash bin by the toilet. He shoved the bin under Loki’s chin, just in time for him to jerk forwards with another retch. 

Thor continued rubbing his back, the lines of his face tightening with unease as he watched Loki fight for breath. After another, albeit much shorter, round of coughing, Loki stilled, spitting into the bin a few times before scooting back to rest against the headboard. He summoned another handkerchief, this time to mop up the mess on his face, features arranged in a wince. Thor stepped away briefly to place the bin down, returning to the bedside and resting his hands on his hips. 

“I… apologize,” Loki said, at length. 

“Don’t,” Thor said. He sighed, taking in the sight of his decidedly very miserable-looking brother. “You aren’t fooling anyone, you never were. And look at where it got you.”

Loki’s wince deepened. “I only thought—“

“No,” Thor said. “No, you didn’t think at all.”

Loki inhaled to speak, but instead screwed up his face, cutting himself off with a loud sneeze. He sneezed twice more before finally calming, sniffling piteously, blinking away the tears that glistened in his eyes.

“I suppose I am sick,” he said weakly, and quite aptly congestedly. 

“Obviously,” Thor said. “We should call for Heimdall.” 

“And do what, exactly? Explode my sickly brains with the incredible power of the Bifrost?” Loki said. 

Thor grimaced. “You’ve done it before, whilst ill.”

“I had a cold, Thor,” Loki said. “I don’t think this equates.” 

“Well, what do you have, then?” Thor said. 

Loki’s features smoothed into something less readable. “I don’t know,” he said. “Something vile. It feels like a flu, but with twice the nausea.”

Thor felt his stomach twist. If it wasn’t a flu, then what was it? A virus from the City of Vanir? What exactly would that entail? If it was, it could be dangerous, far more dangerous than any pathogen belonging to Asgard. Something entirely new to Loki, and his body wouldn’t know how to fight it. Thor had seen it before, felling otherwise healthy soldiers who had traveled to faraway realms, and on Midgard, plagues sweeping the lands because something new was carried over to a people who couldn’t fight it. 

It wasn’t all that far-fetched, he and Loki rarely traveled to Vanaheim spare for political reasons, and therefore hadn’t been well-exposed to the sicknesses of this realm. So, yes, it was possible, if not likely. But, without the ability to travel back to Asgard via Bifrost, they were stuck there, and Loki had no choice but to stick it out. Thor hoped it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, that maybe this odd flu wasn’t so dissimilar from Asgard’s flus, but his chest still tightened at the thought of Loki having to suffer unguided. 

“You need rest,” Thor said. 

“I’ve had enough,” Loki said. “I’m not leaving without my flower.”

“A pox on your dumb flower. We can come back when you’re well. I do not wish to argue.”

Loki scoffed, swiveling his legs over the edge of the bed. “Don’t bother, then. I’m going out.”

Thor watched with his arms crossed as Loki stood, graceless, like a toddler on a tightrope, wobbling his way to the dresser only to immediately collapse against it. 

“Well?” Thor said. 

Loki swore under his breath. “I’m going.” He meandered around the dresser and to the wall, planting a hand against the wooden paneling for support as he slowly made his way to the door. Once at the threshold, he came to a stop, beginning to sway. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Thor said, wrangling Loki into his grip before his legs could fail him. He lifted him into his arms, carrying him away from the door. 

Loki sputtered, kicking weakly, but his efforts proved futile against Thor’s extraordinary strength. “Put me down,” he hissed, trying to wiggle his way out of Thor’s vise. 

Thor deposited him gently on the bed, laying him out against the soft mattress. “I wasn’t taking you far,” he said.

Loki laid there wordlessly, chest heaving, seemingly dazed from the sudden change in position. A faint wheeze left his lips and Thor almost felt sorry for him. Maybe just a little. Loki eventually came to his senses and let out a long groan, a look of plain exhaustion washing across his features, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

“Ugh, why didn’t I send someone else to fetch me this cursed flower,” he said. 

“It’s not your fault,” Thor said. 

Loki peeked through his hands to look up at Thor. “It was a mistake,” he said. 

“So?” Thor said. “A mistake doesn’t mean you’re automatically at fault for it.”

“That’s precisely what it means.”

Thor frowned. “Hmm, I don’t think so.”

“I chose to venture here, and therefore got sick, so it is my fault,” Loki said.

“But, it’s not your fault that you got sick.”

Loki sniffled, dryly. “Your logic astounds me.”

“My logic is fine, it’s yours that isn’t,” Thor said. He drew in a slow, deep breath, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “I suppose we’re stuck here. Thereby, I have a proposal.”

Loki eyed him warily. “And that is?”

“You will rest, and I will inform Heimdall of your malady,” Thor said. 

“You will not,” Loki said. 

“Why? Why shouldn’t I?” Thor said. “Mother would wish to know, she could send someone—“

“No," Loki growled, eyes darkening. “I will be fine. You needn’t parade my every affliction to the entirety of Asgard.”

“It would just be mother, father, and the healers. I don’t parade anything of yours, you’re being dramatic,” Thor said. 

“No, you do, you tell your friends, and they gossip,” Loki said. “And suddenly maidens and menfolk on the street are boasting concern about my ails.”

Thor paused. Was he truly that careless? 

“I only tell them because they ask,” he said. “I don’t purposefully spark rumor, you know I don’t.”

Loki creased his brow. “I would ask you to refrain, this time,” he muttered. 

“They’re not even here, in any case. You’ll be better when we return, and nobody will have to know,” Thor said, punctuating with a weak smile. 

Loki seemed to ponder this, fiddling with his hands. “I don’t wish to be stuck here long.”

“Hence why you should be resting,” Thor said. “Sleep, allow your body to fight this illness. It’ll be gone soon, I’m sure of it.”

He wasn’t, but doubt wouldn’t help his brother, not presently. Rest, on the other hand, would, and Thor didn’t know what else to do besides keep an eye on him and hope for the best. Loki seemed to believe it well enough, at least. 

“You’ll keep out of my rooms, then?” he said. 

“I’ll refrain,” Thor said.

“Very well,” Loki said. “Do not speak a word of this to Heimdall.”

Thor winced. “I’ll refrain.”

“Pull the curtains shut before you leave,” Loki said. He turned on his side, facing the window. “The heat’s miserable enough as it is.”

Thor reached over and squeezed Loki’s calf. “I will. Rest well, brother.”

Loki acknowledged him with a low hum, and Thor studied him for a few scant seconds before pushing himself to his feet. He shut the curtains as instructed, closed the door, and released a long sigh, attempting to relieve some of the tension squeezing his ribs. It didn’t work. 

When evening fell, he wandered into his room, sat on his bed, and whittled a small dragon statue. It was perhaps his worst sculpture yet. The shavings smelled of alder, and he swept them into a corner to later burn in the stove.

His brain, stubborn as ever, held on tightly to the image of Loki stumbling around his room, like a wounded elk, lost of its former elegance. So sick he couldn’t stand. It wasn’t exactly encouraging, the sight of his brother so unkempt, so plainly gauche. Loki, who held himself as if he were perpetually stood before Asgard’s highest court, who stressed if so much as a strand of hair was out of place. Who only allowed this vulnerability in his weakest, most fragile moments. 

Thor recalled a similar time in which Loki relinquished his usual comportment, during summer, no less. They’d been sparring, initiated, as seemingly always, by Thor, when suddenly Loki’s skilled light-footedness turned clumsy, and he fell. He didn’t get back up, not for a while. Thor wasn’t able to grasp much of what happened before the healers swarmed, but by afternoon, Loki had been moved back to his rooms, covered in burlap sacks full of previously frozen berries when Thor walked in. His hair unbrushed, greasy, dressed in only his undergarments. Thor had to catch him when he attempted to venture into the bathroom, scolding him about his carelessness. 

From then on, Loki stayed inside during summer. It turned out to be heat stroke, the first of several instances to follow over the years. 

Thor would never get used to seeing him so unwell. 

Not even then, after so many sleepless nights keeping vigil, watching Loki fight through the worst of his frequent illnesses. Sometimes he wondered why Loki fell sick so often, Frigga had once told him it was due to his size, that it was destined from his birth. He was indeed smaller than the average Asgardian, so perhaps his immunity was of little form, too. 

It wasn’t worth all the thought. Thor wouldn’t be able to help Loki without rest of his own. He pulled off his socks and his tunic, laying atop the comforter, studying the moonlit trees outside his window. His blinks grew long.

Not long after, he fell into a light sleep. 

Thor awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and chest heaving. For a paralyzing moment, he’d forgotten whose bed he was sleeping in. Hogun’s cabin, he remembered, somewhat belatedly. He was in Vanaheim, sharing Hogun’s cabin with Loki. It was his winter lodge, owned by his father. 

He looked out the window. Dark. Moonlit trees. Why was he awake? He’d been woken by… something. A loud noise, and a muffled yelp. 

Loki. 

Thor shot out of bed, hastily shoving his feet into his slippers, and rushed towards the small hall where Loki’s room resided. Gods, please be okay, he thought, heart pounding rabbit-quick in his throat. He squinted through the pitch-black, blindly slapping his hand against a wall, then the wall turned into a frame, then a door, and finally, a knob. 

He turned the knob, pushed the door open, and paused. Loki wasn’t there. Loki wasn’t there.

The moonlight streaming through the open window fell upon an empty bed, sheets twisted and pillows strewn about the floor. Thor felt his heart seize. Open window. Empty bed. Where the Hel would he have gone? There wasn’t anything outside besides endless forest, other than the small Flame Lake encampment, which was sixteen miles northwest. There was no conceivable way Loki could’ve made the trek alone, not at night, especially not whilst sick. Why would he have left? And what of the noise Thor heard?

He’d nearly flipped the entire room upside-down when he stopped. Listened. And sure enough, there it was again. A faint whimper, muffled, reverberating from behind the closed door of the bathroom. It was then he noticed the soft orange glow peeking through the cracks, flickering. Candlelight. Oh, thank the Norns, he thought, but his relief didn’t last long before he heard something else; the tell-tale sound of a retch. 

Thor sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He stepped up to the door and raised a fist, knocking gently. “Loki? Are you okay?” 

Coughing, then silence. 

Thor pressed himself closer to the door, chest tightening. “Loki? It’s Thor. I know you’re in there,” he said.

Another series of harsh coughs echoed from behind the door. Thor opened his mouth to call out again, mentally preparing to burst down the door if need be, when Loki finally responded.  

“Thor?” he said, heart-wrenchingly feeble. “You—“ he stopped to suck in a ragged gasp, barely audible through the door, and said nothing more. 

Thor wrapped his hand around the doorknob. “I’m coming in.” He waited, and when Loki failed to object, slowly pulled the door open. 

Loki, as expected, was on his knees, bowed to the toilet and panting heavily. His hair was somehow even more a mess, dressed in silk sleep bottoms, the matching shirt crumpled in a ball by the sink. Thor stepped further into the bathroom, turning around briefly to close the door behind him. He met Loki’s gaze, eyes red-rimmed and weary, face flushed and plastered with a mix of sweat and tears. 

“Oh, Loki…” Thor said, dropping into a crouch beside his brother. He reached over and placed a hand on the bare skin of Loki’s back, slick with sweat and far too hot. Thor furrowed his brow. “How are you feeling?”

“’Mm not,” Loki slurred. He shook his head. “What were you doing in the garden?”

Thor frowned. The garden? “Nothing. I was sleeping,” he said. 

Loki scoffed. “I couldn’t. Obviously. It’s—“ he paused to swallow, features pinched in a tight wince. A groan. “Thor, I really don’t—“

Loki’s expression crumbled, and he curled forward against the toilet with a loud retch. Thor’s frown deepened, massaging his fingers into the tight muscles of Loki’s upper back, watching as he coughed up seemingly the last mouthfuls of bile his stomach had to offer. Loki shuddered beneath his touch, tilting his head back up to suck in several sharp gasps. 

“It’s the heat,” he whispered, at length. 

Thor felt his heart sink. 

Keep him out of the heat, next time. It makes him worse.

“We need to cool you down,” he said.

Loki turned his head to shoot Thor a look. “I was just there. I’m busy, regardless.”

“What…” Thor said. “Where?”

“The gardens, Thor. Mother’s planting rosemary today, she summoned me earlier,” Loki said, waving a dismissive hand as if it were the most obvious thing in all the Nine. 

Thor blinked. Blinked again. Oh, he thought. Allfathers, help me. A very un-princely slew of curses fell from his lips as he pressed a hand against Loki’s forehead, then shifted it to his jaw, cupping the sharp jut of bone there. Thor gently stroked his thumb across Loki’s cheek, staring into his fever-bright eyes, glassy and unfocused. 

“You’re too hot,” Thor said. 

Loki furrowed his brow. “I’m quite alright,” he said. 

“No,” Thor growled. “You’re not. You’re delusional. You were throwing up not even two minutes ago, and now you’ve got a fever.”

“I’m…” Loki said. He scrunched his nose. “Are you insulting me?”

Thor groaned. “No, I’m— I’m worried, brother. You’re ill, and I—“ He bit his lip. I don’t know what to do. 

Loki shook his head, a flash of bewilderment crossing his features. “No, I would’ve known,” he muttered to himself. Then, to Thor, “It doesn’t make sense. Ugh, I can’t think.”

“It’s your fever,” Thor said. He slumped back against his haunches. “Listen, I’m going to draw a bath, I need you to cooperate. We need to cool you off.”

Loki blinked at him. “Why?”

Thor felt his heart flutter. If he were to wait any longer, he was sure Loki’s fever would spiral into total incoherence. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than this, being stuck in a sweltering cabin miles from civilization, utterly alone, all while Loki battled against an illness that could very well claim his life. 

“You’re too hot,” Thor said. “It’s dangerous. I don’t wish to risk anything, certainly not here.” He stood up, turning towards the sink and rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He produced a small glass, filling it with water and extending it to Loki. “Drink. Slowly. You need it.”

Loki scowled at him, wordlessly reaching a trembling hand out to take the cup. He obediently raised the glass to his lips and sipped at it slowly, tipping his head back to down the last few drops. As he sat there, a grimace mounted his face, and he groaned, curling his free arm around his stomach.

“You’re poisoning me,” he said. “That’s what this is, it must be.”

Thor bent over to retrieve the empty glass from Loki’s hand, twisting around to place it on the sink. “I’m not poisoning you, idiot. You’re sick.”

“No,” Loki said. He gasped. “It hurts, Thor.”

He let out another groan, and to Thor’s dismay, hunched forward to hover his head above the toilet bowl, panting raggedly. A jolt of panic rocketed through Thor’s chest, hurriedly falling to his knees beside Loki and wrapping a tight hand around the swell of his shoulder. 

“Norns,” he hissed. “I need you to keep it down for me. Can you do that?”

Loki shook his head, raven curls falling into a thick shroud around his face. Thor gathered them into his hand, studying his brother intently.

“Too hot,” Loki said. He swallowed audibly, but his battle didn’t last long before he was lurching forward with a gag. 

Thor watched with his lips pressed tight as Loki brought up all the water he’d just drank, that vital liquid, knowing well he couldn’t afford to lose much more. Between his profusive sweating and vomiting, dehydration was imminent, if not already present, another dire threat upon his life. Water was a remedy, for his illness, for the heat, and if he couldn’t keep any down… Thor refused to think about it. About the what ifs, the uncertainty of it all, because he was there, and he’d be damned if Loki perished within his clutches. No, he’d fight for Loki, tooth and nail, whatever it took. And if it meant razing all of Vanaheim to find a cure, then so be it. He would do it. 

As it were, he needed to bring Loki’s fever down. He couldn’t do much else, not until Loki was stable. 

“Thor,” Loki gasped when he was done, his voice trembling. “I don’t— I don’t feel right.”

Thor clenched his jaw. Unclenched it, and clenched it again. “Would you be ready for a bath?” he said.

Loki squinted at him, the corners of his brows twitching upward. “A… what?” he said. He swiveled his head towards the round tub at his side. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Thor said. He pushed himself to his feet, leaning over the toilet to flush it, and closed the lid, patting it twice. “Let’s get you off the floor. You can rest here while I draw it. Here, let me help you, I don’t want you falling.”

Thor extended his hand down, brows climbing as Loki stared blankly at the appendage. After a moment of hesitation, Loki accepted the gesture, and Thor pulled him to his feet, slowly, cautiously. He planted a hand on Loki’s elbow once he was upright, and for good reason, too, because Loki seemed to reject the change in elevation almost immediately. 

“Gonna faint,” he gasped, and Thor had only seconds to lurch forwards and catch him under the arms before he could hit the floor. 

“Norns— I’ve got you,” Thor said. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He carefully lowered his brother to the pale, stone floor, hoisting his legs to prop them atop the toilet, a trick he’d learned from Eir after a similar episode. Dropping to a kneel behind Loki’s prone figure, Thor gently lifted his head to rest it on his lap, smoothing his wild hair back against his scalp. He swore under his breath. Loki was out cold, face slack, pale as ash. 

It must’ve been decades since he’d bore witness to one of Loki’s fainting spells, usually a result of similar sickness, or heat stroke, or simply neglect upon his body. Thor supposed this spell was a result of all three, in some way or another. And as such, he knew Loki probably wouldn’t wake for a while, several minutes at most. 

Which granted him an opportunity he otherwise wouldn’t have. 

Thor wetted his lips and tilted his gaze to the ceiling. “Heimdall,” he said. “I ask you to shift your gaze, hear what I have to say. Loki is… he’s unwell. It’s dire. He’s in no condition to travel the Bifrost, he’s been sick for days and I… I’m ill-equipped. Alert the Allmother, tell her of Loki’s ail. Prepare healers for our return, I’m trying to stabilize him enough to travel. He wished it be kept a secret, tell only who you must. Thank you, my friend.”

His words faded into a deafening stillness. Thor swallowed. He looked down at Loki, brushing a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. Some grim part of his brain told him Loki wouldn’t wake calmly, that his fever would render him mad, disoriented and terrified. And he knew it wasn’t based solely from presumption, it’d happened before, in the midst of his worst illnesses. It wasn’t absurd to say this illness was among those worst, too. 

He knew it would be impossible to wrangle Loki into the bath once delirium had him entirely within its clutches. So, he needed to do it before Loki woke, and suffer his inevitable protests once he was safely within the water. 

Thor carefully shuffled away from Loki, gently resting his head against the floor, and stood, pulling back the thick curtain to perch on the stone edge of the tub. He turned the tap to the coolest setting possible, and traversed back to Loki to undress him. Once undressed, Thor lifted Loki into his arms and placed him in the tub, shuffling his limbs around so he remained upright. 

Stepping back to sit atop the toilet’s lid, Thor studied his brother, heart clenching painfully. There was a mark on his arm, stretching across the width of his bicep, red around the edges and faintly bruised in the middle. It looked new. Had he fallen? Was that the noise Thor heard, the loud thud and the yelp? It certainly wouldn’t be implausible, given Loki’s recent difficulty in remaining upright. 

You should’ve been there, his brain told him. He shut it out. He was asleep, he couldn’t have done much. What mattered was getting Loki stable, there was no room for needless strife. 

It must’ve been another minute or two before Loki woke. 

He came to with a groan, eyes fluttering open shortly after. “Mmm,” he mumbled. “What…”

Thor was quick to lean over and place a hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay. You fainted, you’re in the bath,” he said. 

Loki blinked drowsily, parting his lips as his breathing quickened. “I’m…” He looked down at the water lapping against his chest, then at Thor, eyes widening. “You— you’re—“

“It’s okay,” Thor said. 

Loki growled, shoving Thor’s hand off his shoulder. “You’re trying to drown me,” he said. 

Thor’s heart fell. “No, it’s just to cool your fever, I’m not—“

“No,” Loki said. He sat up quickly, spilling water over the edge of the tub. “Get me out. You miserable wretch, get me out.”

Thor pushed him back against the tub’s wall, which, understandably, turned out to be a terrible idea. Loki flailed wildly against his grip, flinging water everywhere, clawing roughly at the skin of Thor’s forearms. 

Thor winced. “Loki— You need to stay in the water,” he said. “It’s meant to help.”

“Get your hands off me,” Loki hissed. “You’re not my— You’re not—“ 

Loki’s foot struck the side of the tub with a loud thud. Thor inhaled sharply, squeezing Loki’s shoulders as he pinned him to the tub’s wall. “I’m not trying to drown you. I would never. Your mind is planting fantasies,” he said. 

“Let me go!” Loki screeched. He stopped flailing to gulp down several ragged gasps. “I can’t— Where is…“

“Breathe,” Thor said. He bit the inside of his lip. “Listen, I’ll let go, but you have to stay in the water.”

Loki met his gaze, eyes wide, a look of desperation flashing across his features. “Where is Thor?”

Oh, dear gods, Thor thought. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the tub, releasing his grip to cup the side of Loki’s neck. “I am Thor. You’re in Vanaheim, we went on this trip together, remember?”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “No, you’re not. You’re a witch. You stole his face to earn my trust.” He laughed, a cruel, heartless thing that made Thor’s lungs squeeze. “It won’t work.”

“I am Thor. I swear it. There’s no witch, nobody’s trying to harm you,” Thor said. 

“Sweet lies,” Loki said. He tried sitting up, but fell back against the tub with a wheeze. “What did you do with my brother?” Another wheeze, his features melting into panic. “What… What…”

“Loki, look at me,” Thor said. 

Loki’s terror-struck eyes met his, lips pressed thin.

Thor gathered all the veracity he could onto his face, softening his features. He placed his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Your brother is right here, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re battling a terrible fever, you need to calm down.”

Loki bucked under his touch, snarling wildly, like an animal untamed. “You don’t get to say that. You— you aren’t him.”

Something in Thor’s heart snapped. He swallowed thickly, lip quivering briefly before he forced it to still. “Loki, you have to fight through this. I know you can, I…“ He gathered Loki’s trembling hand into his own, squeezing it lightly. “I would never forgive myself. Do you remember what I told you before we left Asgard? How, if anything were to happen, I would protect you?”

A flash of familiarity registered on Loki’s face, but it quickly morphed back into frightened hostility. He shook his head, a quick jerk back and forth.

“Well, I was worried about the trolls,” Thor continued, “but— but I never thought—“ His voice cracked, and he paused to blink away the stinging in his eyes. A laugh. “I would much prefer the trolls. At least then, I would have something to kill. But, now… I can’t use fists and swords. I don’t know what to do, Loki. Please, just return to me, brother.”

Loki stared at him closely, brows creasing. “No, I told him about the trolls. They aren’t native. You live here, why would you…” His eyes softened, clarity shining through their fevered haze like night’s brightest suns. “Oh,” he breathed. “Battle metaphors. Of course.”

Thor tightened his grip on Loki’s hand. “Do you see the truth, now? Have your delusions ceased?”

Loki nodded. “You giant oaf. Your metaphors are terrible.”

Thor laughed, all breath and with staggering relief. “I wasn’t sparing thought for poeticism,” he said.

“You’ve never had any,” Loki mumbled. It seemed his delirious outburst took a toll, because he closed his eyes, slipping further into the tub.

Thor tapped his face. “Hey, wait until you’re out of the bath. How are you feeling?”

“Mm, better,” Loki said. “Clearer. Your water trick worked.”

Thor leaned forward to feel Loki’s forehead. He brushed his knuckles against his cheek, then downward to rest them upon his neck. “You’re still warm,” he said. “Wait here.”

Thor stood to rummage around in the sink’s lower cabinet, producing a sage washcloth. He soaked it in the water, wrung it out, and sponged it gently against the skin of Loki’s face. Loki sighed, eyes slipping closed. 

“No sleeping,” Thor said. 

Loki cracked his eyes open to shoot Thor a weak glare. “I’m just resting,” he mumbled. 

“You can rest once you’re in bed,” Thor said. 

He wiped the sweat from Loki’s face, gentle strokes across his hairline and down his cheeks. The rag quickly grew warm, so he plunged it back into the water, and continued wiping it down the sides of Loki’s neck. Loki reclined his head as he did so, baring his throat in a tender gesture of trust, a stark contrast to his earlier paranoia. Thor knew he wouldn’t soon forget Loki’s delusion, the terror on his face, terror directed not at an enemy, but at him.  

His own brother, bound and consumed by illness, convinced Thor was trying to kill him. He wouldn’t sleep easy come night, not after hearing those labored wheezes, seeing the panic gleaming in his eyes, battling for life against fever-wrought foes. 

Loki broke him from his thoughts with a sneeze. Thor draped the rag atop the tub’s edge, leaning forward to feel Loki’s temperature once more. He was still warm, but it wasn’t the near-burning he’d felt earlier. 

“Are you still nauseous?” Thor said. 

Loki hummed. “A touch. Though, I’d say I’m more sore than anything,” he said. 

“Sore where?”

Loki scowled at him, sliding further into the tub until his chin nearly met the water. “My dear brother has forsaken his warrior ways to become my personal healer,” he said. “How touching.”

“Needless jests,” Thor muttered. “I’m serious.”

“Fine,” Loki said. He pressed his hands against his chest. “Mostly here. It stabs every time I breathe. Beyond that, my head, my stomach, and my back.”

Thor pressed his lips together. “You need to drink.” He stood up to locate the glass he’d used earlier, rinsing it out once before filling it in the sink. “Small sips,” he said.

Loki took the glass, pushing himself upwards against the wall of the tub, and downed it slowly. He extended it back to Thor when he was done, who then placed it back on the counter. He watched as Loki raised an arm out of the water to prop his elbow on the tub’s edge, cradling his head, eyes half-lidded and fluttering. 

“I suppose you’ve been in there long enough,” Thor said. “Or, if you wish to stay…”

“No. It’s freezing. I feel like a salmon stuck in ice,” Loki said. He grimaced, sitting up to rest his elbows atop his knees. 

Thor chuckled. “Hang on, I’ll help you.”

He pulled a towel off the wall rack, sage, like the washcloth, slinging it over an arm and extending the other down towards Loki. Loki took his hand, and Thor watched him climb shakily to his feet, water sloshing as he shuffled his legs to keep balanced. 

“Do you need to sit back down?” Thor said.

Loki shook his head. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”

But you weren’t, Thor thought. You weren’t for days, you were screaming and heaving for air, and I wasn’t sure you’d… He stuffed the rest down into his brain’s deepest abyss. Loki was fine, he said it himself. Perhaps not fully freed from the clutches of illness, but he was fine. He wasn’t delirious anymore, he’d peaked that crest and it was nothing but a downhill sprint from there. 

“Tell me if it grows worse,” Thor said. 

He gave the towel to Loki, stepping backwards as Loki climbed out of the bath, briefly patting himself dry before wrapping the towel around his waist. He looked exhausted, eyes ridden of fever and replaced instead by a drear dullness, twin half-circles of purple stamped beneath both, skin washed stubbornly pale. Thor found himself wondering when Loki had last eaten. Not that he’d be up for food, presently, but it must’ve been at least a day. 

Loki opened the door, and Thor followed closely behind as he stepped into the bedroom, instructing Loki to sit on the bed while he rummaged through the dresser for something comfortable. He pulled out a thin tunic and cotton pants, turning towards the window as Loki dressed himself. Morning’s first pale rays were filtering through the pines, casting long, creeping shadows across the small clearing the cabin was nestled into. The sky was tinged a soft blue, cloudless. Thor closed the window, he knew it wouldn’t be long until day’s heat settled thick into the valley, adding warmth within the already stifling cabin. 

“Apologies for the scratches,” Loki said. “And… everything else. I, uh, suppose it’s due.”

Thor turned to him, puzzled. He was sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed, staring down at his feet, facing away from Thor. 

“Scratches?” Thor said. He looked down at his forearms, twisting them over in the light. Sure enough, long, thin swathes of red and damaged skin littered the length of both. “Ah,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. You were… confused. Do you remember any of it?”

Loki huffed a dry laugh. “It wasn’t that long ago, brother.”

“What about before?”

Loki shrugged, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat,” he said. “It’s all very dreamlike. I remember our arrival, but after that… It melts together in odd ways. Some of it’s missing, spots of darkness in the narrative, and the rest a haze. It’s a terrible feeling. A separation from mind and body.” A pause, and a faint sniffle. “Truly, though, I am sorry.”

“Shush,” Thor said. “It matters little. You’re alive, and you’re recovering, and that’s all I could ever wish for. I—“ He stopped to blink away the burning in his eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d win this one, to be honest. I hadn’t seen you so sick in ages. And we were alone… Norns, you scared the Hel out of me.”

Thor heard Loki inhale sharply, the following exhale shuddering in tandem with his shoulders. He furrowed his brow, rounding the bed to step into Loki’s view, and paused. Loki was crying, a pair of glistening tear tracks staining his cheeks in thin streams, lips pressed tight. He squeezed his eyes shut and another set of tears spilled from the corners. 

Thor sighed, climbing onto the bed behind Loki, and wrapped his arms around him, gently pulling his brother back against his chest in a tight embrace. He nestled his chin into the crook of Loki’s neck, raven hair tickling his cheek. 

“I’m so tired of this,” Loki gasped. “I’m so—“ His words broke off into a shuddering sob.

Thor shushed him. “I know.”

“I’m sorry. This is pathetic,” Loki said. 

“Stop,” Thor said. “You’re ill. I will never, brother, see you as weak for being ill. Not even for crying, because Norns know it’s needed at times.”

Thor wrapped his arms tighter around Loki’s chest, rocking him as he wept. He held him there for a while, as the sun climbed higher into the morning, casting new light across the pine walls of Loki’s room, soaking into the cracks and hot against Thor’s back, joining their shadows onto the wall as one.

When Loki inevitably fell forward and shook with another sob, Thor would be quick to gather him back up, whisper those sweet encouragements in his ear, promises full and teeming with the warmth of ten suns. 

“You’re okay,” he’d say, and Loki would shake and Thor would say it again, until the shaking stopped, until his weeping ebbed into sniffling, and he held him even after that. 

They left Vanaheim the next day.

They didn’t speak of Loki’s illness, his near-death, not after the healers cleared him healthy after a day’s stay in the medical halls. A week after their return, Thor had a nightmare, fleeting upon his waking, but he’d been shaking, remnants of panic stuck thick in his brain. During breakfast, he’d discovered Loki had a similar dream, about dragon’s breath and lava flows, an endless sea, Asgard’s impending summer. 

And when Thor found him crying in the library, frustrated over a spell, he read him a tale of violinists playing laments to encourage the clouds to weep, and the water would fall on dry crops, thirsty land long-starved of rain. After that, a story about a tiger sailing the stars to gather stripes onto his blank fur, and he meets a squid who paints them instead, but the ink slips off and the squid tells the tiger he’s perfect as is. Loki fell asleep before he could finish the story, but he kept reading. 

Loki sent someone to fetch the flower he’d failed to find, and two days later, he’d perfected the spell. Ironically, it was a spell to sprout a different, far more magical flower, and when crushed into a paste, it held the power to turn whatever it was applied to invisible. Permanently, until the paste was removed. 

That afternoon, an invisible Mjolnir flew to Thor’s hand, and he laughed. 

Summer came to Asgard, and Thor stopped seeing Loki as frequently. Loki ended up falling heat-sick on Midsummer, forced by Odin to attend the day’s festival, and Thor rushed him to his rooms before he could make a scene. 

And though it’d been months since they’d ventured to Vanaheim, Thor dug up those sweet promises. 

“It’s okay,” he said, holding Loki as heat tremors wracked through his body. “You must fight this. Remember what I said last time?”

Loki shook his head, lips parted as he heaved for breath.

“I said I would never see you as weak for being ill. Not then, not now, not ever. Do whatever you must to fight this. You’re so strong.”

Frigga found them not long after, and ushered Thor out of the room as she tended to Loki. 

Thor had nightmares that night. 

Loki had woken him by bursting into his room, pale as a ghost. Thor had been screaming, apparently. Together, they dug up an old fairytale from their childhood, about a young fisherman fighting a giant sea serpent.

But, as with most stories from their youth, they already knew how it ended.