The bluff in Norway where Odin had chosen to spend his final moments had an ocean-view a human could watch for a lifetime. It was abundantly clear why the Midgardian tales seemed to stem from this ancient, weathered land, as the tumultuous waves that buffeted its cliffs, the faint scent of a storm on the horizon, were all so suited to the All-Father's preferences that it didn't surpass the realm of reason to wonder if the old man hadn't carved it out of the earth with his own hands.

How natural was it then, how utterly fitting, that the All-Father would meet his end staring out over the surf with his sons at his side.

Sons.

To hear the All-Father claim him as his own once more was so much like a dream that for an instant, Loki questioned the legitimacy of his reality, dreaded that he might be torn from that windy cliff to wake screaming in the vast expanse of space once more…

Loki blinks, and the moment passes. Thor still sits on the other side of their father – how pathetic – Odin didn't waver, didn't hesitate or retract his words – one crumb of approval and you come crawling back to please and serve – a seagull catches an updraft beneath its wing, rising up and up

- don't you remember who saved you? -

and something broken, shattered, twisted, maimed, reforged and warped beyond recognition, remembers its shape.

It was only fitting then, that the reclaimed bond should be snatched from Loki's grasp. Odin's form doesn't so much fade as transcend, as his body parts into a purer, truer shape, an ethereal light that floats to the clouds, sedate yet purposeful. Such patience was merited - time held little meaning for those destined for Valhalla - yet one couldn't help but wonder if beyond the tranquility of the passing lay the longing of a king to see his queen.

The brother's rise as one to trace the departure of their sole remaining parent, each of them lost to their thoughts whilst standing on the edge of that grassy cliff, the crash of the surf against the jagged rocks serving as the backdrop to their own turmoil.

For once in his life, Loki doesn't know what to say. His emotions are a jumble, too tangled and thorny to discern. Part of him envies Odin for doing what he could not. Valhalla would not open its gates for a Jotun and a traitor. Where Loki was faced with the very real probability of an eternity without Frigga, Odin would forever have her at his side. It would have been easy to give in to the old resentment, except that for the fraction of a second, Odin had loved him equal to Thor, seen all that he was, the flaws and the sins, and accepted him, regardless.

Unfortunately, the brief truce between himself and Thor ends with Odin. Storm clouds clog the sky overhead, shutting out the sun as the environment responds to Thor's emotion, giving Loki a fair idea of what he will find when he reluctantly turns to face him, and he's not disappointed. Thor's jaw is clenched tightly, his brow furrowed, hands balled into fists at his sides as gray eyes clouded by grief and fury pin the trickster. "Brother," Loki warns.

Thor snarls, "This is your doing," bearing down on Loki with aggression painted in the lines of his shapes, and for once, the last thing on Loki's mind is a fight, but he refuses to be chased from the site of their father's last moments, even if after everything he's said and done, he's long since forfeited the right to play the part of the grieving son.

A hand shoots out to grab Loki around the collar before he can increase the distance, and Thor shakes him hard enough to slam his teeth together, but despite the anguish carved into his features, the betrayal and disappointment, Loki can't keep his gaze from darting to innocuous umbrella trembling in Thor's grip, an illusion breaking apart at the seams as the weapon disguised within responds to its master's call. And then the guise shatters. Thor is lifting the mighty hammer over his head, drawing on the power of the storm both inside and out, and Loki knows that any resistance on his part would be futile, that if Thor truly wanted to end his life, he could do so effortlessly, but throws his arms up in a last ditch effort, anyway.

The expected blow never comes. There's a hitch of breath, a slight decrease in the pressure around his neck. Loki forces his eyes open to see Thor's stricken expression before discovering its cause. A hypothermic blue creeps from his fingertips, spreading down his palms and the backs of his hands to continue up his wrist and forearm. With a shout, Loki shoves away from Thor, breaking the contact, his own breathing harsh and ragged in his ears, thoughts spiraling beyond his control.

The Aesir glamour was sustained by Odin's magic. Now, with the All-father's passing, it was only natural that guise would fail, only that it had been such an intrinsic part of Loki since his earliest memories that he hadn't even considered such an outcome.

Odin might have warned him.

"Well?" Loki sneers, his blood-red eyes narrowed into crimson slits, bared teeth cutting through the blue of his face like the tremulous reflection of a lunar crescent on the sea. "What are you waiting for? Get it over with, then."

There, on his flesh, are the scar-like markings that betray his true lineage as the son of Laufey, but Thor barely spares them a glance. Thunder rumbles quietly in the distance, lingering heavily in the atmosphere like an unasked question. It mirrors the conflict staring back at Loki, desperation, suspicion and grief warring with horror at the fear Loki couldn't quite hide.

Filled with a familiar disgust, Loki screams, "Do it, coward! Kill me!"

But when a growl rips past Thor's lips, he braces, paralyzed. In a step, Thor is within range to strike. An arm snakes around Loki's back, the weight of which sends him lurching forward, into the folds of an embrace. Through the contact, Loki can sense fury buzzing like leashed lightning, can smell ozone and the earthy scent of a rain shower.

"I have many reasons to fault you, brother," Thor whispers, his voice tight with restraint, "but this is not one of them."

His gaze widening with shock, Loki abruptly ceases his struggles.

Long before he'd discovered the truth of his origin as the child who'd changed its shape to please a conqueror, he'd wondered how it was that he and Thor could possibly be related. Where he was cautious, Thor was rash. Where suspicion and grudges festered within him, Thor carried trust and forgiveness. And now that the child he had once been had met its end within the soundless howl of the void, now that the younger brother burdened with a millennia of resentment in false smiles and pretty lies had succumbed to the agony and torment inflicted by a tyrant, forced to change once more –

What was left for this strange amalgamation of the two, and something new, besides?

More than he'd anticipated, if Thor were to be believed.

"I did not intend," Loki tries, though the thickening of his throat prevents him from getting the words out. "I had no desire to…" Of course. Now that he needs more than ever to speak, his voice fails him. A despairing groan threatens to eek past gritted teeth as he stubbornly blinks to clear his blurring vision.

"I know," Thor says when he opens his mouth to try again. "He was your father, too."

For a moment, Loki is too stunned to move. Then he tentatively lays his palms on Thor's leathers, nearly withdrawing when a thin sheet of frost begins to spread from his fingertips, but Thor shakes his head, "Leave them. The chill cools my temper."

Caught off-guard by the attempt at humor, Loki chokes out a laugh, too tired to care if the wet sound bears an uncanny resemblance to a sob. He rests his head on Thor's shoulder, thinking about how odd it is that with Odin's passing, and after everything he'd done to push him away, each of them are the only family the other has left.

Surprisingly, the thought doesn't much bother him.

A/N: I thought I saw a prompt on tumblr describing a scenario where Hela is delayed and Odin's death breaks the Aesir glamor on Loki, causing him to transform in the middle of the fight. Now, though, I'm wondering if I dreamt it, because I messaged several authors and spent hours searching for it, before eventually deciding to give writing the prompt myself a try.

Anyway, if you see this and think 'Hey, that's my idea' please let me know so I can give you credit.