"This is all your fault."

"Mine?" Thor asks dangerously, squinting into the thick of the forest.

They are beyond the pass of the river and the trees are dense, pushed up tight against each other like the fine pins on a comb. The clusters render the surroundings quiet, high overlapping branches soaking up all ambient sound and leaving the air below still and solid, a blanket of silence.

Of course Thor knows exactly what Loki speaks of, but it is hardly his fault.

"Look!" Loki stops wrestling vexingly with his garments to make a gesture with his hand, as if to slap at the air, fingers curled around—

"Nothing!"

The Tesseract is not in their possession and yet their powerlessness remains.

Loki lets his hand fall away with a sneer. He marches determinedly in front, adjusting the red cape tied at his neck. He protects his face as they pass new growth that springs out with youthful flexibility, slapping and stinging like whips as they file through the single narrow path.

Thor watches his back until they come to a towering pine, one massive spiny arm held out as if to say 'halt.' Loki thrashes the obstacle aside, its bud caps floating off like snow and the fresh needles releasing a scent which has a hard, minty sting.

The tree's arm swings back at Thor's head. He ducks and with a growl of frustration, whaps the offending branch so strongly it cracks. He stamps forwards just as fast, shoves past Loki with a less than gentle bump of the shoulder, swinging his arms in long wooden strokes like oars on a boat.

Thor can practically hear Loki bare his teeth.

"Watch it, you stup—"

The loud snap of Thor's foot on a branch sounds a lot like the break in his resolve. He whirls, thrusting a finger into Loki's face.

"Please," Thor says politely, darkly, "Finish that."

Loki's eyes cross for just a moment, before he's grinning and shrugs mockingly, "It is your fault. If you even used your head half as much as your hammer—"

"You were the one who distracted me with that pathetic attempt at swimming—"

"Oh!? You're pathetic. Running back to dear old Daddy—"

They're nose to nose, green irises angrily staring into blue. Looking upon Loki's smarmy pale face, Thor can feel himself shouting anything that comes to mind, not really hearing what comes out of his mouth. It's like all of his blood is pounding in his head, a war drum, beating any thoughts away and making his ears throb with a deafening pulse.

"—At least I do not lie to myself!" Thor bellows wretchedly and finds his fists have snagged Loki's shoulders, squeezing.

"Really?" Loki lets out a strangled bark of laughter, "Because from where I stand, that's all you do!"

"If there is any blame to be had it sits squarely upon your shoulders. By Odin's eye," Thor shakes Loki as though this will help him feel the weight of responsibility, a burden Thor has carried alone from Asgard to Midgard and back again.

"You probably planned it!"

"Indeed," Loki replies in a shrewd, sarcastic manner, his eyes turning to slits, "It was my choice to swap the Tesseract for this." Loki gestures to the clothing he has donned with a jerk of his head.

Thor's glare drops to Loki's feet and then slowly climbs up again.

Someone out there is parading around in Loki's outfit.

A female someone.

"Of course it was not planned," Loki growls, scowling down at the robe tied around his slender waist with a huff. The garment is what had been stuffed into the crate and only by chance did it fit Loki instead of Thor (otherwise Thor is certain he would be donning the apparel in his stead.) Loki bore the frock well enough, although not without complaint. But now, he rattles in Thor's grasp, chin jutting out angrily and cheeks red, clashing with Thor's cape tied around his neck.

Indignation is something Loki has always done well. Only now, Thor cannot tell whether it is sincere or not. Maybe he never could.

"Pity. It's fetching on you."

Thor snorts out, not caring about this particular hindrance in the least. At least, not whilst his mind is spinning wildly, curling up tight with a fierce frustration that usually spends itself through a well-placed swing of Mjölnir. As it stands now, however, the hammer hangs from his belt, worthless, just the same as before. Despite how he has longed for his brother's return, it's getting harder and harder to keep from snapping at each other. It's like every spite between them is another reason to fight— Like they're charging up with no outlet for release.

It's strange but Loki is breathing quickly, chest moving up and down underneath the little embroidered crest he does not recognize upon the robe's front pocket. Thor catches Loki's gaze in this moment. Across the space between them he can almost hear the question they're both thinking.

How's this going to blow up?

Thor feels a strange twisting in his chest that wrings sweat out of his palms. The minty scents of the pines suddenly burn in his nose like a spice he can barely take. He frowns, confused, and breaks the stare.

"Was it not planned when you purposely cracked the chamber? Or shall I assume your every attempted escape has been a mere accident?"

"Huh. Figured that out, did you," Loki says without fanfare, not even trying to deny it. He even half-smiles.

Thor drops his hands away from Loki's shoulders. They immediately ball into fists and then... and then unfurl, achingly slack because if he's learnt anything, Thor knows he cannot hold onto fury and move forwards at the same time. Especially in times of peril.

"It makes no difference." Thor sighs, "We shall continue and retrieve the cube. Together."

"Don't look so maudlin, Thor," Loki replies, the side of his mouth tugging up higher, the red in his face fading. "This is what you wanted, after all."

Loki is wrong, of course. But Thor does not say so. He is already pent up to the brim with needless frustration and he needs no more. In truth, he is unsure of what he desires, now that his task has been so plainly ripped away. The only course of action is to find the Tesseract, steal it back and return to Odin. But where will this chase take them, if not into danger? They are weakened and not just in strength. What will happen to Loki after, when Thor sees this duty done?

He looks up, taking in Loki's appearance. The fact that he is still right there beside Thor is enough.

"You know nought of what I want," Thor says on a whisper.

"Don't I?" Loki asks. "You always tell me everything even if your words do not."

Oh, but Loki is nothing if not excellent at inciting a scorch in Thor— as if there is still a niggling flame of some emotion somewhere deep in his gut, unwilling to die. One which reminds him of what came before, of the love they used to share that has become but a shadow. In its wake is a spark. Thor does not know its name, but sometimes it blows to a roar as if he's the fire and Loki the wind.

It is difficult, but it is more than enough.

Thor nods slowly, the motion a guillotine to the back of his neck. The rest of his festering anger drops away, like crumbling useless lumps of coal, burnt to a crisp.

"Know this, then." Thor mutters and gently Loki by the arm, just under the wound he has wrapped up tight. Loki looks at him blankly, watches Thor's fingers link around his wrist and reading Thor as if this is a boring tale, one heard many times before. Still, for once, Loki does not fight his touch.

Thor turns on his boot heel and quietly steers them down the trail.

They do not speak more.

Except to yowl when Thor stubs his precious toe on a root and Loki steps on a too sharp rock.

A day more perhaps, if the weather stays on their side. Unless the culprit who has stolen their wares lives in a tree, it is most likely she has stuck to the trails and plans to enter the cross-shaped village that could be seen at the foot of the mountain.

They track onwards, grumbling, the only sounds the soft smush-crunch-crrrricks of the leaves and twigs underfoot. A never-ending paisley tapestry stretches out to cover the forest floor.

The clues to the mystery of their missing magic have lined themselves up neatly; the massive blow out of power that had left them reeling, disoriented. The unrecognizable runes burnt into the soil of an unintended landing spot—too far away from the palace for their journey to be safe. Their powers, gone.

And now the cube, stolen.

Thor knows what this all means but he will not give voice to it, even if his silence makes Loki believe him foolish. There is nothing foolish in wishing his conclusion were false. He shakes the thoughts from his head and presses on, holding up the offending arm of another pine so that he and Loki can pass under. They must keep moving.

They're inside a trap.

In the night the rain comes.

It comes in deep, pounding waves, pouring over the mountainside and into the forest crevice like water sent to quench a thirst.

It is only because Thor and Loki have travelled together so many times before that they find shelter without burden. They ensconce themselves in the crevice of a cave just as the rain comes glancing down. The place is the home of a beast, but, Loki thinks almost fondly— Thor easily takes care of that.

The smell of cooked meat and fat from their meal pushes thickly to coat all the edges of the cave. Loki runs a hand along the grey walls, mapping the space with his fingertips. There are white crystals lacing through the rock in grid-like patterns, shining in the dark. He reaches the mouth of the cave that gapes for a drink of the water just beyond.

The roaring rain draws lines like minerals in the black stone of night, the downpour washing away the blurry foot trails and stirring up the forest's carpet like a muddy soup. A flash illuminates the swaying trees and casts everything in a sudden silvery light before the night swallows it whole, the telltale rumble of thunder shaking the sky a moment later.

"You'll soil your skirt."

"Ha, ha," Loki rolls his eyes, humouring Thor just this once. His jibe is awkward and light and completely transparent.

Loki turns away from the elements and returns to the warmed hollow where Thor is dusting his hands off next to the fire burning within a small circle of stones. The flames skip with short clicks, like the hands on a clock stealing time. Loki sits in the soft pine needles their dinner had once used as a bed and reaches up to his neck to untie Thor's cape.

"Keep yourself cloaked," Thor says before he can undo the knot.

Loki lets his hands fall from his throat without argument.

In truth, he is tired of arguing with Thor, a sentiment he knows is shared. The last leg of travel has taken toll on them both, though they do not speak of it. Still, Loki resolves to be focussed despite the fatigue settling into his limbs where he has not known fatigue before.

Thor gives a grunt, lying down by the fire, his eyes squinting in the flickering light.

They've always been this way, pushing against limits when it would mean besting the other. Loki thinks of their youth with a familiar despondency, of the way Thor didn't even need to try and the way Loki felt desperation in his bones where Thor only knew glory. Loki knows well the need to win, a desire so great it never mattered the prize, for it soon became that any recognition from Thor would have been consolation enough.

Equals.

But even something as small as that was something Thor could not give. Loki supposes it's hard to see unfairness when one's standing on higher ground.

Thor had reached out too late.

Well, now they're knocked down a peg, stripped of their powers and left to the dangers of Asgard's elements. Thor doesn't even have any friends to help him, and oh, he does have so many of those.

Loki smiles wryly to himself. It's a good trap. Not very elaborate, which is more to his taste, but he can appreciate simplicity when it works. Now he just needs to know whose trap it is.

He glances down at the crest sewn onto the robe he wears, running a thumb over the raised threads. It's mid-class work at best, but not a pauper's garments by any means. Before the storm came and filled his nostrils with the thick smells of vegetation, Loki had caught the hint of a scent he couldn't quite place. Like smoke, except not. It was sweet and cloying, the grease on the hem of the garments dried in. Candles? Incense? He wonders, trying to recall any knowledge that might put them at the advantage when they enter the town.

It would be unwise to separate at this point. He's content to allow Thor his stubborn mission, for now.

Thor rolls onto his side, facing away so the fire may dry his back.

Loki takes the moment to look at him, the spidery wet wrinkles in his once proud tunic, the single muddy boot, bedraggled hair and shivering—

Loki's stare goes flat.

"Keep it on, brother." Thor says warningly, voice deep and controlled.

He's not even spared Loki a glance and yet knows exactly where Loki's hands are, betraying him at the knot on his throat. Loki swallows against the jagged edge of irritation in the pit of his gut. The cape wrapped around his body makes him feel heated, ill at ease.

Embarrassed, he snipes back, "How could the one who rules thunder fall prey to a little rain?"

"Tch," Thor growls, "Have you already forgotten! You all but pulled me into the river—"

Thor cuts himself off, too obvious in his avoidance of another argument.

The air dries between them, a long moment, like a parchment curling in on itself crisply. The incessant drip-drops and trickling of the rain echo through the cave and fill up the void. Thor is so still it's clear he's holding the shivers in.

Loki lies down beside him so that they are back to back, but leaves a comfortable gap between them. In the silence the fire snaps like impatient fingers, awkwardly waiting for Loki to transform the dreadful mood back into something easier.

Nothing comes to mind.

A tremor wracks through Thor.

"I don't need your coddling," Loki says, deliberately slow and under his breath to beat back the rushed feeling he gets, the sense of urgency he always gets, when Thor is in distress not of Loki's own making. His fingers are at the knot on his neck, slowly twisting the ends of the cape. "You know what I am."

The words themselves don't hurt as much anymore— they've pierced him as deep as they can, but they still work on Thor who flinches and then holds himself at rest.

"You are hurt," Is all Thor says.

There's a twinge in his arm as if the wound responds to Thor. Loki grits his teeth, imagining ice stalactites on the cave's ceiling, pointing down in conviction, pointing out a weakness so blatant in him it's too hard to ignore. He closes his eyes, holding back a sigh at their combined stubbornness. Thor should know by now that bravery does nothing to ease pain.

The fire snaps again.

After long moments, there's a shuffle, as though Thor has moved to pillow his head upon his arm, still the opposite way.

"Father explained," Thor broaches the topic at last, his cadence rigid, voice but a brittle whisper.

Loki finds a sick sort of anticipation turning in his stomach, a sort of thrill at the thought of Thor knowing this intimately— perhaps even knowing more than Loki himself. He never did listen to all Odin had to say. It makes Loki furious, of course, at the shame of such a want and the need for reaction. But he is curious, if anything, curious to a fault what Thor thinks of him. It's his weakness, after all.

Would Thor demand he shift his appearance to that of a Jotun, so that he may see with his own eyes? And would Thor reel in disgust at the sight, cast him away? Or would Thor peer closer, curious too, and see Loki as someone different, not as the brothers they once were. The possibilities make Loki chew his lower lip, fists clench beside his head.

Thor continues unawares with a snort, "More than that, I do not know you as anything but Loki— the same who needed no less than fifty furs on his first trip to the Alps. Frost Giant, indeed."

Loki stares into the darkness, almost wanting to laugh. "It was the fashion at the time."

Thor does laugh, a breathless one-time sound that carries away through the cave like smoke on the wind.

The awkward silence returns.

It presses down on them so heavily that it isn't until later Loki's eyes snap open and he realizes Time's hands had yanked him straight into sleep.

The rain has weakened by the sound of it, dulled down to a fine spray, the misty beginnings of fog licking at the cave's mouth. It's peaceful, the calming scent of washed foliage and the gentle pattering of the storm dancing away. But that feeling shatters as a violent shudder runs down Loki's spine— a shudder that is not his own.

"What are you doing," Loki hisses. It's not quite a question when weighed down with scorn.

Thor says nothing in return, but jerks. Where once there was a comfortable heat at the press of their backs, the sudden gap between them is alarming in its intensity, like Loki had been lying on solid ground that suddenly dropped away.

"I'll take watch," Thor says, and in his voice is the awful thinness of a wheeze.

"Don't do that."

"What?" Thor grumbles, curling in tighter on himself even though that's the opposite of getting up.

Loki does not answer, remaining prone, his heart beating in quick shallow skips. The fire has died down, its embers a passionate red amongst the stones. Unthinkingly, he raises a hand to replenish the flames and then curses at his foolishness, warring with what about the situation he hates more. Until Thor lets out a gigantic, wet sneeze.

Loki has heard enough.

"Thor, no."

"Fine," Thor replies petulantly, "Then you take watch."

He sneezes again and Loki can hear him rubbing his sopping nose disgustingly on one arm gauntlet.

"Don't get sick." Loki orders, sitting up and moving quickly to stoke the flames back into life.

"I am not." Thor groans, long legs unfolding and kicking out, catching Loki in the ankle.

Loki scowls, poking the burgeoning flames with more force than necessary as Thor rolls over, squinting up at him with a pained sort of look that could be a glare, if Loki looked at him sideways. It would be much more menacing if Thor's hair weren't riddled with pine needles and stuck up at one side.

"Come, lay close to the fire. Sweat it out," Loki suggests.

Thor snivels as though he were a child but shuffles close, dangerously close to pillowing his head on Loki's thigh.

Loki holds in a long-suffering sigh and unties Thor's damned cape, draping it over him with one swoop.

"—'m still cold." Thor complains through a gravelly throat, sometime later, as he woozily sits up from the darkness of sleep to the dull gray of the cave.

It's humid, like the rain has just stopped but Thor realizes he is sticky with sweat, his garments soaked through. He spots Loki at the far end of the cave. He's seated on the broken ridge of a boulder, his nose pointed towards the cave floor. There's a long stick in his hand and he hunches over, scratching something into the stone and dirt.

"Go back to sleep," Loki says without turning, "No one is coming for us tonight. Whoever set this trap thinks we're already caught."

"I feel ill," Thor murmurs, putting a hand to his forehead and finding it slicked. He stares at the sweat droplets in confusion, then calls, "Loki—"

But Loki's there, standing beside the fire and looking down at Thor. There's a frustratingly blank look upon his face only made soft by the wavering shadows of the flames.

Thor is struck by the sight of him for an instant, struck by the fact that Loki is here and alive. For Thor had spent so long believing his brother died and his world had been turned upside down by the loss, like a boat flipped at sea during a storm. And now that it's been righted again Thor's left blinking, gasping, drenched with the underwater darkness – stung with the sudden gift of air.

His head is swimming.

"Go back to sleep," Loki urges.

"My clothes are sodden," Thor murmurs, twisting uncomfortably in the folds of his cape, suddenly stifled.

"Well, then take them off."

That strange scorch from before sparks deep in Thor's gut again, burning uncomfortably like a single hot coal. An unnamed fizzle, it feels vaguely like he's charging up for a fight, as if he's been provoked. It's not as if it has never happened before. But he shakes his head, feeling heavy and light at once, as if one part of his brain is tethered to a buoy as the other part sinks.

Loki kneels beside him then, keen eyes framed with spiky eyelashes, gaze trailing over Thor's cocoon.

He reaches out to touch Thor's head, take his temperature. Thor lets him, feeling feverous, even leaning into the coolness of Loki's palm. Being close to his brother still pushes away some of the ache, even if they're on opposing sides. He can't ignore that, not now, when Loki is all he has. He wants Loki to know this, if nothing else.

"You'll steal them while I sleep," Thor says instead, keeping any sentiment to himself.

"No, I won't." Loki promises, voice smooth and sincere.

And then he swiftly cuffs Thor hard on the ear.

"Ouch! Damn, you—" Thor sputters, dizzy.

"That's for slapping me at the river." Loki sneers, but there's still a strong sense of comfort anyway, when Loki places calm hands upon Thor's shoulders. Thor curls his hand to cup Loki around the neck, the solid throb of a pulse grounding any unsteadiness.

Loki swallows.

The apple of his throat bobs up and down, moving against Thor's thumb.

He combs Thor's hair away from his face, needles falling down and fingertips catching on the tiny spikes of his beard.

"Why do you always do that," Loki whispers, voice coloured so deep and dark.

But Thor has no answer, the burning from his stomach having moved up his throat.

Loki takes a deep breath and pushes the cape away then carefully helps to wrench the damp tunic over his head. Sweat has pushed its way out every pore and Thor's skin feels clammy in the air until Loki puts a hand to his collarbone and Thor lies down, kicking off his boot. He helps to shimmy off his pants as Loki grabs fistfuls of leather at the knees and pulls.

He feels better already, gasping in bliss as the air dries his skin. And then Loki near-strangles him, bundling Thor back into the cape with his fist, closing the material tight at Thor's neck. But it doesn't matter if Loki's rough, that's just extra attention. Thor exhales and folds into the warmth.

Loki sits back and gathers the garments to spread them by the fire.

Thor sneezes.

"Loki," He mouths, not liking the feeling of him moving away, but Loki returns and lies down so they are back to back.

"Sleep," He commands quietly.

Thor sniffs, finding half his nose plugged. He closes his eyes, breathing wetly, and surrenders to the much needed slumber.

Loki, of course, lied.