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There they stand, at the end of all things.
The land before them is charred, scorched black and lifeless; the sky dark with ash. At their feet, the ground is littered with bodies, friend and foe alike. With each death there had been but precious little time to spare for grief and regret before it all fell to ruin.
When gods clash, there is nothing that can stand in their way.
A long, long time ago, Loki had seen it happen in a dream. He'd seen the death, the destruction, the coming of the end. "No," he'd said then, remembering little but for how he'd watched Thor take those steps to his death, seen him fall. Loki had decided then that things would change.
So he'd tried, fighting fate at every turn. The little things, the large things, the things that caused him to delve into the darker, grimmer magics. And somewhere along the way, Loki forgot what he was fighting for, forgot what had originally driven him to quest so desperately for power.
But Ragnarök is not so easily stopped, fate's course so easily changed. For all that Loki had tried to twist things, he'd only set them along their paths. It was only until the seas rose and the air turned toxic, Heimdall's horn blown that he'd finally remembered.
Just in time to see Jörmungandr's fang sink deep into Thor.
He'd called upon his power and grabbed the threads of fate, twisted them to his will with all he'd had left. But it wasn't enough to change things fully. The poison left Thor's body with each step he took and sank instead into Loki's.
They stand there, at the end of all things, their shoulders barely touching until Loki wavers and fall to his knees. Thor catches him, cradles him to his chest as Loki struggles to breathe.
Loki's gaze is unfocused now, flecks of blood flying from between his lips with each breath; they stain his lips. He looks stunning like this, Thor thinks, his hair dark and his skin grey and his lips a deep, deep red. It breaks his heart for the macabre beauty of it.
"Loki," Thor says, voice low. It trembles, and he makes no effort to hide it. "Loki, don't talk, let me try to help you."
It makes Loki laugh, light and unburdened for the first time in Thor's recent memory. Why must it be under this sort of circumstance that he finally hears it again.
"I don't want your help." He blinks slowly, and Thor feels a brief moment of panic at the way his eyes didn't immediately open.. "I chose this."
"Loki, please."
With a shaking hand, Loki reaches up. He weakly smacks Thor's cheek, and as it slips down, Thor brings up a hand to hold Loki's in place. "It was for you," Loki whispers, his strength failing him. "It was all for you." There are tears running down his cheeks, cutting through the blood and grime, leaving streaks of clean, pale skin. Loki doesn't acknowledge them the way he normally might and Thor thinks that, perhaps, Loki doesn't even realize it.
"Can't you—"
"For once," Loki snaps, sounding remarkably like his usual self, "Will you just be quiet?" Loki breaks off to cough, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth; Thor brushes it away with his thumb. "Thor," he says, and it's an unbearably gentle breath. "Brother."
The last word is a gentle exhalation. Loki doesn't inhale again.
"Loki?" Thor whispers. The only thing still holding Loki's hand to his cheek is Thor himself. "Loki."
Above them, the sky opens, the rain mixing with the tears streaking down Thor's cheeks. And there, at the end of all things, Thor is alone.