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Loki was on his knees in front of Thor. His hands were on the ground, digging into the soft dirt, letting it crumble over his fingers. The dirt cooled off his hot hands that were covered with long cuts seeping with blood; his and others. Loki raised his head, looking at Thor.

“Do it,” he hissed. “Isn’t this what you have always wanted to do? Smite all of the Frost Giants in the land?”

Mjolnir felt heavy in Thor’s hand. A stab wound in his side weakened him, and he gazed down at his brother kneeling before him. Loki looked so frail and full of pain and anger that it hurt Thor just to keep his eyes one him.

“You know I would never do it,” Thor said softly. “I could never kill you, brother. Those threats I uttered were empty.”

His words irritated the dying god. A bitter smile curled his lips. Thor always said empty things.

You should know that when you betray me,   will kill you. Loki, this is madness. Look around you! You think this madness will end with your rule?

The words echoed through his mind like noises in a cave.

Loki was not mad. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn't. He told himself this when he was dangling from the Bifrost, hanging on to only Gungnir. He told himself this when he had let the Chitauri in the portal to attack Midgard. He told himself this when he had heard of Frigga’s death. Overturned furniture, books, and glass had littered the floor of his prison cell. He had sat down against the wall, his feet bloody from stepping on glass shards, and then he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and the only sound that would come out of his mouth was a strangled croak.

(I am not mad.)

You should know that when we fought each other in the past, I did so with a glimmer of hope that my brother was still in there somewhere. That hope no longer exists to protect you. Those words had put another crack in Loki’s breaking heart. He had just laughed the comment away when Thor had said it, but it kept filtering back into his mind until finally his heart exploded in his chest and blood filled his throat. He had choked on it for days, the bitter taste always filling his mouth until he forced himself to swallow it and let go of his feelings, his wishes, his heart.

No, it wasn’t even a heart anymore. It rivaled the shards of glass that had covered his cell floor. Loki was broken and could never be fixed: he was a lost cause.

Thor must learn that his brother could never be protected. He was too exposed to evil forces already, like a fresh piece of meat that was held out to hungry wolves for hours. If the Dark Elves did not get to him, his demons surely would. They would consume him until there was nothing left but a pile of bones.

Loki laughed bitterly. “Of course you wouldn’t be able to. Because underneath all of that metal and muscle, you are nothing more than a coward, a soft-hearted fool whose love of others will be the death of him.”

The God of Mischief did not care that his words made Thor grip Mjolnir tighter as he tried to fight the war inside his head. The war of trying to keep hold of the idea that there was hope for Loki, or the idea that he should just crush that thought.

Loki did not care that his mother would disapprove of the words he spoke, if she were alive. He did not care about anything except for the fact that he was being eaten alive by guilt and pain and sorrow and anger. He wanted his horrible life to end, now. He wanted to close his eyes and wake up in Valhalla where his mother was. Where his old life would be forgotten and he would be accepted no matter what horrifying things he had done in his past.

(No, you insolent fool. You will go to Hel.)

A noise that sounded like swords clashing magnified by a thousand ripped through the air and suddenly Loki felt a searing pain in his lower back. He let out a gasp as the sudden impact made him fall forward, slowly, slowly, slowly, as if he was swimming in quicksand. Instead of landing in dirt, two strong hands grabbed his arms. They twisted him so that he was lying on his back, facing the smoke filled sky. Loki arched his spine, trying to suppress some pain, but he could not find the strength to hold himself like that for long so he just lay flat and gritted his teeth.

Thor leaned over the younger god, his hands frantically skimming his brother’s stomach for something. Loki was not sure what Thor was exactly looking for because the only thing that he could see was blood; endless amounts of it. It stained the ground beneath him an ugly color, and when Thor pulled his hands away, they were as red as his cape. The Trickster felt something bubble in his throat. He coughed and more blood trickled from his lips.

“Loki, Loki can you hear me? You’re bleeding. Brother, I need to get you back to a medical tent. It was Malekith. I’m so sorry, brother. He shot you. I killed him. He’s gone. You’re safe now.” Thor’s eyes were wide and full of tears. His voice shook violently.

“Do not touch me. You will only make it worse,” Loki snapped weakly. “I will be dead before you take two steps. Give up, Thor. There is no hope for me."

Thor shook his head. “No, Loki, no. I can save you. There is hope for you. Brother, I will save you. I would never give up on you.”

“You cannot save everyone, Thor. Especially me. I told you to give up. I thought I made that clear when I let go of Gungnir on the Bifrost.” Loki felt a lump form in his throat as he said these awful words. His eyes stung, but he refused to let the tears fall. That was the truth. That was why it hurt so much. Lying never hurt. That was why he loved lying. If someone was good at lying and they were able to keep lying, no one would get hurt. But one slip up could cost them everything. The intricate pattern of lies someone spun could be undone with just a little pull. After all, Loki should have known. His whole life had been a lie.

“Do not speak falsely, Loki. Mother loved you. I love you. Everyone loves you. Do not give up,” Thor said firmly. He added in a shaky whisper, “Please.”

This conversation is getting us nowhere, Loki thought. He could feel his life seeping from him. It was getting harder and harder to breath. Even if Thor made the decision to scoop him up and run him to the medical tents right now, Loki would be dead before they got there. The youngest prince of Asgard accepted that. Now it was Thor’s turn. But Loki knew that Thor would never accept that. Not willingly.

Loki took a final deep breath and relaxed every muscle in his body until he was practically limp. He felt a slight numbness overcome him. One look at Thor’s eyes and he knew that he had morphed out of his Æsir form and into his Jotun one. If he was going to die, he wanted to leave this life the way he came into it: a Jotun. No matter how terrible and repulsive they were, he was one of them. He always would be. He concentrated hard and a cold sensation swept over one of his hands as a large ice-dagger formed in it. He gripped it tight and raised it over his heart.

Thor’s scream was lost as Loki brought the icicle down upon his chest. He felt no pain just a rush of cold and then…and then nothing.

Nothing.