Disclaimer: Thor belongs to Marvel.

AN: Okay, so all of you are probably gonna hate me for this, but the song just got to me somehow and my hands were just spelled (blame Loki, I know it's his fault, the sadomasochistic God) to write this. Even I got all wrenched up about this. *hugs Loki whilst ignoring green blasts of magic


"All the little pieces falling—shattered; shards of me, too sharp to put back together."

He was falling—down and down and down.

Arms outstretched, green eyes boring into blue eyes that once belonged to him, to his heart; freefall, down past stars, he fell.

Where had it all gone wrong?

He had almost reached his goal, his dream. He was to be exalted, to be respected, to be loved.

Where had it all gone wrong?

He had imagined himself—standing tall and proud, Asgard's light smiling down on him, the people raising their fists high into the air to cheer and revel. He had imagined himself—standing before his father, Odin Allfather, to stand there before him and to know the feeling of acceptance when the King would—will—can finally see that his son, Loki, was as much as important, as talented, as gifted as his older brother.

Why had it all gone wrong?

He had imagined himself—surrounded by the arms of his lovable oafish giant of a brother, a bright, loving and proud smile shining on the blond man's face. He had imagined himself—accepted by the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif.

Was there something wrong with just wanting to belong? Was it that horrible, that repulsive, for him to just want to feel what it felt like to have a family, to be loved for who he was?

He'd rather be lied to than to be exposed as someone who could never belong with the people and the place that he had come to associate with home.

And here he was now: falling and falling and falling, down and down and down.

His brother screamed for him. Green eyes never left the piercing blue of Thor's. Funny, it was. You only get to be appreciated when you are about to die.

He wondered once more, amidst rushing stars and cold emptiness, what it would be if Thor had matured when they were still young, before his fiasco in Jӧtunheim. It would have been nice to have his brother love him back then, back when he believed his idyllic existence in Asgard. Even if the world itself hated him, the idea of his brother being there for him soothed his heart.

And it was this idea—this dream—that he took comfort in.

He stared into blue eyes once his own, once he had called "brother".

He took comfort in this as he felt the cosmic eternity swallow him whole and breathed no more.


AN: OMG. *hugs Loki all the more tighter* ;-w-; I can't believe I got teary-eyed while I was writing this.