For Pity

Both, I suppose

"Beg your pardon?"

Loki's eyes had yet to dry of tears, still they pursued through his slightly life changing revelation.

"He doesn't know I'm alive and, well... blue."

Sigyn sighed and drew back slightly, not to distance herself from fear, but rather to be able to see him more clearly and gauge his reaction, fearing certain questions may trigger him again.

"Why exactly does he think you're, well, dead?" Loki took in a deep, shaky breath, trying his best to compose himself from the conversation which was to arise.

He pulled Sigyn back, who had just gone to the standing position, and brought her to him so that his head was resting in her stomach, trying its best to stop the tears of both guilt and fear which were still flowing freely, despite his somewhat even breathing. She stood above him, and began to untangled his raven locks, which she found had a habit of hiding his face, should they want to.

"I made a mistake." He whispered into her gown, carrying the words almost like a secret.

Sigyn made no move to stop him, but none to egg him on either. Should he want to speak of it he would.

"I was supposed to die, I had been stabbed, I thought I was dead, turned out not." Alright, he did want to speak of it.

Sigyn kept brushing her hands through his hair, endlessly curious of where this story was to go, and somewhat horrified that the opening line was of death and mutilation, and yet she kept silent, not wanting to disturb him in any way.

"We were trying to stop a catastrophe, we were on Svartalfheim, fighting dark elves whom were hell bent on universal darkness, and Thor's lover seemed to have found possession of an infinity stone," he took a breath, before continuing, "and so she was to be a weapon. We fought, I came against a cursed whom I stabbed."

His words were becoming strained, his breathing beginning to pick up pace again. Sigyn dropped to be lower than him so she could look in his teary eyes. They were completely unfocused and staring at a place which didn't exist.

She took his hand in hers, trying to give some sort of comfort, which he acknowledged by applying pressure to it, in order to reassure himself of reality.

"He stabbed me." Sigyn felt her breath hitch, trying her hardest not to imagine Loki, lying on the barren grounds of Svartalfheim, injured and bleeding to death, and yet all she could see was the wound, the fear.

"And, you survived?" He took in another shaky breath, managing to compose himself.

"A scout found me, dragged me back to Asgard and presented me to the king." She could feel him shaking, not wanting to continue past that point. She got the general idea, he pretended to die and a now morally corrupt Odin, grieving his wife and lacking a son, decided to take his grief out on his 'son'. She didn't need to hear the details of it, and nor would she ever force Loki to tell such things.

He opened his mouth to continue but all that came out was silence, his eyes were screwed shut and he had stopped breathing, trying to repress the sobs which were threatening to overtake him once more.

Instead of calming him, Sigyn let a wave of sadness engulf them both, finding it more necessary for him to grieve what had happened rather than repress, leading to him sobbing into the shoulder of her gown, both of them sat on the floor and holding one another as if their lives depended on it.

He simply cried, for as long as necessary. Sigyn did not fuel the sadness, finding that he only needed that small push to allow himself to feel, and instead decided to remain with him in her arms till he tired himself out or stopped crying, whichever came first.

Whilst he cried, he choked out incoherent phrases, the clearest being: "Mother, it was all my fault," before another wave of despair hit him harder that the hammer his brother wielded.

His tears seemed to be infinite, along with the list of crimes he professed in her ear in almost complete gibberish, however more than once she heard the words 'it hurt too much' and more than once she heard talk of murders, or accidental deaths, however every time he said it, it seemed to weigh him down more than relieve him, possibly because talking of it, sharing it with Sigyn was more of a punishment to himself, rather than an atonement.

Because when confessing to a priest, the priest can't leave.

He knew full well the more he confessed, the more likely she was to leave, yet he couldn't stop speaking. He spoke of his torture induced Midguardian murder spree, and how he had never felt more disgusted with himself than when his body, contradicting his screaming mind, had raised a weapon against a brave old man. He spoke of how scared he was when he first woke up after his attempted suicide by falling down a black whole. He spoke of so many things which burdened him, and whilst it lightened his guilty gut, his heart became heavier and heavier with the fear she would stand and walk away, for fear of disgust of him.

He was certain that she could barely understand the verbal mess which was exiting him at over 100 miles per hour, but he was certain he heard her breath hitch when he spoke of his mother, and her death.

Eventually, he tired himself out, every word that had left him had taxed him more than the last, his tear ducts had run out of liquid to lose and his whole body was shaking from sheer exhaustion. He had tucked himself into Sigyn's still present arms, enjoying simply laying on her whilst she still ran her hand soothingly through his hair. His eyes were heavy and yet he refused to let them close.

He nuzzled his forehead into her neck, trying to get comfortable, and enjoying how she brought her hands around his waist and drew him closer to her.

"Do you want to go to bed?" The gentle nod of his head registered on her collar bone.

Sigyn sighed and adjusted her grip so that it was under his arms, and tried hoisting him up, only to have him whine slightly and wrap his arms around her neck, and his legs around her hips. He nuzzled back into her neck, seemingly asserting that, whilst he wanted sleep, he didn't need a bed to do so.

Instead of complaining, Sigyn adjusted her grip yet again and wrapped her arms around his waist, before standing up and carrying a very clingy Loki with her, whom was either laughing in her neck or sniffing, most likely laughing.

She laid him down on the bed, only to find he refused to let go, and instead tightened his grip, bringing her down on the bed in an odd yet comforting embrace.

"Loki?" He groaned into her neck, almost slumbering.

"Loki I have to change." His grip tightened more.

"Don't go."

She froze, stopping her attempts to dislodge him from her, and instead remained completely still. She tried her best not to put all of her weight on Loki and instead of pulling away, rewrapped her arms around him and pulled herself onto the bed once more, curling around him protectively.

"Alright."

She brought her chin on to his forehead and rested there, holding him ever closer to her body. She felt him shift slightly, his legs curling into his body rather than wrapped around hers, leaving him in the foetal position with her embracing him.

"Would I have to meet him?" His voice was sleepy, almost not registering the question asked.

"Not necessarily, if you want you can stay here." She buried her face in his hair, allowing herself to relax into the embrace.

He sighed and shook his head.

"He has to know at some point, I suppose."

Sigyn hummed in agreement, letting sleep begin to sink its claws into her.

"About you being alive, or that you're.. blue?"

She heard a chuckle and felt him look up towards her.

"Both, I supposed."