*Completed* Sympathy for the Devil (Loki)

Part 2

     I couldn't explain the reason, but something didn't settle correctly in my mind. I sat next to my brother's bed be prompt up on the small table that rested nearby as I watched his peaceful sleeping face.

     Something wasn't right.

     Loki didn't get too tired to talk. When he was tired, his brain to mouth filter vanished, and he never shut up. But he hasn't said a word. He hasn't even tried. I suppose that one cannot simply wave off the brutal, barbaric treatment without a few ill effects not just of your body but also of the mind. Three months of torture was bound to have some consequences.

     Three months. If only I'd thought to go after him to catch him the moment he fell, none of this would have happened. He would be whole, well, perhaps a little depressed but not broken.

     I was the son of Odin. All the pain, all the torment he was living the roof at that moment of our quarrel on the Bifrost bridge It could only be multiplied a thousand times over by the Titans deeds. I was supposed to be less helpless than this.

     But there was nothing.

     All I could do was wait for Loki to awaken again. Instead, he slept and had been sleeping for three hours since he has awoken in the healing halls. Lady Eir had him on some intravenous potions designed to strengthen him or something. Loki would understand it better, but, well, he was unconscious.

     "Brother..." I sighed, pulling my feet off the table and leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. "Where did I go wrong?"

     At that moment, as if on cue, Loki's dark eyebrows drew together in distress. A pained, suffering look fell over his face, and his whole body tensed.

     A nightmare. He had ad them all the time as a child. As he began silently weeping, his breaths getting shaky and panicked, I lay a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Loki, wake up." I murmured. "It's a dream, nothing more."

     He shuddered pitifully, then fluted his eyes open. Immediately, they rested on me, flooded with relief, and he says up, clinging to my shirt in a desperate panic.

     "Hey, it's alright." I murmured, gently cradling his shaking body as I rocked him. "I've got you."

     There it was again. Not a peep, not even a "let go of me you oaf." Only silent, utterly silent sobbing.

     "Loki?" I asked, now sure that something was, indeed, wrong. "Won't you speak to me?"

     He stared at me with wide, confused eyes, as if what I had asked was ridiculous, not even worth an answer. He wiped the tear-stains off his face and blinked up at me in confusion. "Speak." I prompted. "You know... talk to me."

     Resolutely, he shook his head in a way that left absolutely no margin for disagreement.

     With a sigh, I wiped his nose on a handkerchief. "Any moment you wish to say something...." I told him. "I miss your voice."

     As if that was a ridiculous notion, he only smiled softly and closed his eyes once more.

     "Wait. Brother." He cracked his eyes open and stared up at me in confusion, but I was sure I saw dread there, as well. "Are you hungry?"

     With enthusiasm I hadn't realized he still was capable of, the Trickster's eyes lit up, and he nodded, his hands, which were still fisted in my tunic, finally releasing me in his excitement. I cracked a small smile and lifted the still-warm bowl of soup from the table. "All yours." I told him, laying the soup on his lap and pushing a spoon into his hands. He stared at the liquid in disbelief, as if it wasn't meant truly for him, or someone would take it away. But only for a minute, until he picked up the bowl in both hands, ignoring the spoon, and gulped it down in three swallows.