I decided that Thor needed to be in on this angst fest. So I wrote a follow up chapter. -poker face-

Loki lay, listening to the sound of the war around him. The crystal glass of alcohol sat beside him, empty of its contents. It hadn't lasted long enough or been strong enough, but he was too weak to stand, let alone refill his glass. Instead, he thanked the stars that at least one of his enemies spared him a last drink before reconciling him to his fate. The Other would not be so kind.

There was a crunch of broken glass, and Loki dragged himself from the pain-induced haze that he had been reduced to. Two chitauri warriors had entered the facilities, and it would not be long before they spotted his pathetic hide, lying exposed upon the ground. They were not here to bring battle, as their strategy was to spread outward from the tower. No, they were searching for him.

Loki closed his eyes again, relishing the seconds of rest remaining to him.

He had barely counted to five before something sharp and hard that could probably qualify as a foot or boot found its home deep in his abdomen. He gasped in pain as he felt a rib crack from the force of the well-placed hit, the momentum sending him skidding against Stark's floor.

He hoped that he at least left a mess for Stark to clean up. This situation was his fault, anyways, being foolish enough to touch the scepter as he had.

A claws hand grabbed at his throat, lifting him into the air without difficulty. His struggle against the crushing force on his windpipes finally forced Loki's eyes open to see the monstrosity before him. In some last self-preservation instinct, he clawed uselessly at the merciless reptilian claw that pinned him there. But before Loki was given the mercy of lapsing into unconsciousness, he was hefted through the air, crashing painfully into furniture and sending glass shredding at his exposed skin.

He wondered, briefly, if they were to kill him. But again, that would be too merciful. They were going to shred his skin, break his bones, humiliate and destroy him. And when they were finished, they would drag him back to their master, and then the real pain would begin. But until then, he would not give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

That resolve melted away almost as soon as he thought it, as something sharp and burning pierced his lower abdomen. His eyes flew downward only to see his scepter spearing him through.

It wasn't lethal, but it didn't have to be. It pinned him down, both in the physical realm and the metaphorical, as the pain morphed from that of the wound into something much deeper, much more intense. There was no need to actually tear him apart if his own mind was convinced it was already happening.

Somewhere, in the midst of his pathetic screaming, he was aware that the atmosphere of the room had shifted. Another had entered, bringing with him all the power the heavens could muster. The world was consumed in light as electricity tore through the electronic structures of Stark's tower, striking down the chitauri that hovered around him. The sound of thunder that followed swallowed him whole.

As the darkness that followed swallowed him whole, Loki wondered if he had died. It would be better that way. Struck down by Thor, rather than a slow and painful death at the hand of the Other. Yes. This is how it should be.

He was distantly aware of his body once more. The scepter and its burning, manipulative magic was being wrenched from him, and pressure placed on the wound so that he didn't bleed out.

Regrettably, he didn't fade to unconsciousness or death as he had immediately hoped. Instead, he floated through a broken darkness, as though suddenly the great husk of his body was too large. That his soul was too small, too shattered to fit in its container. He remained that way for a long while, vaguely aware that the world turned on without him.

Tentatively, he opened his eyes, only to find his face so swollen that this was almost impossible. He was being cradled tightly in Thor's arms, as though he could save Loki from slipping away. The wound in his abdomen had been treated, if inexpertly, so that he no longer stood in danger of bleeding out.

"Thor," he rasped out, the very act of talking painful through his crushed vocal chords, "What are you—"

He didn't make it further before Thor let out a sound like a strangled sob, and clung more tightly to his brother. Loki considered, briefly, using one of his remaining knives to drive him off, but he was too tired. Instead, with what mobility he had, took in the situation about him.

Stark's room was a mess of smoking ruin and broken glass. Every bottle of probably-overpriced alcohol had shattered, its contents evaporated away. Except for the smell of charred flesh, the skeletons of furniture were indistinguishable from those of their enemies. It occurred to him that it was too quiet for the middle of a battle.

"Thor," he tried again, fighting through the pain, "The portal. I put…had Selvig put…off switch. The staff…" He wanted to explain that the staff was powered by the Mind Gem, an Infinity Gem not unlike the tesseract. That it would be unaffected by the force field, and would close the portal. That there was still a chance, if only he could get the thrice damned words to form.

But Thor did not move, and as Loki cast his eyes about he saw that there was no scepter in sight. Ah. So that was it. The clever little mortals had already figured it out. The battle was over, and his older brother was holding his enemy like one would hold a small child who had woken from a violent nightmare. (Like Thor had held him, many times in their shared childhood.)

"Thor…" he tried a third time.

"Loki," came the reply, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Loki was aware of warmth trickling down his neck, and realized that it wasn't his own blood. "I'm sorry."

I hate you! His mind screamed, and everything instinct prompted him to struggle and fight against the only thing that left him anchored. But then, unbidden came the thought.

Yes. This is how it should be.