A/N: Having been dragged to a party against my will and, as always, making my goal of the day to be as socially awkward as possible, I started to contemplate one of the only things remotely important to me. No, not life. What do you think I am? Smart or something? Hahaha... no. Fanfiction is the answer. So anyway, I came to the disturbing conclusion that upon my lonely, desolate profile, there was not a single Thorki fic. This was a great blasphemy on the holy name of Loki and Marvel, so I instantly seeked to rectify it. Thus I conjured a Thorki story. You're welcome.

Disclaimer: I ain't Disney, so obviously I don't own Marvel.

With labored breathing and emerald eyes widened in barely concealed fear, Loki stared at the descending needle. It was odd that such a small, seemingly harmless object could be such a great source of terror and pain. But then, even mistletoe or a pair of scissors could bring a kingdom to it's knees if orchestrated correctly. If it wasn't for the current circumstances, Loki might have laughed. It was ironic really, that the silvertongued puppet master who manipulated the strings and made his pawns dance would, in turn, be defeated by thread. But perhaps that had been Odin's intention, the All-father had always favored poetic justice.

The needle pierced his lips and Loki flinched, but he did not struggle. He had long given up on trying to escape. What was the point? Sure, he was a master of magic and could hide out in some remote realm long enough to formulate a plan to elude his punishment, and he did not care that others would call him a coward for it, but Thor would find him eventually, and Loki had not the will or heart to fight his brother and be dragged back to Asgard in shame. He never had been able to stand against his brother, but not for lack for effort certainly. Loki blamed his inability to keep his emotions in check for that one.

First stitch.

"For his lies and crimes against Asgard and Svartalfheim, Loki Odinson shall have his lips sewn shut." Odin had declared, which was instantly greeted by cheering and excited murmurs from the people gathered in the throne room of Asgard. Loki had stared at the All-father with shock, fury and pain embedded clearly on his face. Surely he wasn't being serious, surely this was some kind of ploy. His father wouldn't do that, he couldn't, he would rescue him... right? But seeing the far too real disappointment in Odin's eye proved the exact opposite.

Then, "Thor, you shall do it."

A hushed silence fell upon everyone in the great hall as the golden Prince of Asgard stared at his father in abject horror.

"If you truly love your brother, Thor, then you must be the one to discipline him."

The thunder god had hesitated and Loki waited with baited breath for Thor to decline, for him to plead against the sentence, or even for him to break Loki out of his chains and help him escape. Because Thor wouldn't do that to him, he would never hurt him, he couldn't possibly be that cruel or naive. They were brothers. They were-

With trembling hands, Thor had taken the needle and the thread. And Loki's heart had shattered into a million jagged pieces inside his chest.

Second stitch.

The spectators- for Loki would no longer think of them as family or friends- watched him with unmasked glee. They were rejoicing in his pain, rejoicing that the deceitful liesmith was finally being silenced of his words, and Loki wondered of his mother and father. And of Thor. Did they hate him too? Did they think he deserved his punishment? Did he deserve his punishment? The Asgardians seemed to think so. As did the Dwarves, but it had been their suggestion so it was of no surprise. But it had only been a bet, one stupid little bet.

"I wager there is no finer craftsmanship in all the Nine Realms!" Loki had boasted, his honeyed words, as expected, persuading the Dwarves to fabricate just what he wanted- a wig for Sif, to replace the golden locks that Loki had sheared off, but it had only been a joke, could no one see that? He meant no harm. He had never wanted things to escalate from there. He simply wished to set one of his pranks right. But that was all it had been, a harmless prank. He had been foolish, brusque and arrogant sure, but Thor had been the same countless times, and he never suffered any consequences. But then, Loki thought bitterly, who was he to compare himself to the golden boy?

Third stitch.

The pain was getting steadily more unbearable with each passing moment. Loki's lips, his face, his whole body, felt as if it were on fire from the pain. He wanted to scream or cry or beg for the pain to stop, but he couldn't make more than a pathetic whimper with half his mouth stitched shut. His brother flinched at the noise, and for a mere second Loki was filled with a dismal relish. And if only for a moment, it still provided a much welcomed distraction. Anger was good, satisfaction was also good. Those were safe emotions, natural as breathing. Loki could handle anger and satisfaction. In fact he would prefer any emotion better than the abject agony and heartbreak that was tearing him apart.

For a while, he drifted in and out of consciousness, but he never fully passed out. Internally, Loki huffed out a snort. Of course he wouldn't, nothing was ever that easy for him, Norns forbid he should receive any small sliver of mercy. Several times he wondered if this is what dying was like, and each time he felt the mad urge to giggle. When had the prospect of death become such a relief? It dawned on Loki that he was quite possibly going insane from the pain. A viable theory. He had seen it happen before to the prisoners in the dungeons below Asgard.

Fourth stitch.

Thor's hold on Loki's chin was unusually rough, which was both odd and painful for the dark haired prince as his brother had never handled him with anything but cautious care. And that thought brought Loki to a much cherished time, and he remembered when Thor's touch sent a different kind of burn through his body, a fire made of passion rather than pain. Loki rapidly quelled the thought. That had been a long time ago, back when he had been sheltered from the true nature of the world, back in his younger years, when Thor and Loki would spend their every waking- and often sleeping- moment together, when they were inseparable and they never quarreled, when Thor had his heart and treated it with care.

With his older brother there to rescue him he had never feared any evil, with his mother's teachings and affection he was never without a smile or joke. Always with his nose buried in a book, his mind straying and mischief as his companion wherever he went, Loki had thought himself invincible. But those had been the blind thoughts of a guileless child, with no knowledge of the true destiny in store for him. Oh yes, he had been ingenuous before, but that had not lasted long. He knew the truth now. His family didn't love him. They never had. Thor never had.

Thor pulled out the needle, tugging on the string in the process, and Loki winced, making a small noise of protest as Thor's grip on his chin tightened. There was no response, and Thor didn't loosen his hold. Loki glared at his brother half-heartedly before turning his eyes away in resignation.

No one noticed the stray tear that escaped Thor's eye and rolled down his cheek.

Fifth stitch.

There was blood everywhere. There was blood in Loki's mouth, but he had no way of spitting it out so he was forced to swallow pint after pint of it down, making bile rise in his throat. There was blood on Thor's hands, the crimson liquid was smeared all over his fingers and wrists, and scarlet droplets sprayed onto his armor, painting a grotesque masterpiece. There was blood on the needle- and later Thor would discard the bloody, torturous instrument into the flames with a disgusted groan- and there was blood on the thread. There was blood on the floor, and Thor had no choice but to kneel for half an hour in the substance, constantly pushing down the urge to throw up as his brother's blood coated his knees. There was blood everywhere. And even after the ghastly liquid had been cleared away, in Thor's mind's eye there would always be a constant image of it pouring from his brother's mouth. And no matter how much he scrubbed and washed himself, no matter what spells he asked the healers to cast, he could never rid himself of the picture or feel of his brother's blood.

Sixth stitch.

Finally it is over, and the two brothers kneel together in the pool of tears and blood, both unable to speak and both equally as grief stricken. Electric blue eyes finally met tearful green ones. How could you do this to me? How could you do this to your own brother? They accuse silently. Thor turns away.

Thor's calloused fingers brushed gently over his lips, tracing the outlines of his scars, and Loki shuddered in content, then hated himself for doing so. He was meant to loathe Thor, he was meant to despise him, he was meant to want him dead. Instead, the trickster gazed into fervent, topaz blue eyes and his will crumbled. And though Thor never apologized, save giving him a loving caress or soft kiss, Loki forgave him anyway. And when Loki woke up screaming, hands held over his mouth with the same old phantom pain racking his body, it was Thor who comforted him. And after their arduous battle on Midgard, it was Thor who patched up his wounds.

It had always been Thor. Just as it had always been, and always would be. Loki could leave, he knew that, he could forget his family and the people who had scorned him, but that would mean abandoning Thor. And no matter how hard he tried, Loki couldn't bring himself to do that. They were two sides of the same coin, yin and yang, bound together eternally, for better or worse, until they destroyed each other. And besides, it would be futile to try and run, Loki would eventually find his way back to Thor. He always did.

A/N: This was meant to be a fluffy fanfic on Thor and Loki bonding over cats and ice cream... what have I done... oh well, please R&R!