Blood and Knifes

12

Loki stomped out again today. Ever since Megan had began playing piano again, it seemed that the tension between the two of them had lessened, but perhaps not. Megan sighed, and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. As they were pouring in the powder, their hand jerked, spilling it all over the counter. But Megan paid no mind to that; they were already slamming the front door open and running out into the yard.

"Loki!" They called. "Loki!"

As he looked up, their foot slipped on a patch of ice and they wobbled to hold their balance. Loki stood abruptly, and moved to help them.

"Megan? What's wrong?" He asked quickly.

"You need to go inside!" They rushed over to him and tugged him back in the direction of the house.

"Why? What's going on..." he trailed off as he looked at his arms, which turned blue and had ridges in runic patterns forming.

"Come on!" They tugged him again, and this time he moved, hurriedly following them across the yard and into the house. As they slipped on the same patch of ice, Loki wrapped an arm around their waist to keep them upright, and then kept going, slamming the front door behind him as he pulled them inside.

He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands. Resisting the urge to wince, Megan's hands and feet began to burn, and they limped over to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the tub, they turned on the hot water and stuck their feet in, whimpering as the warmth ate away the cold. Then they stuck their hands under the water, and literally screamed as the pain overcame them. Their hands were blue, but not the same blue as Loki's skin. They were an unnatural blue-black, covered in burns. Tears slipped out, even as Megan tried to contain them.

"Megan?"

They whirled around, clutching their hands close to their chest.

"I heard you scream, are you..." His eyes tracked down them, and he gasped when his eyes rested on their hands. Taking a step back, he fumbled for the right words. "Is that- Did I-"

He stumbled forward and stretched out his hands to grab theirs, but snatched them back quickly when he realized they were still blue and ridged.

"Oh, norns. Oh norns. I'm so sorry, Megan. I'm so sorry." He stuttered.

Horrified, he withdrew. With a glance back at Megan, he said, "Wrap your hands with a wet washcloth." Then he practically ran into the bedroom and slammed the door.

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Loki collapsed onto the bed and curled into a ball, hiding his cursed hands in the center. Megan's scream had triggered the image he'd created of his mother's death, yet when he rushed in to help her, what he found was somehow much worse.

He couldn't get the damn image out of his head. The Midgardian cowering from him, hiding away her burns. The burns he'd inflicted on her. Even here, chagrining himself on the bed, he could still smell her scent lingering on the sheets, the blankets, the pillowcases.

Let her have the rest of the house. He would confine himself in the bedroom. She was safer without him around. He didn't deserve her anyways. She deserved someone who could take care of her. Someone who would love her properly. Someone who could touch her without hurting her.

No, he decided. She wouldn't even mourn for him if he died. Who would mourn for a monster?

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After Megan had wrapped their hands with a wet washcloth as Loki instructed, a wave of weariness washed over them. They swayed, then stumbled over to the coach. They'd had a very stressful day, they could lay down for a few minutes. They were sure their hunger would wake them in time to make them and Loki dinner. They closed their eyes.