"Get. Up." Loki ordered. "You've suffered bigger wounds.” He looked down at your injured form, his gaze hard and his voice firm. His words were a command, not a request.

“And if you don't get up, I'll destroy anything that's left of this world." He threatened harshly, his icy blues narrowing in on you. His jaw ticked when you didn’t move, his shoulders tense. Loki took a breath, worry wracking his body, slowly all consuming.

"Please," he begged softly now, falling to his knees beside you. He gently turned you over when pulling you in close. With as much carefulness as he could muster, he cradled your head in his lap.

"Please get up.” He breathed, running his hand through your hair. The blood stained your beautiful locks, making it matted and dark in color. The sight of it, along with the way your eyes didn’t seem to move only made his heart twist painfully in his chest. God it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Please don't die on me." He pleaded again, his voice smaller now and almost inaudible. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. The corners of his eyes suddenly stung, his stomach churning uncomfortably. ’Please don’t be gone’ was all he could think.