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Chapter Text

Sometimes, even after it was all over, Thor would wake up shaking, his heart going so fast he felt surely that it would give out at any moment. His fists would clench tightly to the thin sheets beneath him and he’d stare blindly up at the Benatar’s ceiling and wait desperately for the panic attack to pass.

Sometimes, it would only worsen, into hot tears and shaky sobs that he’d try with only partial success to suppress. Those times, Rocket and Groot would invariably stir in their bunks on the other side of the room, and quietly cross the room to comfort him: Rocket’s small hands resting gingerly in his hair, Groot growing small flowers that smelled of soothing lavender and jasmine. But neither would try to offer any empty words like, It was only a dream, because they both knew all too well that the worst dreams were the memories.

Thor’s head was full of the dead. His mother impaled on a Dark Elf’s blade. His father dissolving like so much dust into the sea. Heimdall’s golden eyes going dark. Hundreds of Asgardian men, women and children lying slain like a carpet of fallen leaves. Asgard exploding in a terrible conflagration forever burned into his retinas.

And Natasha falling endlessly through the swirling snow. And Tony’s vacant stare and the smell of his burnt flesh. And Loki, always Loki, his desperate foolish bravery and the way he’d looked at Thor and said Odinson and the sound of his neck snapping that would never, never leave Thor’s ears.

He’d said the sun will shine on us again but all these years later, Thor was still shivering in the dark.

Nothing Rocket and Groot said would be able to change the truth of any of that. How none of it could be undone, even as half the universe breathed again. But they sat with him until his breathing slowed and the deep and desperate craving for a drink faded. And for that, Thor was grateful.

It was strange at first, traveling with the Guardians. Thor had always been quite good at making friends and fitting in with new people, but he’d somewhat lost his touch for it during those five dark years in that dank hut by the sea. Not to mention that when he’d first met them he’d been in peak physical form, and he recalled how all except Quill had become easily enamoured with him; now, he could not help but notice the astonished sideways glances they sometimes made at his enormous gut, though wisely they rarely mentioned it. This last was a bit of a surprise to Thor, considering Drax’s bluntness, Quill’s resentment, and the whole crew’s overall general lack of tact. He almost would have rather they joked about it than pity him in silence.

But Thor had cut himself off from alcohol (something that had been much, much harder than he’d expected, despite watching Valkyrie struggle with the same upon their arrival in New Asgard) and was slowly working off the excess weight with the combined exercise of the dangerous jobs he and the Guardians went on and some equipment he’d found in the underbelly of the ship. But it would be a long time, if ever, before he was as fit as he’d been on Sakaar. That was alright, though. Thor would never again be the person he was on Sakaar. He kept his hair long and his beard braided, despite how it aged him. He would not and could not pretend that he was still that foolish young arrogant prince who had taken what he had for granted.

Idiot child, he’d find himself thinking with surprising venom whenever his mind wandered back too far. You have no idea what you’re going to lose. You should have stayed in exile on Midgard. You should have taken the blade meant for mother. You should have burned with Hela. You should have told Loki to take the Tesseract and run and let Thanos crush your skull.

Dark thoughts, dark moments. They came more often than Thor liked to admit.

Oh, but it really wasn’t all bad. As much as it hurt at times, as much as it felt like betrayal, leaving what was left of Asgard behind was the best way for Thor to try and forget his mistakes. He’d failed at being their king, and he hadn’t been able to save most of them, in the end. For a long time, that was something that he had thought he wouldn’t be able to live with. It was a weight that had pinned him to his bed more days than not in the last five years, a crushing grief and a failure as heavy as a planet that made the effort of getting out of bed, going outside, training, brushing his hair, and putting on a shirt simply … insurmountable. The Mighty Thor, brought pathetically low, he knew it even then; but he could not bring himself to stand.

Thor had tried to be a king. It was one of the few things he’d ever well and truly failed at. What good had the line of Odin done for Asgard in the past few years? Odin had always told him and Loki that they were both born to be kings… but in the end, neither of them were meant to be. Loki had been right to interrupt his first coronation, what felt like eons ago. His brother had stood by his throne on the other side of Ragnarok, but what good had that done him? No, that vision the Maximoff girl had given him was the truth all along… he was a Destroyer, and he had brought Asgard to ruin.

But when he saw his mother again, her words had been like benediction, like forgiveness. A balm on his soul, permission to let go of everything he had tried and failed to be. All his life he’d tried to be like Odin… but Odin’s mistakes had doomed Asgard as surely as his own. Frigga was the one he should have looked up to all along.

Valkyrie had already more or less been leading New Asgard anyway; it was more of a formality than anything, what he’d said to her before leaving on the Benatar. It was time for him to be something new. What exactly, he still didn’t know.

To be fair, the Guardians didn’t seem quite to know what to do with themselves either. They drifted from planet to planet, offering their help to anyone trying to recover from five years with a halved population and then a sudden restoration. In the space between, he played paper football with Nebula — something, Thor was both amused and saddened to discover, that Tony had taught them both — he sparred with Drax, he played video games with Groot, he built and repaired weapons with Rocket, he told Mantis dumb stories that made her scream with laughter.

And as for Quill… well, for all Thor’s posturing, he did defer to Quill most of the time — mostly because he didn’t have the heart to tease him when Quill spent so much of his time looking maudlin and grim. Thor figured it was the least he could do to let him believe he was in charge. For all Thor’s (admittedly rusty) charm, Quill remained frustratingly cool towards him and Nebula both.

“It is because he wishes Gamora was here instead of you,” Drax said in his usual direct manner one day, looking over at Quill asleep in the captain’s chair while the the rest of them picked at dehydrated rations for lunch.

Nebula’s jaw tightened and she looked down at her rations, nearly untouched.

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Thor heard, We all miss her.

“He was so different before,” Rocket said. “I mean, you could never get him to shut up or stand still. And now… he hardly ever speaks and he sleeps all the frickin’ time.”

“He is heartbroken,” Mantis said, her antennae lifting and glowing. “And he is… tortured by hope.”

Every night, after he thought everyone was asleep, Quill would run a search for Gamora’s face in intergalactic databases. The other Gamora, the one who did not know him, may have still been out there somewhere. If she showed up on surveillance anywhere, he would know. But even now, months later, there had still been no results. That didn’t stop Quill from returning to the database again and again.

Tortured by hope. Yes, Thor knew a thing or two about that.

The sun will shine on us again.

The loud ringing noise of an incoming transmission jerked Thor out of his spiraling thoughts and Quill out of his sleep. Quill fumbled for the comm and answered it with a blurry, “H’llo?”

A moment later, Quill turned to look back at them and found them all staring his way. His brow furrowed. “What are you all lookin at?”

“Nothing,” they all said, with various degrees of sincerity, and Quill rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” he said. “Thor, incoming holo-call for you. It’s that Valkyrie chick.”

Thor’s heart lifted a little and a smile spread across his face. “Wonderful,” he said, standing and rounding the table. “Patch her through.”

Thor usually only heard from New Asgard once a month or so. Seeing Valkyrie or Korg or Miek always lightened his spirits; they were among the few people left in the universe he had anything like a history with. They knew nothing of who he’d been before Sakaar, but Thor was almost glad of it; less painful that way.

Quill turned back around and pressed a button on the comm, and Valkyrie flickered into full-size translucent color in front of him. She smiled at the sight of him.

“Hey, Thor.” Her gaze moved past him. “Hello, Guardians.”

“Val,” Thor grinned, folding his arms and leaning back on the table. Behind him, the others waved and returned various greetings. Quill stood from the captain’s seat and pushed the comm into Thor’s hand as he left the room without a word. Valkyrie watched him go with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing about it. Thor could hear the other Guardians leaving the room with a little more subtlety.

Val’s eyes moved back to Thor. “You’re looking loads better than the last time I saw you.”

“You think so?” He flexed one arm and poked at his bicep, which was growing more defined each day. “I hadn’t even noticed. Must be my natural state.”

“That is a lie!” Drax piped up. “He checks himself in the mirror every day!”

Without looking, Thor picked up a bolt off the table and chucked it in Drax’s direction, gratified to hear his faint ow as he ducked out of the room.

Valkyrie’s smile was amused. “I mean it,” she said. “It’s good to see you’re out in the action again.”

“Yes, well,” Thor said, and swiftly changed the subject. “How’s New Asgard?”

Valkyrie blew out a breath and pulled over a chair from out of Thor’s sight, settling heavily into it with an air of weary satisfaction. “Truly well, Thor. The fishing is good this season. And the seeds of the apple trees from Asgard, the ones Idunn saved and planted in the spring, have begun to sprout.”

Thor swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat at the thought that some of the fruit of Asgard’s soil yet lived. “Idunn always did have a magic touch with those trees.”

“And a child was born yesterday, to the lady Gerda,” Valkyrie went on. She rolled her eyes as she said, “She named her Thora, of all things.”

Thor chuckled. “I knew there was a reason I liked Gerda.”

Valkyrie glared at him. “You don’t like Gerda. What was it you called her? Stuffy old nobility, always with something to complain about?”

Thor shrugged, still smiling smugly. “I’ve no recollection.”

“Mmm hmm,” Valkyrie hummed doubtfully. “To tell you the truth, I was a little offended, especially since I was right there helping the midwife. But I doubt she’ll be the last child named after the royal family.”

Thor’s smile faded. “I’m not royal,” he said. “Not anymore. You’re the royal family now, if anyone.”

“Well, not really, actually,” Valkyrie said, casually picking at something on the bottom of her boot. “I’m more of a… what’s the word… prime minister, now.”

Thor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, it was something Korg read about,” Val continued, still cleaning her boot treads. “It’s not really practical to have a monarchy when I have no heirs and no intention of bearing any, so…” she shrugged. “Apparently it’s called a ‘parliamentary democracy.’ We let the people choose who will lead.”

Thor titled his head. “But they did choose you?”

“Oh, unanimously,” Valkyrie said, looking up. “But I’ve a parliament now, too… basically just a council as far as I can tell. Korg is sitting on it, and Idunn and Frey, and some representatives of the merchant and farming classes and such. Nine in all.”

“I see.” Thor paused, thinking it over. “That’s… unexpected, but… it sounds better.”

“Certainly,” Valkyrie said. “You should have heard Korg go on.” She pitched her voice higher and adopted Korg’s strange cadence. “‘Hey man, hereditary monarchy is archaic and inherently flawed, it’s gotta be representative system or revolution!’”

Thor laughed, and Valkyrie laughed with him even as she rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s better than hearing him talk about that moronic video game. And anyway, this way no one is tied to the throne… or what used to be a throne, I guess.”

Thor frowned. “Val… I did not mean to saddle you with something you didn’t want.”

She waved him off, saying, “You didn’t saddle me with anything, Thor. I like keeping busy these days. Plus, someone else could easily take my place. To hear Tyr talk, he certainly has political ambitions. Or, you know,” she glanced up at him, “You could always come back.”

Thor sighed. “Val…”

“I know, I know,” she said, holding up her hands in placation. “But you don’t have to be a king to be a leader. It’s not a cage anymore. And besides, half these people would still swear their loyalty to you over anyone else.”

“I don’t know why,” Thor admitted. “I only ever led them to ruin.”

Valkyrie’s gaze softened. “You did what you could, Thor.”

“Well, it wasn’t enough,” Thor bit out, straightening abruptly and beginning to pace. “We were a grand people before I came into the throne. Asgard was destroyed under my orders — ”

“You did it to defeat Hela —”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have!” Thor whipped around. “Perhaps I should have left her there, and the Tesseract, and perhaps Thanos would have come to her and she would have killed him —”

“And then what?” Val snapped back. “She would have been free to wreak her own havoc on the universe. Or Thanos would have killed her, and been that much closer to his goal anyway, with none of us any the wiser to stop him.”

Thor slumped back against the table. “But half our people would still be alive. And Heimdall. And… and Loki.”

Valkyrie said nothing, and in the ensuing silence Thor pressed his palms to his suddenly burning eyes. In that darkness, knowing he did not have to see her face, he found himself speaking the words he hardly dared think.

“Sometimes I hate him,” he said. “Loki." He stopped, then forced himself to go on. "It’s not fair to him. But I can’t help it.”

Valkyrie still was silent, and Thor dared lower his hands, though he still could not look at her. “I’ve mourned him before, and every time I did, he always came back. How am I… how am I ever supposed to stop expecting him to do it again?”

Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her face was placid, but great sadness glimmered in her eyes. “Thor,” she began, and then stopped. Sighed. Started again. “I’m no good at this comforting shit, you know.”

Despite it all, Thor chuckled. “I don’t know what you mean, Val. Your bedside manner is utterly charming.”

She gave him a half-hearted glare. “Look, it’s no secret I thought your brother was a prick,” she said.

“I know,” Thor said, trying not to flinch.

“But… I saw the way he was around you. He tried to hide it, but he always looked at you with just… total devotion.”

Thor looked to one side, heart aching. Devotion. He knew that look. It was the last thing he’d seen in his brother’s eyes. Just moments before the end.

“Loki loved you,” Valkyrie said simply. “Don’t you think, if he could come back to you, he would have by now?”

Thor took a few measured breaths in silence. “I don’t know. I never know with him. He ran when I wanted him to stay. And when I was sure he would run, he stayed.”

For a few moments, Val said nothing. When she did speak, it was with a distant gaze. “I don’t know, Thor. I wish I could tell you it’s worth hoping for. But I spent so long on Sakaar trying to deny, trying to forget… and looking back, it was all such wasted time. Grief always comes around. And I’m only just starting to see the other side of it.”

She paused again and dashed hastily at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help. But I’ve never had a gift for wise words.”

Thor smiled at her. It was small and sad, but real. “Thank you, Valkyrie. Just seeing you is of a great help to me.”

“You too,” she said, softer than usual. “We miss you here, you know. Say you’ll come to the festival next month? For the anniversary of New Asgard?”

“Of course,” Thor said, pressing his fist to his heart. “You have my word.”

Valkyrie stood and reached out her hand as if to shake it. Thor did the same, his hand passing through hers with a faint electric buzz. “It’ll get better, Thor,” she said, her gaze steady and piercing.

“I know,” Thor said, and pressed the button on the comm to end the transmission. Valkyrie vanished, and Thor stood alone.

He did know, he did. But he also knew, from the past fifteen or so years, that there was always, always, further to fall.

Sunlight was streaming through the tall windows in Thor’s chambers in Asgard, rich orange sunlight as the sun itself sank below the waters at the edge of the planet.

Thor walked through the doorway to the room gently, as if walking too loudly would cause the scene to crumble below his feet. The curtains billowed gently in the evening breeze, and Thor could hear the good-natured cheers of warriors in the training arena outside. The sweet smell of Asgard’s golden summertime filled his lungs, and Thor was so lost in the sensations he thought he’d never feel again that he didn’t even notice Loki sitting sprawled across the long couch by his fireplace until he said,

“So, what did father want to talk about?”

Thor jumped a little, and turned to stare openly at his brother. He looked astonishingly young, his dark hair shorter than it had been in years, just barely curling around the bottoms of his ears. But his sharp gaze was the same as it had ever been. As Thor continued to stare and said nothing, he lifted an eyebrow.

“Thor? Hello?”

“Loki,” was all Thor could manage, suddenly consumed by the last time he had been in these halls, the last time he’d seen Loki sprawled out like this, lazing in his cell and tossing a cup in the air. And Thor was seized by the same terror he’d felt when he and Rocket had appeared in those familiar dungeons: that if he saw Loki, he would not be able to stop himself from reaching out to him and telling him everything he never got to say, and he would be unable to bear the knowledge that this Loki right here would someday meet his end in the clutch of Thanos’ fist. It was a terror that Loki would look at him and see only something to be disgusted by, something to sneer at, that he would turn away from Thor’s open hands and slide the cruel blade of his words between Thor’s ribs.

So Thor had snuck by, not daring to risk any of it. But now, Loki had seen him. Loki was seeing him.

“Have you gone daft?” Loki asked. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then amended. “Well, daft-er.”

“I-”

“He found out about what happened on Alfheim, didn’t he? I did tell you not to go after that elven princess.”

Thor took a breath. “This is a memory,” he said. “A dream.”

Loki blinked. “Well, yes,” he said. “But it’s one of the more pleasant ones. I would have thought you’d appreciate that.”

“You made this?” Thor asked.

Loki scoffed, standing and sauntering over to him. “Don’t sound so surprised. Illusions are my specialty, after all — or did you forget? I can choose a different one, if you’d like.”

Even as he said it, Asgard’s golden walls peeled away in a flash of golden-green light and Thor found himself sitting opposite Loki at a table in the Statesman with Valkyrie, Heimdall, and the Hulk. Loki, who looked now just as he had before his death, was a silhouette against the port hull that looked out into the universe, shining eternally with billions of stars and the kaleidoscopic colors of old supernovas. There were cards on the table and in their hands.

“Got any fours?” Hulk asked gruffly.

“Go fish,” Heimdall said imperiously.

Hulk growled. “LYING!” He slammed his fist on the table, cracking it down the middle.

“I never lie,” Heimdall replied, completely straight-faced, and Valkyrie, her cheeks rosy with drink, actually giggled into her cards.

“My turn,” Heimdall continued. “Thor,” he said, turning his golden gaze upon him, “Got any kings?”

Thor, in fact, had three kings, something Heimdall the All-Seeing would surely know, but Thor paid him no mind, his eyes still fixed on Loki.

“Loki, enough of this,” he said. “Let me speak to you plainly.”

Loki’s gaze was steady. “Very well, brother,” he said. “If that’s what you wish.”

Once more the gold-green light washed over the room, and then they were standing on that cliff in Norway where everything had started to end. But Thor didn’t even care. He stepped closer to Loki and reached out a hand. Loki watched him, unflinching as Thor touched the side of his neck. There were no bruises there. No bulging vertebrae or broken veins. This was Loki at his peak, a tall graceful figure of lean strength, clad in flowing green, dark hair curling naturally past his shoulders and swept neatly back from his clear green eyes.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Thor blurted out. “The last thing I said. To you. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Loki said. “Don’t worry about that, Thor.”

“You should have run,” he said. “You should have let him kill me.”

“Perhaps I should have,” Loki said. “But you are more a fool than I realized if you think that I could have.”

Thor’s eyes burned. “I miss you.”

Loki’s eyes were soft. “I know that too.”

Thor brought his other hand up to frame Loki’s face, to hold him there and look back and forth between Loki’s eyes as his brother looked steadily back.

“Are you real?” Thor whispered.

Loki’s eyes drifted shut, and his voice was barely more than a murmur when he said, “Is anything real, in dreams?”

Thor awoke slowly and steadily, like rising to the surface of water. His eyes, when he opened them, were dry, but his chest ached in a peculiar way that was not entirely unpleasant. A few moments later, he realized he could hear the sound of music playing faintly elsewhere in the ship.

Thor stood and quietly made his way up to the main room of the Benatar, following the sound of guitar and a woman’s voice singing soft and sad and sweet.

“Take my love, take it down…”

Quill was slumped in the captain’s seat, asleep again. Thor wondered to himself how often he actually slept in his own bunk. The bunk, Thor supposed, that he may have once shared with Gamora. The wheels of one of his cassettes spun round and round in the music player built into the ship.

“Climb a mountain and turn around…”

The surveillance database was running at top speed on the screen in front of Quill as he snored gently, running through hundreds of images per second, too fast for Thor to make any of them out. The image of Gamora stared solemnly out at him from one corner.

“And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills…” 

Thor watched the images fly by for a few moments before hesitantly reaching out to type Loki’s name into the database. An image taken of him on Midgard during that fateful invasion appeared next to Gamora’s, his golden horns curving high above him. Thor watched as the surveillance scans paused for a brief second, processing the new data input, before racing off again in a blur of indiscernible shapes and colors.

“The landslide will bring it down…”

The cassette clicked to a stop and the music faded, but Thor stayed where he was, watching the scanner go on endlessly.

He stood there for a long time.

Chapter Text

Through some unspoken consensus, the path of their wanderings eventually took them towards Xandar.

The Guardians were visibly apprehensive as they approached the planet and prepared to enter the atmosphere. Though they spoke little of it, Thor gathered that they had accomplished some feat of heroism the last time they were there, protecting the Xandarians and the Power Stone from a Kree madman who was an ally of Thanos. How it must have cut them, then, when Thor told them what had happened since.

One week before the worst day of Thor’s long life, as the Statesman had continued its doomed voyage towards Midgard, they had managed to make contact with a passing Nova Corps ship. Thor had planned to ask them for aid; though Asgard and the Nova Corps had not often affiliated with each other before, there had once existed between them a mutual respect as two of the most powerful forces in the galaxy. But where Thor had hoped to receive glad tidings of fresh water and food for the starving people of Asgard, he got only terrible news.

“Xandar is decimated,” the Nova Corps officer said, his voice audibly shaking through the crackling comm. “The Nova Corps is… halved. We have nothing to offer you, I’m sorry.”

Thor, mentally reeling from the news, could only think to say, “Decimated? How?”

“The Mad Titan,” the officer said, steely hatred creeping into his voice. “He came upon us like a firestorm — he killed Nova Prime — he ripped the Power Stone from our vaults — he lined us up in two rows and slaughtered one while the other watched…”

Another mighty empire brought low, Thor thought distantly. Stunned, he repeated, “The Mad Titan? Who is that?”

And both the Nova Corps officer and Loki said in unison, “Thanos.”

Thor turned his head to look at his brother beside him. Loki was even paler than usual, and his eyes were solemn and large.

“Loki,” Thor said slowly, forgetting all about the comm in his hand, “What do you know of this?”

Loki had told him, then, of where exactly he had landed after falling from the Bifrost years ago. He told him of Thanos’ cruel methods, his fanatic followers, his twisted vision. He told him everything, including that he had taken the Tesseract from Asgard’s vault and thus placed a target upon all their backs.

They had tried to prepare for the eventuality of an attack, but in the end, with most of their warriors having perished by Hela’s hand and those Asgardians that remained weakened by their lack of resources, their contingency plans had not been enough.

After Thanos’ ship rose into sight like a great white shark breaching the ocean’s surface, after the alarms had been activated, after the fighting and the screaming had begun, Thor had seized Loki by the shoulders and said,

“No matter what happens, keep the Tesseract safe.” He shook him a little, for emphasis. “Don’t give it to him. No matter what, Loki.”

Loki, looking frightened, had nodded, saying, “Yes, alright, I know, Thor.”

Then he had promptly broken that assurance.

To Loki’s credit, he had put up a decent front. An outsider could very well have believed that Loki cared not whether Thor died. But Thanos, who had held Loki beneath his thumb for interminable months in the void, who had taken him apart in every way, who had cracked open his very mind, knew better than anyone that the fastest way to break Loki was by making Thor scream.

Ah, but Thor could not fault his brother. For who was to say, were the situation reversed, that Thor would not have done the same? The fate of the universe was in the balance, and even having seen the consequences firsthand, Thor could still not say for certain whether he could have sacrificed Loki to save it. Perhaps it was for the best that he had never been granted that choice.

“This is Star-Lord, captain of the Benatar, requesting atmospheric entry,” Quill was saying as Thor brooded, in communication with Xandar below.

“What are your intentions on Xandar?” the male voice said curtly on the other end.

“We’re here to offer aid with recuperation efforts, and meet with the new Nova Prime.” He paused, then added, “We’re, uh, the Guardians of the Galaxy— you might remember us— we kinda saved the planet the last time we were here?”

There was a long, long pause. Then, the comm crackled back to life on the other end.

“Nova Prime Dey has granted you both entry and an audience,” the voice said. “You may land.”

“Did he say… Dey is the new Nova Prime?” Rocket said disbelievingly.

“Yeah, wow, I had no clue he was that high up in the ranks,” Quill said. “Frankly I always pegged him as the donut-munching cop type.”

That sounded like the sort of Midgardian expression Tony would say (would have said, used to say, such mental corrections were common these days) but Thor was not sure what it meant. However, when they landed and entered the Nova Corps headquarters, he too was surprised by the man who greeted them.

Nova Prime Rael had been a tall, stern, commanding woman, who Thor recalled meeting exactly once as a young and foolish prince during a diplomatic excursion Odin had taken him on in his vain attempts to teach Thor the business of governance.

The man who had taken her place since her death was her opposite in many ways. He was rather stout, with a kindly looking face and a receding hairline of gingery curly hair. When he spoke, his voice sounded better suited to telling children tales of thrilling bilgesnipe hunts than commanding the largest policing force in the galaxy. Well, what had once been the largest policing force in the galaxy.

“Star-Lord!” he exclaimed as he shook Quill’s hand. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you on this planet again. Frankly, I thought you whole lot would be back in prison by now. Although, uh,” he glanced at the rest of them. “I see you’ve picked up a few members.”

Quill introduced Mantis, who said hello in her strange lilting way and stared unrelentingly at Dey with her buglike eyes.

Thor stepped forward without waiting for Quill’s introduction and took Dey’s hand firmly in his own.

“Greetings, Nova Prime, I am Thor Odinson of Asgard,” he said, inclining his head slightly in respect learned from centuries of royal duties.

“You’re Thor? The Thor?” Dey said, looking at him with faint surprise. “Wow. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We heard about Asgard. And we found the remnants of your ship. We assumed you were among the dead.”

If only, Thor caught himself thinking, but cut that familiar line of thought off quickly. “I am quite difficult to kill, I assure you,” he said instead. “Many, many have tried.”

Finally, Nebula stepped forward and nearly crushed the man’s hand in her grip.

“Say, I think I’ve seen your face on our most wanted lists,” Dey said. “Aren’t you an intergalactic criminal?”

“Who here hasn’t been an intergalactic criminal once or twice,” Rocket muttered.

“I was a child of Thanos, once,” Nebula said, more loudly, and Thor did not think he imagined everyone in the room, even the guards standing silently along the walls, tensing at the name. “I’ve long since escaped his service, and since his death I’ve been traveling with these… Guardians.”

Dey’s genial tone sombered as he asked, “Were you the ones that killed him?”

There was a pause as they all pondered how to answer a question that should not have been so complicated.

“Thor did,” Rocket eventually offered.

“Yes,” Thor admitted. “I killed him. One of him.” More quietly, he muttered, “Not really the one that mattered, though, I suppose…”

“Wait, what do you mean, one of him?” Dey said, brow furrowed.

“I am Groot,” Groot began, but Thor interrupted.

“It is a long tale,” he said. “My blade separated Thanos’ head from his shoulders, yes, but the return of the vanished is due to a great Terran man by the name of Bruce Banner, and his ultimate defeat is thanks to another Terran hero by the name of Tony Stark, who fell honorably in the battle.”

Banner crippled and Stark dead, and what use were you during any of it? Thor ignored this thought, as he had learned to do with many others like it.

It hurt Thor a little to say Tony’s name, but Dey just said, “Huh. Never heard of him, but we’ll have to get a plaque made or something. Not,” he added, turning and beckoning for them to follow him, “That the return of the vanished solved all our problems.”

Dey led them into the next room, where a holographic model of Xandar hovered above a table in the center. Dey waved his hand and the globe spun and zoomed in on the landmass they were currently on.

“You said you wanted to help us, right? Well, we’ve been having a bit of a… pest problem.”

“We have not come to kill bugs,” Drax said, sounding offended. Then, after a thought, added, “Unless they are very, very large bugs.”

“Oh, they’re large, all right,” Dey said. “And they’re not bugs.”

A beacon lit up on the hologram indicating a region some distance west of the Xandarian capital in which they now stood. “A few decades ago, when Xandar was doing major infrastructure overhauls, we brought in a herd of creatures from the planet Revis that we call rockworms. They’re capable of quickly devouring rock and soil, which worked a lot more efficiently than any of the tech we had to build sewers and tunnels and such. They take a lot of manpower to keep under control, but we had them confined to the rockworm farms in this area.”

The hologram zoomed in even further, and the beacon separated into points of light indicating the locations of the farms. The lights illuminated the dark look on Dey’s face as he said, “When Thanos came and we lost half those farmers, and then half again, the farms fell apart and the rockworms were released into the wild. They went feral within months. They were reduced by the Vanishing, of course, but they breed fast, especially now that they’re back to their full numbers. And, as I said, they’re big.”

The holographic image switched to a projection of a Xandarian farmer fighting to tie down a rockworm, which reared up to thrice the man’s height. The creature looked more like a serpent than a worm, Thor thought, with a long scaly body and slit-pupiled yellow eyes. Instead of fangs, however, Thor saw rows and rows of rotating teeth when the creature opened its mouth and roared.

“At our full strength, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Dey went on. “But we were weakened even before the Vanishing and now… many of us are struggling to adjust.”

“What do you want us to do?” Nebula asked. “Kill them all?”

“Well, no,” Dey said. “Not all. Of course, it might help to thin the herd a little, but mainly we just need you to kill one.”

The image changed back to a map, this time a 3-D terrain with a beacon hovering over the tallest mountain in a range that separated the Xandarian capital from the rest of the continent.

“The rockworms, in their natural habitat, have a hive-like structure centered around a queen,” Dey explained. “Without one, the strongest in the herd will begin to grow to be larger and more aggressive than the rest. To keep them domesticated and under our control, we have to keep a constant eye out for an emerging queen and kill her before she gains the loyalty of the herd. Obviously, we haven’t been doing that these past years, and their new queen has had all that time to get bigger and more ferocious. She’s tunneled into the heart of this mountain, surrounded by hundreds of fiercely protective rockworms.”

“Ok…” Quill said, squinting at the hologram. “That’s unfortunate, yeah, but I mean… can’t the full force of the Nova Corps take out one big snake?”

“Well, as I’ve said, we are not at full force,” Dey said, expression hardening. “Many of our weapons were destroyed in Thanos’ invasion. Those that remain could not kill the queen without leveling the whole mountain, which would bring a massive avalanche onto the capital. We have to send individual squads into the tunnels. If they make it through the protective hordes — who have hides resistant to laser blasts, by the way — the queen has an additional defense.”

The hologram changed once more, this time displaying a diagram of the inner workings of a rockworm.

“When a queen has fully established herself, it triggers a change in her biology.” The diagram showed a sac-like shape growing above the creature’s jaws. “Since she becomes stationary, she needs a better way of defending herself.” In front of the rockworm’s many teeth, two long, sharp fangs extended down from the top jaw. “So she becomes venomous.”

“Of course she does,” Quill muttered, rubbing at one eye.

The hologram dissipated, and Dey stood with hands folded behind his back, looking grave. “If we do not contain the rockworms, they will start tunneling under the city, causing sinkholes and flooding. We cannot afford the literal collapse of our society on top of the economic and, frankly, mental collapse that we already face.” He hesitated. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much to offer you in return. We’ve funneled everything we have into rebuilding after the attack. But I know that you are an… honorable bunch. Will you help us?”

By the way he said it, Thor figured that even he knew that “honorable” was not a word most people would think to use to describe the Guardians, but none of them disputed the obvious attempt at flattery. Thor hefted Stormbreaker.

“Of course we’ll help,” he said with a smile. “Sounds like great fun, killing a giant venomous snake! You know,” he said as an aside to Mantis, who happened to be standing next to him, “I’ve always loved snakes.”

It was meant to be a jest, but as always, it brought up that old memory that he had once looked upon so fondly— but now, like most thoughts of Loki, and Asgard, and his squandered youth, it brought nothing but pain.

This one time when we were children he transformed himself into a snake-

Thor swiftly killed the thought, but Mantis must have picked up on his sudden surge of melancholy, for she gave him a sad look. Thor turned away abruptly.

Quill was looking at him with faint annoyance — for making the decision for them, Thor supposed.

“Yeah, we’ll do it, Dey,” Quill said. “It’s the least we can do. I’m sorry we weren’t here to help when Thanos attacked.”

“Probably just as well,” Dey said. “He would have killed you all easily.”

“Well I mean, probably not that easily-” Quill began to protest.

“So like, no payment at all?” Rocket interrupted.

Groot hit him on the arm, but Dey smiled a little.

“We can give you free lodging while you’re here, and provide food and drink,” he said.

Rocket shrugged. “Good enough for me. Anything’s better than that lumpy mattress on the ship.”

“Wonderful,” Dey said, and gestured for an attendant to come over to them. “Nia will show you to your rooms. Let’s see, there’s… eight of you?” His brow furrowed. “Wait. Didn’t you use to have another member? A Zen-Whoberi, wasn’t she?”

For several long moments, no one said anything. Nebula’s hands tightened into fists, and Quill went very, very still.

Finally, Drax said, with a surprising degree of tact, “Yes, she was.”

Quill turned on his heel and sped from the room, the attendant hurrying after him.

When twilight had fallen over Xandar, Thor left his rooms and went to walk about the city. The streets were quiet, some of them darkened and abandoned completely. While reconstruction efforts were clearly underway, everywhere he turned he could see evidence of what Thanos had done to these people. Here, a leveled building; there, a collapsed bridge; beneath his feet, faded stains that could not be scrubbed out from the pavement.

Just like Asgard, Xandar had been halved, and then quartered within days. It seemed that, in the aftermath, most of the city’s remaining population had moved inwards towards the heart of the city, leaving whole blocks along the outer edges to crumble and rot. Now, the returned were beginning to clean up at least some of those areas and inhabit those homes again, but there was still a gaping absence to be felt.

It felt like New Asgard, that lacking. Outwardly, the city was recovering, learning to live with this new reality. But inwardly, there was not a single person who did not still mourn. Like New Asgard, Xandar would not be getting back everything it had lost. Like Asgard, Xandar had been struck down at the height of its power and kicked repeatedly while curled up on the ground, praying for mercy.

There were a few places, though, that were as lively as Thor imagined they had ever been: the taverns. That was where Quill had gone, Thor knew, and Rocket and Groot as well.

“We’re going for a drink,” Rocket had told Thor when he had encountered them in the hall between their rooms. There had been a stilted pause, then, an empty space where Thor knew, in another life, Rocket would have said, “Want to come with?”

In that other life, Thor would have heartily agreed, and they would have spent a long and cheerful night in the tavern, Thor challenging everyone in the bar to drinking contests and tests of strength and roaring with good-natured laughter when he won every time. He would have stood on a table and led the whole tavern in song, would have regaled them with tales of his own adventures. When the tavern closed, Thor would have picked Rocket up from where he’d passed out on the floor and gently flung him over his shoulder and leaned drunkenly on Groot as they staggered back to one of their rooms and all fallen asleep inebriated and content.

But in this life, Thor had not touched alcohol in months and the taste of beer was now synonymous with grief and emptiness and long sunless days when Thor drank just to try and forget that crushing weight on his heart, if only for a moment, please, just for one moment. In this life, Thor’s body would, at the worst of times, desperately crave a drink where before it would have only pleasantly longed for one. In this life, Rocket only said, “We’ll see you later,” and passed him by.

Now, walking down the street where all the taverns were sat side by side, windows lit and full of noise, Thor lingered in doorways but dared not enter. He could smell the liquor and spirits wafting out from each establishment; alcohol smelled much the same no matter the realm or planet. It was a bad idea to be here, Thor knew, and he was in the midst of battling a particularly strong surge of craving when he heard a breathy moan in the alley just to his right.

Instinctively, without thinking, he turned his head, and there he saw Quill, leaning against one of the alley walls with his hands on the hips of a woman in a leather coat with long dark reddish hair. They were kissing, deeply and passionately. The woman had Quill pinned against the wall with the full weight of her body and Quill’s eyes were tightly shut.

This, Thor knew, was not something he was meant to see, but he found himself unable to look away.

Like watching a car wreck, Tony’s voice said in his head, unbidden, as Quill’s hands wandered up the back of the woman's jacket. Though he understood little of the curious machines Midgardians drove around in, he thought he could understand that inevitable gravity of disaster as the woman broke off the kiss and leaned in to whisper something into Quill’s ear.

Abruptly, Quill’s hands moved back down to her hips and shoved her roughly away.

“Hey!” she said, but Quill was already pushing off the wall and staggering towards the opening of the alley.

“S’rry,” he slurred. “I can’t- I can’t fuckin’ do this-”

He burst into the street and tripped, stumbling right into Thor. He caught himself against Thor and looked, squinting, up at him. His pupils were huge and he stank of liquor. “Why are you here?” he said. Then, again, but different, “Why are you here?”

“I… I don’t-”

“Whatever, man,” Quill interrupted, and pushed himself off of Thor, veering back in the direction Thor had come.

The woman stepped out of the alley. Apart from the hair, she did not, Thor thought, look very much like Gamora at all.

“Asshole!” she shouted at Quill’s retreating back. She gave Thor a disdainful glare and said, “Creep,” before turning and heading back into the bar she and Quill must have come from.

I don’t know, that was what he was going to say to Quill, because he knew Quill meant, why not Gamora, and for that matter, Thor, why not anyone else? Why not everyone you were supposed to save? Why do you get to stand here and live and breathe and walk beneath the stars when Gamora doesn’t and Loki doesn’t and Natasha doesn’t and Tony doesn’t? Why do you get to go on when, let’s face it, Thor, so often during the past five years and even, still, right now, you don’t even really want to?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Thor looked through the window of the nearest tavern. It was dark inside, lit only by colorful neon that illuminated vague masses of swaying bodies. No one in there would know him. No one would care what he did, or what happened to him. No one would remember him tomorrow. No one would stop him from making a mistake or two or three or four or however many it took to stop him thinking. No one would expect any better.

What the hell, Thor thought, darkly, and went in.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock kno-

The door swung sharply open and Thor fell through the doorway, only just barely catching himself on the frame.

“What,” Nebula snapped, sharp as a scalpel.

Thor only stared at her for a long moment, her eyes dark as black holes, this daughter of Thanos, torn apart and put back together until she was as he wanted her.

“There had better be a good reason for waking me at this hour-”

“Did you know Loki?” Thor asked. The world swam. His throat ached from saying it.

Nebula’s face was blank. “What,” she said, her hoarse mechanical voice gone dull.

“Loki,” Thor said again. “He’s my, he was, he is, my brother. Did you know him?”

“You’re drunk,” she said coldly, and tried to close the door on him, but Thor pushed his way all the way into the room and stood swaying before her.

“You were with Thanos. And he was with Thanos. At the same time,” Thor explained, enunciating carefully. “Did you know him?”

Nebula still looked like she wanted to force him out, and Thor knew that right now, she probably could, but instead she said, “‘Know’ is a strong word. I knew of him. We… spoke a few times.”

“Were you one of his torturers?” Thor asked, not even pausing to think if he wanted to know.

Nebula’s expression shuttered. “I’m not going to answer that,” she said.

So yes, then. Rage rose up in Thor’s throat like bile, and for a moment he wanted to summon Stormbreaker and swing it at her head, but then she looked away slightly and the moonlight caught on the metal embedded into her skull and the fire drained out of Thor in an instant as he remembered that what Thanos had done to Loki— hurt him, twisted his mind, shaped him into a weapon— he had done to Nebula a thousand times over.

“Did he call for me?” Thor asked, not pausing to think which answer would hurt him more, his vision already blurring. “When you- when they- when Thanos tortured him... did he call for me?”

The world was reduced to a watery swirl of dark colors so that Thor could not see if there was pity in her eyes when she said, softly, “At first.”

Tears rolled hot down Thor’s face and he clenched his eyes shut, futilely. Each breath he took into his lungs trembled on the very edge of a sob.

“Thor,” Nebula said, her voice hard as it always was but her touch perhaps nearly gentle as she nudged him back out the door. “Go to bed. Go to sleep. You will regret this in the morning.”

She directed him down the hall to his rooms and opened the door, her hand on his back firmly leading him inside. Thor took the three stumbling steps to the bed and collapsed onto it, face first. Several long moments passed before he heard the door click softly closed, and he at last let his hitching breaths devolve into gasping cries.

“Loki,” he called out to no one, and he was drunk, so drunk, and everything was madly spinning, and when he closed his eyes it felt as if his body was careening, untethered, through oblivion.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next morning was a miserable affair.

Drax ate with hearty gusto and talked cheerily with Mantis, seemingly oblivious that the rest of them were sitting in silence, studiously avoiding each other’s gazes.

Thor had awoken that morning to a faceful of cold water and, gasping, had blinked the water out of his eyes to see Rocket standing over him on the bed with an empty glass in hand. His furry face was unreadable as he said,

“We’re planning on heading out soon. You’re probably gonna want to come eat something first.” He paused, then added, “And take a shower. You smell like a brewhouse.”

Before Thor could say anything, he hopped off the bed and left. Thor felt sick to his stomach more due to the flat disappointment in Rocket’s blunt words than to the hangover that took sudden and fierce hold of him. He’d dragged his aching body out of bed and into the shower where he turned the water as cold as it would go and stood there shivering for long minutes, letting it soothe the pounding in his head and fruitlessly trying to wash away the blurry memories of what Nebula had said to him.

Nebula was now scowling down at her plate and cutting her food with the same intense concentration that she gave everything. Thor had risked a few glances her way but she had not looked up once. Quill, on the other hand, had had no trouble meeting his eyes in shared hungover misery, so Thor figured he must not remember their encounter. Thor wondered if he remembered anything at all; his fingers kept wandering with concerned distraction towards a bruise low down on his neck. 

Groot sat between Thor and Rocket, and Thor was grateful for that buffer, because it was Rocket more than anyone else who he was most ashamed to face. It was Rocket who had, since the very beginning, offered his own brand of rough-edged compassion to Thor as he struggled with his grief and rage and vengeful recklessness. It was Rocket who had come with Bruce to drag him out of that stinking hut in New Asgard, its very foundations soaked with alcohol. It was Rocket who had talked him through nightmares and panic attacks and the painful first weeks in which he had gone sober. It was Rocket, Thor couldn’t help but feel, that he had let down the most by letting himself slip last night.

Groot had been there for much of all that, too, of course, but he did not look at Thor any differently on this particular morning, and he bumped his arm against Thor’s in a comforting manner as he passed him a bowl full of eggs of some sort. Thor gave him a grateful smile and did his best to choke down some food even as his stomach roiled. He thought longingly of the days when he could go with Sif and the Warriors Three to every tavern in Asgard in a single night and still wake in the morning ready to eat with gusto and train with enthusiasm and drag Loki from the palace library to go with him on a hunt. That felt like ten thousand years ago, now, though in truth it had been closer to twenty.

At the other end of the table, Mantis said something that made Drax tip back his head and roar with his usual loud laughter. Mantis giggled uncertainly, clearly not sure what she had done that was funny, and Quill and Thor winced in unison as the sound pierced their brains like a blunt spike.

A few minutes later, Dey joined them all, sweeping into the room with a few guards at his side and a cheery greeting.

“Good morning, Guardians,” he said. “Are you ready to go out on the job today?”

“We are!” Drax exclaimed.

“I am Groot,” Groot stated.

“Mergh,” Quill said, pressing one fist to his mouth and choking back a gag.

The rest of them made mumbled sounds of agreement.

“... Right,” Dey said, looking doubtful. He seemed to consider, for a moment, asking after how they fared, but by the look on his face decided that it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of dealing with their collective issues. “Well, if you’re all finished with breakfast, I’ll have these officers take you out to the mountains. Hopefully by the end of the day we can have this rockworm problem resolved.”

Thor, glad of an excuse to not sit in awkward silence around this table any longer, stood up at once.

“Worry not,” he told Dey. “We have all faced fiercer foes than these serpents. I wager we can have this finished within the hour."

An hour later, Stormbreaker took the head off of what must surely be the hundredth rockworm, and Thor, sweating, took a moment to be glad that he had not actually placed any money on that wager.

“DUCK,” Quill shouted, and Thor reacted without question, rolling out of the way as Quill shot his blaster at a rockworm that was diving for his head. The blast did nothing but knock the creature back a few yards, but Mantis was there to touch her hand to the creature’s scaly hide and put it to sleep, which made it no effort at all for Nebula to decapitate the beast with one brutal sweep of her blade.

“Blasters don’t work on these things, dumbass!” Rocket shouted.  

“I know that!” Quill yelled back. “I lost my knife in the last tunnel, the frickin’ worm almost took my whole hand off and ate it!”

“This is why you always carry at least three weapons at all times!” Rocket answered, and aimed his own gun at a rockworm that was breaking through one wall, its teeth churning and crushing solid rock into dust. He fired, and the thing died screeching in a barrage of bullets.

“We must be getting close to the queen,” Thor bellowed; a rockworm dove at him and he knocked it away with the blunt edge of his axe, where Drax descended on it with a roar, his twin blades flashing in the dim light that came off their flashlights. “They seem to be coming at us much faster now!”

Three more rockworms leapt out of the darkness at them, but they did not get far before Groot stretched out one long arm and impaled them all at once.

“I am Groot!” he cried.

“Groot’s right, we just gotta keep moving!” Rocket translated.

“On it,” Nebula said, and sped forward into the dark, the rest of them quickly following after.

They followed the natural bend of the tunnel, cutting down more and more rockworms as they went, until suddenly the low ceiling of the tunnel opened up into a huge cavern. Thin streams of sunlight came through holes riddled through the top of the mountain high above, illuminating dozens of tunnel openings on every wall of the cavern. In the middle, a huge rockworm lay coiled in a great pile of gleaming black scales. As they burst into the cavern, it lifted its great head and narrowed slitted yellow eyes at them.

There was a beat of silence, then Quill said, almost conversationally, “So I’m thinking maybe that’s the queen.”

“Obviously,” Drax said.

The creature suddenly bared its very sharp fangs and hissed.

“SCATTER!” Quill shouted, and they all dove in separate directions as the queen rockworm shot forward and closed her jaws around the space where they had all been a mere moment before. Venom dripped from her mouth and sizzled menacingly on the stones.

“Watch the fangs, watch the fangs!” Rocket cried, firing bullets that mostly just made the creature screech in irritation.

“I will put her to slee-” Mantis began, but then the end of the queen’s tail whipped around and hit her hard; she flew into a wall and slid, unconscious, to the floor.

“Mantis!” Drax roared, and ran towards her, only to get knocked aside by the tail as it whipped back.

“HEY!” Quill shouted, firing futile blasts at the beasts. She struck at him with blinding speed, and the thrusters on his shoes took him out of the way with a mere half-second to spare.

A rush of rage flooded Thor’s veins. He’d only known most of these Guardians for a short time, but they were his friends, and he was far too short of friends these days. He was not going to lose anyone else, certainly not to some idiotic snake.

With a roar, he let the lightning flood his veins and charged the creature head on. He flung himself at her head, axe raised high; she darted out of the way, and his blade landed in her side instead of her skull, buried deep. She shrieked as electricity flooded her body and jerked violently so that Thor went flying into a wall, just as Drax and Mantis had. However, Asgardians were built of sturdier stuff, and he bounced back up right away. He thrust out his hand to call Stormbreaker, and the axe flew out of the creature’s side with a gushing spray of blood.

The queen turned her head to stare at him with murder in her slitted eyes. Thor met her gaze without fear and bared his teeth in a wild grin. The joy of battle fueled the beat of his heart and the helplessness that had plagued him for the past five years burned away in the face of a foe he could defeat.

“Try me,” he taunted.

“Thor, don’t!” Thor heard Rocket cry, in the moment just before the creature struck.

Thor did not try to dodge out of the way of the beast’s gaping maw. Instead, he raised Stormbreaker, and as the queen tried to close her jaws around him, the blade sunk deep into the roof of her mouth.

She screeched loudly and horribly, even louder for Thor, positioned as he was practically inside her mouth, unable to see anything but her hundreds of teeth and the dark wet tunnel of her throat. Her hot and fetid breath washed over him and she struggled to fling him off of her, but Thor was flooded with adrenaline and lightning both and refused to let go. Instead, he roared back at her, and called the storm.

Outside the mountain, dark clouds formed around its peak, flashing with white fire, and thunder rumbled down into the valley and all throughout the mountain’s many tunnels. Inside the cavern, Thor’s one blue eye filled with crackling light, and with a great cry, he summoned a massive strike of lightning that crashed through one of the holes in the cavern ceiling and arced straight into the queen’s head.

With a deafening crack of thunder, the cavern filled with blinding light.

When it cleared, the body of the queen rockworm lay unmoving in a smoking heap. Thor pried Stormbreaker out of the roof of the creature’s mouth and climbed out from between her jaws.

“Well, that was fun,” he said, still grinning, and shook the blood off Stormbreaker’s blade. He walked over to where everyone else was beginning to regroup, helping each other off the ground and nursing wounds. Mantis was awake and on her feet, albeit leaning against Drax and pressing one hand to her head.

“Are you alright, Mantis?” Thor asked her.

“I am fine,” she said faintly, but she was staring at him with a strange wide-eyed look.

A moment later, Thor realized that they were all staring at him strangely. He frowned.

“What?”

Quill pressed a button on the side of his helmet, and the front of it parted to show his face. He looked, Thor was startled to see, rather stricken.

“Thor,” he said. “Your… your arm…”

Thor looked down.

There was a large puncture wound on his right bicep. He hadn’t felt it, before, too full of the rush of battle to feel any pain or fear at all. It was bleeding profusely, crimson streams running all the way down to his wrist and dripping down to the floor. But that, surely, was not the part that had them all so concerned.

A blackness was spreading rapidly through his veins, starting from all around the puncture wound and running all the way up his arm and beneath his armor. It was likely already nearing his heart. The wound itself was smoking faintly with a chemical burning smell.

“Ah,” Thor said, too stunned to think of anything else to say. “Must have been one of the fangs.”

He looked back up at the Guardians, who seemed frozen in place. A beat passed, and then Rocket burst into movement, coming towards Thor and saying, “We’ve gotta get him to a medic, now .”

“Don’t worry, rabbit,” Thor said, still feeling numb. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

And then, as if he had summoned it, the pain flooded him all at once. It was a fiery acidic pain, liquid Muspelheim racing into his heart. It was shocking, blinding, like nothing Thor had ever felt before. Worse than the bite of a bilgesnipe. Worse than a knife in his side. Worse than the burn of the Power Stone pushed with unrelenting force into his skull.

Thor sucked in a breath to scream, but darkness took him before he could do even that.

“Mama,” Thor said. “Why are you crying?”

Frigga looked up suddenly from the letter she was reading to see him in the doorway, and Loki next to him, the both of them shaken and scared at the sight of their mother in pain.

“My boys,” she said, her voice thick with tears. She set the letter down on her desk and turned in her chair to face them fully, opening her arms. “Come here.”

Thor ran to her then, Loki right on his heels, and they clambered up into their mother’s lap. Thor rested his head on her shoulder and pressed his face to her neck. Her skin smelled like flowers.

“Do you remember my brother, your Uncle Frey?” she asked.

Thor nodded. They didn’t see him very often; he lived on Vanaheim, where mother had grown up. But Thor liked Uncle Frey. He had hair that was blonde like Thor’s and he always gave him and Loki little toys carved out of wood.

Frigga’s hands came up to stroke through his and Loki’s hair. One fair, one dark.

“I received word today that he fell in battle and passed away,” she said. Her voice wavered, and then broke. More tears rolled down her cheeks.

Loki shifted so that he could reach up and wipe some of the tears away. “It’s okay, Mama,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

Frigga gave a watery laugh and pressed a kiss to the crown of Loki’s head, then another to his forehead. “Thank you, my little one.”

Thor frowned. “Uncle Frey died?” he said.

“I’m afraid so, my love,” his mother said softly.

“Does that mean we won’t get to see him anymore?”

Frigga shifted so that she could look at them. “Not in this life, no,” she said.

Thor tilted his head. “ This life?” he repeated.

“Those who fall in battle, with weapon in hand, shall go to Valhalla,” Loki said, in such a way that Thor knew he was reciting something he had read in a book somewhere, “Where the brave shall live forever.”

“That’s right, darling,” their mother said, and Loki smiled, looking proud of himself.

“Oh,” Thor said. Well of course he had heard of Valhalla, but he had always just thought the eternal feasting hall was just on another planet or something, not another life. “So… we’ll see him when we die?”

Frigga hugged the both of them, so tightly that Thor couldn’t help but squirm after a few moments. “Yes,” she said. “But that won’t be for a long, long time.”

“Of course, Mama,” Loki said. “Thor always says we’re gonna live forever.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “Come, my boys, will you pray with me?”

Thor bit his lip, uncertain. “I don’t know the funeral prayer,” he said.

“That’s alright,” Frigga replied. “I’ll teach it to you.”

She stood, carried them both over to one of the floor length windows that faced the setting sun, and set them down.

“We kneel facing the west,” she said, and did so, her skirts pooling around her. On either side of her, Loki and Thor did the same.

“Now, repeat after me,” she said, and line by line, they did so, watching as the sun sank into the waters at the edge of the world.

"Lo, there do I see my father

And lo, there do I see my mother

And lo, there do I see my brothers and my sisters

And lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning

And lo, do they call to me.

Frey, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla

Where the brave shall live forever.

Nor shall we mourn but rejoice-"

“... for those who have died the glorious death,” Thor woke with the words on his lips.

His eyes opened, but they took a moment to adjust to the dim light, and before he could see anything, his other senses were filled.

He could hear the distant and muffled sounds of singing and raucous laughter, of the low hum of hundreds of voices speaking all at once. The sounds of a great feast. He could smell sweet grass, and smoke, and the warm scent of wood that had spent all day baking in the sun. The smell of summer. He could feel soft fabric on his skin, not the armor of a warrior but the ceremonial garb of a prince. He could taste fresh air, fresher than the damp metallic air within the mountains of Xandar, than the recycled oxygen inside the Guardian’s ship, than the fish and sea salt spray that filled the air of New Asgard.

Then his eyes adjusted to the light coming from the stars above, thousands of strange and unfamiliar constellations sparkling like jewels spilled across dark velvet. In front of him, a grand set of stairs led up to a huge building, built entirely of wood with an enormous domed roof like the underside of a ship. Behind its great doors came the sounds of the feast. On either side of the doors, braziers burned with crackling fire. And in front of the doors stood a familiar figure, dark-skinned and clad in gold.

Heimdall watched him with an unreadable expression as Thor slowly made his way up the stairs, stopping just a few steps below him. Muffled song swelled up in the silence between them.

“Heimdall,” Thor said.

“Thor,” Heimdall replied.

There was a pause.

“So this is Valhalla, is it?” Thor said. 

“Indeed,” Heimdall replied, still solemn as ever.

Thor felt the edges of his mouth twitch up. “So even in death, they made you be the Gatekeeper?” 

Finally, finally, a smile spread slowly across Heimdall’s face. “Someone has to keep the riff-raff out,” he said.

Thor laughed, then, and Heimdall’s arms opened as Thor bounded up the last few steps and embraced him tightly.

“It is so good to see you, my friend,” Thor said.

“Ah, Thor,” Heimdall rumbled. “You were not supposed to be here so soon.”

Thor released him and pulled away, shaking his head. “Neither were you,” he said. “And I am glad to be here, truly. Living has tired me. I am ready to rest.”

Heimdall hesitated, an uncertain look on his face. Thor frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“You are not, actually,” Heimdall said. “Ready to rest.”

Thor just blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever has happened to you, Thor, you are very close to death, but you have not entirely passed over,” Heimdall explained. “Your body is still fighting, perhaps being kept alive by whoever you were with. Still, you waver on the cusp. These doors will not open to you until you have chosen to give up.”

Thor clenched his jaw and looked away. Out in the distance, he could see the jagged shapes of mountains making black cutouts against the stars. “Give up,” he repeated. “You make it sound like failure. Did I not fall bravely in battle, Heimdall? Is that not a fitting end for one such as I? I have little to return to, now.”

A faint sadness settled in the corners of Heimdall’s eyes. “Do you truly believe so, Thor?”

Thor thought, briefly, of New Asgard, of Valkyrie and Korg and Miek and Gerda’s newborn daughter she’d named Thora; he thought of Clint and Bruce and Steve and of Stark’s wife and daughter; he thought of the Guardians, that strange ragtag group that had saved him from the void of space years ago, and kept saving him from the void of his own despair, who were even now watching him slip away.

But then a great roar of laughter came filtering through Valhalla’s great doors, and Thor remembered the lost might of Asgard, its golden sun, remembered what it was to live on a planet where each face was familiar, what it felt to have a home. His heart ached with sudden and fierce longing; everything in him wished to race up those last few stairs and push those doors open with his own hands.

“Yes,” he said. “I am weary, Heimdall. And I should like to see my old friends and my family again.”

Heimdall gave him a long, searching look. “Very well,” he said finally, and turned to ascend the final stairs.

Thor followed, his heart — and how strange to still have a heart, even in death — picking up in a combination of joy, anticipation, and sudden nervousness.

“Tell me, does Volstagg still best all others in contests of appetite?” he asked.

Heimdall chuckled. “He does.”

“I’m sure he enjoys the best of the eternal feast more than anyone,” Thor went on. “And Fandral, is he still besotted by every woman who smiles at him?”

“Indeed,” Heimdall answered, “And rejected by half as many.”

“Not a bad percentage, all things considered,” Thor laughed. “And Loki,” he added, his heart in his throat, “Surely Loki has pulled off some spectacular pranks by now, has he not?”

They had come now to the top of the stairs, and the sounds from within the hall were clearer than ever. Thor was so filled with giddy joy that it took him a moment to realize that Heimdall had not answered. When he looked over, the Gatekeeper’s expression was one of confused concern. Thor’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?” he said.

“Loki is not here,” Heimdall replied.

The breath fled Thor’s lungs all at once and the sounds of the great hall subsided into a faint ringing. Stunned, he could only say once more, “What?”

“I did not know that he had died,” Heimdall said.

“Mere minutes after you did,” Thor said with numb lips. “Thanos killed him too.”

Heimdall frowned. “And you saw this with your own eyes?”

“Yes,” Thor said, feeling dizzy. As if he could ever forget. Where else could Loki be? Surely not in Niflheim, among the dishonored dead — Loki had made many mistakes, yes, but in the end… “He has to be here,” Thor went on. “He died as bravely as anyone.”

“Your brother would not go unnoticed here,” Heimdall said. “Trust me, Thor. You will not find him in there.”

“But where else could he be?” Thor asked, unable to stifle the note of desperation in his voice.

“Perhaps…” Heimdall began, then hesitated. Then he began again. “I have heard that the Jotuns believe that after they die, their souls are carried to an endless world of pristine snow, where they may hunt and fish and run forever, without a care for war or hardship-”

“No,” Thor interrupted. “No, Loki is one of us, through and through, no matter the nature of his blood. He belongs with us, with his family .”

It was too horrible a thought to ponder, Loki forever stranded in a plain of ice and snow, surrounded only by a people he did not know. It simply couldn’t be.

“Or perhaps…” Heimdall went on, “Perhaps your eyes deceived you — or he did — and Loki yet lives.”

The thought filled him with a painful, horrific hope, a hope that he had not ever dared entertain for more than a few weak moments. His heart was going very fast.

“Can you see him?” Thor asked, foolishly, unsurprised when Heimdall shook his head.

“Even my eyes cannot look past the veil of death,” he said. “Only the living can find the living.”

Thor looked back at the doors of Valhalla, towering over him, all that stood between him and the many reunions he had oft dreamed of in recent years. His friends were on the other side. His mother. His father. A sinking certainty settled in his gut.

“Then I suppose,” he said, “That I shall have to remain among the living.”

There was a pause, and then Heimdall said, “You are sure?”

Thor turned away from the doors and faced him. “I cannot rest,” he said, “Without knowing what has happened to my brother.”

Heimdall nodded. “I understand.” He put out his hand.

Thor took it, then pulled him into another hug.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said quietly. “When next we meet, I promise you, we will walk through those doors together.”

“Not too soon, Thor,” Heimdall said, and released him. His features were solemn but his eyes were shining. “Now go, before your body fails entirely.”

Thor smiled, and turned his back on Valhalla, swiftly making his way back down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, he heard the creaking and rumbling of wood as the doors opened. The full force of joyous sound poured out into the sweet-smelling night, carrying with it the intoxicating scent of roasting meat and fresh-brewed ale. A rectangle of bright, golden light spilled down the stairs and onto the grass; Thor could see his own shadow standing stark against it. He did not look back.

Loki, he thought. Loki, wherever you are, I will find you. Whether you live, or whether you wander in the mists of Niflheim, or whether you trudge through the snows of the Jotun paradise, I will find you. I will bring you home.

He closed his eyes and then, when the sensations of the eternal realm had faded, he opened them.

Chapter Text

Thor’s first breath was like fire in his lungs. He sat bolt upright, taking in great gasps and clutching at his chest, where he could feel the venom burning away in his blood. The blinding pain faded away after a few moments, and Thor registered that he was on his cot in the Benatar , and all the Guardians were gathered around him, watching with frozen looks of shock. Quill had an empty syringe dangling from his hand.

“This feels familiar,” Thor muttered, forcibly reminded of their first meeting and wondering if he was going to make a habit of making miraculous recoveries on this ship.

“Oh my god,” Quill said. “Thor. Are you okay?”

“That is a very stupid question,” Drax interjected, and Quill glared at him.

Thor coughed, trying to clear the last of the pain from his chest with little success. He waved off Quill’s concern and made to get up. Six pairs of hands simultaneously prevented him from doing so.

“You’re not going anywhere, buddy, take it easy,” Rocket said.

“You’re lucky that antidote Dey gave us actually worked,” Nebula said. “Your chances were abysmal.”

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Thor heard, We thought you were dead.

“I was dead,” Thor said. “Or nearly so. I saw the gates of Valhalla, near enough to touch.” He moved to get up again. This time, the Guardians let him sit up, but stopped him from getting out of the bed.

Mantis’ head titled like a bird’s. “What is Valhalla?”

“My people believe it is the afterlife for all the bravely fallen,” Thor explained, letting his eyes drift shut and trying to will away the pain that still prickled throughout his body. His heart felt bruised where it beat against his ribs. “I saw an old friend there.”

He opened his eyes and saw Rocket and Quill exchange doubtful looks, but ignored them. The thought of what Heimdall had told him — perhaps Loki yet lives — filled him with new strength, and finally he surged to his feet, pushed his way through the wall the Guardians had formed around his bed, and made for the bridge.

“Thor, wait,” Quill called after him, but Thor paid him no mind. The others followed him from belowdecks as he headed straight for the navigation system. “What are you doing?”

“Making course for Nornheim,” Thor said. If anyone would know, if anyone would know for sure-

Quill’s hand on his shoulder wrenched him away and Thor hastily repressed the instinctual urge to punch him in the face. Surely such a blow would prove fatal to a fragile Midgardian.

“No you’re not, ” Quill said. “Not least because you just woke up from a near-death coma and aren’t making sense! What’s Nornheim?”

“The homeworld of the Norns,” Thor said.

“Alright, and who are the Norns? What do they have to do with anything?”

Thor took a deep and frustrated breath. He didn’t have time for this-

You spent five years sitting around, doing nothing to find him, a faintly snide voice inside reminded him. What’s another hour?

“Thor, maybe you should sit down,” Mantis suggested gently, gesturing towards the big table in the middle of the room.

Thor took another steadying breath. It would do no good, he reminded himself, to go running recklessly off without a plan, without an explanation. Hadn’t Loki always told him that was one of his most glaring flaws?

Just one of your many faults, brother, he would drawl, and smirk when Thor would throw something at him.

He’d been right, though, was the thing. And so, feeling suddenly exhausted, Thor obliged Mantis and seated himself at the table.

“I saw Valhalla,” he said again, explaining as patiently as he could, “And Loki was not there. And if he was not there, then he must either be living, or in another afterlife altogether. And if anyone knows whether he is alive, it will be the three Norns, who weave the life-threads of every being.”

There was a very long silence.

“Okay, not sure where to start here,” Quill finally began-

“That is impossible,” Drax interrupted. “Three people could never weave so many threads.”

Thor’s jaw clenched, unclenched. “It is only a symbol, Drax,” he said. “Forgive me, I know that is beyond your understanding. In fact, whatever the Norns truly are, they are beyond any mortal being’s understanding. What we may see of them — their forms, their weavings, their watering of Yggdrasill’s roots — is only our attempt at comprehending a power that is beyond us.”

“And you think they would know whether your brother is alive?” Nebula asked. “And that they would tell you?”

“The Norns know all,” Thor said. “And they have been known to grant wisdom to those who can find them, from time to time. My own father would sometimes brave the wilds of Nornheim to seek their counsel, in times of dire need.”

Quill frowned. “They know… everything?”

“Alright, hold on, back up,” Rocket broke in. “I’m not buying this. Even if these mystical beings or whatever could somehow know all this, you really want to set out on this crazy quest because of a hallucinatory dream your brain cooked up at the edge of death?”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Thor snapped.

Rocket raised a furry white brow. “You really think after death we’re all gonna go to some big Viking ship in the sky? Buddy, more likely it was the last sparking neurons in your brain showing you what you wanted to see.”

Lightning flickered across his knuckles, danced through his hair. “Valhalla is a feasting hall, not a ship, and yes, I do think so,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Do not dare to mock my people’s most sacred beliefs, rabbit.”

There was a tense pause, but then Rocket sighed, relenting.

“Thor,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “I’m only trying to say- well, I mean, it’s no secret you’re not at your best, and haven’t been for a while. You’re grieving. You’re traumatized. Hell, you relapsed back into drinking yesterday. Don’t you think maybe… this is just the most recent manifestation of that?”

Rocket’s gaze was steady and earnest, but all the others had suddenly found the floor, the ceiling, or the view out the ship’s windows to be suddenly very interesting. Thor’s face burned, ashamed of their pity, irrationally betrayed that Rocket would just say outright what everyone knew and pretended they didn’t.

“You may be right,” Thor allowed quietly, barely willing to do that much. “But if you are not… well, I am not willing to risk it.”

There was another silence, and just as Quill was taking in a breath to say something, a sudden and insistent beeping broke the quiet.

“Match found,” the cheery voice of the computer system said brightly. “Match found. Match found. Match found.”

Thor turned round slowly, hardly daring to hope, hardly daring to breathe. Could it be, could it be-

The surveillance scanner system was in full display mode, and on the screen was Gamora.

Her face was partially turned away, and her hair was cut short and dyed a dark blue. It was apparent that she was trying to stay under the radar, but in profile, her face was clearly recognizable. Her expression was distracted, worried; she was in motion, and appeared to be looking over her shoulder.

In a few quick steps Quill strode over to the monitor, his gaze never leaving the picture of Gamora except to read the information on the right half of the screen.

“Galador,” he said. “She’s on Galador.”

He stood there for another moment, transfixed, before breaking into motion again. With a few movements of his hand he brought up the navigation system and began entering coordinates.

The bitter disappointment in Thor’s stomach curdled swiftly into something hotter, and he stood abruptly from his chair.

“I see,” he said coldly. “So when I want to embark on a quest based in foolish hope, I am being rash. But when you want to do the same, we are all at the mercy of your whims?”

Quill whirled around. “It isn’t foolish!” He pointed at the screen. “Unlike you, I actually have proof that she’s alive!”

“Quill,” Drax spoke up, “We must all agree before we set out on a mission, you made that rule yourself-”

“What do you expect to happen when you find her?” Thor said. “You think she will fall into your arms like a lovestruck maiden? She doesn’t even know you!”

“She’s meant to be with us!” Quill shouted back. “She’s part of this crew and we won’t abandon her!”

“I think both of you should calm down,” Mantis suggested, edging slowly towards them.

Thor ignored her. “Then you should understand,” he said to Quill, “how I cannot abandon my kin either!”

“Your brother is dead, ” Quill hissed. “Why don’t you just accept that, already?”

Thor growled, “And why don’t you accept that the Gamora who knew and loved you is dead, too?”

Quill’s face twisted. “I don’t care what you think,” he spat. “Hate to remind you, buddy, but I’m the captain of this ship, not you!”

Thor’s fists clenched, and he took a step towards Quill. “I could be,” he said, not bothering to mask the threat.

Quill’s hand went for his blaster, and for one blind furious moment, Thor was ready to fight him, to wrench the proverbial wheel of this ship from his hands. Thor was taller, larger, infinitely more powerful, it would take almost no effort at all-

Suddenly there was a blade mere inches from Thor’s nose, suspended between he and Quill’s faces. Thor blinked, and looked down the length of the blade to see Nebula, glaring at them both.

“Both of you, back off,” she said harshly. “The last thing we need right now is a mutiny.”

Thor looked around to see the rest of the Guardians standing with their hands on their weapons, Mantis frozen in place a pace away with one hand reached out towards each of them.

For a moment, no one moved. Nebula twisted her blade meaningfully, its sharp edges facing he and Quill rather than the flat of it. They each took a step backwards.

“I apologize,” Thor said stiffly.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Quill managed, looking away.

Nebula lowered her blade, but did not sheathe it.

“Galador is not far,” she said. “There is no reason we cannot go there on the way to Nornheim. If you idiots would ever stop and think for a moment you would realize that.”

Thor bit his tongue against an angry retort and forced himself to calm down.

“Okay,” Quill said after a moment. “Alright, yeah, that sounds fair.” He cleared his throat and lifted his chin, clearly trying to regain a captain’s demeanor. “Is everyone cool with that?”

The rest of the Guardians murmured agreement, then all turned to Thor.

A beat of silence stretched long and tense, then Thor let his shoulders slump. “I suppose,” he said finally.

“Glad we’re agreed,” Rocket said. “Now Thor, go and lay your ass back down. You still look like shit.”

Thor’s anger and frustration were still rumbling storm-like in the pit of his stomach and he did not appreciate being treated like a child, but he figured he had caused enough of a commotion today. Swallowing his pride, he stalked back down to his quarters, shut the door, lay down on the cot, and threw an arm over his eyes. He doubted that sleep would come anytime soon.

Galador was about a day’s travel from the closest jump point, and the ship systems were entering the night cycle when they left Xandar. Quill switched on autopilot, and he and the rest of the Guardians went to their bunks to try and rest for a few hours.

Thor feigned sleep when Rocket and Groot came into their shared room, and waited until their breathing went deep and even before standing silently and slipping out the door.

Up on the bridge, he placed some supplies next to Stormbreaker into the escape pod and programmed a course for Nornheim into the pod’s navigation system.

It felt cowardly, slipping away in the night, alone, but Thor knew how this ill-fated journey of Quill’s was going to go. There was a high possibility that Gamora would be gone from Galador by the time they arrived, and even if she wasn’t, she would not come along with the Guardians easily. This Gamora was plucked fresh from a universe where she still worked for Thanos, in name at least if not in her heart, and she surely knew nothing of love and friendship. She had lost her father, her sister, the entire Black Order that was all she’d ever known. She must be floundering now, and lost. She would run, and Quill would want to follow her.

Thor could, perhaps, convince the Guardians to split up, but despite all they had gone through together in the past few months- the past few years, in Rocket’s case- they had loved Gamora before him, and more than him. Likely none of them would choose to accompany him, anyway, and it would be a waste of time for him to wait around for all this to come to pass. Better to leave now. Easier. More painless, for him at least, for even if the Guardians cared little for him, even if they were often at odds, he could not deny that they made him smile when not much else could, these days.

Thor stooped over the main table, pen and paper in hand. Sorry for taking your pod again, he wrote. I’ll return it when I can. He paused, considering. There was more he could say. More he should say, perhaps, for it seemed cruel to depart like this as if their time together meant nothing to him. But of course, he had never had much of a way with words. Thank you for your friendship, he scrawled. And good luck to you all.

Five minutes later, he was gone.

It took two days to get to Nornheim. Thor landed in the middle of the planet’s night, on a plain that stretched between a mountain range and a huge, dark forest.

Nornheim was a fertile and wild planet, full of life but inhospitable to outsiders. In its waters lurked sea serpents and hungry sharp-toothed fish; in its forests wandered squirrels the size of deer, stags the size of bilgesnipe, bilgesnipe the size of trees; in its mountains storm giants raged against the heavens and trolls burrowed deep into the rock. Any army that tried to tame this planet fell short against its native fury. Thor himself had tried a spot of adventure here with the Warriors Three and Sif and Loki, long ago when he was young and at his most foolish. They’d enraged the rock trolls, who were as big as frost giants and much less inclined towards diplomacy, and only managed to escape when Loki summoned a great cloud of mist to hide them. They had never, Thor realized, actually thanked him for that.

The memory of it made Thor ache. Unable to stop himself, he tilted his head back and looked up at the stars, able to pick out within a moment the tiny pinprick of light that was Asgard. Nornheim was several light years down on the World Tree; though Asgard was no more, the light of its fiery death had not yet reached this planet, and so it would shine on, at least for a little longer. Here, he could gaze into the past, knowing that the Asgard he was looking at was alive and well.

Thor tore his eyes away. There was no use dwelling on that, now. Better to focus on the things he might yet be able to save.

Thor strode forth into the woods. Though he did not know the way to the place he was seeking, he knew that all true seekers found their way to the Well eventually. Or rather, the Well found them.

After a few hours of fighting his way through thick vegetation, standing still and silent as great beasts passed by, and swinging Stormbreaker threateningly at anything that wandered too close, Thor finally broke into a clearing. In the center, a huge ash tree stretched its many branches up towards the sky, and at its roots, a still pool of water gleamed in the breaking dawn light.

Thor approached the water cautiously and peered through the surface. The Well of Urd was clear, but so deep that Thor could see no bottom. He knelt, and when he dipped his hands into the water it was very cold. Cupping his hands, he brought the water to his mouth, and drank.

When he lowered his hands again, three figures stood before him, amid the roots of the tree: an elderly woman who was hunched over facing to Thor’s left, a little girl who faced to his right, and a maiden who looked to be around Thor’s age, straight-backed and strong-jawed, who looked directly at him.

“Thor, son of Odin,” said the maiden.

“God of Thunder,” said the crone.

“King of Asgard,” said the child.

Thor bowed his head. “King no longer, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Asgard has never had an abdication,” said the crone.

“Only death or sleep or exile,” said the maiden.

“The once and future king,” said the child.

Thor swallowed. “Be that as it may,” he said, “Asgard is no more. And what remains has no need of a king such as I.”

The maiden smiled knowingly. “Ah, but what of destiny, son of Odin?”

“God of Thunder,” said the crone.

“King of Asgard,” said the child.

“I did not come to debate my titles,” Thor said. “And it is not my destiny which I seek to know.”

“Just as well,” said the crone. 

“We would not tell you your own fate,” said the child.

“But we can answer that which you would ask,” said the maiden. “For a price, of course.”

“Ah.” Thor’s stomach sank. “Of course.” He took in a breath. “What would you ask of me? I have little left to give.”

“Your father gave an eye,” said the crone. 

“Some have given hands,” said the child.

“Or arms,” said the crone. 

“Sometimes memories,” said the child.

“And sometimes hearts,” said the maiden. Her gaze upon Thor was piercing.

Thor’s own heart was going fast. He focused on keeping his breathing steady. “Take what you wish from me, then,” he said.

“So brave,” sighed the child.

“So desperate,” muttered the crone.

“Very well, then,” said the maiden. “A lock of your hair.”

Thor blinked up at her. “My hair? That’s all?”

“Most come here to ask after their futures,” the maiden said. “They wish to know when they will die. They wish to know how their wars will end.”

“They wish to learn magecraft, and warcraft,” said the crone. “They wish to strike their enemies down.”

“They wish for wisdom, they wish for love,” said the child. “They wish to see the workings of the universe.”

“By comparison, you wish for nothing,” the maiden said. “And our prices are always fair. A lock of your hair, son of Odin; your hair, the color of sunshine.”

Relief and gratitude washed over Thor. Pulling a knife from his boot, he slashed off one of his smaller braids. He held it in his palm and outstretched it across the well, towards the maiden. She gestured at the water, and he turned his hand over and let the braid drop. It sank as swiftly as a stone, a yellow flash in the morning light soon swallowed by deep blue darkness.

“Now,” the maiden said, “You may ask.”

Barely able to hear himself over his racing heart, Thor said, “Is Loki alive?”

Between one blink and the next, a tapestry appeared in the ash tree. It was huge, and so long that it was draped multiple times over every branch of the tree, wrapped around and around the trunk, and looped through its protruding roots.The threads were of every color, and very fine and fragile; there must have been billions of them, all woven together, and being woven still — the hands of the women were busy at work, though they never once glanced down.

“The daughter of Odin dealt a great blow to Asgard,” the maiden said.

“And the one called Thanos did even greater damage,” said the crone, running a finger over where half of the threads had been shorn off. “Many did die.”

“Still others are being born,” said the child, adding a new thread into her weaving.

“But some refuse to play by the rules,” said the maiden, and held up a single thread: dark green, with a knot tied in the middle, as if someone had cut it then hastily changed their mind.

“Loki, son of Odin-

“Son of Laufey-”

“Son of Frigga-”

“Is alive,” the maiden finished. “Still and again.”

Joy broke over Thor then, heady joy and relief that made his sight blurry and his legs weak; were he not already on his knees, he would have fallen to them.

“Truly?” he said, not caring that his voice wavered.

The maiden smiled at him, looking amused. “Truly,” she said.

Thor surged to his feet, suddenly invigorated. “Where is he?” he asked, eagerly.

“Ah ah,” said the child. “Now that is another question entirely.”

“Another lock of hair, then,” Thor said, reaching once more for the knife.

“No,” the maiden said simply, holding up a hand. “We allowed you one question. We have answered it. We are not street fortune tellers, to hand out predictions for any piece of coin.”

“Perhaps one day you may ask another,” said the crone, “Should the Well allow you to find it again.”

“Wait,” Thor said, taking a step forward, though they had made no motion to leave. “He could be anywhere in the universe by now. How am I supposed to find him?”

“That is your journey to make,” said the child. “Though of course, we know how it will end.” She looped a red thread around her finger, pulled it taut, and ran a fingernail down its length. Thor felt a tingle like hands tracing his spine.

“Good luck to you, son of Odin,” said the maiden.

“God of Thunder,” said the crone.

“King of Asgard,” said the child.

And within the next breath, the Well, the tree, and the Norns were gone.

It took Thor another few hours to find his way out of the forest again. By the time he did, he was filthy and exhausted and hungry; his body was sore, still slow to heal after his near-death mere days ago. And he felt better than he had in years.

He could breathe again. He could walk with light steps. He could hum a song for no other reason than because he liked the sound of it. His brother was alive. He’d lost nearly everything, but Loki was alive.

Of course, that cold darkness coiled up like a serpent inside him still whispered in his head, alive, but for how much longer? Anything could be happening to him. Alive, but then why hasn’t he come back? Perhaps he’s decided he’s better off without you. You, selfish you, you throw away your titles and your kingdom but cling so desperately to him. Pathetic, even if you find him he will surely betray you again-

But Thor did not care about any of that, just now. He climbed back into the pod and set a course for the coordinates where The Statesman had made its last stand. Loki would not be there, likely, but perhaps there would be something- some sign of what happened to him- and if there wasn’t, well… Thor would deal with that when it came.

The sun was high in Nornheim’s sky, and Thor could not bring himself to care about whatever troubles might come.

That was his way. He rarely worried, even when he should have.

Chapter Text

Five and a half years ago

The Ravager ship drifted slowly through the carnage. Like debris lost at sea, the remains of the attacked ship floated aimlessly through the vacuum of space: bits of metal, odd objects, and lots and lots of bodies.

Inside the ship, the Ravagers hummed with excitement; where others might see horror, they saw opportunity: scrap metal, treasures, meat. Money in the making. They’d intercepted the distress call from the vessel and purposefully waited a few hours before following the signal. Their gamble had paid off; whoever had attacked the poor bastards had run off, and left behind a veritable gold mine. An Asgardian wreck meant fine clothes, well-crafted weapons, maybe some jewels and gold tucked into the hidden folds of the wealthy women’s clothing.

One of the Ravagers equipped a space suit and went in and out of the airlock, dragging metal and bodies with him each time. They piled up in the cargo hold and then, when that filled up, in the main deck. Soon the ship filled with the smell of blood and death, but the Ravagers were so used to that particular smell that they hardly even noticed.

“Here’s the last of ‘em,” the one on scavenge duty said, hauling a corpse onto the deck and dumping it down on its back. “Looks pretty intact, too. Probably died from the broken neck, I’d guess.”

“Must’ve been high class,” the captain Ravager said, nudging the corpse with his foot. “Look at that cape; that’s quality fabric. Might keep it for myself.” He bent down and ripped the cape from the corpse’s shoulders, then draped it around his own. He leered at his first mate. “Nice color, too. Goes with my eyes, don’tcha think?”

“Nothing goes with your eyes, boss, they’re yellow as piss,” the first mate said, and knelt down to search the body for more treasures. 

He found a knife in each boot, several more in the belt, and two tiny ones, each only as large as a finger, strapped to the corpse’s forearms. 

“Paranoid, much?” the first mate muttered.

“Looks like he had a reason to be,” said the fourth and final Ravager, coming up on the deck. “These poor bastards never stood a chance, most of ‘em weren’t even armed. We’ll make a killing on the meat market, though, boss.”

“That’s for damn sure. I’ll make course for Gorre-13,” the captain said, and sauntered over to the navigation, the dark green cape swishing, he thought, quite satisfactorily around his ankles.

The first mate removed the corpse’s knives, then its vambraces, which looked to be made of strong, well-oiled leather. As he did so, a strange marking on the corpse’s palm caught his eye. He frowned, lifting the hand closer to his face.

“What’s this mean, d’ya think?” he asked the scavenger. “Recognize that language?”

The scavenger leaned in. The marking was circular and perfectly centered in the corpse’s palm. It looked to have been carved into the skin, the lines as pale as scars. Within the circle, dozens of hair-fine lines twisted about each other in a pattern that was clearly intentional and highly intricate.

“Dunno,” the scavenger said. “But you know I can’t read.”

At that moment, the ship drifted so that the windows in the main deck faced the closest star in this system. It was a mid-sized star with several planets, none inhabited, but it bore a striking resemblance to the star that Terra orbited, and the one that Asgard had once spun around. Big and warm, it suddenly filled the deck with bright yellow light, fully illuminating the marking on the corpse’s hand.

The marking began to glow.

Then the whole corpse began to glow.

The first mate dropped the corpse’s hand as if it were burning as well as glowing and stood, backpedaling away, mouth agape. The scavenger, too, tripped over himself trying to back off.

There was a cracking sound, very much like that of a broken bone realigning.

“What the f-”

The first mate was cut off by a knife in his throat. A knife that had, until approximately half a second ago, been concealed in a hidden sheath that the first mate had missed, on the thigh of the corpse that was quite suddenly no longer a corpse.

The scavenger looked down at the first mate, gurgling his dying breath on the floor, and screamed.

Not for long, though.

By the time the scavenger hit the floor, the captain and the last crew member had had the presence of mind to take out their blasters and point them at the not-corpse, who paused to take a few deep, ragged breaths, knife in hand, splattered in blood, his eyes wild.

“What are you?” the captain barked, his voice harsh but the hands on his blaster trembling ever so slightly.

The not-corpse glared at him, and moved.

He threw the knife, which wedged itself deep inside the crew member’s eye, and dove at the captain, just barely dodging the blast the captain shot at him. Quick as a snake striking he grabbed the captain’s arm and twisted it, his strength a thousand times what it should be from the look of him. He caught the blaster as it dropped from the captain’s hands and then shot him with it, point-blank, in the face.

 For a few moments, all was still. Then Loki knelt, took the cape from the captain’s body, and swung it back over his own shoulders.

The adrenaline went out of him all at once, and he put out a hand to brace himself against the wall, slumping and dragging in deep, painful breaths. Never had recycled oxygen tasted sweeter. He held out his other hand, inspecting the marking there; it had stopped glowing, but neither did it look any longer like a scar — instead, it was black, the same color of necrotic tissue. 

Loki stared, recalling all at once the day he had carved the symbol into his palm: not long after Svartalfheim, when his near-death had filled him with a frantic and childish fear of his own mortality. Locked in the All-Father’s chambers, with the All-Father’s private books that he’d always kept Loki from reading, he’d found an old tale. 

A man tricked death in a game of wits and bargained for a resurrection. “Just once,” said death, “I will turn away from you.” The man shook death’s hand and the symbol was burned into his palm. That evening, the man was attacked on the road home. Three robbers slit his throat and ran off with his money. All through the night, his body lay cold along the roadside in a field of tall grass. In the morning, the sunlight fell upon him, and the wound in his throat closed, and he lived again. 

Whether it was truth or folk tale, Loki didn’t know, but the symbol was there on the page, and Loki was caught up in thoughts of a blade through his chest and his mother’s life cut short in an instant and the threat of Thanos still out there in the Void, and he’d carved the rune into his own palm, heedless of the price. For there was always a price; any mage worth his spellbook knew that.

Now, Loki thought he knew what that price was. Upon first waking, he’d tried to summon a dagger from nothing, and failed. He tried it again now; still, nothing happened. His open hand trembled as he tried to conjure a flame, a witchlight, a flower in bloom — nothing, nothing, nothing, not even a whisper of magic. Gone. It was all gone.

The world narrowed to a pinprick of light as panic overtook him. No magic. Who was he without magic? Loki, greatest sorcerer of all the realms; son of Frigga, raised by witches, who taught him all that he knew; who was he without that? Nothing. Nothing.

His breaths were coming faster now and he could feel himself on the edge of passing out. So he made the abrupt decision to pack all that up — the panic, the fear, the existential crisis — and stow it away to be dealt with later, or maybe, possibly, never. There were, after all, bigger problems at hand.

Loki’s gaze moved to the bodies on the floor. The crew of the ship, the captain, and Asgardians gone blue from the near absolute zero cold of space led in a trail to the staircase that went down to the cargo hold. Loki could smell death coming up from below. He swallowed hard. He would have to go down there. Because he had to know- he had to make sure-

Surely Thor could not be down there. Surely Thanos would have been satisfied with the death of one brother, one prince of Asgard, one half of the remaining House of Odin. Surely he had not, after he let Loki’s body fall lifeless to the ground, then turned on Thor and put a blade through his heart, or crushed his skull in his hand, or put the Gauntlet round his throat just as with Loki and slowly squeezed the life out of him as Thor struggled and cried out and stared at Loki’s still body as all the fight left his own.

Loki closed his eyes. Thor lived, surely. He must live. For if Thor was dead, then Loki’s sacrifice was for nothing — and so was his resurrection.

So Loki went down into the bowels of the ship, cold dread creeping into his lungs with every descending step, and looked over every body. There he saw faces he recognized, and faces he didn’t. He saw Heimdall, and spared a moment to crouch down and close his golden eyes. He saw the last remaining son of Volstagg. He saw the woman who used to sell fruit in the city market in the summers. She’d always saved him the sweetest berries, when he’d sneak out to the market when he was young.

But he didn’t see Thor. So either he lived, or his body was still out there, floating in the darkness. Loki went back to the upper deck, took the helm, and steered through the remains of the wreckage. No Thor. Of course, there was still the possibility that his body had drifted far away in the hours since the attack, or that it had been vaporized entirely when the ship exploded, but Loki allowed himself to hope, and to breathe a little easier. 

But that raised the inevitable question: if Thor wasn’t here, where was he?

Instinctively, Loki tried to reach out with his magic to that thread anchored deep within his spirit that had always connected to Thor’s magic, no matter how far away. It had been unbreakable in their youth, had stretched to gossamer thin while Loki was in Thanos’ possession, and had only just begun to gain strength again. Loki had never told Thor about it, and he doubted Thor ever noticed — his brother had never been sensitive to the subtleties of magic. 

As soon as he tried, though, he slammed once more against that sucking emptiness inside him where his magic had once been. And the loss of that connection hurt almost as much as all the rest combined.

Loki pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to push down the pain and the panic and think. Without magic, he had no way of finding Thor, but surely his brother would continue heading towards Midgard, especially knowing that Thanos would go there, too. Loki would head there as well; he had to be there at Thor’s side when he faced Thanos again. But without his magic, it would be impossible to get there quickly. A glance at the ship controls showed it was not equipped with a hyperdrive. Loki was days away from the nearest jump point, and Midgard was even more days away from that. 

Besides, Loki did not want to travel any further on this cursed ship, this floating grave. 

With a few more taps at the control panel, Loki pulled up the ship’s manifest, and found that there was another, smaller ship docked onto this one. Likely the Ravagers used it for short excursions where they didn’t want to risk the theft or discovery of their cargo. It was larger and faster than an escape pod, but it was also without a hyperdrive. Still, it would suit Loki’s purposes.

Loki went quickly through the ship and took everything that might be useful: weapons, food, armor. He looted the corpses of the Ravagers. He left the Asgardians untouched. Then there was only one thing left to do.

In a storage compartment he found several tanks of spare fuel. He cracked them open and tipped them over, careful not to let the quickly spreading pool touch his boots or the bottom of his cape. As fuel cascaded down the stairs into the cargo hold, Loki disabled the ship’s shields and departed through the airlock into the extra ship. He undocked, then carefully maneuvered the smaller ship to face the larger one.

The weapons system was clearly marked, and Loki’s finger hesitated only a moment over the button to deploy a blast before pressing it. 

One last flaming arrow; one last burning ship. One last funeral to send half of what remained of Asgard forth into the stars. It was a poor excuse for a pyre, and there were no songs to be sung, no feasts to be held, no kings to give witness. But there was, at least, Loki, and the funeral prayer that fell effortlessly from his lips as he watched the laser blast pierce the hull of the ship, ignite the fuel, and set it all ablaze.

He lingered for long moments after the prayer was finished, but there was not much time to mourn. Thor was somewhere out there, surely running recklessly towards another chance at Thanos, and Loki did not want to let him face that alone. He turned the ship around and set the thrusters to full blast, heading towards the nearest jump point as fast as he could.

Had Loki not been stripped of his magic, he would have felt it coming. There are some things that ripple the very fabric of the universe, and this did more than ripple — it rent it apart. If Loki had his magic, he would have felt it vibrating in his bones like a great scream spreading across the stars. He could not have stopped it, of course, but he might have known what was happening. 

Only a few hours after leaving the Ravager ship, Loki reached out to press a button on the control panel and saw his hand crumble apart.

It came quickly, for him; he had only a moment to stare in shock before the rest of him dissolved into ash with a sound like a gentle sigh.

There is more to the story of the man who made a deal with death. 

When he awoke in the morning with his slit throat once again whole, he ran, giddy with joy, all the way home. He burst through his front door, intending to tell his beloved of his cleverness and his miraculous return, only to find the very same robbers who had killed him had invaded his house as well — thinking, of course, that he would never return.

They were surprised, but not too surprised to attack. The one who had slit his throat still had the same knife; this time, it found his heart, and this time, he did not wake — not even when the sun rose the next day and his beloved returned to a house stripped bare and his body cold and bloody.

There is a reason the book was locked up in Odin’s private study. To cheat death was to tip the scales of the universe ever so slightly off-kilter; it was to invite misfortune and chaos as the scales tried to right themselves; it was to turn the odds against you. It was, itself, a sort of curse.

But Loki, in his moment of panic and weakness, had not read that story all the way through to the end.

Loki would wake again, eventually, as would every other being who had turned to dust in that moment. And when he did, he would not remember:

A world that seemed to be forever drenched in sunset, the endless sky as orange as fire. A vast world, a flat plain covered entirely in a thin layer of water. A world full of people just as lost and forlorn as he.

A world where he never tired, and never longed for food or drink, and never stopped walking. Never stopped searching, for the one face he longed, still, to see. Each of his steps made ripples that spread out before him, all across this strange world.

He looked at every face he passed, and while most only stared blankly back at him, some furrowed in confusion, or even recognition — like the long-haired man who could not stop touching his left arm as if he was surprised to find it there, and the young redheaded woman who moved her hands in strange ways as if trying to conjure something, and the dark-skinned man who held regality in his spine and the tilt of his chin and looked up at the sky as if expecting to see stars there, and the teenage boy who stared back at him openly, mouth agape. Loki did not recognize any of them, but after his invasion on Midgard he knew his face was not one Midgardians would easily forget.

But he never found the one he was looking for.

He stopped, once, to sit beneath the roof of the only structure he ever found in this world. There was a little girl there, with green skin and her dark hair in two childish braids.

“Aren’t you happy you haven’t found him?” she said to him, apropos of nothing. “It means he isn’t trapped here.”

“I am, I suppose,” Loki said. “But still — I am selfish, and I want to see him again.”

“Perhaps you will,” she said. “This was never meant to be a final resting place. It is for transition. For waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Loki asked.

She looked at him. “Sacrifice,” she said. “There is always another sacrifice.”

Loki shuddered, though he could not say why. Something about the depth of her child eyes, and the resonance in her voice.

“Who are you?” he said.

She smiled. “I am the Soul. I am the sacrifice. And until there is another sacrifice, this is my realm.”

Loki looked out at the horizon, the same in every direction. “It seems a lonely place to rule.”

The child shrugged. “Well, like I said. I’m only waiting. Someday I’ll be freed.”

“I’ve always hated waiting,” Loki admitted.

She smiled again. “Time means nothing here,” she said. “Soul is eternal, after all.”

Loki looked at her, and for a moment he could see not just a little girl, but also a sharp-edged teenager, and a tall and lean young woman, and an older woman who was wrinkled and weakened but with that same depth in her eyes. And she was all of these things, and none of them.

“Besides,” she said, and stood, her gaze out in the distance. Loki looked the same way, and saw the silhouettes of people against the orange sky begin to vanish, one by one, without leaving so much as a ripple in their wake.

“It looks like you won’t have much longer to wait at all.”

Chapter Text

The universe is vast.

Any sentient creature with a half-developed brain knows that, of course, but it’s impossible to know just how vast. Vast, as a word, doesn’t cut it, and neither does enormous, colossal, limitless, immense, or any other word in a human language. The Ghartunians, a species living on the outskirts of the Messier 82 galaxy that communicates largely through the direct transmission of emotions from mind to mind, has a descriptor that comes close to conveying it: a deep, horrifying, existential dread.

Two facts: the universe has no beginning or end, and the universe is expanding. This, of course, is a paradox, and there are only a select few beings in the universe capable of understanding it. These beings are much like the universe itself: eternal, capricious, often cruel, and always indifferent to the lives of lesser creatures. They belong to a brotherhood of incomprehensible age, great power, and terrible knowledge. Burdened by the weight of their own minds, they have all gone a little mad, and obsess instead over their pet projects: the finest collection in the universe, the perfect half-breed child, the most entertaining contests of strength. Collectors, Egos, Grandmasters.

Better that most never know what they know. Better not to understand. Better not to see the face of the universe and be regarded with total dispassion. And if you must face your own insignificance, best not to do it alone.

Thor was alone now.

He’d arrived, finally, to the place where he’d last seen Loki. The spatial coordinates to this speck of void, far from any outpost, had been burned into his mind since that day. It was the graveyard of his people, a metaphorical killing field, a symbolic scorched and salted earth. But there was nothing left now to indicate the horror that had happened here. 

He searched for a while before he came to accept that.

Thor looked out. He was alone in the pod, the very small pod, and there was nothing out there. In every direction, only black emptiness and distant stars. If it weren’t for the pod’s artificial gravity, there would be no up or down. He stared and stared, and the longer he looked into the abyss, the more he felt like he was falling.

Loki could be one light year away, or a million. They could run towards each other for ten billion years and never know if the other was close. They could pass each other, in the night, in the void, without ever realizing. Thor could point his ship in one direction and fly until his bones were dust, and the view out the window would look exactly the same.

Distantly, Thor realized that he was having some difficulty breathing. Upon his noticing this, his heart began to pick up speed and his fingers began to tingle.

“Shit,” Thor could only gasp. “Shit, not now-”

He braced himself against the window of the pod, trying desperately to take deep breaths as the panic attack fell upon him like a great wave. The distant stars wavered out of focus as his vision blurred with involuntary tears, streaming hot upon his cheeks. He sat heavily down on the floor. In the silence of the pod Thor thought he sounded like a dying man, hyperventilating as if he’d been speared in the gut. In frustration, Thor slammed his fist against the window with a dull and unsatisfying thud. He wished, with tragic childlike intensity, for someone to stroke his hair and wipe his tears and take his hands and show him how to breathe again.

It seemed to take ages for the terror to pass, but pass it did, leaving Thor feeling cold and exhausted. He swiped his palms angrily over his wet cheeks and shakily stood, cursing his damned weakness, his damned helplessness, his damned inability to do anything right anymore.

He felt hollow, helpless. He should have known better than to think he could do this alone. He wasn’t strong enough, or clever enough. Years ago, he might have coasted by on sheer arrogance- confidence was itself often a kind of armor- but most of that surety had been cut away at the knees. 

His pride had taken a serious hit as well, but enough remained that he quickly discarded the idea of returning to the Guardians. Like a child who had run away from home only to return when they realized they had not planned things out further than a day. An inept young warrior too eager to prove himself, who abandons his quest to come begging for help. 

No, Thor would need help, but it wasn’t as if the Guardians knew enough to give him the kind of help he was looking for. To find Loki would take more than wits and determination; Thor would need magic. Of course, Thor had some magic of his own, but to track down his brother in a boundless universe he would need spells with much more finesse and precision than his own abilities of summoning the storm. 

Thor could vaguely recall Loki telling him about magical theory, on one of those all-too-rare occasions when Thor had bothered to listen. Once it became clear that Thor’s strengths lay in the battlefield, he gave little regard to the magic arts, even as Loki became further entrenched in them. Thor regretted now all the times that he had dismissed Loki’s passions as unimportant — it was clear to him, in hindsight, how his belittlement had planted and fed the bitterness in his brother’s heart. And he was sorely in need of those talents now.

For all that he did not care about magic, Thor did love his brother, and so he would make an attempt now and again to at least try to listen to what he was working on in his studies, though more often than not his thoughts would start to wander as soon as Loki started going into the technicalities. He could recall one such instance now, lying on a couch before the fireplace in the common room between he and Loki’s respective chambers, watching Loki bent over a book in the chair beside him and talking with great enthusiasm.

“It really is fascinating, Thor, you were born with just as much magic in you as I was, but it’s of an almost entirely different sort — it bursts out of you in great strikes, and to control it is rather like trying to rein in a bilgesnipe with your bare hands. I imagine that’s why Father gave you Mjolnir — to provide a conduit so you don’t electrocute everyone who gets close, all that magic spilling out at once like an overflowing cup.”

“Mmhmm,” Thor murmured sleepily, the fire comfortably, deeply warm on his face.

“But if you tried to use that same method on a more delicate spell, like casting an illusion or shapeshifting, it would be about as effective as trying to use your hammer to mend glass. So what I do is a work of precision and skill, but it takes just as much training and power, do you see, Thor? Thor, are you listening?”

“Mmhmm,” Thor hummed again, his eyes drifting shut.

Loki was silent for long moments, and Thor was just about to open his eyes again when he heard his brother sigh.

“I suppose it doesn’t much interest you. But what I want to know is how we inherited such different sources of magic. Elemental and alteration magic are completely separate schools, and it’s rare for members of the same family and generation to differ so sharply in predilections — no matter what Father says, I wonder if we might have some storm giant ancestors way back in the line…”

Loki’s voice was soothing, and Thor drifted to sleep shortly thereafter to the sound of it.

They had been so young then, and Loki clearly trying so hard to win Thor’s understanding. Before the strife, before the pain and the fighting … Thor often wondered how different things might have turned out, had he only listened a little harder.

In any case, it was clear that Thor could not attempt any advanced magic on his own. So he would have to enlist the help of someone who could. It was the sort of thing Loki could have done easily, but of course, Loki not being around was the whole problem. 

But where had Loki learned it all? From Mother, who was gone now, but also — he’d been sent away for a few years during their adolescence to study on Alfheim, while Thor had undergone advanced intensive training from Asgard’s military masters. He’d come back from that trip with magic simmering at the backs of his eyes and a new stride in his step, having graduated top of his class under the tutelage of the Nine Realms’ master sorcerers. Thor suspected the independent experiments he had conducted afterward during his long hours in the oldest parts of the palace library led to him outstripping even his old masters in capability, but surely they would prove capable enough to help Thor in this.

To Alfheim, then. Thor found the idea to be rather fitting — tracing his brother’s footsteps, left long ago. The disgraced king of a fallen kingdom seeking the help of those whose work he had once disregarded. The arrogant prince turned to humbled supplicant.

Despite the gravity of the situation and the shame he would surely feel upon facing the elves as he was now, Thor could not help but quirk a smile at the thought of their faces when he, of all people, arrived on their doorstep.

Elsewhere...

Gamora knew someone was following her. More than one someone, and not the usual someones — the usual being the many victims of Thanos who recognized her from her days as his most loyal child, and sought to take their own revenge.

No, these someones were less obvious, and much stranger — and more familiar. They’d taken care to split up, but Gamora had a sharp memory for faces and remembered them despite seeing them only briefly on the final battlefield against her father. The young Flora colossus, the green empath, the gray-skinned man of muscle, the small furry creature… and the Terran. The Terran who Nebula had told him her other self had loved, who had so gently touched her face and whispered, “I thought I lost you…”

She had kneed him in the balls for that, of course, but clearly he hadn’t taken the hint. He was sitting now in a shadowy corner of the bar with the gray-skinned man, pretending like he wasn’t watching her with an almost appalling amount of earnestness.

Gamora threw back the last of the worst cheap liquor this dive bar had to offer. If she’d had her way, she would have left Galador the moment she’d been identified by that pack of reavers out for vengeance. She’d quickly taken care of them and returned to her ship, only to find that she’d docked on the bad side of the planet and it had been stripped for parts in her absence. 

That was two days ago. Since then, she’d been lurking in the bars around the docks, waiting for the opportune moment to either steal or commandeer another ship, all the while fending off unwanted advances and keeping one eye over her shoulder in case any more friends of those reavers showed up. So far, none had, but Gamora almost thought she’d prefer that over this lot. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of them, which was unnerving.

No matter. The Kree by the door had passed out after his last of many drinks; she’d been watching him all day and knew he was traveling alone on a small vessel. All she had to do now was swipe his keys from his pocket on her way out and she’d be away from here at last.

Just as she was reaching for the coins to pay for her last drink, someone slid silently on to the stool next to her. She tensed reflexively and looked up. It was only the many years of Thanos’ ruthless training that kept her from showing her surprise.

Nebula. Or at least, some version of her. This Nebula did not have such deep anger and resentment in her shining black eyes, the way the Nebula she knew did. This Nebula held herself less stiffly, more confidently. This Nebula had spoken of the bonds of their sisterhood and killed her past self as readily as she had often tried to kill Gamora, in the past. This Nebula had turned against their father and helped Gamora to do the same.

“Hello, sister,” Nebula said.

“Nebula…” Gamora replied, and sighed, unsure of where to go from there. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course,” Nebula said. “Why did you run?”

Gamora hesitated, recalling turning her back on that motley group of mourners kneeling in tribute to their man of iron and disappearing into the red sunrise. Taking a ship full of dust and fleeing into the universe, knowing no one who would welcome her, not this version of her.

“There was nothing for me there,” she said.

Nebula swallowed. “There was me,” she said. Her eyes moved over Gamora’s shoulder. “There was them.”

Gamora turned, knowing even before doing so what she would see — and there they were, all of them, standing just a few feet away and watching with quiet apprehension. The “Guardians of the Galaxy,” Nebula had said they called themselves.

“Gamora,” said the Terran. Peter Quill. “I know that you don’t … that you don’t know us, don’t care about us, but you could — and you would, if you came with us. Trust me, I know. I know you .”

Gamora shook her head. “You don’t know me,” she said. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“But I do ,” Quill insisted. He took a step forward, his eyes wide and pleading. “I know that you hate splarga noodles and you love the color of the Black Eye Galaxy and you can dance but you pretend like you can’t. I know that when you were ten years old Thanos broke both your arms and told you afterward that he loved you and was only trying to make you stronger and you believed him even as you hated him. I know that you’re afraid you’ll never be a good person after everything you did for him, and I know that you’re the best of any of us, and I know that in bed you like to be touched right on the —”

The small animal coughed, loudly and pointedly.

“Well, anyway,” Quill said. “You get my point.”

Gamora felt suddenly trapped, as if she’d been pinned down in an arena with watchers on all sides.

“I cannot go with you,” she said. “I will not. Do you understand? I am not the person you are looking for, and I will not be treated as someone else. I am not a ghost. ”

“Of course you are not,” muttered the muscled man. “Clearly you are not dead.”

Gamora stared at him for a moment, then turned back to Nebula.

“Sister,” she said. “Sister who is not my sister. I do love you,” she said, and paused for a moment, almost surprised at herself for having said it, before continuing, “But I do not know you. I don’t know anyone.”

Nebula looked back at her without anger — only an empty sort of sadness, a deadened sort of hope.

She felt someone moving towards her from behind, and whirled around to catch the wrist of the empath in an iron grip. Feeling the jolt pass between them, she let go in an instant, but it was too late.

“You feel lost,” the empath said, her eyes big and sad. “You are conflicted, and afraid of the strange future you find yourself in. You feel grief, and you feel guilt for that same grief.”

It was like a stab in the heart, and on reflex Gamora drew one of her knives. “Do not touch me,” she said to the empath, and, keeping her blade raised, starting moving towards the door. 

“Gamora,” Quill said, and stepped forward.

“None of you touch me,” she warned. “And do not follow me, or you will find this knife inserted somewhere very painful that will greatly reduce your chances of reproduction.”

“Gamora, don’t go,” Quill said, desperation clear in his voice. “ Please-”

The emotion spilling out of him only made her flee all the faster, jostling the Kree on her way out and slipping her hand into his pocket. She burst out of the bar and, pausing only a moment to draw up her hood, sprinted towards the docks, swiftly locating the Kree’s ship and climbing aboard. She powered up the navigation system, which greeted her pleasantly in the Kree language: Where would you like to go?

Where, indeed? Anywhere, and nowhere— she had no home now, if she ever did. Sanctuary was destroyed twice over — but even if she had grown up there, no one could call that nightmarish prison a home. The other Gamora had supposedly found a home with those Guardians, but she was not that Gamora, would never be that Gamora — even if she did go with them, she’d never share their memories of that Gamora, and would live forever in a dead woman’s skin.

The image of Quill’s face rose to the forefront of her mind, brimming with hope and desperation and that terrible, boundless love. 

Gamora spun the navigation dial to choose coordinates at random, and took off moments later. The ship had a hyperdrive, which she activated shortly after leaving the atmosphere, and the universe went by in long streams of color and light.

Elsewhere, still…

How pitiful it would be, Loki thought, if starvation were to be the end of him, after everything else he’d impossibly survived.

He’d awoken what seemed like mere moments after watching his body turn to dust, and in those first waking seconds wondered whether it had been some sort of strange hallucination, before realizing that the ship around him was far darker and colder than it had been just minutes before. A quick investigation of the systems told him that the ship was out of fuel and had gone into power-saving mode — additionally, the date was five years later than it should have been.

Seeing that had made Loki sit down and stare into the distance for a little while, imagining what must have happened. Thanos had won — his culling was the only thing Loki could think of that would kill him so swiftly and strangely. But Earth’s heroes — whatever remained of them — must have reversed that destruction, though clearly they had taken a long time in so doing.

Five years. Loki could not help but wonder what Thor had done all that time, and what he was doing now. The possibility of his death was not something he would let himself consider.

All the ship’s functions had continued on as usual after he had vanished, it seemed. The air and water recyclers were still working, so he need not fear either asphyxiation or dehydration. The navigation systems were up, so Loki knew exactly where he was — but the ship had long since run through its primary and auxiliary fuel supplies, so he had no way of going where he wanted to. There was food, but not much of it, and Loki had managed to stretch it out for several months before finally running out several days ago.

Loki’s body was more resilient than most, and it would take him a while yet to truly starve, but the initial gnawings had begun and he had little hope of rescue. He’d activated the distress signal months ago and left it running constantly, but he was far from any inhabited planet and any commonly used jump point. 

Loki was almost glad for the hunger, for it served as a distraction from the even more oppressive danger — boredom. Months without anyone to talk to, or anything to read, or even without any materials to write, was a keen torture of its own. Loki often thought wistfully and deeply of his magic, and all the ways he would be able to amuse himself if he had it still. He thought with even steeper longing of all the ways he could have gotten himself out of this situation by now, if he still had his magic. It was not a very productive line of thought.

He’d made one discovery, though, upon realizing that despite his magic having been ripped away, his body retained its Aesir appearance. His shapeshifting abilities remained intact. He didn’t know why — perhaps it was something deeper than seidr, something hardwired into his biology, something more to do with what he was than what he could do. Whatever the case, he was pitifully grateful not to be forced into his Jotun form.

The shapeshifting helped him to reserve his food and energy. He spent long stretches as various small animals, and in those forms found he needed to eat far less. He always preferred to return to his Aesir form every once in a while, though, fearing — perhaps irrationally — that if he spent too long as an animal, he would forget what he had been before. Besides, he did not like feeling any smaller than he had to, not while floating alone in this big dark universe.

Now, he had shifted into the form of a cat, and was curled up on top of the navigation panel, which threw off a bit of extra heat. Now that the food was gone, he had little to do but wait for either death or a miracle, and rather than facing the innate helplessness of his situation, he preferred to sleep. And this form seemed naturally inclined to do a lot of that. 

His mind was drifting in the space just before dreams, thinking vaguely of sunshine and warm beds and the low grumble of distant thunder. He wondered if he would see Thor when he dreamed, as he sometimes did. He usually forgot most of these dreams upon waking, like water slipping through his fingers, leaving only vague impressions behind: a gleam of light reflecting off Thor’s gold hair, or the rumble of his laugh, or his warm hands holding Loki’s face, his voice whispering, Are you real?

The gentle hands of deep sleep were just beginning to close around Loki and carry him down into peaceful darkness when the crackle of the ship’s comm, which Loki had not heard once in all these months, came to life.

“Hello?” it said. “Is there someone there? I am responding to your distress call. Is there life on this ship?”

Loki clawed quickly out of near-unconsciousness and moved to take up the comm before remembering that he was still a cat. In an instant, he shifted back to Aesir and scooped up the comm in one hand.

“Hello,” he said, and cleared his throat, his voice sounding strange from disuse. “I am here. I am in need of aid; I am alone on this ship and have run out of food and fuel.”

There was a brief pause.

“I have no fuel to spare,” came the reply. It was a woman’s voice, and vaguely familiar in a way that made Loki slightly uneasy. “However, I can offer you safe passage on my vessel, if you are not overly attached to yours.”

“Not at all,” Loki said. “To tell you the truth, I will be glad to be rid of it.”

“Alright,” the woman said. “Do I have your permission to board?”

Loki hesitated. That mild unease in his stomach had not lessened, and Loki was not usually one to ignore his gut, or dismiss it as paranoia. Still, this may be his only chance of rescue.

“You do,” he said.

The ship came into view as it maneuvered to dock with Loki’s. It bore the symbols of Kree make, and Loki racked his mind to think of any Kree enemies he may have made, but could think of none in particular. Nevertheless, he readied a dagger out of sight in his sleeve as the ship’s airlocks attached. He stood at the ready as the doors hissed apart, and the woman stepped inside.

When Loki saw her, the only thing that kept him from throwing the knife at her throat was the fact that she looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see her: Gamora, Thanos’ favorite daughter.

“You,” they said at the same moment.

Loki’s mind was racing, thinking of the last time he had seen her, kneeling faithfully before her father in Sanctuary. He thought of her face, empty of anything, as she paused to watch her siblings torture him before passing by silently. He thought of how, in the beginning, he’d scream and cry out for help, and once she’d stopped by his cell and told him, There’s really no point to this, you know … no one is going to come for you.

Loki’s face broke into a snarl, and he launched himself at her, raising his knife. Gamora withdrew her own blade in an instant, and the two met with a sparking clash.

Chapter Text

The looks on the elves’ faces were not actually as funny as Thor had thought they would be. Shock, pity, maybe even some touches of humor — well, Thor shouldn’t bristle at the latter; it was true enough that Asgard had reigned over the other realms with an iron fist. Why shouldn’t proud Alfheim be satisfied to see its ruin? How far hath fallen the line of Odin , they were probably thinking.

But that didn’t matter. Thor’s pride had been thoroughly shattered in the past few years. And if the Light Elves could help him, let them laugh all they liked.

“Thor Odinson.” The lord of Alfheim’s voice was not absent of surprise when he received Thor in his hall, the court milling about the room eyeing him without much subtlety. “I think I speak for all of us in this realm when I say we never expected to see you here again.”

Thor inclined his head in respect. “Lord Ragnvar,” he said. “To be quite honest, I did not expect I’d ever return here, either.”

Ragnvar stood gracefully from his throne and pressed one hand to his heart. “We were deeply shocked and saddened to hear of Asgard’s fate. I assure you, we would have sent aid if we had known what was happening there.”

Despite the gravity of his tone, Thor smiled. “Thank you, although I could understand if in truth you felt otherwise. The memory of elves is long, and Asgard did not always reign here. I’ve come to believe that what happened to Asgard was always going to be the inevitable conclusion of my father’s legacy.”

Ragnvar shook his head. “It is true that our scholars remember the history before it was re-written, but we could never delight in such destruction. You and any Aesir are welcome here.”

“That is very good to hear,” Thor said. “I am happy to set foot on Alfheim again.”

Ragnvar smiled. “Well, now, I’m not sure I believe that. Intergalactic calamities aside, you never much enjoyed your state visits here, did you?”

Thor chuckled, remembering the long, boring visits he’d tolerated to Alfheim’s court during his boyhood days. “I’m afraid not, though that’s no one’s fault but mine — I never had much skill in talking magical theory at the feast table.”

“Yes,” Ragnvar said. “I suppose that was always more your brother’s forte.”

Thor’s smile dimmed. “Indeed,” he said. “And in fact, Lord Ragnvar, my brother is the reason for my visit to you today.”

Ragnvar nodded. “I wondered if that might not be the case. Come,” he said, gesturing with one hand towards a door near the back of the hall. “Let us speak more privately.”

Ragnvar led Thor down a hallway that bordered a courtyard where Light Elves were lounging in the afternoon sunshine, some playing instruments, some splashing in a crystal fountain that refracted light into splashes of rainbow every which where. Several of them noticed their lord and his visitor passing by, and watched them go with intense curiosity. Thor felt his chin rise, his spine straighten, his strides lengthen — his royal bearing coming upon him by instinct alone despite the plain traveler’s clothes he wore, the invisible weight always pressing down on his shoulders.

Ragnvar entered a sitting room at the end of the hall, and a servant closed the door behind them. Elaborately carved wooden furniture tastefully littered the room, all of it bathed in light from the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up one wall. Ragnvar settled down in a chair with a swirling of robes, gesturing with a flick of his fingers to a servant girl standing silent near the doorway. The girl strode forward to fill two glasses from a pitcher of clear liquid that was sitting on a table between Ragnvar and Thor. Ragnvar made another gesture, and the girl bowed and made her exit, leaving the two of them entirely alone.

Thor’s whole life used to involve interactions like that; he used to expect the palace servants to know exactly what he needed before he even needed it. How strange it seemed, now that he had slept and eaten and sweated alongside the most common of Aesir, all of them struggling along together in that half-functional ship during their last doomed journey. How insulting it would feel to ask any of the few remaining Asgardians to be subservient to him, after all they had survived. 

Staring at that fresh cold glass on the table in front of him, it seemed entirely absurd that he and Ragnvar should not have just reached out and poured their drinks for themselves.

“So then,” Ragnvar said, his tone grave. “What happened?”

Thor took a steadying breath, and then a steadying drink from the glass: the liquid within was clear as water but sweet as honeyed mead — a comforting, nostalgic taste without the bitterness Thor had newly come to associate with alcohol. And then he began: from the slaughter of the Statesman to his visit with the Nords. Ragnvar listened patiently, eyes widening and brow furrowing in some places, but otherwise with his head tilted in thought. 

When he had finished, Thor felt exhausted in more ways than one. He took a moment to drain his glass while Ragnvar sat with his fingers steepled together, processing it all.

“You have truly known many hardships,” he said eventually.

Thor smiled wryly. “You could say that.”

“And Loki…” Ragnvar shook his head, but he was smiling. “Well, Loki was never under my direct tutelage during his education here, but I have to tell you that I’m still proud to hear he managed to find a way out, somehow.”

Thor’s smile softened. “I was more happy to hear it than I have ever been. You can understand, then, why I am so eager to find him. Where do you think he could have been, all this time?”

“I cannot say,” Ragnvar mused. “There are many possibilities, and not enough time to discuss them all. Better that we get straight to the heart of the matter.”

Thor straightened. “There is something you can do, then?”

Ragnvar nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “Do you happen to have any of his possessions, still? A piece of clothing, or a hair bead, or some sort of trinket?”

Thor deflated just as quickly. “No,” he said. “No, there was no time to save anyone’s possessions, and Loki only had the clothes on his back.”

“Truly a terrible shame,” Ragnvar murmured ruefully. “Ah, but no matter. I know a near-foolproof spell that can find blood relatives with pinpoint accuracy.”

“Oh,” Thor said, shifting in his seat. “Well. About that. ‘Blood relatives.’ That isn’t — well, that is to say, Loki’s not …”

It should have been simple to say, and Thor cursed himself for struggling with it. Everyone on Asgard knew, of course, ever since Loki’s farce of a play had become a kingdom-wide favorite. And Thor had never thought of Loki any differently because of it. But Thor couldn’t help but feel as if it was Loki’s truth to share, and his alone.

Ragnvar was looking at him knowingly. “Ah,” he said. “So that particular little rumor was true, then?”

Thor jerked in surprise, then bristled. “I’ll not hear any unkind word against him —”

Ragnvar raised a placating hand. “Certainly not. Loki’s always been rather more favored here than elsewhere, I must admit, and besides — some petty war with the Frost Giants seems terribly trivial in light of everything else, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor looked down at his hands, folded together on his thighs. “That’s certainly true.”

“In any case,” Ragnvar said, standing. “We’re not quite out of options yet. Come with me.”

Ragnvar took him out of the sitting room and down several more hallways, until they arrived in a small, simple room with nothing but a Soul Forge in the middle of it. Ragnvar gestured towards it.

“Would you mind?”

Thor hesitated. “Alright,” he said unsurely, hoisting himself up onto it. “What for?”

“I’m following up on a hunch,” Ragnvar said.

Thor laid down on the stone slab, and with a wave of his hands Ragnvar summoned up a spectral version of Thor floating just above his body. With his hands glowing faintly with dark magenta light, Ragnvar’s brow furrowed in concentration for several minutes. After some time he dropped his hands to his sides, and the spectral Thor vanished.

Thor sat up. “Well?” 

Ragnvar rubbed his chin. “I was checking you for … well, for lack of a better term, a magical tether. It’s sort of like … a connection that can be followed between two life forces, forged by seidr.”

“Oh,” Thor said, surprised. “I’ve never heard of something like that.”

“Only seidr masters can sense it,” Ragnvar explained. “Often, they are formed unintentionally by young mages of particular talent. They’re not uncommon between siblings, or close friends.”

“I see,” Thor said quietly, feeling both pained and warmed. “And did I have one?”

“Yes,” Ragnvar said. “Though it seems to have been severed. That doesn’t happen easily. But if you are certain Loki is still alive…?”

“Without a doubt,” Thor said fervently.

Ragnvar nodded. “Very well. Then, we should be able to reform the connection. Though it will not be easy, and will require you to do most of the work.”

“I am willing,” Thor said immediately. “What must I do?”

“Wait here a moment,” Ragnvar said, and swept out of the room.

When he returned a few minutes later, he had two attendants with him who were dressed in the robes of lesser mages and carried various bowls and pots. Ragnvar placed a bowl on the Soul Forge right next to Thor and mixed together various herbs and other substances into a mixture resembling a poultice that smelled strongly of elderflower and sage.

“How it will happen,” Ragnvar said as he worked, “Is that I am going to put you into a sort of trancelike state that allows you to navigate an astral space that exists between your own mind and the spirit of the universe. You will be searching for the other, severed end of the connection that belongs to Loki, and attempting to reforge the bond. Once you’ve done that, it will be very easy to locate him.”

“How will I know that I’ve found it?” Thor asked as Ragnvar spread a bit of the finished mixture over his palms and the insides of his wrists.

“Your mind will represent this search in a matter that you can comprehend,” Ragnvar answered. “If there is a road, follow it. If there is a door, pass through it. When you’ve found what you seek, you will know it, trust me. May I?” he gestured to Thor.

Thor nodded, and Ragnvar pulled the collar of his tunic aside to smear some of the poultice over Thor’s heart. Ragnvar pushed gently on his shoulder, and Thor laid down again.

“Are you ready?” Ragnvar said.

“Yes,” Thor said, resolute. Ragnvar lowered his hand over Thor’s face, and Thor reached up to stop him just before he made contact. “Ragnvar,” he said. “How will I repay you for this?”

Ragnvar shook his head. “I have an idea, but we will discuss it after we succeed. Find him, Thor.”

Thor nodded and released his hand. Ragnvar lit up again with deep magenta magic, and he spread some of the mixture over Thor’s head. Then, Thor was descending — not into darkness, but into a world of dizzying dreams.

Loki took a swing at Gamora’s throat; she ducked swiftly away and maneuvered to grab his wrist.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

Loki twisted out of her grip and tried to go for a stab to the gut. She blocked with her own blade, but just barely. They wavered there in suspension, pushing against each other.

 “You never do, do you?” Loki sneered. “You always did just like to watch.”

Gamora yielded, and spun out of the way of the arc of Loki’s knife. She backed away, one hand up in supplication. “I’m not with Thanos anymore.”

Loki scoffed. “Do you really think I would believe that? You, Thanos’ most favored daughter?”

He lunged forward again and they fought for several more moments in a flurry of well-matched blows. Once again, they locked each other in place, blades at each other’s throats.

“Thanos is dead,” Gamora said. “I helped defeat him. His deeds are undone.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, remembering the Stateman's grisly scene, the smell of the scavengers’ cargo. “Not all of them.”

Gamora’s face was grim. “No,” she agreed. “I suppose not all of them.”

She ducked suddenly, and Loki pivoted to try and drive his knife into the back of her neck. Gamora dodged, and spun a foot out to knock out his ankles. Loki tried to blast her back with a burst of seidr and, of course, came up against the empty well within him. He’d forgotten, so stupid, so stupid — in the moment of hesitation Gamora made contact and Loki fell. His head slammed against the metal floor of the ship. Already dizzy from hunger, Loki’s vision swam as Gamora knelt over him and pressed her forearm to his throat, pinning him to the ground.

“Would you stop ?” Gamora demanded, her expression an unusual mix of sincerity and frustration. “I’m trying to help you.”

Loki wanted to spit back some venomous remark at her, but her arm was pressed just a bit too tightly into his windpipe and all of a sudden his heart was racing and his breaths came fast and short.

“Don’t touch me,” he tried to growl, though it came out more of a gasp.

A moment of confusion passed over Gamora’s face, but she pressed on. “I’ll let you up if you’ll stop attacking me.”

Brutal irrational panic was climbing up his constricted throat. “ Fine, ” he managed, “Just get . Off. Me. ”

Finally, she lifted her arm and stood and moved away. Loki sat up and rubbed gently at his throat. The panic subsided quickly, leaving him feeling foolish and weak. He shot a glare up at Gamora.

“You would never have won in a fair fight,” he said.

Gamora shook her head. “No fight with you is ever fair, trickster.”

Loki made an effort to dial up the venom in his glare. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to help you,” Gamora said, again.

“Why?”

Gamora blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question, then shrugged. “I’m trying something different,” she said. “I don’t want to be what Thanos made me anymore.”

Loki laughed, the sound painful and bitter. “So this is — what, atonement?”

The line of Gamora’s mouth went flat. “Something like that,” she said. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“It’s rather a long story,” Loki said, getting to his feet. “And I can’t say I feel much inclined to tell it to you. How did you find me?”

Gamora shrugged. “I wasn’t looking for you. I suppose you’re just very, very lucky.”

“Hah,” Loki muttered. “I am many things, but lucky has never been one of them.”

Gamora waved a hand. “Yes, I get it, you’ve had a hard life. Join the club.”

The poison in his gaze was at full capacity now. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Gamora’s jaw clenched, unclenched. “Do you want to get out of here or not? I’m happy to leave you to your brooding if you’d rather drift through the void forever.”

Loki brushed invisible debris off the shoulders of his tunic, perhaps more aggressively than was necessary. “Unfortunately it does seem I require your assistance. I hope you don’t expect me to be grateful for it.” He gestured sharply to the door hatch. “After you.”

Gamora huffed out a breath and whirled out. “Typical,” she muttered. “The one time I try to do a good deed and this is what the universe gives me.”

Loki followed her through, toying briefly with the idea of burying his knife into her back. But as satisfying as it would feel, it most likely wouldn’t kill her and wouldn’t be worth the trouble it would cause. And, he admitted begrudgingly to the part of his mind that sounded annoyingly like Thor, it was a dishonorable move, even for him.

When the airlock was closed, Gamora pushed the button to disengage with the dead ship, and Loki watched through the porthole as it drifted ever so slowly away into the endless darkness. He couldn’t say he would miss it.

Now that the adrenaline of the fight was wearing off, Loki’s body was making its complaints once again — most particularly, the desperate pangs of his stomach. Today would mark a week since his food stores had run out.

“Do you have anything to eat,” he ground out, loath to ask Gamora for anything.

Gamora looked at him, then looked around. “I’m sure there’s some rations stored around here somewhere.”

Loki’s brow furrowed as she set about popping open cabinets set into the hull of the ship and opening magnetized drawers. “Is this not your ship?”

“No, I stole it,” she said casually, digging through a compartment full of brightly metallic wrappings. “As I’m sure you stole yours. You don’t strike me as the type to favor a scavenger-style vessel. Here.”

She tossed him a bag of some sort of protein chips. Loki caught it and tore it open, trying to restrain himself from gracelessly devouring the whole thing at once. “I certainly would not,” he said, and did not bother to elaborate.

Gamora stood stiffly in front of him with her arms crossed, expression unreadable as she seemed to look him up and down clearly for the first time. Loki tried to ignore her, but he could feel her gaze lingering on his torn and dirtied clothing, the scorch marks and the blood. That terrible day on the Statesman might have been years in the past, but Loki still bore the evidence of it. If he’d had his magic he’d have erased those reminders a long time ago. Instead, he wore it as plainly as if the very threads of his clothes were woven from tragedy.

“I suppose we’re both running from something, then,” Gamora said.

Loki stiffened. “Speak for yourself,” he said. “At least I have somewhere I’m trying to get to.”

Gamora raised an eyebrow. “And where’s that?”

Loki finished the protein chips, and crumpled the bag in his fist. “Midgard.”

Gamora studied him, a furrow in her brow. “The battle there is long-finished, you know.”

“I know,” Loki said. “Battle is not my purpose anymore.”

Gamora looked at him thoughtfully, but did not press any further. She unfolded her arms. “Very well,” she said, and went to put in the coordinates.

Loki went over to one of the seats around a small galley table and lowered himself into it, willing his long-empty stomach to accept the food he’d given it without protest. He watched Gamora at the ship’s controls, taking in her cropped blue hair. It was a shoddy cut, and the color clashed terribly with her green complexion. So she really must be on the run, then. And her dark red roots were beginning to show; so she must have been on the run for a while.

Gamora finished inputting their destination and turned back towards him. As if she’d felt him looking she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, but it was too short to stay and fell right back into place. She walked over to the table and sat down across from him. Loki immediately stood and walked over to the windows, watching the stars go by with increasing speed, his back to her.

“How long is the journey?” he asked stiffly.

“A few hours to the closest jump point,” she said. “Several jumps, and then about another day’s time.”

Loki closed his eyes, dreading the day ahead. “Very well,” he said, and resolved to say nothing else.

For the hours until they reached the jump point, they each kept to their own parts of the ship, the dead silence between them as stony as Loki could possibly make it. Sometimes he could feel Gamora looking at him, but he ignored it, pretending to read a Kree book he’d found in the cockpit despite the fact that it was a romance novel and not a very good one at that.

They strapped into the cockpit’s seats for the jumps, which went by quickly and without incident, though they made Loki slightly nauseated as wormhole travel tended to do. They emerged finally within the Milky Way Galaxy, and with the hyperdrive running full blast all they had left to do was wait. For many strained, interminable hours.

After a few of those hours had passed, Loki was seated at the little galley table again when Gamora came over and dropped a deck of standard Kree playing cards onto the table. Loki looked up over the top of his book.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Gamora said. “It’s annoying, but I suppose I understand. But I’m bored, and I know you are too. This is, what, your third read-through of that book?”

It was the fourth, actually. Loki was truly starting to loathe it. He said nothing to Gamora, though.

She sighed, and sat down, opening the deck. “I don’t suppose you know how to play Kronian Canasta?”

Loki scrutinized her for a long moment. She looked back innocently, already shuffling the cards. He shut the book and set it aside.

“I do, actually,” he said. “It was the favorite of a particularly dull ambassador I was made to entertain from time to time.”

 Gamora smiled. “My sister and I used to play it for hours on end, when we were younger. Before she started hating me, of course.”

Loki tensed. “You mean Nebula.”

Gamora paused for a moment, just before bridging the cards. “Yes.”

One of Loki’s hands closed into a fist. Nebula had not been one of his frequent tormentors, but on occasion he had suffered at her hands. He would not easily forget it.

Regret passed across Gamora’s face. “You know,” she said, “Loki, you know … Thanos made all of us do things we didn’t really want to do.”

“I’m not interested in hearing your justifications for your psychopathic sister,” Loki said coldly.

Gamora frowned. “She wasn’t — she’s not a psychopath. She just … Thanos treated her the worst of any of his so-called children, she felt trapped , she wanted to change, she just never —”

She stopped short, met with Loki’s singularly arched eyebrow. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

She began dealing the cards, one by one back and forth between herself and Loki, but distress lingered in the furrow of her brow and the unhappy slant to her mouth. Watching her, Loki thought unbiddenly of Thor. During his time with Thanos, and his time masquerading as Odin, Thor had been spending his time with the Avengers — attending their parties, surely, drinking heartily alongside them. The Avengers, who hated Loki — had they ever disparaged him to Thor, who thought him dead? Had Thor reacted like this, been made to swallow his passionate defenses of Loki to keep the peace? 

Once, Loki might have stewed angrily at the possibility that he would simply say nothing, or join in their grievances, or laugh along. But he knew better, now. Thor could certainly be vocal about Loki’s perceived faults — but Loki no longer believed him to be cruel.

Thor. Loki did not know anything about what had happened to him in the past few years. He’d been trying not to speculate, since there was no point when he’d had no way of learning the truth. But Gamora, he thought, picking up his hand — Gamora might know something.

He waited for her to play her turn before saying, “So you were at the final battle. When Thanos met his defeat.”

She shot him a guarded look. “I was.”

Loki took his turn, a familiar rhythm: draw, play, discard. He was trying to think of a way to ask his question without it sounding plaintive, but in the end could only ask, “Did you see my brother there?”

Gamora looked up at him. “The one with all the lightning, I assume? Yes, he was there.”

Loki swallowed. “And how … was he?”

Gamora laid several cards down, discarded one. “I did not see much of him, you know. There was quite a lot going on. But …” She met his gaze. “Furious. He was furious.”

Loki nodded, slowly. “Alive.”

“Yes,” she said. “Very much so.”

Loki breathed out a quiet sigh. “Good,” he said, and took his turn.

Several turns passed, each of them racking up points and the discard pile growing larger. Then Loki asked,

“Thanos died painfully, I hope?”

Gamora stilled for a long moment. She laid several more of her cards down. “I don’t know if it was painful,” she said eventually. She did not look up from her cards, did not meet his eyes. “But I do know he faced his total and utter defeat before his end. That will have to be satisfying enough.”

“I do so wish I could have seen his face,” Loki went on, watching her with a slight tilt to his head.

Gamora only hummed in vague agreement. Still she kept her gaze locked down.

Thoughtful silence. Several more turns. Then:

“Did you love him?” Loki asked.

Gamora’s head whipped up, eyes transitioning swiftly from round shock to narrowed glare. “I hated him,” she said, low and vehement.

Loki scoffed. “Well, of course,” he breezed, waving his hand. “But did you love him?”

Gamora looked at him. Paused. “Did you love your father?” she said.

Loki blinked. “My father?” He smiled grimly. “I killed my father.”

“I meant Odin,” Gamora said.

“If you asked Thor, he’d probably say I killed that father too,” Loki said. He frowned. “What would you know about Odin, anyway?”

“Plenty. I probably know more about you than most.” She did not say it snidely, but it still made Loki’s hackles rise.

“Against my will,” he snarled. “Only because Thanos tore it all out of me to inspect for himself.”

Gamora didn’t rise to the bait. She waited until Loki realized she wasn’t going to, and his shoulders lowered a touch.

“Regardless,” she said. “Did you love your father?”

Loki’s jaw clenched. He thought of Odin, tall and far away and gleaming in stolen gold: untouchable, manipulative, impossible to please. Spitting, Your birthright was to die.

Odin, holding his small hand and touching his hair when Loki was hardly tall enough to reach his waist. Odin, small and slumped on a cold Norwegian cliff, chuckling as if all of it were only an old ironic joke. His voice softer than it had been in centuries: Frigga would have been proud. I love you, my sons.

 “As mightily as I hated him,” Loki said.

Gamora nodded, slow. “Then I guess we have more in common than you think.”

Loki laughed, a little bitterly, but at the same time he felt some of the tension that had been in his shoulders since Gamora had boarded his ship lift. He laid down the last of his cards. 

“I believe I’ve won this one,” he said. “Another round?”

Gamora smiled. Something about it, Loki couldn’t help but feel, was oddly familiar about it — like a memory he’d long forgotten. “Gladly,” she said.

Loki ended up winning most of their games, something Loki (most generously, he thought) allowed Gamora to believe was due to the several hundred extra years of practice he had.

The second half of their voyage went quite a bit faster than the first in this manner, and before he knew it they were preparing for atmospheric entry. When the ship had gotten close enough to pick up on the planet’s electronic field, Loki had used the ship’s computer to access Midgardian news databases and learn that the remaining Aesir had named a settlement after Asgard in Norway — not far from where Odin had died, Loki realized. Something in his chest panged at the thought of Thor making that choice, leading their battered people to the place where the end had begun.

Gamora took the helm and piloted them down with a firm hand, rattling through the burning-hot atmosphere and sweeping through the clouds, slowing them for landing as they neared the ground. With a final burst of sunlight the ship sank down through a dense gray blanket of clouds to reveal New Asgard down below: small, and currently being doused in rain. As Gamora carefully brought the ship down on a wide green cliff close to the village, Loki could see figures emerging from the little cottages and pointing and running towards them. But they were still too far away for Loki to distinguish any faces, to know if Thor was among them. 

Gamora landed with practiced ease and cut the engines, then pressed the button to lower the exit walkway. Loki took a deep breath, indistinguishable over the sound of the walkway extending down and out. He smoothed his hands down the front of his tunic as the mechanical noises ceased and let in the sound of the world outside: sea and gulls and rain.

Loki strode down the walkway into the downpour, and the first thing he saw was Valkyrie: standing there in a red sweater and a long yellow raincoat, her fists clenched at her side. 

A short distance behind her a small crowd of Aesir was gathered, their mingled voices of excitement and fear coming to a total hush at the sight of him. Valkyrie’s expression was one of pure shock.

Loki stepped towards her. “Val-” he began.

His vision burst white as Val’s fist smashed into his face. Loki heard the gathered Aesir gasp in unison as he went sideways down into the mud. Loki blinked, head spinning; above him, the looming image of Val coalesced into clarity: she looked absolutely enraged.

“You asshole,” she spat. “You absolute asshole! ”

Loki wiped a bit of blood from his mouth. “Well, that’s not a very kind welcome.”

Wrong thing to say. Valkyrie’s eyes flashed fierce as lightning. She crouched down and grabbed hold of the collar of his tunic, lifting him up and pushing him so that he stumbled several yards backwards up against the hull of the ship, still hot from the atmosphere and smelling of ozone. 

“How dare you,” she growled. “How could you just — just show up here, after everything —”

Loki put his hands up in supplication. “Val, I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t actually my fault this time.”

“Where have you been !” she shouted, shaking with wrath.

The gathered crowd of Aesir had been slowly creeping closer, and now they were near enough for Loki to hear one of the men say, “ Majesty ,” with some intensity.

Valkyrie twitched, and released one hand from Loki’s collar to turn half towards him, saying, “I’ve told you not to call me — oh.”

She’d caught sight of Gamora, who had emerged quietly from the ship and was standing on the other side of a sporadic curtain of rainfall streaming from the overhanging hull of the ship. She was steadily watching with her hands loose and unthreatening at her sides.

“It’s you,” Val said. “I remember you.”

Gamora inclined her head slightly. “I remember you too,” she said.

“Majesty?” Loki said.

Val’s face turned sharply back to him. 

“He called you majesty ,” Loki said. He swallowed. “Valkyrie, where is Thor?”

The gathered crowd was growing louder, more excited — Prince Loki, it’s Prince Loki, he could hear amid the growing commotion. A child broke from the crowd and sprinted, splashing through the mud, towards the village, surely carrying the news with him.

Val’s gaze darted from Loki, to the crowd, to Gamora, then back to Loki again. Her face said quite plainly she wasn’t finished with her beating or her interrogation, but she could sense clearly as anyone that they would soon have an even bigger scene on their hands. She let go of Loki and stepped back, her face grim. Loki’s stomach churned anxiously.

“You two had better come with me,” she said.

Chapter Text

Valkyrie quickly ushered them to a building in the center of the village that was slightly larger than any of the others. They passed through an entrance hall into some kind of meeting room, all wood-paneled and warm-lit with exposed beams in the ceiling. In the center of the room was a long oak table scattered with folders and papers, and on one wall was a long window that overlooked a sloping lawn leading towards the sea. As Loki and Gamora sat across the table from that window, Loki spotted a few curious faces peering up over its ledge, trying to get a look at them inside.

Despite the tight clenching feeling in his stomach, Loki gave them a wave and bit his lip to keep from laughing when they reacted with great enthusiasm. Valkyrie strode over to the window and drew the shades closed with a sharp snap . She turned around and planted the palms of her hands on the table.

“Firstly,” she said dangerously. “How the Hel are you alive. And secondly, what possible reason could you have for letting the rest of us think you were dead. FOR FIVE YEARS.”

“Do I have to be here for this?” Gamora said, slouching back in her seat with her arms crossed.

“Well, I won’t stop you leaving,” Valkyrie said. “But I’d prefer it if you stuck around until I figured out your role in this.”

She turned her glare back on Loki. “You have no idea what it’s been like here. And Thor...”

She trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. Loki’s jaw clenched.

“What about Thor?” he demanded.

Val shook her head. “First, answer me. Tell me.”

So Loki did, beginning from the moments after Thanos and his wretched children had forced Valkyrie and the chosen half of their people into escape pods and sent them screaming into space while the rest faced the slaughter. Valkyrie listened in silence, her face a practiced blankness. Surely she had heard some of this from Thor already, but Loki told it anyway. She pulled out a chair and sat down in it after he described the sensation of his neck snapping, and the equally disturbing feeling of it cracking back into place when his last-ditch spell took effect. She swallowed hard when he told her about the semblance of a funeral he gave to the bodies of the slain. Her hands, resting on the table in front of her, clenched into fists when he recounted turning to ash in a live ship and returning to a dead one, stranded. By the time he’d finished summing up Gamora’s rescue efforts, she was staring down at the swirling wood grain of the table.

“So you see,” Loki said quietly. “I was always trying to get back here. Back to Thor. I never stopped. I didn’t … I didn’t want him to think he’d lost me again.”

Silence stretched for a few beats. Loki glanced over at Gamora to see she was looking at him with a certain softness in her brow. Not quite pity, but too close to it for Loki’s liking. Then she looked away.

“Well, he did think it,” Valkyrie said finally. “Maybe if he had known you were still out there … maybe things could have been different.”

“Valkyrie,” Loki said intensely. “What happened to him?”

Val finally met his eyes. “It wasn’t all because of you, of course. He was mourning everything. Norns, we all were. And the guilt when he couldn’t stop Thanos…“ She sighed. “I saw a lot of broken men on Sakaar, you know, but maybe none quite so changed as him.”

Loki’s stomach twisted. Broken was not a word anyone would ever use to describe the brother he knew. Thor was indestructible, indefatigable, invincible. Thor was full of fire even as Thanos bound him and tortured him and killed his people in front of him. No matter whether Loki turned hot or cold or raged against him or fought alongside him, Thor was constant, Thor was safe. Broken? Never.

Some of his shock must have shown on his face, because Valkyrie said in a softer tone, “He’s a lot better now, you know. But he’s not here.”

“Then where is he?” Loki asked.

Valkyrie shrugged. “He went off with those so-called Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Gamora stiffened at that. This did not escape either Valkyrie’s or Loki’s notice, but neither questioned her.

“To tell you the truth,” Val said, “I’m a little worried about him. The last time we spoke, he promised he would come to the annual festival we have to remember the day we settled in this place. The festival starts tomorrow, but I’ve heard no further word from him. I was going to wait until tomorrow to call the Guardians’ ship and ask to talk to him.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Gamora said.

Loki and Valkyrie’s heads swiveled simultaneously in her direction.

Gamora crossed her arms a little tighter. “The Guardians are looking for me. They caught up to me a few days ago. And Thor wasn’t with them.”

“You know the Guardians?” Val sounded incredulous.

Gamora laughed humorlessly. “Not exactly.”

“Why would Thor have split off from them?” Loki said.

Gamora shrugged. “How should I know?”

“He would have let me know about something like that,” Val said. “Something must have happened, and suddenly.”

“If that were so,” Loki said, “Would the Guardians not have let you know themselves?”

“Apparently they were too busy chasing you.” Valkyrie directed this at Gamora, regarding her somewhat cooly.

Gamora frowned. “It’s not as if I asked them to. Actually, I told them very clearly to leave me alone.”

A short laugh escaped Val. “As if that lot would listen to that!”

“This is all quite beside the point,” Loki began, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“What?” Valkyrie snapped.

The door cracked open to reveal none other than Korg.

“Oh sorry, am I interrupting?” He caught sight of Loki and brightened. “Oh hey, man! Cool that you’re alive!”

Loki blinked. “Thank you,” he said.

“What is it, Korg,” Valkyrie said, annoyed.

“Well, funny enough, since you guys have been in here, another ship touched down just outside town. Busy day for us, huh? Think we should put a landing pad in?”

“Another ship?” Val repeated.

“Yeah, bigger and nicer than the one you two came in on, no offense. Anyway, their captain asked to see you so I brought him here. That’s cool with you, right?”

Korg opened the door the rest of the way to reveal, waiting behind him, what appeared to be a rather average-looking Midgardian man in a leather coat. Loki didn’t recognize him, but clearly Gamora did — she stood bolt upright, her whole body tense.

“Says his name’s Peter Quill,” Korg went on.

There was a long, tense pause. Peter Quill’s gaze flicked from Loki to Valkyrie before settling on Gamora. From where he was sitting Loki couldn’t see her expression, but she didn’t say anything. Quill half-raised one hand in an awkward little wave.

“Hi,” he said. 

Another pause.

“Thank you, Korg,” Val said eventually. “You can go.”

“Sure thing, no problem,” Korg said, and turned and clanked away.

Valkyrie turned to Quill. “Funny,” she said. “We were just talking about you.”

“All great things I hope,” Quill said, but it was half-hearted. His gaze was still locked on Gamora.

“What are you doing here,” Gamora demanded flatly.

“Believe it or not, we didn’t actually follow you,” Quill said. “Well, I mean, I wanted to, after you ran. But I was overruled. Nebula seemed to think you needed space.”

This made Loki pay attention, his hackles rising. “Nebula is with you?”

“Yeah,” Quill said, leaning to the side slightly to get a better look at him around Gamora. “And who are you exactly?”

“Loki,” he answered. “And I take it you are part of these Guardians of the Galaxy people?”

Quill’s eyebrows flew upwards. “You’re Loki ?” he said. Then, more faintly, “Shit. So Thor was right. Guess I owe him an apology.”

“You know where he is, then?”

“Yeah, he took off without telling us a few days ago,” Quill explained. “But he took our escape pod, which has a tracker connected to our ship, so we know exactly where he is. We were going to go check up on him but we thought we’d see if you,” and here he nodded towards Valkyrie, “wanted to come with, since he wasn’t, uh, in the best mindset when he left.”

“So it’s all coincidence?” Gamora said, voice tense. “You swear you weren’t following me?”

Unhappy lines framed Quill’s mouth as he looked at her with something between hurt and pleading. “Believe me or don’t,” he said. “But we really didn’t know you were here until we saw the ship you stole sitting on that cliff out there.”

“Strange that we should all end up here at the same time,” Valkyrie said.

“The Norns weave many strange patterns,” Loki said, and stood, heart hammering. So close now, so close.  “If you know where Thor is, I suggest we go there. Right now.”

“Wait a moment,” Valkyrie said. “You said he wasn’t in ‘the best mindset.’ What do you mean by that? Will we need to talk him down from doing something stupid?”

“Maybe,” Quill said, impatience creeping into his voice. “He was — well, look, I’ll explain it all to you, but first … Gamora, can I talk to you? Alone?”

He said it softly, eyes pleading and posture relaxed, which was apparently enough to give Gamora pause.

“I…” she began, then trailed off. “I don’t know.”

There was a short, tense silence.

“Might I suggest,” Loki piped up, “That we all go to wherever Thor is, and you all can resolve whatever issues you have going on at a later time?”

Quill scowled at him. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“He’s got a point,” Val said. “You made it sound like Thor might be in trouble. Clearly you two have baggage, and I haven’t got time for you to sort that out.”

“But—” Quill began.

“No,” Gamora interrupted. “They’re right. I … I will talk to you, just … not just yet.”

There was a hint of desperation in Quill’s eyes. “Will you come with us?”

“We could use a ride,” Val interrupted. “Tragically, New Asgard doesn’t exactly have a state vessel for our own use.”

“Yes, yes, the three of us will follow you and you can talk there,” Loki said to Quill, impatient to usher things along. “Now, where is Thor?”

Quill paused, still looking at Gamora. Gamora nodded, and he sighed. “He’s on a planet called Alfheim,” he said.

Valkyrie and Loki both startled.

“Alfheim?” Val repeated.

“Why would he go there?” Loki asked.

Quill shrugged. “Beats me. You know it?”

“Of course,” Loki said. “It is one of the Nine Realms. One of Asgard’s closest allies. Before, that is.”

“And it’s a haven for sorcerers,” Val added. “He must be cooking up some sort of plan. Hopefully we can get to him before he tries something foolhardy.”

“It’s impossible to stop Thor from being foolish,” Loki said. “I should know, I’ve tried many, many times. But yes, you’re right, we’d better get a move on.”

They all left the town hall and hurried back to the ships, Valkyrie fending off curious Asgardians all the while. Were Loki not so focused on the task at hand and so anxious about Thor’s state, he would have quite enjoyed all the attention and the joyful shouting of his name.

As they went, Quill hurriedly summarized the events that led to Thor taking off on his own: his injury, his vision of Valhalla, his insistence on Loki being alive, the argument they’d had. He spoke of it all in a brief, matter-of-fact manner, but the implied depths of danger and despair contained in Thor’s actions made Loki’s chest tighten and his nails dig into his palms.

The rest of what Loki assumed were the Guardians were milling about near the entrance of their ship when the four of them returned. Gamora hesitated at the sight of them before making a beeline for her own ship. They all watched her go with expressions ranging from hurt to understanding, until Quill stepped over to them and said something to them in low tones.

Loki and Val joined Gamora on her ship. The Guardians took off first and Gamora piloted them right behind. Valkyrie took a seat at the table that still held the remnants of Loki and Gamora’s earlier card game, but Loki couldn’t bear to sit still. He paced back and forth from window to window, willing space to go by faster. If only the Bifrost were still functional, they could have arrived there in an instant.

Thor, he thought willfully, You’d better not be doing anything stupid.

Eventually, Loki settled on standing in the cockpit, watching the Guardians flying just ahead of them, though his mind was much farther away than that. After a few minutes Gamora sidled up nearby.

He could feel Gamora sneaking glances at him, and knew she was working her way up to something. Eventually, she said, “Can I ask you something?”

Loki turned to her. “I’m not sure what you could have to ask me, but go on.”

She paused. “You used to hate your brother,” she said. “You used to want to tear it all down, or leave it behind. What changed?”

Loki blinked, taken aback.

What, indeed? It was a question that Loki himself used to wonder, back when he was still trying to cling to the old familiar rage even as he felt it draining inevitably away. Somewhere between Thor touching his face and begging him to come home, and Thor cradling his unresponsive body on Svartalfheim, and that long lonely stretch pretending to be king behind a mask he cared less and less about letting slip, and the realization lying twitching on the floor of the Grandmaster’s hangar that Thor was done chasing after him if Loki was only ever going to stab him in the back. When Loki fought alongside his brother at Asgard’s final stand, when he swept down from the sky with the vessel of his people’s salvation, when he decided that this time I’m here and when Thor hugged him with all his might — it was the first time in centuries he’d truly felt like himself.

“I suppose,” Loki said, “I was ready to come home.”

Gamora nodded, looking out the front window at the tail jets of the Benatar before them. 

Only hours remained between them and Alfheim.

Thor was sitting on the throne of Asgard. The long hall was untouched by damage, tall and gleaming gold. Thor looked up to see the false revisionist mural still intact overhead, Odin painted in soft colors making peace with all the realms. There were no courtiers mingling in the throne room, no subjects striding down the long receiving hall. The doors that led outside stood swung wide open at the end of the hall, and outside the city was visible. Perfect, unharmed, and absolutely silent. It was as if the entire kingdom had simply packed up and walked away, rather than run screaming from its destruction.

In the distance the Bifrost shimmered. If there is a road, follow it, said Ragnvar’s voice in Thor’s head. He stood from the throne and strode down the hall, out into the sun. Maybe the glamour of the palace crumbled to dust behind him as he left, with no one to bear witness to its illusion anymore. Thor wouldn’t know. He didn’t look back.

Down he went by foot through the streets he had often flown directly over without a second glance. Thor had no hammer; he had no axe. There would be no taking the easy path this time. Down he went through the royal pavilion, out the gates, into the city: past the empty taverns and the barren marketplace and the quiet homes. His footsteps echoed across the lonely cobblestones.

Out onto the Bifrost, where the rainbow colors never stopped dancing. Out over the sea, shallow waters bursting forth over the edge of the world. As a child, Frigga would sometimes take him and Loki down to the waterside and caution them not to swim too far. Thor could walk out for half a mile with the water no higher than his neck; he’d often wondered if it was possible to keep his head above water long enough to walk right out to the precipice and watch the falls rushing down into nothingness.

Thor entered the observatory at the end of the bridge and approached the center mechanism. He touched the wide empty slot in the middle of it. No Heimdall, and no sword; the Bifrost would not take anyone anywhere ever again. So where, then, would Thor go from here?

Thor circled the observatory, looking out into space at the nebulas and the stars. Follow the road, Ragnvar had said, but this is where the path died. For a while Thor simply waited, trusting in Ragnvar’s methods and thinking perhaps something would reveal itself to him, some hidden passage, some missing piece. But there was nothing.

Thor went back out onto the bridge. He walked over to the edge and looked down into the darkness.

Was this the place where Loki had given himself over to the void? Or was it a few feet that way? Somewhere near here, certainly. The spot where Thor had watched the deadness shutter over Loki’s eyes and knew, even before it happened, what Loki was going to do. The place where Thor screamed for his brother, though it would do no good; the place where Loki’s fingers uncurled from the staff and he fell, unblinking, to certain death.

Though it had not been so certain, after all. No death could be, with Loki. That fact had been Thor’s torment for so long; now it was the only thing keeping him going. Follow the path, but the path Loki had followed was really no path at all. Perhaps Thor ought to do the same.

It was not so hard, stepping off the Bifrost. There was a kind of savage freedom in it. 

Thor plummeted down into the same oblivion that had swallowed Loki not so many years ago, and even as his body screamed at him in instinctive animal panic, Thor was calm. He watched Asgard shrink into nothing far above him, but the sorrow he felt at the sight was old and scabbed. 

He’d lost Asgard already. He’d lived in the void already too, five years of it consuming him whole, waiting in the bottom of the bottle and creeping out of the corners of that filthy hovel and suffocating him in the long nights. He feared it no longer, for this time he was certain: the worst things that could ever happen had already happened, and there was something bright waiting on the other side. Thor could see it now, the all-consuming light, bleeding rapidly through the pinprick-stars and growing brighter and brighter and brighter until all he could see was white, white, white—

∞

Loki stood across from him in the white void. Young, short-haired, barefoot, one of his horns broken off at the base. Nails painted black and wearing a tattered fur-collared coat. Surprise passed briefly across his face at the sight of Thor, but then he grinned. One of his teeth was missing. He was Loki, Thor knew he was Loki, but Loki had never really looked like this. Loki had never held himself like this — pure roguish confidence, deeper than veneer.

“Loki?” he said anyway, squinting as if he might see him clearer. “Is that you?”

“Ah, Thor,” Loki said, warmly, amused. “Wrong place, wrong time. Try another one.”

He stepped forward and put his hand on Thor’s chest and pushed.

∞

Thor was a little boy and he was walking out near the horse pastures and he was swinging his practice sword back and forth in the tall grasses. He heard the rustling of some small animal down by his feet and he looked down to see a brilliant emerald snake shining in the late afternoon sun. Thor loved snakes. He bent down to pick it up and admire it.

In a flash of green light it was Loki — the sudden weight of him knocked Thor down flat on his back and Loki yelped as his hands went out to steady himself on Thor’s chest and Thor felt a sudden pain there, deepdeepdeep and piercing.

Loki above him: little Loki whose cheeks were still rounded with baby fat, Loki whose face was stricken. Loki’s hands pressed over the pain, Loki’s young high panicked voice saying, “I’m sorry, Thor I’m sorry, I didn’t mean — it wasn’t supposed to —”

Thor looked down and Loki’s hands were covered in blood. Thor was covered in blood. Loki’s favorite golden blade was sunk into his chest to the hilt. 

Dizziness swept over Thor, and he had to gasp suddenly for breath. His vision was darkening. His heart was stopping.

And Loki, Loki was sobbing, “Thor please, I didn’t m-mean to!”

Thor looked up at the blazing Asgard sun, panicked and confused. No, no, this wasn’t how it had happened. Loki had stabbed him, yes, but only a little, and only in the side. Thor had run home wailing and Loki got a scolding and Thor got to be comforted by mother and by the next week it was just something to laugh about. It hadn’t happened like this.

Loki’s face was streaked with tears. Thor tried to reach up and reassure him, and Loki caught his hand before his strength gave out. Loki met his eyes, something odd and old and knowing flashing there behind the childlike anguish.

“Not this one, Thor,” he heard Loki say, and then once again he was falling.

∞

The great furry beast shuffled slowly across the tundra, snuffling in the snow for ice-fruits buried dormant beneath. The sky was overcast and the wind viciously sharp, but neither the creature nor Thor nor Loki beside him felt the cold. They watched the beast warily from the shelter of a snowbank.

“It’s got a handsome pelt,” Thor heard himself say. “Maybe Father will actually be impressed if we bring him this one.”

“I quite doubt it,” Loki said. His dark hair swept down his bare back, blue skin just a few shades darker than Thor’s own. “We’ll always be the runts of the litter to Laufey.”

Thor felt his face pull into a frown. “Always the pessimist, Loki.”

“A realist, rather,” Loki breezed. “It’s not as if we’re going to be getting any bigger.”

Thor sighed, and Loki looked over at him with a lopsided grin. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now, brother. Don’t fret. At least we’ll always be runts together, hm?”

“True enough,” Thor said. He tightened the grip on his weapon: the handle of a hammer attached to a large chunk of iron-solid ice. “And it will be fun to hunt this beast, regardless.”

Loki’s smile sharpened. “There’s the Thor I know.”

Together they launched over the lip of the snowbank, together they rushed the creature with twin roars, together they dodged its huge stomping feet.

Loki deftly climbed the beast’s hairy side and clung to the fur on its back like reigns. He raised his knife and, laughing, called down to Thor:

“Definitely not this one either!”

Thor took a step forward and the snow fell out from under him as if he’d broken through a pane of ice.

∞

Age had settled like rust into the joints of Thor’s bones, his beard was iron-gray, and every swing of his hammer made him weary. The once-gleaming city had turned to dust long ago, and Thor could barely remember the faces of his old friends. There was nothing left to defend here, but Thor didn’t know how to do anything else.

Green light exploded against the side of a looming indiscernible structure over Thor’s head, raining huge chunks of stone and metal down upon him. Thor whirled his hammer above his head to disintegrate them before they hit him, and through the dust and debris he could see an unmistakable horned silhouette.

Without hesitation he brought a lightning strike down upon the figure, but it dissolved in another burst of green light just as Thor felt the sharp slide of a knife through a narrow opening in the side of his armor. Growling, Thor spun in the direction the blade had come from and swung his hammer hard. His attacker dodged, but was not quite fast enough; Mjolnir clipped him in the side and he went skidding backwards, bent over and coughing.

Then Loki lifted his head, and even in the settling cloud around them Thor could see him clearly: just as old as Thor, with feverish hatred gleaming like mania in his eyes and that acid-green magic burning in his palms. Blood trickled out from between his bared teeth.

For a moment they paused like that, each heaving for breath — something they’d had to do more and more often throughout the ages. Even gods could not stave off all the weaknesses of old age.

What could Thor say to this man he’d once considered as close to his heart as anyone? Plead for him to cease this fight? Extend a hand in kindness? Call him brother? Ah, but he’d tried all that many times before, and been betrayed every single time. Long gone were those tender days where he’d held any hope for the true nature of Loki’s heart.

Nothing left to do now, besides see this battle through to its conclusion. Thor lunged toward Loki, who was still too winded to escape, and as he tackled him the rubble they stood on collapsed inward. 

Through the wind rushing past his ears, he heard Loki shout, “Wrong again!”

∞

“A girl?” Thor frowned down at the baby in the crib. It was very small, and bright pink, and it was squirming around a lot.

“Yes, Thor,” his mother said. “She’s your sister, and her name is Loki.”

Balanced on the edge of the crib and clinging to its railing, Thor looked from the baby, to his mother, to his father standing in the doorway, to the baby again. “And she’s adot-adof-”

“Adopted,” his mother corrected gently. “Which means I didn’t grow her in my belly like I did with you, but she’s still part of our family because we wanted her just as much as we wanted you.”

“Oh,” Thor said. The baby waved her arms about and gurgled up at him. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

His mother laughed, and his father walked over to the crib. He reached down and brushed a finger gently over Loki’s silk-fine dark hair. She made a grab at him.

“I’m still not sure the kingdom will accept her,” he said to Thor’s mother softly.

“They will,” his mother said, firmly and with a hint of steel. “She’s ours, after all. And it will be better for her to know than to find out accidentally. Besides, Thor will always stand by her, won’t you darling?”

“Yeah!” Thor said brightly. And then, with some confusion, “But … if you’re allowed to pick any baby you want to be yours, couldn’t you have gotten me a brother?”

Both his mother and father laughed at that, and Thor went to hop down from the crib just as Loki opened her mouth and said, quite clearly with a voice beyond her age, “Not right.”

Suddenly, the floor was gone.

∞

The Statesman was like an entirely different ship when it was parked quiet and unmoving in the long swaying grass, under the blue sky. What had been, in space, a cantankerous claustrophobic vessel borne by desperation and grief was now something almost … cheerful, with its exit ramp perpetually lowered and the Asgardian refugees free to come and go as they pleased. Thor was still in negotiations with the Norwegian government about finding them a more permanent home, but in the meantime many people were content to set up little shelters in the ship’s shadow where they could feel fresh air on their faces and sleep beneath the stars. UN relief efforts were currently providing them with plenty of food, and some of the surviving carpenters had made short work of crafting a long wooden feasting table where they could eat together with Sakaaran refugees and Midgardian volunteers alike.

Thor sat at that table now and watched a small group of children tussling about in the grass nearby, ecstatic to have a natural place to stretch their legs and run as much as they wanted. Fluffy white clouds moved fast high above, casting shadows that made shifting patterns in the sunlight. Loki sat down at the table across from him.

The Midgardian authorities did not know about Loki’s presence here yet, and Thor was choosing not to mention it until they noticed on their own. That wouldn’t take long, surely, but Thor figured they were owed at least a little time in peace.

“You won’t ever hear me say this again,” Loki began, “But perhaps you were right to come here.”

“Oh?” Thor smiled. “Well, of course I was. Though I’ll admit I’m surprised to hear that from you.”

Loki rolled his eyes, fondly. “It’s only that … well, in an odd way, it feels a bit like home.”

Home. How it warmed Thor to hear him say it. Asgard is where our people stand, that was one of the last things Odin ever said to him: and here they were, standing. Battered, yes, and their pride not so much wounded as entirely shattered—but here there was laughter, and people eating together at the long table, and children playing in the sun, and Loki. Loki, here, and real, and steady. Not running. They had all the time in the world.

Loki was looking at him. Loki was smiling. Loki said, “I’m sorry, Thor, but … not this one, either.”

Thor’s seat fell away from beneath him.

∞

On his back, in the white room again, Loki was standing over him. Still in the barefeet, the broken helmet, but now with dark lipstick and black eyeliner. She looked annoyed. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Thor told her. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’re looking in the wrong places,” she said. “Did you step off the path, Thor?”

“There was no more path to follow,” he said.

She shook her head. “You’ve started something stupid. Now you can’t go back.”

Thor’s breath hitched. “Loki. Are you real? Is any of this?”

Loki’s black-painted lips curved. “Insofar as any story is real, Thor. You’re in between it all, now.”

Thor squeezed his eyes shut. “But are any of them my Loki?”

There was silence for a moment. When Thor opened his eyes Loki was looking at him with a certain measure of fondness. 

“Some of them are yours, yes,” she said. “As much as they are not.”

“I’ve always hated it when you speak in riddles,” Thor grumbled.

Loki laughed. “That’s because you’re bad at them,” she said. “Anyway, Thor, leave all of them be. Try your own memories. If you’re to find ‘your Loki,’ as you say, it will be there.”

Thor took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said. There was a long pause. Then: “I, uh, don’t actually know how to do that.”

Laughter burst out of Loki. “Thor, Thor,” she said affectionately, crouching. “Where would you be without me?”

“Nowhere at all,” he said, just before her glowing hand pressed up against his forehead.

Chapter Text

Thor looked different.

His hair was longer, much longer. If Loki hadn’t been sure before that much more than a few months had passed since he’d last seen his short-shorn brother, that would have convinced him. He’d grown out his beard, clearly carefully combed and braided. There were plenty of little braids interspersed through his long locks as well.

He’d gotten his lost eye back, somehow. Loki could see the definite shape of it moving beneath his closed eyelid. The pale scar over his eye left by Hela’s blade had faded almost entirely.

And he was larger, too. Gone was the sculpted physique he’d obsessed over in his youth, spending day after day trying to look as effortlessly perfect as possible. Instead, he was built like the elder warriors who always sat near Odin’s high table: broad and thick and imposing. He looked stronger than he’d ever been.

Or at least, he would, if he wasn’t lying unconscious on a cold stone slab.

“So you can’t wake him up,” Loki said.

Next to him, Ragnvar shook his head. 

Ragnvar had been as shocked as anyone when Loki had landed on his planet with the last remaining Valkyrie, a daughter of Thanos and the Guardians of the Galaxy in tow. The part of Loki not occupied by the present crisis was somewhat amused and gratified by the commotion he seemed to be causing everywhere he went, simply by being alive. 

Loki had been so relieved when he’d entered Ragnvar’s receiving hall and been told that, yes, Thor was here — only for his stomach to drop again when Ragnvar followed that statement with the dreaded word: but .

And now here he was, at last: close enough to touch his brother, but still parted from him by a barrier that could not be breached.

“Unfortunately, no,” Ragnvar said. “The nature of the spell is, ah, a sort of feedback loop. He is searching for the other end of the magical bond you put upon him. If he can’t find it, the spell will simply bend back on itself and try again. Over and over. He won’t wake until the bond is reforged.”

Loki kept his gaze on Thor’s face, watching the movement of his eyes darting back and forth as if in a dream. “And it won’t be. My magic is gone.”

“That’s impossible,” Ragnvar said.

Loki shot him a glare. “Do you think I’m lying? I know what I feel. I’ve tried to use my magic and it’s completely inaccessible.”

“Dormant, then,” Ragnvar said. “But it can’t be gone.”

Loki spun on his heel to face him fully, already emotionally on edge and not particularly pleased to be contradicted. “You don’t know what I’ve done. I performed a very powerful piece of magic that demanded a high price. In this case, it would seem, my ability to use seidr ever again.”

Ragnvar was shaking his head. “ Seidr is a part of your biology, Loki. Everyone’s biology. With the proper education and training and no small amount of natural talent, any living being in the universe could do magic. It can’t just be taken away.”

Loki’s stare shifted to a point on the wall just past Ragnvar’s head. “I know that,” he gritted out. “Norns know I know that, it’s the basis of every preliminary magical theory class. But I’m quite possibly the best-trained sorcerer in the Nine Realms, and I can’t touch it, so it’s as good as gone.”

Ragnvar had nothing to say to that. Several moments of weighted silence.

“So what now?” spoke up Valkyrie for the first time from where she was lingering near the door. She seemed to have a hard time looking at Thor for too long, as if she couldn’t stand to see him so still and vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” Ragnvar admitted. “The possibility of Loki’s magic being inhibited did not occur to me. I would not have used this spell if it had.”

Loki took a step closer to Thor and circled his hand around his brother’s wrist, feeling the pulse there. It was strong, and his skin was warm. He was not dead. He was not even close. This would not be the end of Loki’s search, not while Thor was still reaching out to him.

“Put the spell on me too,” Loki said. “Send me in after him.”

Ragnvar whipped his head towards him. “What? Why?”

“I’ll find a way to get through to him.”

“But without your magic—”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Loki snapped. “Or would you rather just leave him like this until he wastes away?”

“You’ll get trapped in the loop too,” Ragnvar replied hotly. “Do you want to waste away right alongside him?”

Part of Loki thought quietly that it wouldn’t be the worst fate in the world, but that was dangerously sentimental.

“I’m his next of kin,” Loki said. “I have the right to decide what to do. And I’ve decided to do this,”

“Loki,” Valkyrie said, “Surely there must be a more foolproof plan we can come up with. Sounds to me like your chances of this going badly are much higher than it working.”

“Please don’t pretend as if you care for my wellbeing,” Loki said to her. “You want Thor back just as much as I do. What’s the harm?”

Valkyrie looked, if not hurt, at least a bit taken aback. “That’s not true.”

“You’re probably right,” Loki replied. “I doubt anyone wants him back as much as I do.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Let’s get on with it,” Loki said to Ragnvar, firmly.

It was a bold move to try and order about the lord of this realm and Loki knew it, but it seemed enough of his authority as Prince of Asgard and the Nine Realms remained for Ragnvar to incline his head and leave the room, despite that kingdom having been fractured and destroyed years ago.

“You’re being stupid,” Valkyrie said after he’d gone, voice hard and arms crossed tightly. “I’m starting to get sick of the two of you trying to sacrifice yourselves over and over again.”

Loki shrugged. “Let this be the last time, then.”

Valkyrie huffed. “You’re so infuriating.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s not true that I don’t care,” she burst out. “Okay? I didn’t used to, that’s true, I didn’t used to care about anything, but you two, and Banner— you made me care, somehow, and now…” She trailed off, and looked at Thor. “There are so few of us left. You might be a prick, but I don’t want to lose you too.”

“Heartwarming,” Loki said lightly.

Valkyrie glared at him. “Oh, would you like me to break down and cry? I would think you of all people would understand what I’m trying to say.”

Loki looked at her: the last Valkyrie, long hardened by loss and grief, too prickly to let anyone in too close again. Longing for it anyway, beneath it all. 

“I do understand, Val,” he said quietly, and her face and shoulders softened as Ragnvar came into the room again.

Ragnvar began preparing a poultice while one of his attendants rolled out a thick mat and set down a pillow for Loki to lie down upon, which he did as Valkyrie watched it all unfold warily. Ragnvar settled down on the floor beside him with his robes sweeping gracefully around him and applied the mixture to its proper places. Head, heart, hands; the natural anchor points of seidr in the body.

“As you are a seidrmaster yourself I’m sure I don’t have to explain all you will see to you,” Ragnvar said, “But if you see a door—”

“Go through it,” Loki interrupted. “I know.”

“Hale go forth, hale return, and hale on your ways,” Ragnvar said, an old Asgardian blessing and the last thing Loki heard as the spell carried him down into the depths of his own mind.

If you ever change your mind…

The music was drifting out of the courtyard when Gamora stepped out into the cloister, the song grainy and distant-sounding but unmistakable. When the lord of this planet had swept off urgently with the two Asgardians, Gamora had followed them, mostly so as not to be left standing alone with all the Guardians. Once they’d gotten out of sight she’d split off from Valkyrie and Loki since in truth it wasn’t really her business, and had since been wandering the sun-filled halls of this palace. But it seemed there was no more avoiding to be done.

About leaving, leaving me behind…

Quill was standing alone below the big leafy tree in the center of the courtyard, leaning casually up against the trunk and watching her while his music-player spun its little plastic wheels. A pair Light Elves was talking quietly by the softly burbling fountain on the other side of the cloister, but other than that the courtyard was empty.

Baby, bring it to me…

Gamora sighed out a breath and walked over to Quill.

Bring your sweet lovin’, bring it on home to-

She reached out and pressed a button on his music-player, and it abruptly halted. Quill didn’t stop her or protest, but he looked at her with uncertainty.

“Did you play that song for her?” Gamora asked, quietly.

Quill bit the inside of his lip. “I played it for you,” he said. “You are her, in the ways that matter.”

Gamora shook her head. “This is the problem,” she said. “I don’t know if that’s true. You know more about me than I do. You know more than I know about you.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Quill said fervently. “Ask me anything at all.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to ask.”

Quill looked at her with pleading eyes. They paused like that, for a moment. He was handsome, Gamora could recognize that, and there was a certain softness about him, beneath the leather jacket and bravado. Gamora didn’t know what to do with softness — for so long she’d equated it with weakness. But Quill, and the version of Nebula who traveled with him, and the odd tight-knit crew that called themselves Guardians, showed their softness to her without reservation. Gamora wanted that — she had long since tired of fear and destruction. It was only that she felt so unsteady pinned beneath the expectant gazes of people who loved a Gamora she had never and not yet been.

“Peter,” she sighed. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s not that I don’t want to go with you. But I don’t know you. And every time you look at me, every time you play one of your songs, every time you make a joke, how can I be sure you’re not thinking of all the times you did the same things with her? It doesn’t seem fair.”

Quill looked to one side. “I know I’ve been coming on a little strong. I know I don’t say all the right things. But I don’t think you understand that … I don’t love you because I think you’re her. Kind of the opposite, really. I loved her because she was you — you as you are now, as you were when we met, and even before we met.”

Gamora stared at him. “But how can that be?” she asked, incredulous. “I’m a daughter of Thanos. I’m a killer, and a very good one, too. And you, you call yourself a hero.”

Quill chuckled. “Well between you, me, and the rest of the idiots in this crew, I’m not the most morally upstanding of heroes. But that’s besides the point. Because you’re not what Thanos made you be. He couldn’t touch the core of you. And you know that. And that’s what I fell in love with.”

He reached out and touched her arm. For once, she didn’t feel the need to grab his wrist and twist it.

“I’m not asking you to, you know, be my girlfriend or whatever. I know that’s a lot to ask of you right now, that I don’t deserve to ask that of you. All I’m asking is for you to take a chance on me, on all of us,” he said. “There’s a better family waiting for you.”

Gamora closed her eyes. She wanted that. And why shouldn’t she have it? What else was waiting for her in this universe, one step removed from all that was familiar? If everyone in this dimension was a stranger, then why not stay with the strangers who wanted to be something more?

But on the other hand … if they were strangers to her, then she was a ghost to them.

“You can’t expect me to be her,” Gamora said. “If I… If I come with you, if I try… the songs you had with her, they can’t be the ones you have with me. Do you understand what I mean?”

She opened her eyes to see Peter looking right back. A wide-eyed vulnerability there, a soft fondness. But yes, understanding, too — it wasn’t just about the songs.

“Yeah,” he said. He withdrew his hand from her arm and unzipped a bag slung crosswise across his body, began rummaging around inside. “You know,” he went on, “My mom gave me these tapes. It was the last thing she ever did for me, before she died. I think I must have listened to them at least a thousand times by now.”

He withdrew his hand from his bag, holding another tape. “But this one, it’s always been blank. I’ve always figured, maybe she just forgot to actually put the songs on it. She had brain cancer, and she would get ... confused, sometimes. I still kept it, though.”

He held the empty tape up and met her eyes again. “Now I’m thinking, maybe it was one of the most purposeful things she ever did.”

Gamora nodded, slowly. “For new songs.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. He took one of her hands in his, turned it upwards, and placed the tape in it. His hand lingered there. “For new songs.”

Gamora closed her hand around the tape, fingertips brushing against the soft underside of his wrist. Peter’s hands were calloused, gentle, and warm. 

For the first time, again, Gamora smiled at him.

Thor was standing on the Bifrost again.

All around him, people were passing by. Some on horses, some on foot, some laden with packs and some with servants trailing behind them. For a moment it struck him as odd to see the Bifrost filled with peaceful travelers, but the feeling soon dissipated. Of course it was busy here; this was the main thoroughfare into Asgard and it was always bustling during this part of the afternoon.

Thor was wearing simple play clothes and so no one really recognized him, although no one tended to pay much attention to children running about anyway. Thor was not technically supposed to be out and about without a guard lingering nearby, but he’d slipped his watch with Loki by his side and they’d escaped off the palace grounds through a loose stone that could be removed from the garden wall.

They’d meandered down quiet backstreets of the city, kicked up sand down along the beach, and eventually made their way to the Observatory at the end of Bifrost where they had pestered Heimdall for a while. When they got bored of his unflappable manner and felt the first rumblings of hunger in their bellies they decided to race back to the palace before dinner was served.

Racing! Yes, that’s what they were doing, and Thor shouldn’t just be standing here. Where was Loki? Had he pulled ahead?

As if the thought had summoned him, a flash of black and green dashed through his peripheral vision and, running past him, Loki turned back and shouted through his laughter, “Giving up already, Thor?”

“Never!” Thor shouted back, and burst into a sprint.

Loki was a little smaller than him; Thor had had a growth spurt last summer and had not ceased lording his extra inches over Loki since. However, his size made Loki more agile, lighter on his feet, and though Thor stayed hot on his trail the whole race up to the palace, he could not get within reach. Loki ducked between people’s legs, leapt over crates and barrels, deftly avoided cracks in the cobblestones. He laughed loudly and often, but never looked back. Thor shouted his name again and again, despite knowing it would do nothing to slow him.

They ran without pausing all the way up the main thoroughfare, the artery that ran through the beating heart of Asgard. It was several miles from the Bifrost to the palace, but that meant nothing to them. They were children, they were gods; they would never tire, they were going to live forever.

Loki was about fifty yards ahead of him as he neared the palace grounds. And the great gold gates were closing. Thor furrowed his brow at the sight. Those gates rarely closed, and certainly never at this time of day. Yet there they were, flashing in the sun and creaking as they swung shut. 

Loki didn’t seem bothered, making for the entrance at a full sprint. He slipped through the narrowing opening, but Thor — even at full speed — didn’t make it before the doors sealed with a dull clang. He skidded to a stop before them and wrapped his hands around the bars.

“Loki!” he shouted, but Loki, still laughing, did not look back.

Thor looked around for a guard he could order to open the gate for him, but there was none to be found. And all of a sudden, Thor realized there was no one around at all. No courtiers milling about the grounds; no ambassadors presenting their papers; no merchants hawking from their stalls. Moments ago the city was bursting with life. Now it had gone utterly silent. 

And Thor could not get to his brother.

“Loki!” he screamed, the pure terror of a child, but Loki was already gone, too.

Reset.

∞

Loki stood in the gray blankness and tried to keep his mind clear. He could feel the spell pulling at him like tendrils of a vine, trying to pull him into memory, to settle illusion over his eyes. Loki knew if he gave into it, as anyone but a seidrmaster would, he could easily forget his purpose here. He’d fall guilelessly into the loop and happily let it carry him forward and back again as if in a tide. 

Even as he resisted he could sense the stray pieces of memory waiting to be unfolded into full color, breathed in the scent and taste of them. Honey cakes and sea salt and ozone. Blood and cold iron.

In this gray blank place there was a gray blank door, perhaps the realest thing that existed here. A template waiting to be painted over. Loki put his hand on its doorknob and was not surprised that it did not open.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Loki said. “And I’m not going under. I will get you to open.”

He felt the spell tugging at him harder, as if irritated that he would not do what it wanted. Why bother? It seemed to ask him.

“I’ll not leave my brother here,” he said, and raised his hand to knock.

∞

“It doesn’t matter what they think, Loki,” Thor said, when he finally found his brother in the remote and rather musty-smelling tower of the palace that was used mostly for storage, where no one else ever thought to look for Loki when he went off alone.

“Easy for you to say,” Loki mumbled. He was sitting on the windowsill overlooking the gardens far below. Knees pulled up to his chest, arms folded atop his knees, cheek resting atop his arms. His face was turned away, facing the window.

Today had been the first time their training instructors had decided they were old enough to spar with real weapons, not dulled ones. An auspicious moment that marked the beginning of their transition to adulthood. A vote of confidence in their skill and restraint.

Loki had been paired with Fandral to sword fight while the instructors, Thor and about a dozen of their peers — all children of nobility — watched from the sidelines. It had not gone well. Swords were not Loki’s forte; everyone knew he was more inclined towards smaller, defter weapons like throwing knives. Fandral, on the other hand, handled a broadsword as easily as a rapier. 

Fandral disarmed Loki and the instructors had them begin once more. Fandral disarmed him again and the instructors demanded they start over. And so on and so forth, for quite some time, until the sense of embarrassment and amusement among the watching pupils was palpable and Loki’s frustration reached a breaking point. With a twist of his wrist and a flare of green light, Fandral’s sword flew out of his hand and sank itself into the center of an archery target on the other side of the arena.

That had gotten Loki a scolding from their instructors and some jeering insults from their peers, among them several cowards and one muttered ergi, although when Thor had spun around in a fury to rain vengeance on whoever had said it, no one dared repeat it. After training Loki had promptly slunk away to his hiding place, here.

“You’re a prince of Asgard,” Thor said to him now. “They must respect you no matter what you do.”

That didn’t seem to comfort Loki as well as Thor had hoped. “What’s wrong with using magic in battle, anyway?” he said.

“Well,” Thor began, “It’s …” What to say? Underhanded? Dishonorable? Cowardly? 

“Unfair,” he decided.

“It seems to me we could win our wars much more easily if all our fighters used magic,” Loki retorted.

Thor frowned. “A seidrmaster might be able to kill a man with magic,” he lightly reprimanded,, “But a true warrior never would.”

“Whatever, Thor,” Loki ground out, turning his face even further away. “Just go away.”

Thor paused, but experience dealing with Loki’s moods told him that his brother was inches away from turning to sharp-tongued insults, and he didn’t feel particularly inclined to take that today.

“Alright,” he sighed, and went back through the open doorway.

“You’d be better off leaving me behind, anyway,” he heard Loki say.

“I wouldn’t,” Thor began hotly, but when he turned he saw the door was closed.

He closed his hand around the handle and pulled. The door rattled in its frame but wouldn’t open, even though there was no lock.

“Loki?” Thor asked, but on the other side there was only a faint knocking.

Reset.

∞

Loki knocked until his knuckles hurt but received no answer in reply, no opening of the door, no deep rumbling voice from the other side.

The spell was still trying to pull him under, and the voice was getting more insistent.

Why are you trying so hard? A lifetime trailing along in his shadow, centuries of resentment, and you forgive him so easily?

Loki was beginning to realize the voice was not coming from the spell, was not emanating from the gray blankness, but rather had its origins in that part of Loki that still reared its ugly head from time to time. That stupid and petty and jealous thing, now given a tangible voice in his ear.

After all this time you’ve decided you want to stand by him after all. Well, you realized that too late.

“But I came back,” Loki said aloud, breath coming harshly, closed fists stinging against the door.. “I chose to stay. We were supposed to have the rest of our lives. It wasn’t my fault, it was stolen from us.”

What difference does it make? Too late means too late.

∞

Loki’s eyes burned with vicious venom above the gag over his mouth as Thor tugged him forward by the chains shackled between his wrists. The other Avengers were standing in a loose circle about them, but only Thor received Loki’s piercing glare. Thor had seen this look of sincere hatred many times, but until recently it had never been aimed at him. Thor kept his own face blank as he lifted the container holding the Tesseract for Loki to take hold of, so that it might transport them back to Asgard. 

He would not let Loki see how much that look cut him; as proven just yesterday, one small chink in his armor would be enough for Loki to slip a blade in.

Thor did not attend Loki’s sentencing, although his mother did. Thor did not want to watch his father bring nigh-fatal judgment down on the man he’d so long called “son.” Thor lingered in the corridors between the receiving hall and the dungeon, feeling a coward.

Eventually the rattling of chains heralded Loki’s approach; he rounded the corner flanked by guards. He held his chin high and pointedly did not look at Thor. The indifference was a duller and deeper blow than the look Loki had given him earlier, but Thor was too angry to care. 

Yes, angry, he was angry. Loki had done this to himself. Loki had broken it all to pieces. Loki had decided all at once one day that their family meant nothing to him. Let him rot in that cell. Let him be too stubborn to realize the impact of his actions. Let him, and let Thor go and fight and drink until, a thousand years from now, he forgot he ever had a brother to begin with.

As Loki went past him Thor turned and went the other way, not looking back until he heard, at the end of the hall, Loki say:

“Finally giving up on me, Thor?”

Thor blinked, and a strange and sudden and misplaced panic broke over his head. He spun on his heel, cape twirling in a wide arc like a spray of blood. He looked down the long corridor leading to the great iron door through which Loki was being led. He ran as the door groaned closed, but he could not get there before it shut with a final-sounding boom.

Thor tugged with all his strength on the door-rings, but it would not budge. On the other side he could hear banging, growing louder, louder— but the legendary might of Thor was failing him now.

Reset.

∞

Blood streaming down Loki’s knuckles now, slippery against his palms. The pain meant nothing.

You wanted to be your own person, didn’t you? Now’s your chance. Just let go.

“I’m tired of being alone,” Loki gasped.

People like you are always alone. Rest, why don’t you?

“Thor wouldn’t rest. Thor wouldn’t leave me alone.” Bang bang bang against the door; he’d break his hands if he had to.

Why won’t you just give up on him?

∞

Thor had never been drunk enough to hallucinate before. He genuinely hadn’t even thought there was an alcohol of Midgardian make that could get him so blindingly, seraphically drunk. Well, first time for everything.

Loki looked disappointed, sitting there at the foot of Thor’s bed. Outside, it was raining heavily on New Asgard. Thor felt too out of control, too out of his head to even recognize if he was the one causing the storm or not. 

Loki shook his head. “This is rather unbecoming, you know, brother.”

Thor just looked at him. Glad just to see him outside his nightmares, as living and breathing and not as a broken corpse. Glad, even knowing it wasn’t real.

“Aren’t you supposed to be invincible, Thor? I’d always thought you could bounce back from anything.”

Thor still didn’t say anything. Recognized quite dimly that he probably shouldn’t encourage his own delusions.

Loki sighed, and stood. Moved towards the door, gliding like a ghost. Maybe he was one.

“You ought to just let me go, Thor,” he said, but Thor could all of a sudden hardly hear him over the urgent pounding on the door. 

He ought to get up and answer it, shouldn’t he?

And yet the door was already open, but Loki was passing through it, and it was already closing. But the knocking, the knocking was still getting louder, louder.

What was he doing, just lying here watching?

Rese-

Wait. Not this time. Thor jumped up, the intoxication draining away all at once like water through opened fingers, and lunged at the door as it was just a crack away from shutting. By the time his hand met the doorknob the room had melted away, because of course it had never really been there, and all that was left was the storm — his storm, yes, it had always been his storm. The door was still trying to close but Thor wouldn’t let it, straining against it with all his might as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The storm was raging, and the lightning was crackling in his blood, and Thor roared as he gave the doorknob an almighty wrench —

∞

“Because he’s the only one,” Loki said, “who never gave up on me.”

And that was when the door burst open.

Ragnvar and Val instinctively threw their arms up as lightning suddenly crackled to life in the air around Thor, wreathing his body and filling the room with blue light and heat and the smell of ozone. A fork of lightning jumped from his body to Loki’s; Loki arched up off the floor.

Valkyrie cried out and leapt forward, not sure what was happening, not sure if she should stop it. Ragnvar was shouting too, trying to come up with some sort of spell that could do anything to help them.

But before either of them could interfere, an aura of green light burst to life around Loki. The sudden surge of magical energy sent Valkyrie a few feet backwards. The light followed the arcing line of lightning up to Thor, and for a moment they were both engulfed in identical crackling auras of blue and green.

Then, all at once, it was over.

Thor opened his eyes.

Above him, the ceiling of the room he’d been in when he’d begun the enchantment. He sat up and looked around. Ragnvar was there, up against the wall near the door, staring at him in open astonishment. Strangely, Valkyrie was there too, looking similarly shocked. Her eyes flicked from him down to the foot of the Soul Forge he was lying on. He followed her gaze, leaning over slightly to see.

And there was Loki.

He was pushing himself up to a sitting position, staring at his hands, which were glimmering with his green magic. He was… exactly the same. As he had been when Thor had last seen him, five years ago. Except rather less dead. He looked up, and met Thor’s eyes.

A moment of silence.

“Am I still…?” Thor glanced up at Ragnvar.

Ragnvar opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Loki said, intensely, “ Thor.”

Thor’s gaze snapped immediately back to him. “You’re here?” he said, terrible unbearable hope climbing up his throat.

Loki’s voice teetered just on the very edge of wavering. “I’m here.”

Thor’s throat was growing tight. “I couldn’t find you.”

“I know,” Loki said. “I’m sorry.”

Thor shook his head vehemently, not even knowing what Loki was apologizing for. “I don’t care. I don’t.”

It all felt so surreal, this nothing conversation they were having. Thor had never actually imagined what he would say to Loki when he saw him again, in real life color with his presence filling up everything Thor could see. His brother. His brother. 

Just like that, Thor was no longer alone in the universe.

Loki blinked up at him, through the long moments of silence that Thor spent just staring. “What?” he asked.

In one fluid motion, Thor jumped down from the Soul Forge, bent down, and picked Loki up, squeezing him tight and spinning him round.

Loki made an undignified noise of surprise as his feet left the ground. “Thor!” 

“I’m so glad,” was all Thor could manage to say, even as some great unbearable emotion filled up his lungs to the brim. Joy, that’s what it was; years and years and years since Thor had last felt joy. 

“Where have you been ?” he choked out.

Loki’s arms settled around his shoulders. His hair tickled Thor’s face. “Long story,” he said. Thor could feel the vibration of his voice.

“Not as long as mine, I’ll bet.”

“There you go, one-upping me as always,” Loki said, but he was laughing, and his voice was deeply fond. Thor held on to him tighter, felt Loki’s cool hands curl into the fabric of his shirt in return.

There should have been more words; there should be some kind of profound thing to say to make Loki understand just how much he’d been missed, just how much Thor had been willing to do to find him again, just how much brighter the world seemed now that he was in it again. But in the end there were no words better than this: holding on to his brother and laughing with him and letting the barrier inside him break, the world swiftly blurring over.

The Thor of ten years ago would never have let Loki see him cry. But maybe some changes were for the better.

Chapter Text

From what Thor could remember of the five years he spent in an alcohol-induced haze, it was always raining in New Asgard. To see the village now in the sunlight felt like something of a revelation. Sun filtering in golden rays through the fluffy drifting clouds, sun sparkling across the surface of the sea, sun shining off Loki’s dark hair. 

The festival to remember and celebrate the founding of New Asgard was in full swing. The Asgardians had donned traditional festival clothing, sewn from memory using the finest cloth they could procure on this planet. In the center of town someone had erected a stage and Thor was informed that later in the evening there would be a play. The town square smelled of sweets and pastries and roasted meat, all traditional recipes prepared with Midgardian ingredients that tasted as close as they could get to the real thing — but the apple trees planted by Idunn along the streets were growing fast and healthy, and next year, they wouldn’t need to pretend.

As Thor and Loki walked side by side through the village, they were frequently approached by fellow Asgardians who smiled and said hello, or who bowed to them despite Thor’s protestations, or expressed their happiness at seeing Loki alive and well. Memorably, one or two of them even wept. Loki was clearly gratified at their attention, but there was an element of surprise beneath his affectations as well.

For years Loki had griped about being the lesser prince, unloved and unwanted by his own people. Though Thor was rather loath to admit it, even now, those claims were not entirely unwarranted. But now, everyone they met looked at Loki with affection or even adoration. Here on the other side of their own personal apocalypse, each and every survivor was to be treasured, to be loved.

For centuries Thor had loved his people from a regal distance. Now, knowing how cruelly easy it was to lose them, he memorized every face, learned every name. No longer would he stand above them. They each carried an equal piece of Asgard inside them, and with their home gone forever that piece was valuable enough to make them all as good as kings in Thor’s book.

It was not just Asgardians enjoying the festivities, applauding the songs being sung and joining in the dances being danced. There were humans here too, friends from neighboring villages and even a few in-the-know tourists. Notably, there were some Light Elves and various other citizens of the other Realms, due to the agreement Thor had made with Lord Ragnvar in return for his help. 

With the abrupt destruction of Asgard, many friends, relations and traders across the Realms found themselves suddenly bereft of all those they knew who had lived in the golden city, never knowing what had happened to them. As a result many had come to Alfheim to seek the guidance of Ragnvar, as the lord of the second highest Realm. And Ragnvar now enlisted Thor to help reunite those relationships and establish open travel and trade between New Asgard and Alfheim, and eventually the rest of the Realms as well. It was a big ask, and Thor knew it would mean entangling with Midgard’s many strict bureaucracies, but he’d allowed a delegation to come back to New Asgard with him and aid in those efforts.

Well, Thor had convinced Valkyrie to allow it, anyway. She was still in charge of this settlement, after all.

“You know,” Thor said to Loki, “Korg was catching me up on the system of governance they’ve set up here, and apparently there will be an election for the next Prime Minister in the next year or so.”

“Oh?” Loki said, and looked at him meaningfully. “Well, will you be joining the race?”

“Actually,” Thor said, “I just might.”

Loki smiled. “I expect you’ll have competition. I’m sure Valkyrie won’t hand over the title that easily.”

“Good,” Thor grinned. “Winning is no fun without a proper fight.”

“You haven’t changed,” Loki said.

It wasn’t true, of course. The events of the past decade or so had changed Thor more than the several thousand years previous. The same could be said of Loki. There was much to regret in all that time, but Thor was making a promise to himself, here and now. Enough of regret, enough of guilt, enough of self-loathing. Whatever had led them here, here was not so bad a place to be at all. Here was Loki, alive and well and beloved by his people, walking next to Thor without a trace of bitterness between them. That was something he’d thought he would never have, not so long ago.

As they circled round the town square, Thor noticed the Guardians of the Galaxy gathered near the entrance to the town hall, talking amongst themselves. Gamora was with them. Quill glanced up and made eye contact with Thor, half raising a hand in greeting. Thor went towards them as Loki was drawn into conversation with a vendor who was selling knives of the traditional make.

“Hey, Thor,” Quill said when Thor got close enough. “Pretty cool festival you’ve got going on here.”

“Excellent meat pies!” Drax exclaimed, just before shoving a whole one into his mouth.

Thor smiled. “Yes,” he said, and then, rather sheepishly, “Listen, I believe I owe you an apology. Last we saw each other, we quarreled.”

“Not to mention you took off without a goodbye,” Rocket said, arms crossed and sounding mildly offended.

Thor grimaced. “That too. But, I don’t want you to think I do not value the friendship you’ve shown me. I treasure it more than you can know.”

“Aw, man,” Quill said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not sure how much good we’ve done you. I know we’ve always been just a bunch of jackasses.”

Thor chuckled. “My dearest friends have always been, as you say, jackasses.”

“I am Groot.”

“Yes, yes, all except you, Groot.”

“Guess this means you’re leaving the crew?” Rocket asked, with feigned indifference.

“I’m afraid so,” Thor said. “It’s time for me to come home.”

“You have been a very effective teammate,” Drax said solemnly through a half-chewed mouth of meat pie. “It has been an honor to kill many enemies with you.”

“Likewise,” Thor said. “And truly, to all of you… I would not have made it this far without you. Thank you for being with me when I was most alone.”

Mantis burst into tears. 

Shaking his head fondly, Thor now turned to Gamora. “I must thank you too, Lady Gamora,” he said, and bowed. “You saved my brother, and brought him to me. For this I am indebted to you for whatever you might ask.”

Gamora looked a little embarrassed at the effusive gratitude, but smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll see you around,” Rocket said, still not making eye contact.

“Ah, rabbit, do not be like that,” Thor grinned, and opened his arms.

Rocket’s eyes widened and he began to back away. “Don’t you dare hug me-”

Too late. And within a moment, Thor was attempting to hug them all at once, limited length of his arms be damned. 

Thor found Loki again still at the knife vendors stand, now showing off his throwing skills with several hay targets placed a hundred feet away. A small crowd had gathered to watch him, applauding whenever Loki showed off a particularly flashy trick. Which he did often. 

“Alright, alright,” he said, laughing, when he saw Thor returning. “Show’s over. I can attest this man’s knives are of superior quality.”

He waved off the crowd until they reluctantly began to disperse.

“So,” he said to Thor, “Would you like to get something to eat?”

“Certainly,” Thor replied. “I hear the meat pies are excellent.”

“I should hope so. Ådne is the one selling them, and apparently she worked in the palace kitchens for a number of decades.”

They set off, walking in comfortable silence for several moments. Loki’s offhanded mention of Ådne’s former occupation had Thor thinking, as so often happened, of the past, and how different it all was now. Found himself thinking, as happened less often, of the future.

“Loki,” he said, “Do you think things can stay the same?”

Loki gave him a quizzical look, pausing to turn and look at him fully. Thor looked steadily back. 

In some ways, it was a rhetorical question. Their lifespans were longer than many human empires that had come and gone, and they were sure to see the rise and fall of more. Now that they lived on this planet, there would be no way to stay above such things; Thor very much doubted this village would be here forever. As quickly as humans changed, it would be impossible not to do the same while living among them.

The dawning understanding in Loki’s eyes showed that he knew what Thor was really asking, though.

Can Asgard really persist? Can happiness last? Can we, can we, can you and me?

“You understand I must always remain unpredictable,” Loki said. “It’s in my nature, you know.”

Thor rolled his eyes, bemused. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“But,” Loki continued—soft, now, and genuine, “I’d have to be very stupid to ever again throw away the only family I have left.”

A lump swelled in Thor’s throat as he nodded. “I feel the same.”

“Well then,” Loki said. “If that much is certain, then whatever else may come should be easy.”

Thor felt sunshine bloom out from his chest, climb up his throat, spread his face into an irresistible grin. He threw an arm around Loki’s shoulders. “Not too easy, I hope.”

Loki let him; he was smiling too. “With you?” He shook his head. “Never.”

And like that, they went forward, together.