Thor's footing wavers at the contact, his arm resting across that hidden bruising around his brother's throat, and perhaps the only reason he does not begin to cry again is because he's exhausted, both in body and in spirit. Loki is the only thing keeping him on his feet and moving forward, as Thor scrapes up what's left of himself enough to allow himself to be led.

He doesn't look down at the arm, but the fingers creak as they tighten around the axe's haft. They, at least, do not ache or tire like the rest of him, perhaps the only part of him that does not hurt. "I lost it in the massacre," he says, his voice heavy with weariness. "You were still... it was... before."

Something he did manage to change after all, then. Somehow, this does not seem cause for celebration.

Though if anything, the mention of the axe cuts deeper, the edge of its blade still streaked with purple Titan blood. He has suffered much to get his hands on it, a weapon with a single purpose, and he failed even at that. "Its name is Stormbreaker," he says quietly. "I made it. Eitri and I did. I had to hold the forge open and I..." He cuts himself off, having to take a few breaths to steady his thoughts, which seem to splinter off in a thousand different directions, and does not seem to notice or care that he's confessed to an act that probably should have sent him to Valhalla. "I had him, Loki. But I wanted him to hurt before he died. I didn't know he had them all... I didn't know."