Thor can't help but lean into Loki when he touches him, selfishly grabbing hold of whatever scraps of comfort he can find in this new bleak existence that has violently ended so many hopes and dreams, destroying everything he has worked so hard to build. Asgard is not a place, it's a people, but how many can be lost and still endure? Thor has no answers and does not know if he ever will, but these small lifelines that tie him to Loki are keeping him from drifting further, for now, though Thor cannot imagine how much further he has left to fall.
The loss of his arm is such a small thing in the face of all that's happened, but Thor still has a little trouble looking at it directly, some part of his mind insisting that it's still there. He's had some level of treatment when the Guardians had rescued him from the debris of the Statesman, but true medical aid was a bit beyond their skill, and throwing himself into raging battle with an ill-fitting arm and a half-healed wound has done him little favor in the end.
There had been no time, before. But now... now Thor has all the time he could ever need, stretching out endlessly before him. The worst has already come to pass.
It feels like another twist of the knife to hear that the most experienced healer known to have survived is only an apprentice, but Eir would have been with those evacuating to space and may yet live. If she made it before the ship was torn apart. If she survived the Culling that came after. But Thor can do nothing about that now, nothing but wait, and part of him yearns to see the survivors for himself, to prove that some remnant of Asgard lives on despite their crippling losses. The other part of him holds back, fearful that seeing their king beaten and broken will shatter their spirits as it has his.
Just one, though... perhaps he could handle that, once the shock has worn off, once he has found some kind of rest, if such a thing is even possible. But Loki is not pushing him to do it now, and Thor is grateful for it, even as the guilt tries to drown it out. "Later," he agrees, with no idea when that might be. But delaying will hurt nothing, now. He reaches out and hesitantly lays his hand across the nape of Loki's neck, bringing him close until their foreheads rest together for a moment, allowing himself to seek whatever solace he can find, no matter how small.
Though he had thought he had no more tears left, his eye stings anew at the shade of their mother in Loki's voice, and never in his life has he been less inclined to disobey, no matter that he does not notice or care if he is hungry or not. And right now, Thor does not even fear what dreams may come after he surrenders to the fatigue. They cannot possibly be worse than his waking reality. "And... something for the pain? If you have any." Coward, he thinks, and hates himself for it.
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The loss of his arm is such a small thing in the face of all that's happened, but Thor still has a little trouble looking at it directly, some part of his mind insisting that it's still there. He's had some level of treatment when the Guardians had rescued him from the debris of the Statesman, but true medical aid was a bit beyond their skill, and throwing himself into raging battle with an ill-fitting arm and a half-healed wound has done him little favor in the end.
There had been no time, before. But now... now Thor has all the time he could ever need, stretching out endlessly before him. The worst has already come to pass.
It feels like another twist of the knife to hear that the most experienced healer known to have survived is only an apprentice, but Eir would have been with those evacuating to space and may yet live. If she made it before the ship was torn apart. If she survived the Culling that came after. But Thor can do nothing about that now, nothing but wait, and part of him yearns to see the survivors for himself, to prove that some remnant of Asgard lives on despite their crippling losses. The other part of him holds back, fearful that seeing their king beaten and broken will shatter their spirits as it has his.
Just one, though... perhaps he could handle that, once the shock has worn off, once he has found some kind of rest, if such a thing is even possible. But Loki is not pushing him to do it now, and Thor is grateful for it, even as the guilt tries to drown it out. "Later," he agrees, with no idea when that might be. But delaying will hurt nothing, now. He reaches out and hesitantly lays his hand across the nape of Loki's neck, bringing him close until their foreheads rest together for a moment, allowing himself to seek whatever solace he can find, no matter how small.
Though he had thought he had no more tears left, his eye stings anew at the shade of their mother in Loki's voice, and never in his life has he been less inclined to disobey, no matter that he does not notice or care if he is hungry or not. And right now, Thor does not even fear what dreams may come after he surrenders to the fatigue. They cannot possibly be worse than his waking reality. "And... something for the pain? If you have any." Coward, he thinks, and hates himself for it.