Thor lets out a shaky breath. "All right." Pulling away from Loki takes an almost monumental effort, irrational terror insisting that the moment he releases his brother, Loki will disappear as if he never was. But he rallies himself enough to do it anyway, because he cannot cling to his brother forever, no matter how much he would rather do nothing else.

In years gone by, Thor has often found simple satisfaction in bathing and grooming himself after a battle, taking pride in his appearance and spending as long as needed to fashion his looks to his liking. He would braid his hair and trim his beard, and take great pains to ensure that his reflection looked precisely how he wished it to before venturing out in confidence. There's little of that in him now, struggling a little with only one hand, and for once he does not mind that his hair has been shorn so short, just the thought of trying to wash and untangle his longer locks an exhausting one.

Much of his attention is not at the task at hand, anyway. There are times when he stops and grips the edge of the tub with a white-knuckled hand, dreading the silence until he hears Loki again, moving around the room on the other side of the screen. But bit by bit, he cleanses the ashes of the apocalypse from his skin, the blood and sweat of his titanic - but futile - efforts mingling with the remains of those he could not save as they vanish down the drain.

As if they never existed.

He shivers and it has nothing to do with the coolness of the water, but fatigue is starting to win out over his broken willpower, making him clumsy with it. Still, he dredges up enough energy to dress himself again, and if his own eyepatch has been cleansed of its battle-filth, he'll manage to place it back over his missing eye, if slightly crooked.