[Post Infinity War piece. Any Endgame spoilers must be tagged and minor in comments]

[juststeverogers]

It starts out like a joke of questionable taste. Captain America, Black Widow, Rocket Raccoon, and Thor God of Thunder walk into the Plaza.

What that it were a joking matter. All of them are pale, beaten, and filthy. None of them says much to anyone commenting to them while they wander past people. Natasha's eyes are wide and panicked, her head turning every which way as if she could count and see all of the people passing them by. Her blonde hair is matted with blood and it hangs in clumps with ever jerky turn of her head. Steve's walking slower than Natasha, his beard and hair unkempt mess. Every step drags. His mouth hangs slightly open and moves every now and again like he might have something to say before he looks down at his feet and keeps going. Thor brings up the rear with Rocket sitting in a daze on his right shoulder, silent with a thousand yard stare that's as empty as the rest of his expression. Most of his left arm is missing, replaced by a very ramshackle prosthetic that isn't quite proportionally right for his size. In its metal skeletal fingers he carries an axe that's easily as large as Natasha is. Every now and then there is a sniffle from Rocket before he paws at his eyes and shakes his head.

Wherever these Avengers have been for the last few weeks, they've clearly been busy.

And it doesn't take much guessing to assume they've Lost.

They wander aimlessly. Eventually Rocket hops down and stops them outside a fountain. Somewhere with seating and clean water so they can tend to their injuries if they'd like. It's going to take more than anyone has to do much yet though. But they all sit. Stare. The question hangs between them all unspoken because there are no answers yet to give.

How can they possibly come back from this?

Whatever this is to them.


[This post is meant to bring several MCU muses in the comm up to Post Infinity War status. This post is OPEN TO ALL, not just Marvel characters. This is NOT meant to spoil End Game in any way. Any comments that may even IMPLY Endgame spoilers due to association with post Infinity War MUST BE TAGGED at subject level and you must talk to your OOC partner before posting them. The standard 3 weeks rule is still in effect regarding Endgame.]

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[pirateangelbaby]

It’s an odd thing for Loki to be the one taking the more optimistic path, insisting on moving forward to greater things despite the downfall. At least one of them is. Thor cannot see a way out of the pit he’s found himself in, but knowing that Loki has found it first, all he can do is trust in his brother to know what to do. It’s a tiny, fragile hope, a candlelight burning in a downpour, but not extinguished yet.

And if all is lost and there is no path back to the sun, then at least they will do it together.

Thor raises his eye to meet Loki’s, and if he can feel anything besides the black emptiness threatening to devour him whole, it’s gratitude. He does not want others to see how low he’s fallen, but neither can he stand the thought of being entirely alone. Even if Loki’s presence is a constant reminder than his brother is dead, his absence would be far worse. “Thank you, Loki.”

The temperature of the water makes no difference to Thor. Divested of his armor, he also unbuckles the replacement arm and removes the patch from his eye, as vulnerable and scarred on the outside as he feels on the inside. Battle wounds like these would have made him the center of attention at any feast, once, surrounded by those who would ask to hear the glorious tales. But there’s no glory here, just a weary man who has never felt less of a king than he does now.

[coldsong]

Loki is angry. It's a quiet, even, chilly anger that stabilizes rather than maddening him. The Nine should not have come to this, any version of them. It's deeply unnatural, the kind of destruction Thanos has wrought. An apocalypse is meant to be all or nothing, not half of all life with surgical precision. But seeing Thor's fire and lightning extinguished like this is more painful, and even more profoundly wrong.

This is not the order of things. His brother is unconquerable.

...maybe that's part of the problem. He's lost his identity. At least that's something Loki can understand. His expression is hard to read now, dark worry in his eyes, but he gives Thor a light kiss on the temple, in a space as clear of ash as he can find, and moves away to set up a screen in front of the tub. He eyes the newly abbreviated arm as he finishes that, reaching out to tuck his hand under the spot where what remains joins Thor's shoulder. "...A surgeon should look at that. When you are ready."

An Asgardian lord is in little danger of infection and no danger of bleeding to death at this point, but Loki suspects that amputation is ragged at best.

If only Eir had made it to safety here. But: "One of the healers' apprentices made it to the Nexus. Her name is Fǫnn. Perhaps later."

Much later, if Thor's emotional state is any guide. "In the meantime, I will make broth and you will drink it whether you want to or not. And then you will sleep."

It's Frigga's authoritative sick-day tone he's taking now, somewhat desperately, but with his brother wounded and pliant he thinks it will work.

[pirateangelbaby]

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.

[coldsong]

Loki and Thor are built differently. They handle shock and grief differently, but even more than that, they handle personal responsibility and guilt differently. Loki is not devoid of the emotion, but it lies well beneath the surface of whatever else goes on in his mind. Thor is intense, and what he feels, he feels all the strength and breadth of the storm. Loki is quiet and cold and bitter, and he keeps most of his emotions shut away in their own little compartments, under lock and key.

At least for now. He is demonstrably capable of losing control, as well. But he's not going to do anything of the sort while Thor is helpless with devastation, and blaming himself for it. Someone has to protect him.

He feels that lean into his touch, and when Thor touches the nape of his neck, he forces down any twitch of trauma at the contact. There is no pain, and his brother's touch is gentle, and once their foreheads are nudged together he lets out a sigh and relaxes into it. This is all right. He reaches up to cradle the back of Thor's head in one hand, holding him in response for a moment.

"I do," he says. "Have something for the pain. And some first aid supplies. After you've bathed, I'll bind your arm." He's not sure what to do with the eye, actually, but the wound there is healed over, so it's less dire. Some kind of patch should suffice.

[pirateangelbaby]

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.

[coldsong]

Loki is in no mood to disappear. Luckily, he is also in no mood to push Thor away, and so he waits peaceably until Thor moves on his own. The tub is filled before long, and the water has clean, green smell, like fresh rainwater. Loki places soap, a cloth and a towel behind the screen for him, but no razor. Thor doesn't need to shave just now anyway, and he's uncomfortably unsure whether he can be trusted with sharp objects yet.

As his brother bathes, Loki says little, but he does move around the room, fussing a little as he prepares broth and tea, and then drinks some of the tea himself. He dares not show it, but he's rattled. There is much to be done, and Thor is in so shattered a state, he cannot be left to do it alone. Indeed, watching over Thor to prevent him from falling harder, lower, is a new item on Loki's to-do list.

He drags out some of his own spare clothes and takes a few minutes to try and resize them for his brother. Thor will likely both hear and feel the spin of the seidr, and then a long green tunic and a pair of soft black leggings flop over the screen and to the floor near him. "Here, these ought to work for you to sleep in. You'll have to put up with my preferred shade for a while."

Thor's armor can be cleansed while he sleeps. Loki can manage that, and can fetch him a set of better fitting casual clothes, too.

When Thor emerges from the bath, the table has been moved seamlessly to the bedside. There's a mug of steaming broth there, and tea full of honey and milk, and a couple store bought biscuits, which Loki doubts Thor will eat, but which are pretty and make the array look more like a light snack than a desperate attempt to get some calories into a wounded warrior.

"There are painkillers in the tea," he tells him. "And I'm going to put a compress on your arm for while you rest."

[pirateangelbaby]

The clothes fit perfectly, and still smell faintly of Loki and feel of his magic. Though wearing his brother's colors would ordinarily seem very strange, right now Thor finds a little solace in it, a tangible reminder that Loki is still here.

Still dead, his inner voice whispers, as if he could possibly forget clutching tight to his brother's leathers as the ship erupted into flames around them, laying his head on the corpse's chest and waiting to wake in Valhalla together.

There's a flicker of weary relief in his eye when he sees Loki again for himself, not just phantom sounds hidden just out of sight, and he grasps at his brother's shoulder - just to reassure himself, just in case - before settling heavily into the bed, feeling several thousand years older than he is. Thor has never cared for tea, but he picks up that cup first and drains it without a protest, and only wishes it was something stronger, something to deaden the memories that he has no doubt will haunt him when he inevitably gives in to the exhaustion that is pulling at him steadily now. He's less quick to down the broth, because the first taste reminds him of the Guardians' ship after his rescue, and how he'd thought that he had struck his lowest point. What more could I lose?

What an utter fool he'd been. There is always more to lose, and in this moment, he knows what he dreads losing again most.

"You'll be here when I wake, right?" Thor asks, trying not to sound desperate.

[coldsong]

"Green may suit me better, but it's certainly not bad on you," he tells him, the mildest of teases, as he straightens the collar of the tunic. He allows himself to be grasped and touched, understanding all too well what must be going on in Thor's head.

Loki should not be gleaning any positive emotion from this at all. Surges of anger and grief and fear continue to wash over him, and worry for Thor is now, he realizes, going to be a constant part of his mental landscape for some time, but then there's the way his brother clings, the way he looks at Loki like he's a lifeline. It feels...good. Intimate.

Comfort by proxy.

"I will stay with you," he says quietly. "If you promise to stay with me."

[pirateangelbaby]

The teasing is comforting in its familiarity, though there's another dull stab of grief at the reminder that he will never have this with his own Loki again. Thor manages a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eye. "I look good in anything." It is not one of his better retorts, but he has very little left of himself to spare, after the events of today.

Something at the edge of his awareness suggests that there is more to Loki's words than what is there on the surface, but Thor is too tired and bereaved to think of what that might be. All that matters right now is that he will not wake to discover this has all been some cruel dream, something his damaged mind has hallucinated to taunt him with after his grievous failure. "Yes."

As Loki predicted, he does not bother with the biscuits at all, but he does eventually finish the broth. By then, the painkillers have begun to do their work, muffling the aches and pains everywhere but his heart, heavy with guilt. But that is not enough to keep him upright any longer, so he settles more deeply into the bedding and listens to Loki breathe as sleep slowly descends on him.

[coldsong]

Because he knows despair. Because he knows what it is to lose oneself, and fall to pieces. Because he knows what it is realize there is no going back.

Because he has been buried.

Loki stays close while Thor finishes his broth, talking of nothing, just a lazy flow of words that he knows Thor is not listening to, nor does he need to be. The sound of his brother's voice, tranquil and soft, will do more than any language. He might even be reciting poetry at points, or the lyrics to old lullabies.

His hands are busy, though, and when Thor lies down and starts to relax, he sits next to the bed and wraps an herbal compress around his shoulder and the stump of his arm. It smells like summer, and it's warm, and he tucks blankets up around it to keep it from cooling.

While Thor sleeps, Loki will dispatch an illusion to check on the refugees, to order fresh clothing to be brought for Thor, and a few other errands. Otherwise he will not leave his side, nor will he sleep, seated beside him as if in some kind of vigil, conducted by the dead, for the living who tried so hard to save them.