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"And why'd you say, "It's just another day,
Nothing in my way,
I don't wanna go, I don't wanna say, so there's nothing left to say.""
—Keane, Nothing In My Way
Not tonight.
He can't do this tonight.
Thor bites at the rim of the beer bottle and draws in a ragged breath, turning his gaze away from the bed in hopes that the figure will go away. It's never worked before, but it can't hurt to pretend, right? His previous attempts at ignorance have done absolutely nothing, so he doesn't have much hope.
Thor blows out his cheeks before pulling the bottle from his lips and looks over at the misshapen shape of his younger brother. Loki's figure is transparent with a blue-ish tint that seems oddly fitting and laughable at the same time. He's still dressed in the garments he died in, hair strewn around his face and eyes hollow. The form never changes, or, thus far over the last six months it hasn't. Thor doubts it will.
His mind can't conjure up Loki when he was happy, could it?
Well—maybe that's not fair, because Loki was happy on the Statesmen. For however long that lasted.
"Go away," Thor commands, setting the bottle on the messy desk and swiping a few papers out of the way. He's exhausted. He's spent this day, as the last half a year, running himself ragged to fix and create the stupid state Asgard is now supposed to be. He can't remember the last time he slept or ate, but he's really past the point of caring.
If Asgard survives, so does he.
It's his sole purpose in the world now: take care of Asgard. Make sure it doesn't die.
He really only wanted to drink himself into a frenzy today, but with Loki's ghost here, his younger brother will pester him into a conversation or something of the like.
Disgusting.
"Mm." Loki voices, and Thor scowls into the wood of the desk, looking up.
"What?"
Loki lifts an eyebrow, seeming unfazed. "You're pleasant company tonight."
"Am I ever pleasant company?" Thor demands sharply. Loki's always complaining about this. It's impossible to tell if he's joking, because Loki's ghost doesn't have the little tells that his living, breathing body did. Thor was often lost about the lies, but he almost always knew a jest when he saw one, because Loki's mouth with raise a little in one corner as if unconsciously.
I assure you brother, the sun will shine on us again.
Thor's stomach twists with hurt as he thinks about that. Loki has been dead for half a year, and he's not coming back this time. A ghost is hardly what Loki used to be. It's not alive. When Thor touches it, it feels like nothing. An illusion.
Because that's all this is.
He's losing his mind, but he's far too tired to care. Asgard must prosper, even at the expense of himself. The people are happy. As happy as they can be given everything, but they are happy. That's enough. It must be enough.
"Yes," Loki answers, and Thor looks up, trying to recall his previous words. Ah. He asked about the company. Loki shifts a little, smoothing a stray piece of hair from his face. "But as of right now, I think not."
Thor rolls his eyes and sighs deeply, "You are impossible."
"Oh, undoubtedly." Loki agrees sincerely. He pauses, and then: "You look tired. When was the last time you slept?"
Thor grabs at the beer bottle, noting his shaking hands and wonders what number this is. Six? Seven? Ten? Who knows. Above five at least. It's harder to get drunk with his metabolism. Especially off of Earth's liquor. He hates the taste of alcohol, but revels in the numbing feeling that follows. Even if it takes what feels like forever to get there.
"Stop doing this." Thor pleads, and takes a swig from the bottle. He grimaces at the taste.
Loki's head tilts. "Doing what?"
"This." Thor gestures around them, "We both know you aren't real. Can't my own Norn's cursed mind just leave me alone? Go away. I don't want to talk to you today."
Loki hesitates. His eyebrows furrow, and Thor has the bizarre urge to throw the bottle at his brother's head. It would just go through and shatter all over his bed, and what good would that do? Then he'd have to clean it.
"I think that maybe talking would—" Loki starts, and Thor's impulse reacts before he can think.
The bottle goes through Loki and shatters against the opposite wall, spilling beer all over the blankets. Well, rest in peace, Thor's lived in worse before. The two weeks he spent as Surtur's captive come to mind specifically. And dozens of instances before that when he and Loki were stupid and younger.
Thor growls and silently seethes before he storms towards the bed and falls on top of the mattress. His mechanical eye is pulsing in his head, the stupid replacement that Rocket gave him has never felt right or settled in his head correctly. Loki shifts, but Thor doesn't care, glaring at the wall.
"Go away." He demands.
"Thor—" Loki starts.
"Go. Away." Thor repeats and grabs his pillow, pulling it over his head.
When will this stop? Six months. Six months of seeing ghosts that aren't there because he's going crazy and Loki is helping him reach insanity. Brunnhilde would kill him if he admitted this to anyone, because she doesn't believe in ghosts and already thinks he's mentally unstable.
She's probably right.
She's usually right.
Yuletide is arriving, he realizes faintly in the back of his mind.
Hoorah.
Thor quietly hopes that they'll let him sleep through it, but he has his doubts. Celebrations are to be attended by the king, and Thor will be a good king, even if it kills him. He has to make his father proud, has to let Loki know that he is worthy of the throne.
It isn't that hard.
"You should get some sleep, Brother," Loki instructs. Thor lifts his pillow a little to stare at the ghost with a raised brow.
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"Moping. Brooding. Both?" Loki asks with a shrug.
Thor scowls and blows out a long breath. "I'm thinking."
"Oh," Loki gives a pleasant smile. The kind that means nothing good. "Well, carry on then. I can see why you'd be exhausted. Using weakened muscles can be—"
Thor throws the pillow at his face. It goes through, as expected, but seems to give the projection a pause. Thor smiles mirthlessly. Loki's gaze flicks up to ceiling for a second before he gives a small shake of his head. "Will you stop throwing things at me? Even in life you were always—"
Loki is dead. This stupid part of his head has no right to claim that it was ever alive because that is Loki's and—
"How else am I supposed to get you to shut up?" Thor demands, then presses his palms into his eye sockets. "I wish that I imagined you up after the Dwarf incident on Alfheim. At least then you'd be quiet."
That was a low blow.
Mmm.
Tomorrow's problem?
Loki is quiet for so long that Thor thinks he may have vanished, but when he lifts his hands to check, Loki is still there. Sitting on the bed, with a contemplative look on his face. When he realizes Thor is staring at him, he parts his lips, "I wish you'd believe me. I really am here, Thor."
"No, you're not." Thor counteracts sharply. "You're never here, because Loki wouldn't care to be."
Loki's expression stills, before losing all emotion. "I would."
Ha. Right.
"This is just the sentimental part of my brain trying to drive me crazy with hallucinations. No one else can see you. Despite what you may think, I'm not stupid. You're not real." Thor insists, "So leave me alone before I find a way to strangle you."
Loki winces, and rises to his feet. Good sign. He's leaving soon.
Thor rolls over onto his side, facing the wall so he doesn't have to see the projection anymore. He's so tired of his mind driving him crazy like this. Who else conjures up their dead brother to keep them company because they're going insane?
"I never meant for this to happen," Loki says quietly, "I am sorry."
Thor makes a rude gesture in the ghost's direction without looking back at him.
When he rolls over, Loki is gone.
Thank all that is good in this world.
000o000
Loki doesn't come that next night, and Thor drinks himself into a frenzy.
All he feels in bubbles in his throat, the lack of awareness—yet a sharpening his senses—and a drowsy sickness.
He thinks he giggles himself to sleep that night, but he doesn't know. Being drunk is the only time he laughs now.
000o000
If it had been a different set of circumstances, Thor thinks that he really would have excelled at being a king. Before all of this happened, before he lost his entire family in less than five years, he wouldn't have had a problem. But the thing is: that didn't happen.
Thor is a mess, and everyone knows he's a mess, but refuse to help him.
Brunnhilde tries, but yelling at him doesn't solve anything and Thor doesn't know what will. He runs himself ragged ruling, he knows this, but he doesn't know what else to do. He can't sit around waiting for his realm to put itself back together again, that's not how this works. But he also can't just drink himself so drunk he can't walk straight, because the one time he tried, Loki got after him.
Such a nagging mother-hen, he swears.
Asgard was good for a while.
It really was.
It helped.
And then it didn't, and he couldn't handle it anymore.
But he never, in his wildest dreams, expected this.
Thor looks between the advisers, trying not to openly gape at the paper that's been set down on the table. His world is crashing around him, but all he can focus on is his thin, wheezing breaths, and how pristine the paper is.
Norns.
They can't be doing this.
They can't.
He was trying. He swears he was trying, but it's never good enough for anyone now and, and, and—
"You can't do this," the words bubble out before he can stop them. He looks up at the council desperately, "you can't."
"It's well within our legal rights," Lady Pettidottir counters. "You weren't of age for ruling yet, so, under that authority we—"
"I'm barely a hundred years off!" Thor counters. That's not really a lie, and they know it's not, but it wont stop them. Kingship is supposed to fall on those older than Midgardian twenty-five, but Thor's barely twenty-four, and he knows that everything they're saying is true, but Norns curse it all he can't—
"My father thought me ready for the throne." He blurts out.
"Your father was sick and old," a different council member points out harshly. "The only reason he gave you the throne was because he didn't expect to last another decade! And look—his predictions came true."
I love you my sons.
This was your doing.
Thor shakes his head to clear it of the memories. "But—my brother ruled for four years while I was hunting for the Stones. I know that you were all aware for at least a year. He was declared legally insane by Eir in the dungeons. Why am I—!?"
"This isn't about the late Prince Loki!" a man shouts and slams his fist on the table. "This is about you. You are not fit for this position. Not at this time!"
They can't be doing this.
If they do this, he has nothing left.
Thor claws at the edge of the table, trying to find support in this tumbling world. "But I—"
"This is the end of discussion. Until such time is proven, you are denied regency as king of Asgard. Sign here." Lord Brokson jams a finger at the end of the white paper, and Thor looks up desperately for support. Brunnhilde is standing amidst other council members, their expressions grim, but they refuse to meet his gaze.
No one will meet his gaze.
He's alone in this.
Thor releases a ragged breath, "Please…"
Lord Brokson sighs, his expression softening. "My king, this is not just for Asgard's benefit, but for yours. You are unfit to rule in your mental state, and we can't allow you to keep pushing knowing that you'll be dead within a year. This is for your benefit. Get better. We will take care of the people until you do."
"Please…"
They're taking the crown from him. Because he's insane. They're taking the crown so he'll fix himself, but Thor doesn't know how. This is his birthright. It's gone. Gone, gone, gone—
He was supposed to be Asgard's protector, but now he's—
You're a destroyer, Odinson, look where your power leads.
"Please…"
No one relents, faces hard. Thor bites back his frustrated tears and grabs the quill. His dips it into the ink and stares at the paper for a long second. This never happened to his father, or anyone else he knows of in his family line. It's an old law, written by his great grandfather for a reason Thor can't quite remember anymore. Loki would have. It's to protect the king and the people. If the need arises, the government can seize power from the king in an insanity claim and rule as regent until the king recovers.
But the king has to be declared unfit by the head healer.
Thor thinks about Brunnhilde dragging him to visit her after he snapped his arm helping a Aesir with his house, and a cold feeling of betrayal makes his mouth dry. Eir did her assessment then, as she was healing his arm. She asked him funny questions.
Thor hadn't noticed.
And now he's insane.
He scribbles his name at the bottom, and has the sinking realization that he doesn't think he'll live long enough to see the paper be burned. The proper way to give regency back to the crown. Who's going to take the crown when he's dead? He has no heirs, Loki has no heirs, Hela had no heirs. They have a few estranged cousins, it will probably be them.
He's insane.
And they took the throne, the only thing that he was using to help away.
000o000
Things aren't getting better. He hasn't seen Loki's ghost since that night on the bed two weeks ago, and he finds that a part of him desperately longs for the company it provided him. The house is too quiet.
He's still alone.
He can't remember the last time he ate or slept, and the alcohol is burning his throat.
Brunnhilde stops by, trying to apologize, but Thor refuses to listen to her, pretending she's not in the room. It's childish, but Thor doesn't see a point in trying anything else. He's crazy. He's actually legally crazy.
They took the throne from him because he's crazy.
Thor wants this all to be over.
Six months, three weeks, two days since he didn't go for the head.
Everyone is still dead, and Thor thinks he's going to be joining them soon.
000o000
"Are you ever going to talk to me?" Brunnhilde demands one afternoon and slams a plate of food in front of him. "Eat. You're withering away, you idiot."
Thor looks up at her through shaded lids. What time is it? He's still tired. He wants to go back to bed, and there's nothing to stop him. He hates this. He thought he'd like it—having no responsibilities, but it's maddening. Even when Loki gave him independence, Thor was still searching for the Stones or helping the Avengers—just something.
Now he's doing nothing.
Because he's wandering around like a lost sheep.
Brunnhilde scowls at him. Thor hasn't said anything in about a week now, and props himself up on one elbow to meet her stare. "You don't trust me," he says tiredly, "why would I talk to you?"
Her eyes widen. "That's not what I—"
"You helped them take it," Thor insists. His voice is flat. "You helped them take the throne."
"You aren't ready for it." Brunnhilde says, and Thor flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. No. He's not, is he? He never has been, and never will be. His father once said he'd make a wise king, but he's a little too busy being crazy to be a wise one. His father was a liar about everything.
I'm not as strong as you.
Brunnhilde leaves fuming, and Thor doesn't touch the plate of food she made for him.
000o000
Loki comes that night. He doesn't say anything, just watches Thor from the doorway to the bathroom as Thor does a mixture of vomiting from his anxiety and weeping.
"I don't know what to do." Thor cries to the haunted part of his brain, and tries to ignore as the lights flicker with his distress. "I don't know what to do!"
Loki kneels down next to him, and though Thor knows he has a hand on his shoulder, he can't feel it. "They took it, Loki," Thor gasps, "and I don't know what to do now. I was supposed to—"
000o000
Thor dredges up enough energy to take a plane to the States for Pepper and Tony's wedding. His stomach keeps doing aching knots of pain as he watches them, thinking of his own proposal to Jane and the look of anguish on her face when she said no.
Because he wasn't worthy of the woman he loves either.
There will never be anyone like her again, and Thor doesn't care to find another.
Natasha calls him a few days later. She does so on a bi-weekly bases from the Avengers Compound, and sometimes Thor gets calls from the others. Mostly Natasha. They discuss mundane things for a little under ten minutes before she asks if he's okay, he "seemed off at the funeral", and then everything Asgard's council did slips out.
Natasha listens.
And then she asks: "Do you think they were right?"
Thor knows that tone. Knows that she thinks they were, and his stomach clenches because Natasha wasn't supposed to agree with them! His hand tightens around the phone. He wants to vomit again, but he's spent far too much time doing that recently.
"I-I—" Thor stutters.
"Thor," Natasha's voice is gentle, "You're sick. I think you need to focus on finding medicine instead of getting mad at everyone for telling you you're sick."
There isn't a medicine for this! Why does no one understand!? Asgardian time is different than Midgardian. He has been alive for more than a millennia and lost the rest of his family seven months ago. Everyone was sympathetic at first, but now he's supposed to just be over it? That's not healing. Thor doesn't know what healing looks like, but it's not that.
"Okay." Thor agrees, because he knows that's what she wants.
Loki once explained to him that the best liars tell their fibs by saying what people want to hear.
000o000
He doesn't talk to Natasha about that again.
He doesn't bring it up with the rest of the Avengers.
As far as they're aware, he's not king of Asgard because he's slacking.
Not that they'd care, because they've all moved on from such silly pursuits like being a family.
000o000
He doesn't get the rights back quickly.
He doesn't think he'll get them at all.
He's not getting better. And Norns alone know that he doesn't care.
000o000
It's two years, one week, and three days since he didn't go for the head, and Loki's ghost appears when he has a gun lifted up to his temple. He's standing in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in pajamas and barefoot. He hasn't eaten in two days, and bought the gun at a store in Norway this morning.
It's been pressed against his head for twenty minutes.
He'd half expected Heimdall to come barging in and demand he stop, but he hasn't. Thor told himself to just get it over with quickly, but he's been standing here sobbing like a child for twenty minutes as he tries to pull the trigger.
Then he remembers that Heimdall is dead.
Loki, behind him, panics. "Thor, what on the Nine are you doing!?"
Thor doesn't answer.
Crazy.
Crazy, crazy, crazy.
Pull it.
Just—this can all be over with. Pull, pull, pull—
"Thor!" Loki sweeps in front of him, eyes wide and for the first time in a long time, Thor can see Loki's actual age in his face. He looks young and frightened here, not like the hardened warrior everyone has made him.
Thor's hand is shaking.
He gives a bitter sort of smile, "It's okay Loki," Thor promises, and his voice sounds wretched, "I'm going to join you soon. We'll see the sun shine. I'll see Mother again, and Father. We'll be a family. We'll be happy."
Loki shakes his head, "No, this isn't—"
"I'm glad that you're here, at least, so I don't have to die alone," Thor whispers. His whole body is trembling now. "I'll see you soon Loki."
He squeezes his eyes shut, and pulls the trigger. The gun doesn't go off. It makes a clicking noise, but it doesn't go off. A gasping wheeze escapes him, and he doesn't know if it's in relief or disappointment. "Thor, Thor—no, no, stop, stop—"
Loki.
Thor wrenches his eyes open. He can tell that Loki's distressed to the point of tears, but he's not weeping. "Stop, stop, stop—" Loki pleads.
The gun misfired. It was against his temple and the gun misfired. It takes him until much later to learn he left the safety on, though he could have sworn that he hadn't.
"Thor," Loki's voice is steady, "Thor. Put down the gun."
"I can't do this anymore, Loki," Thor whispers. He doesn't care if this is a hallucination or not, he needs to talk to someone. "It's so hard, and I can't do this. There's no point. I don't have any hope. I don't want to explore the future!"
"I know, it's okay. Put down the gun," Loki's tone is still level.
"I can't—"
"Brother. Put. Down. The. Gun."
Thor slowly pulls the handgun away from his head. He rests it on the bathroom counter and makes a little gasping sound before he tumbles to his knees in desperate sobs. He's not worthy. Not worthy of avenging his brother, not worthy of the crown, not worthy of death.
"I can't do this anymore," Thor cries. He's so pathetic. "Norns, Loki, I can't—"
Loki sits down next to him, and not for the first time, Thor wishes that he was solid. He wants to be held, like a stupid child. He wants someone to hold all his broken bits inside for a little while. Is that too much to ask?
"It's okay," Loki's voice cracks a little, and Thor realizes that he's shaken. "It's okay. You don't have to do anything right now. Just breathe. I'm here, Brother, and I'm not going anywhere."
Loki stays until he cries himself to sleep.
And when he wakes up, Loki is still there. Quiet, but still there. "You need to eat something." Loki says.
Thor sighs miserably and doesn't move from the floor. The gun is still on the countertop, but he can't find enough energy to seek it out. It's not...it's not what he wants right now. He just wants to curl up in one of his mother's blankets and sleep for the rest of eternity.
"I'm not hungry." Thor murmurs.
"You are." Loki counters. "You haven't eaten in three days."
"Not hungry." Thor insists.
"Thor," Loki starts gently, "the sun is shining and—"
"What do you want me to do about it!?" Thor seethes, "I don't want the sun without you, Loki! Don't you get that!? You were my best friend and you left me! Everyone always leaves me! What am I doing wrong that I can't keep anyone around!?"
He slams his fist against the ground. It should hurt.
It doesn't.
He's disconnected from himself. This doesn't feel like his reality.
Loki is quiet for a long few seconds as Thor attempts to draw in some deep breaths to calm down. "The people that you love—and those that love you—have the unfortunate habit of dropping dead." Loki's voice draws him back, and Thor looks up at him.
"This isn't funny."
"You never laugh anymore."
"There's nothing to laugh about! My family is dead, my friends are dead, the woman that I love hates me, my kingdom rejected me as it's king and declared me legally unfit to rule, a Valkyrie thinks me unworthy—what am I supposed to find joy in?" Thor questions desperately. "Everyone wants me to move on and get better, but I don't even know what that means!"
"It means starting with the little things." Loki doesn't miss a beat. "So get off the floor and go find something to eat. You look awful."
Thor glares at him.
Loki holds it with a heavy stare.
A weight settles in the room.
Thor relents first a minute later, and gets up to find some food.
000o000
Brunnhilde finds him on the porch later, spinning a kitchen knife between his fingers and contemplating how much force he'd need to apply to break his skin. Loki has left by then, off to wherever he goes when he's not bothering Thor, and he hadn't expected the Valkyrie to visit him today.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
Thor shrugs.
Brunnhilde pauses, before sitting down next to him. "Why do you have a knife?"
"'M trying to decide if I'm going to break skin or not." Thor mumbles out.
Brunnhilde stares at him with a look that's nothing short of horror. "I saw the gun in the bathroom." She breathes, as if things are clicking in her head.
Thor can't even bring up enough energy to be ashamed.
"I was trying to see if that one would break skin, too." Thor whispers.
Brunnhilde grabs his forearm, and takes the knife from his grip.
He kind of wishes he'd appreciated free access to kitchen utensils more, because that's the last he sees of that knife in a long, long time.
000o000
"What do you mean they're here to watch me?" Thor demands with disbelief, looking at Korg and Miek, trying not to be disgusted by the idea. He hasn't lived with anyone in more than two years, a ghost haunting the streets of Asgard, and suddenly the idea seems repulsive.
No. That's not it. It's what they're here for.
Brunnhilde puts her hands on her hips. "I've been doing my best to give you space, but you tried to off yourself three days ago and I can't just let that go."
Thor stills. "How do you know about that? The only person who was there was—"
Brunnhilde shakes her head, biting at her lower lip. "Lackey bugs me too, sometimes. He explained what happened."
Thor's eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat. Two years, two weeks, and some days he's thought that this was all a figment of his imagination, but it wasn't. Loki has really been here. This whole time.
He hasn't left Thor alone.
He stopped Thor from shooting himself.
Something cold, but warm, settles in his stomach.
"Hey, man," Korg rests a hand on his shoulder, "we'll be quiet as mice, you won't even know we're there. Except when we eat your food and bother you every few hours, but you won't even know we're here."
Thor tries not to scowl and looks over at Brunnhilde, "What makes you think I'll agree to this?"
"You don't have a choice." Brunnhilde counters, "I took an oath before you were born to watch Asgard's royalty, and I'm bound to keep you alive. You are going to let them stay here and keep you from trying to kill yourself again as I deal with the politics. You're supposed to be getting better, Thor, but you're not."
I don't know how is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites at it.
No one really gets that, do they? They think that it's all some sort of magic switch where he can go from this one day to perfectly fine the next. This isn't how it works. He's not the same person anymore, and he doesn't know if he wants to be. His arrogance got Loki and half the universe killed.
He glances at Korg and Miek, gritting his teeth.
Suicide watch. They're here for suicide watch.
Is it really that bad? The gun didn't even go off, and he doesn't know what he planned to do with the knife. Is it really that—?
000o000
He is very much aware of Korg and Miek's presence in his house. It's so blatantly obvious that he can't ignore it. It's annoying, and Korg pesters him constantly about eating and sleeping, and doing something in the day beyond sketch. Not many people are aware he can draw, but he used to spend hours as a youth sketching anything he could because he wanted to remember it forever.
They don't have pictures or cameras on Asgard.
They do now, but they didn't then.
Thor has drawn hundreds of drawings of his family and Asgard. They're scattered around his house to the point of making it a disaster, and he tries to ignore Korg and Miek's open gaping. The only comment Korg makes about the art is, "I don't know you could draw."
Well surprise.
Loki visits that night, but Thor's too tired to talk to him.
It's two days after they've moved in that he notices his facial hair is getting annoying, and that he can't find his shaver anywhere. He tears the bathroom apart before moving into the living room where Korg is whittling. "Have you seen my shaver?" he asks.
"Yeah, man, it's uh—" Korg pauses as Miek makes some sort of face. "Not anywhere you'll be able to find. Sorry."
Thor stares at them. "What?"
"Valkyrie made us take anything sharp or remotely dangerous and hide it until you're better." Korg explains, not without some sympathy. Thor's jaw sets.
Of course she did.
Paranoid brat.
"It's shaving." Thor throws his hands up. "I could do it in my sleep without harming myself. I'll even do it in front of you if it would—"
"No, can't do it." Korg lifts up his hands, "I fear the wrath of Val more than I fear your beard."
Thor resists the urge to strangle them.
A shaver. He just wanted a flippin' shaver and they—
000o000
In an effort to ignore the presence in his house, he turns back to alcohol. He'd been waning off of it for the last two years because it only made him faintly ill. Despite Brunnhilde's sudden insistence, he was getting better. Somewhat. It was just a bad week followed by a worse day with the gun incident, and Loki stopped him, because Loki always tries to stop him when he does something stupid.
He just rarely listens.
He did that time.
He drinks himself into a frenzy, and when Korg says that he and Miek are going stir crazy, Thor jokingly suggests that they set up a TV and join a virtual reality to "get out of the house". He can't go anywhere without a chaperone, and they can't leave without him, so it's driving him crazy. He feels like a child.
A child who doesn't have kitchen knives anymore, and had to tear vegetables apart with his bare hands because if there is one thing Korg is it is stubborn in following directions he was given. He has no leniency.
Korg actually buys a TV, and sets up a game console and everything.
Thor watches how terrible he is with some amusement, drinking himself unconscious.
Midgard's liquor isn't strong enough to any permanent damage to him, or to really make him drunk. He wishes it was. If he could get alcohol poisoning, this would have been over a long time ago.
He plays with Korg's request to yell at the people over the headphones, because he's too timid to do it himself, but frustrated, and Thor will take care of Korg because no one trusts him to take care of anything else. Eventually, despite his growing beard and giving up on vegetables entirely because it's annoying to care for them without knives, Thor doesn't mind the company so much.
Loki is always at the edge of his vision, too, a constant presence that Thor tires to see, but can't really contact.
000o000
The next time he sees Loki, really sees Loki, it's been almost four years since Thanos. Loki is laughing, and Thor startles from where he was looking over some older sketches on his desk. He whirls around on the chair to see Loki's delighted face staring back at him.
He hasn't heard Loki laugh like this since before his first failed coronation.
It's the kind of mirth that's without restraint.
Thor's lip quirks up despite himself, "What?"
Loki's snickers grow louder. "Oh, Norns," he wheezes, "I can't believe that you—" he gestures towards his face, and Thor mimics the gesture, feeling his hand meet his beard. His eyes narrow and he tries to bury a flush of embarrassment.
"You know why I can't—" he starts.
"Yes, I know," Loki agrees, but still smiles widely. "But it doesn't make it any less funny."
"Shut up," Thor demands and throws his pencil at his younger brother, but his lips are split into a smile. For the first time in a long time, Thor feels like laughing, and it's the weirdest sensation. Loki smirks and the pencil hits the door to the room with a dull click.
"You look homeless." Loki states.
"You're a jerk." Thor concludes.
"Just a truth-teller, my dear brother," the younger corrects before moving forward and taking a seat at the edge of Thor's bed. He sobers somewhat, and then asks, "How are you?"
Thor bites at his inner lip, "I...don't know. It's...it is. Some days it's better, but it's not...I'm not there yet. No one trusts me with myself, and I don't...I don't trust me. I still have thoughts of doing it, Loki, and now that I'm supposed to be recovering, shouldn't they be gone?"
Loki stares at him, blinks, and then shakes his head. "Where on the Nine did you get that idea? It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, and I've known you for a long time."
Thor flinches. "I'm just...isn't that how it works?"
"No." Loki counters, "That's how people want it to work, but that's not how it is. You don't heal overnight."
That is not encouraging. People would like him more if he healed overnight. If he just...if he was just better. No one wants him the way he is, and he guesses he can see why. He wouldn't want to deal with a weepy, pathetic, wanna-be-king either. He's so stupid, and he still doesn't want to be here. He thinks. He doesn't know.
He doesn't want to stay, but he doesn't want to go.
He's not sure what's worse.
Korg opens the door, and Thor looks up at him. His expression is furrowed. "You alright in here?" He questions, sweeping his gaze over where Loki is sitting like he doesn't see him. Loki, ever the snot, even lifts up his hand in a little wave even though both of them are fully aware Korg is blind to him.
"Yeah." Thor promises. It's a lie, but he's done a lot of lying since he didn't go for the head.
"Who are you talking to?" Korg questions.
Loki smirks, and Thor shoots him a scathing look before sighing, "No one. Listen, I really need the shaver, can you just this once—"
000o000
He doesn't get the shaver.
Korg doesn't relent. He never relents, and he thinks he's partially to blame for that because he has asked for the shaver with the intent to cut more than his hair.
Thor keeps his beard, much to his discouragement, and Loki's delight.
000o000
He sees Loki a lot more after that. Almost as if his brother is trying to bother him as much as possible about how ragged Thor is getting, and Thor tries his best to keep patience with it. It's not like he can fix it anyway.
But Loki's near perpetual presence is calming, almost as if Loki is alive and really here.
Thor talks to him constantly, Korg's concerned looks aside. He just can't seem to stop. Loki has always been different from other Asgardians, and it's not because he's thin and wiry rather than thick and broad, it's because Loki has always been so quiet.
He listens. Honestly listens, and it's such a relief to know that Loki will listen.
Loki talks to him, too, they discuss the oddest of things ranging from flowers to the best way to murder each council member without getting caught. He feels closer to Loki than he has in a long time, and it makes something in him ache to know that the only way this was going to happen was if Loki was dead.
Loki is really, honestly dead, and Thor has no idea where his body is.
He's talking to a ghost.
But maybe, for right now, it's enough.
After some pleading, he's been given twenty minutes outside by himself without supervision. Korg has been steadily putting more trust in him, letting him run down to grab supplies ever week and that has been a relief, but he just wants to sit and do nothing.
So he does.
He's on the porch, and he feels awful. It hasn't been a good day. He yelled at Korg earlier, nearly destroyed the electricity in their house with his rage and Korg is not happy with him. At all. Miek was giving him that look, too.
He broke an empty bottle of alcohol and cut open his arms this morning, and Korg caught him.
He's pretty sure that the last thing that Korg wanted to do was leave him by himself, but he had. Amazingly. His arms bare scars to match Loki's now. Thin little white lines of pain, scattered from the tip of his wrist up to his elbow. It wasn't the first time he'd cut himself open. The two years alone were more than enough to drive him to that point.
And he can't stand his stupid beard.
He should have cut at it with the glass, but he didn't.
Loki is standing next to him, and Thor blows out a breath through his teeth. "It's unwise to be in my company right now, Brother."
"Who said I was wise?" Loki counters, taking the seat next to him without restraint. The silence between them is an open invitation.
Thor grits his teeth. "I'm not getting better. Everything is slipping, slower now, but it's still slipping. I'm drowning, and I don't know if I want to reach the surface again. What will happen when I do?"
He looks at his younger brother, and bites at his tongue. He doesn't know why he said that. Loki is the most intelligent person that he knows, but he doesn't hold all the answers to this. He can't use Loki as an emotional dumping ground, that's not what their friendship has evolved to.
It's not what friendship should be.
Loki looks forward, towards the setting sun, and tilts his head. "You'll be warm again."
"I'm not cold," Thor insists, "I don't understand. Nothing is—"
"Shh," Loki lifts a finger to his lips. "Do you hear that?"
Thor pauses, tilting his head. He can't hear anything. Just the faint roar of the ocean. "No."
"The ocean," Loki explains, "it is a beautiful thing, is it not? It can be still, but it can also destroy. Thor, the mind is the same. You can't expect yourself to move on so quickly. It takes time, but I assure you that it does get better. What you're doing right now is enough. You've done enough, and it's okay to rest for a moment."
"No, it's not," Thor mumbles, "no one ever lets me take a break. What if I just want to be upset for two minutes? Why can't I have that?"
Loki shakes his head, seeming puzzled. "I don't know. You can't heal from grief by repressing grief."
Exactly. Why does no one get that? Maybe it's just because he's crazy, and it doesn't apply to him.
000o000
Bruce and Rocket show up on the morrow. Thor has seen very little of them since this all happened. Tony forces them to gather yearly for a birthday party for Morgan, sometimes other holidays, but beyond that, no one has come here.
He's surprised, happy, and then he's on a scavenger hunt for the Infinity Stones (he suggested them that it would be easier to get them when Thanos already collected them all, but they were insistent. He'd watched with some amusement, as, from the corner of the room, Loki had facepalmed).
Asgard happens.
And then Mjolnir.
Because he's still worthy. After everything. After it all he's still worthy and he doesn't understand. He shouldn't be worthy after everything he did, everyone he hurt and got killed, but he is and that's—
000o000
The next time he sees Loki, it's been five years, two months and six days since he didn't go for the head. He still hasn't shaved, hasn't asked anyone for a razor, and he doesn't have appropriate clothing for Tony's funeral, but he's here. Natasha's was three days ago, but they buried an empty coffin with some of her trinkets. They couldn't get her body.
He's standing on the edge of the river near Tony's home, watching as Pepper places the arc reactor onto the stream and sees Loki standing next to Natasha and Tony. They're grouped together, quiet, and on Pepper's right.
Tony and Natasha are just a blue and translucent as Loki is, but they look content, if not happy.
Loki catches his eye and gives a slight smile of reassurance. "It's all okay," Loki mouths at him, and Thor gives a tight smile in response. Loki murmurs something to the two deceased Avengers before moving towards him, slipping between the people without any problems.
"You still need to shave," Loki whispers to him.
Thor lifts an eyebrow in response. They stand in silence for a long minute, watching the arc reactor float down the river. Thor's blinking back tears, and trying to remind himself that Tony isn't really gone.
"Thank you, Loki," Thor whispers the words very quietly. Barely above a breath. "You're a good brother."
"You're a better king." Loki insists, and shifts to grip Thor's hand. If he concentrates, he thinks he can feel something there. He squeezes back.
Natasha and Tony are laughing, and despite the solemn occasion, Thor feels a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.
For the first time in a long time, Thor knows that everything is going to be okay.