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Thor was dying.
Not in a battle either, like the warrior he was raised to be. Not by wounds obtained in a heroic battle. Not by sacrificing himself for the greater good. Thor was dying and not because of physical scars, but mental ones.
With every glass of alcohol he drank, he was one step closer to his death. And yet, he wouldn't stop drinking. He didn't leave his house anymore, he never went out to see his people. Not like there were many of them to see, he thought. If there was no one to see, why bother? His father had taught him that Asgard wasn't a place, it was a people. But if there were no people left, how could there be an Asgard?
Besides, Valkyrie was doing just fine leading the few survivors in his stead. It was sort of ironic, he supposed, how their roles had been reversed. Valkyrie, the former alcoholic had now taken to being a leader while he, King of Asgard locked himself inside his house and drank all day. It was the only way he could cope with it all. The loss, the grief, the guilt... He couldn't handle it anymore. So he drank until he was numb.
As he opened another bottle he wondered if Loki went to Valhalla or Hel. If he was with their father and mother. Maybe they were all watching over him. He hoped not. They would all be disappointed of what he had become.
"Or maybe he's still alive." the small voice inside his head piped up hopefully. He took a sip of his ale to silence it. False hope wouldn't help him. His brother was gone, once and for all.
At least he thought so. It had been 5 years after all. If Loki was alive, he clearly had no intentions of contacting Thor. Strangely enough that thought hurt much worse than the thought of his brother being dead. They had just began to rebuilt their relationship when... He took another sip. He didn't want to think about the Titan. Think about his failures.
"You should've gone for the head." Thor still heard it in his dreams. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the Mad Titan snap his fingers. Half the population vanish. He remembered how he'd wondered if the rest of his people were gone now too. If the last remains of Asgard had died at that moment. If he now truly was King of No One.
He should have gone for the head in the first place. But he hadn't, and now it was too late. Now half of all living creatures were dead. Dead because of him. He downed the rest of his ale and opened yet another bottle.
He wondered how his friends were doing. If they were his friends anymore. He wouldn't blame them if they weren't. This whole thing was his fault, after all. Besides, he hadn't contacted them in years. They had tried to reach him in the beginning, but when he had refused to see them they eventually gave up. He couldn't face them. Not after what he had done.
Thor wondered whether or not his maybe-friends would recognize him if they saw him now. He doubted it. He hardly recognized himself. He had gotten rid of the mirrors in his house a long time ago. Couldn't stand the sight of himself. Of what he had become.
He was still unfortunate enough to see his reflection in the bottles he gathered in his house. He didn't like what he saw, so he took another gulp to forget it.
He wondered if his people hated him. Why wouldn't they? He had done nothing for them. He hadn't even spoken to any of them for weeks. Aside from Valkyrie, who still knocked on his door almost everyday, threatening to kick the door down if Thor didn't open it. He never opened the door and she never kicked it down. Maybe she was afraid of what she'd find. The other Asgardians didn't bother even trying knocking. Like his friends, they had tried in the beginning. Not anymore. Yes, he decided as he finished his bottle, they probably hated him. But that was fine. Thor hated himself too.
Thor opened a new bottle. He thought about his hammer. He missed it. Times had been simpler when his hammer was still whole. He felt like his life had fallen apart, just like his hammer had. He wondered if he was still worthy. Probably not. Why would his hammer think a failure, hermit alcoholic worthy? He had let so many people down. His own people, Jane, his father, mother, brother, friends and pretty much all of the universe. No, he decided as he downed even more ale, he wasn't worthy. Not that he'd ever find out. His hammer was gone, after all.
His drink suddenly tasted salty. He wondered why. As he poured another glass something wet hit the table beside it. He realized those were tears. He was crying. That made him mad. Mad at himself for crying, because why should he have the right to cry when he was the reason half of the universe was dead?
So he did the logical thing and drank some more to stop the tears. He drank and drank and drank until these thoughts didn't plague him anymore. Until he couldn't feel anymore. And it worked. After a few more bottles the world started to dim before his eyes. He closed his eyes and succumbed to the blissful darkness.
Thor was dying, and he couldn't bring himself to care.