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~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~
The Mighty Thor sat in the dim, messy living room of his rickety home, staring at nothing. Well, the television was playing, its flickering light the only illumination in his silent house … but the sound was low to avoid waking Korg in the next room and Thor wasn't even watching the late-night drama. He was slouching in his favorite armchair, a ratty, rickety thing Valkyrie had picked up at one of those Midgardian pawn shops … thrift stores, he thought they were called. He sipped from the bottle of beer in his fist and belched quietly, casting a bleary glance over the heap of empty bottles scattered on the worn carpet and on top of the coffee table. The largest bottles were the kind of stuff he used to get muzzy quickly, and the beer was a nice bonus to keep him safely in that fuzzy, comfortable zone of thought where he cared about nothing and the pain in his heart was dulled to an almost unnoticeable ache. He guzzled the rest, automatically grabbed another from the box at his side, and cracked the lid off, tossing the bottle cap on the floor with the dozens of others. He looked at the empty one and smiled a little, a totally unconnected memory bubbling to the surface of his consciousness.
This drink … I like it. Another!
That was another Thor. Another lifetime. He carefully set the glass bottle on the coffee table with the other ones, and settled back in the chair's worn comfort. He raised the bottle in mocking parody of a toast and guzzled half of it in a few gulps. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks and he angrily swiped them away with the hem of his filthy sweater.
Hail the King! He mocked himself. Pathetic. You're so pathetic.
He knew it. But he couldn't fight it. There was no one to fight for any longer. He glared at the bottle, guzzled the rest, and threw the bottle. It hit the sofa on the other side of the room and made a muffled thud as it bounced off and hit the carpet. Angry and fighting more tears, Thor cracked open a fresh bottle with his thumb and sniffed the contents. The smell of defeat, despair, and cheap Midgardian alcohol wafted up to his clogged nose, grown even duller from five straight years of drunkenness. The Valkyrie herself was starting to worry about him, but he could not deny that her former method of coping had turned out to be rather effective for him. Not only did it dull the sharp pain of grief, failure, and denial, but being drunk conveniently left someone else to pick up the responsibilities of managing New Asgard. He was technically still King, but he could see the glances of pity and worry when (if ever) he poked his head out of his hut. He only ventured out to get wood sometimes, especially in the harsh Norse winters. He left Korg and Val and other kind souls to buy his liquor, especially since he'd been pulled over by Midgardian police three times the first year for dangerous driving. Luckily, at that point he had not actually been drunk; he had simply not really known how to drive Midgardian vehicles. He disliked using Stormbreaker to perform such mundane tasks as flying into the nearest town to buy alcohol. It felt ... disrespectful, somehow.
Sighing and shaking his head at himself, Thor raised his fresh bottle again, the echoing cheers of Volstagg and Fandral coming to his ears from memory, and … no, he would not think of him. Not Loki. Not tonight.
He was drinking to forget. So he would forget. He would not think about Loki; not his terrifyingly blank expression when he realized who was attacking their ship, not the twist of his long fingers as he gave up the Tesseract to save him, not Loki's final gasps or choked out words of warning as the Titan crushed his neck …
Letting out a wail of grief as the memory surged violently to the forefront of his thoughts, Thor flung his bottle across the room and it shattered against the wall. He covered his face with his calloused hands, tangling his fingers in his long, matted hair. Five years. It had been five years today since his little brother died in front of him again … to save him.
He knew that now.
Loki would never have done something so stupid, so brazenly brave, unless he knew that the purple beast would leave only one of them alive to grieve. He had goaded the Titan into killing him, so that Thor would be spared. He could still remember Loki's voice, quiet and full of conviction …
I assure you, Brother, the sun will shine on us again.
Five years later, the sun still refused to shine. Thor's grief at the worst of times brought vicious storms lashing their little seaside village, but the alcohol helped. It dulled his emotions to the point that he could grin and laugh. He could act silly and play videogames with Korg, enjoy pizza, and throw rocks at rows of empty bottles. It helped him to forget, so that the surviving Asgardians could have a little sunshine, instead of constant rain. Tonight though, the emotions and memories were such that even the most potent of Midgardian drinks were unable to keep his storm powers in check. An ice storm was beating against the windows and walls, the wind was howling, and he could almost hear the ocean roaring angrily as it was lashed into a frenzy. The wood stove glowed a comforting red in the corner and the television darkened as the credits rolled for the show he'd been non-watching.
Thor straightened up and wiped the tears from his face. He staggered to his feet and barely avoided tripping on the bottles on the floor. He was intent on opening that crate he'd received as a Yule gift from Tony Stark, which he had been told was full of what the Man of Iron called Russian Fire, the potent liquor known as Vodka. Perhaps two or three bottles of that would allow him to sleep. He stumbled into the dark kitchen and fumbled for the light switch.
He hadn't found it yet when he was startled by several hard raps on the front door.
He tripped over something, (or perhaps nothing) and fell in a heap on the wood floor in the darkness. He frowned in confusion. Was he expecting anyone? He didn't think so. Thor truly had no idea why anyone would be out in a storm like this. It was terribly late besides. He lay on the floor for several seconds, trying to get his muzzy brain to work, but he lay there stupidly for several more seconds and didn't move. The knocking came again and went on longer and harder as if their visitor was growing impatient.
Groaning, Thor heaved himself to his feet and limped out of the kitchen. His bare toe had caught on something, possibly the doorpost, and now it was throbbing. His head was still swimming from the liquor he'd drunk so far, but he wasn't completely intoxicated yet. Nope, the Mighty Thor was still pretty much sober, thank you very much. He stumbled through the dark house, tripping over various things on the floor and groping the walls for the light switches, but he was a little too drunk to find them. By the time he reached the narrow hallway leading to the front door, the visitor was knocking again, with firm heavy blows that made the door shake and the windows rattle. Thor fumbled with the lock, only belatedly realizing that he should have grabbed a weapon. But if they were knocking, it probably was a friend rather than a foe. And anyway, even if it was an idiot out robbing houses in the middle of a terrible Norwegian blizzard, Thor was an Asgardian. Even drunk he could take on any petty Midgardian criminal who dared tangle with him, and if it was actually some other creature … Thor was reasonably certain he deserved whatever the Norns decided to throw at him next. After all, what else did he have to lose?
He jerked open the door, getting a face-full of freezing wind and ice pellets. Spluttering, he squinted at the tall, hooded figure standing under the flickering porch lamp. His face was shadowed by the hood he wore, and the rest of his clothing was in the style of Old Asgardians. His cloak was stiff with ice and barely shifted in the dreadful howling wind, and where the light struck it, Thor was reasonably sure that it was white.
"Took you long enough," a hoarse, somewhat familiar voice rasped scornfully at him.
For a few seconds, Thor didn't answer, and stupidly squinted at the visitor. Between the dim, fluttering bulb of the light above the door and the raging blizzard, he couldn't see very well. His fumbling hand, tapping the wall beside the door, suddenly found the switch for the hall light, and he clicked it on so he could get a good look at his guest.
Standing on his front porch was a Frost Giant.
Thor yelped in shock and staggered back, old instincts roaring to life and his hand flying out to summon his hammer. But he tripped on the hat stand and fell hard on his back with a deafening crash, getting the wind knocked out of his lungs. The Frost Giant effortlessly caught Stormbreaker when it flew in, calmly stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and shook the ice and snow out of his black hair. The ridged blue face and red eyes suddenly melted into smooth pale skin, blue eyes, and a familiar scowl.
"That glad to see me, Brother? Just what have you done to yourself this time?"
Thor said nothing for several seconds. He didn't even blink, or breathe. If anything, his eyes got wider. What had he done anyway? The familiar face stared down at him with a familiar scowl; almost more familiar to him than his own face. Thor squeezed his eyes shut to dispel the phantasm, but when he opened his eyes again, it was still there, still holding his axe, still frowning down at him, though now it had morphed into a frown of concern rather than scorn.
Loki.
It was utterly, absolutely, completely impossible. But the Frost Giant had turned into Loki right before his eyes. Hmmm ... maybe he had drunk a little too much.
The phantom of Loki sighed, his irritation seemingly forgotten in favor of exhaustion, and he tossed the big axe back at its owner. Thor caught it reflexively, but didn't take his eyes off Loki. Turning his back on the pathetic creature that his brother had become, the ghost tiptoed further into the house. Thor knew it was, quite frankly, a vile mess, and he felt his body heat up with shame at the thought of his fastidious brother seeing just how deeply he had fallen. Junk lay scattered everywhere in the hall and sitting area: empty liquor bottles, clothing, boxes, baskets, garbage of all sorts … In short, it was absolutely filthy. The stench of alcohol was everywhere, as well as the odors of old or burned food and smoke.
Thor staggered to his feet and limped after the strange vision, gripping Stormbreaker tightly as if that would protect him if this spirit decided to attack him. He was no mage. He followed the silent vision as it stopped in the messy sitting room and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head at the sight. Thor glanced around, squirming guiltily inside. There were even more bottles in here, including broken ones, and some of the furniture was overturned. The Midgardian TV flickered quietly in the corner, flashing pictures and images of stupid human entertainment. Thor edged around the room and carefully leaned his axe against the wall before he opened the wood stove in the other corner. He poked a few chunks of wood into it, causing the flames to leap up a bit, casting more light on the pale face of his apparition, standing silently in the filthy living room and surveying the mess. Thor hadn't taken his eyes off the vision. He couldn't. Just be feel, Thor finished stirring up the fire in the stove and shut the grate. It glowed nicely, giving off pleasant warmth, and without a word, the Loki-ghost picked his way across the filthy room to get close to it. This close, Thor could see that his clothing seemed to be uncomfortably frozen against his skin. Loki's jaw was clenched against the shivers that threatened to make his teeth chatter, and without warning, he started stripping off his frozen clothes. Thor blinked in shock, but said nothing. A strangely rational part of Thor brain informed him that Loki looked like he was dressed for spring on Alfheim, not this Jotunheim-rivaling winter that Midgard was experiencing.
The Loki-ghost yanked off his layers and waved his hand to sweep away all the broken glass that might have been close to his now-vulnerable bare feet before he took off his shoes. Thor watched, paralyzed with fascination. When the ... other ... was free of his melting garments, he twisted his magic, pulling fresh clothes out of magical storage, (just like Loki used to) and dressed himself quickly. He turned to pick up a slipper he'd dropped, with his over-tunic still in hand, and froze, seeming to finally realize that Thor was just staring at him. Loki looked up, right into Thor's face, and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Even now, the overweight Asgardian was simply watching him, paralyzed by fascination and terror. The vision huffed in annoyance, but said nothing. He put his slippers on, pulled the soft over-tunic over his head, and ran his fingers through his long, dark hair, shaking out the drops of melting ice and relishing the heat from the stove at his side. His black hair had grown a bit, but it still wasn't as long as Thor's was now, he noted. Fully dressed again in dry, casual garments, Loki relaxed slightly, and took the chance to look around.
"So," he drawled. "This is the palace of Asgard's King?" He paused significantly, letting his disgust clearly show on his face as he looked around. "Charming," he finally managed. "Not at all what I expected."
Thor said nothing in reply to the clear mockery. Instead, he stumbled over to the ratty sofa and fell onto it, his eyes still locked on Loki. He couldn't be real. He couldn't. His heart pounded as the vision's voice and cadence were clearly Loki's ... but Loki was dead. He watched him die. Again. He held his corpse; had stared into Loki's wide-open eyes, the broken blood vessels; had touched his brother's broken, crushed neck with trembling hands. Loki was really dead. He had to be. So what was this standing in front of him?
Loki stared back at him for several seconds in silence, seeming to be getting unnerved by Thor's silence. Carefully, (watching for bits of glass underfoot) the Loki-vision edged closer to Thor. Suddenly, the god of thunder grabbed an empty bottle from his side and threw it at him. Loki jerked back, caught off guard by the move, but he caught it easily enough. Surprisingly, Loki tossed the bottle aside and held out his arms with a sad, not altogether mocking, smile.
"Do you still want the hug?"
Thor blinked, more confused than ever. He opened his mouth, his hand twitched at his side, and he just ... sat there. He couldn't think of anything to say. This ... this had to be a dream, or a vision. So why wasn't "Loki" imparting some wisdom to him or something? Or castigating him for his failures? Why ... why did this vision just ... want a hug?
The vision of Loki huffed, dropped his arms to his sides and rolled his eyes to the roof. "I don't know what you want from me, Thor," he/it said impatiently. "You're not saying anything. Care to use your mouth for something other than gaping?"
Thor struggled to say something, anything. He opened his mouth and tried, but a strangled, choking noise was all he could manage.
"You know what?" Loki sighed, raking his hand through his damp hair again. "I think we should both just get some sleep. In the light of day, we can discuss this properly. Agreed?"
"W-wait!" Thor gasped, his voice sounding both hoarser and higher than he would have liked, but it couldn't be helped. He threw out his big hands, covered in woolen gloves that were missing half the tops of the fingers, and tears glistened in his left eye, his good eye. He didn't know what the Norns meant by sending him this torturous vision ... but he certainly didn't want it to go away just yet.
"Wait?" Loki repeated wearily, twitching his head impatiently before he bent and gathered up his frozen clothes and draping them over the two chairs to dry. "For what? I'm not going anywhere, Thor. I'm tired and cold and I just want to sleep. We can talk tomorrow when you're semi-coherent."
"Don't go," Thor begged in a whisper, bringing a fist to his mouth and trembling with his sobs. "Please. Not tonight. Please, Brother. Don't leave me."
Loki stared at him for a very long moment, seemed to really see him this time ... and sighed again, pulled a green blanket out of storage, and marched over to his brother.
"Scoot over, will you?" he snapped, kicking empty bottles out of his way.
Thor was bewildered, surprised that Loki had heeded his plea, but he obediently scooted aside, shoving more junk off the sofa as he did so. Loki sat down in the empty spot, shook out the blanket, and spread it over the two of them. Thor startled. The blanket was lightly enchanted; it radiated a gentle heat. Thor held perfectly still, terrified that if he reached out to touch this image, Loki would simply vanish. He wasn't ready to say good-bye yet. Suddenly, Loki scooted a bit closer, even kicking off his slippers and dragging his feet up under the blanket so he could more easily curl up against Thor's side. Thor held his breath, eyes wide as the solid warmth of his brother pressed up against him ... it was almost too real. Maybe he was just really, really drunk and hallucinating the whole thing ...
"If this sofa has fleas, I'll throw you into the ocean and freeze it over," Loki suddenly mumbled in a sleepy voice.
"I'll slay them all if they dare attack you," Thor murmured without thinking, his voice hushed and careful.
Loki grunted in a noncommittal manner, and let his head fall on Thor's shoulder. In the hush that followed, Thor recalled that he was always claiming he would slay his little brother's demons when they were young. Maybe ... maybe the Norns were being merciful. Loki hadn't dissipated when he leaned against his side, so perhaps ... Thor gently pulled his arm out from between them both and carefully draped it over his brother, picking up the corner of the blanket and securing it around Loki's shoulder. Loki sighed and shrugged a bit impatiently at the unnecessary gesture, but he seemed too tired to resist.
"You stink," Loki muttered, right before he shifted and curled up a little closer to Thor. The thunder-god was nice and warm after all, and Loki was still shivering just a bit. Thor grimaced into the dim light of the living room. He did smell ripe, and it was just like Loki to let him know. Thor let his eyes close to the flickering light of the stove and the Midgard-entertainment-box, allowed his weary muscles to relax, and tried not to tighten his grip on Loki's shoulder too much. He felt almost real, under his hand, but he was terrified to do anything more, still fearing that Loki would vanish and he would wake from this strange dream.
Thor sat in a daze for who knew how long. He wished he could find the television remote to shut up the idiotic re-runs of that lame soap opera that came on at two in the morning. But the TV hummed on, and Thor couldn't really think with his alcohol-muddled brain anyway. He resigned himself to just sit in strange contentedness with his delusion, his arm curled around the strange vision that had appeared to comfort him in his despair, and wait for the dream to fade. But time passed, his mouth started to feel foul from all the beer he had drunk, and his back started aching. The ghost that appeared to be sleeping at his side slept on in relative silence … but then, Loki never snored. Thor endured his aching back for a while more, not wanting to wake his little brother, but next minute he rebuked himself for being silly. This Loki was a dream, a delusion; it was all in his own drunken head. He shifted into a more comfortable position, and Loki's head moved, now sort of on his rather embarrassingly large stomach. But it did not vanish as he had feared. Loki's head, solid and warm, settled on his ribs, and he seemed comfortable enough. Loki shifted with a sigh and stilled, settling back into the steady breathing of deep sleep.
Thor blinked at the tears in his good eye, and didn't stop them from falling. If the Norns saw fit to bless him with this beautiful delirium, he would not complain. This dream, however dull it might be to anyone else, was heaven to Thor. Loki was here, sleeping without fear or scorn at his side, trusting in his warmth, even sharing a blanket with him. It had an unfamiliar pattern, but Thor knew that drunken visions could be very odd indeed. He raised his free hand and tenderly placed it on Loki's head. His hair was soft, and still cool and damp from the blizzard, but his scalp was warm. Sniffling away a few more tears, Thor wiped his nose on his wrist and leaned his head back against the top of the sofa. He would just close his eyes for a bit, listen to the comforting lie of Loki's breathing, as familiar to him as his own, and wake alone in the morning, hopefully better able to help the Skjalfson brothers raise the new roof on their barn. The last one had caved in during a storm near Yuletide. He would remember the blessing of the Norns on this five year anniversary and treasure this simple dream, and perhaps he would grieve better. Loki, who had given his life for Thor, deserved a better appreciation than the fat, drunken fool he now was.
Closing his weary eyes, allowing the nauseating burn of the alcohol in his stomach aid his peaceful mind toward oblivion, Thor curled his arm around dream-Loki's bony shoulder and fell asleep.
~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~
Thor awoke with a pounding hangover and a mouth stuffed full of cotton. He groaned at the light stabbing his eyes, and heard the sound that had woken him. The shower was running, water gurgling in the pipes, and Korg was up, stomping around in the kitchen. Wait. What? How could his friend be in two places at once?
Thor sat up, rubbing his eyes, and squinted over at the kitchen. The huge rock-man was puttering around, making coffee and eggs as best he could. If he was in there, then who was in the shower? His skull gave another vicious throb, and Thor groaned again, rubbing his head in pain. He hated hangovers. Staggering to his feet, he supposed that he would find out who was in the shower, because he really needed the facilities. How much had he drunk last night? It was all a fuzzy, hazy memory, but he'd had a good dream at some point. It was a weird dream, whatever it was.
"Oh, Thor!" Korg's voice suddenly intruded on his musing, causing his head to feel like Stormbreaker had been taken to it recently. "I thought you were in the shower," Korg grinned apologetically. "Want your eggs now?"
Thor squinted at the rock-alien and miserably shook his head. He winced at the movement and cradled his head, stumbling forward a few steps. He almost tripped over several bottles on the floor, and was grateful that Korg was kind enough to jump forward and catch him.
"Watch it there, lord of thunder," the ex-gladiator said cheerfully. "Just how much did you drink last night?"
"Too much," Thor mumbled, swaying and grateful for Korg's solid strength. "Thank you, my friend. Oh … who's in the shower?"
"Beats me," Korg shrugged. "Miek's still snoring."
Thor blinked and slowly shook his head. He couldn't think of who in the world would be so bold as to waltz into their house and take over the shower without asking. "Val?" he guessed.
"Could be," Korg shrugged again, his boulder parts grinding against each other. "She didn't knock, if she did for some reason decide our shower's better. But if it's her, I'd leave her alone 'til she's finished."
"I agree," Thor sighed. "I'll go out back."
The back of their humble house faced the sea, though it was a long way off, and there were no other houses on this side of the village, so it was private. It was crisp and cold outside, and his bare feet protested the ice on the ground. He finished his business in record time and stumbled back inside, shivering and grumbling against the usurper of their bathroom. The shower had stopped in the thirty seconds he was outside, and Korg was humming as he stirred eggs in the frying pan.
Slumping at the kitchen table, Thor mumbled his thanks for the large mug of coffee and plate of steaming eggs and toast that Korg slid over to him. He inhaled his food, gratefully accepted the large store-bought muffins that Korg had toasted over the flames of the gas stove, and finished his breakfast. He didn't normally eat much when he was hung-over, but this morning, he was in a strangely cheerful mood. He felt much more alive than he had in days. Weeks, if he was honest.
"I had a good dream last night," Thor announced as he picked at a third muffin.
"Hmm?" Korg hummed. "So did I. Wanna hear it?"
"Of course," Thor smiled easily, and Korg then launched into a strange narrative that featured him falling apart and getting his pieces picked up by a couple of boys who then proceeded to throw them at the Hulk, and the Hulk became angry and started chasing the boys around in circles. It was truly a stupid dream, but Thor laughed, and Korg grinned and shrugged.
"So, what'd you dream about?" the rock-creature asked once they had finished laughing.
"I dreamed about Loki," Thor said quietly. His eye shimmered with tears. "He came to the front door, caught Stormbreaker when I called it, and walked right in. He told me I lived in a dreadful place, though not in so many words of course, and then stayed when I begged him not to go. I dreamed he slept with me right on that couch. It was a very good dream, Korg."
"And to happen on the anniversary," Korg added, sounding genuinely happy for his friend. "D'you think maybe he was reachin' out from beyond? Telling you it was okay?"
Thor nodded and wiped his face. "I think so," he said softly. "It made me think … I've been squandering the gift he gave me. He sacrificed his life for me … and look at what I've been doing with it? Eating, drinking, weeping … I am no Asgardian, Korg. I'm a coward. The Norns sent me a vision of my brother to wake me up, I believe. And I will not fail Loki. Not again."
~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~