Thor does not land on his feet, instead crashing to the earth on his side, his arm feeling oddly heavy and useless as he struggles to right himself. His hands meet not burning metal as he expects, but cool damp grass and dirt, and instead of purple flame he sees blue sky and green plants. No bodies.

His breathing is harsh from the sudden fright, but the lightning fizzles out as he looks around him, trying to get his bearings. Not the Statesman. Not the Guardians' ship, even. His gaze rises to Prometheus, towering above him, and memory and rationality creep back in when he sees those burns, accompanied by a guilty pang. I did that.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, not quite ready to get to his feet, though the disorientation is slowly fading. "Are... you all right?"