Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, King of Asgard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pirateangelbaby) wrote2019-05-09 09:15 pm
pirateangelbaby) wrote2019-05-09 09:15 pm
A Healing Touch [for coldsong]
A week after the world came to an end, after the shock has faded to deeper-seated grief and he has been forced to venture out of his solitary room every day, Thor has managed to scrape enough of himself together that he no longer feels ready to fall to pieces at the slightest pressure. Still fractured, still broken pieces held together through his sheer force of will, weaker than it once was in the face of his greatest defeat. But holding, nonetheless.
It feels like an eternity and yet no time at all, but Loki's words have dug deep and planted roots in what's left of his heart, and he knows he cannot shirk his duty. He is still the king of Asgard, and he is needed, no matter how few remain alive. He is not the only one who has lost everything, not the only one struggling to make sense of this horrible new reality they have found themselves in, and if anything, his responsibility in not stopping the slaughter makes it even more necessary that he start making an effort to help those he has harmed so grievously.
For that... he must start by seeing to the refugees. Or by letting them see to him.
Thor hasn't been back to the Nexus since that awful day, but Loki had given him what he needs to return and find what he's looking for. He scribbles a brief note that he shall return and leaves it on the common room table, then retrieves Stormbreaker and ventures outside to open the Bifrost and cut across the dimensions to his destination.
It feels like an eternity and yet no time at all, but Loki's words have dug deep and planted roots in what's left of his heart, and he knows he cannot shirk his duty. He is still the king of Asgard, and he is needed, no matter how few remain alive. He is not the only one who has lost everything, not the only one struggling to make sense of this horrible new reality they have found themselves in, and if anything, his responsibility in not stopping the slaughter makes it even more necessary that he start making an effort to help those he has harmed so grievously.
For that... he must start by seeing to the refugees. Or by letting them see to him.
Thor hasn't been back to the Nexus since that awful day, but Loki had given him what he needs to return and find what he's looking for. He scribbles a brief note that he shall return and leaves it on the common room table, then retrieves Stormbreaker and ventures outside to open the Bifrost and cut across the dimensions to his destination.
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He doesn't care if Thor doesn't reply, or if he only replies with a word or two. The relentless reminder that something other than pain exists is what's important. It's important for Loki, too.
The handful of refugees Loki has picked to stay at his side are now in a small house close to the Wilds. He's keeping an eye out for trouble, but when Thor lands he will certainly be able to sense the wards his brother has placed on the cottage.
Loki himself is not immediately in sight, but there's a girl on the porch with a mortar and pestle in her lap, listening to the radio as she grinds some sort of seed pods. If she aged like a human, she might be fifteen or sixteen, but because she is of Asgard, she is far older than that. And she's a little slow to note the arrival of her King, perhaps because the music is loud and energetic, but once she sees him she sets aside the mortar and pestle at once and stands, eyes wide, lips half-parted in relieved recognition.
No sound comes out, but it's clear she knows who she's looking at, and she hastens to hop off the porch and come to meet him at a light run.
"Prince Loki said you were alive," she says breathlessly, forgetting protocol for the moment.
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He has yet to find stability, but it helps to draw him closer to it, a little at a time.
It's enough that he holds together well enough as he arrives at the little house, the Bifrost burning its knotwork into the soft grasses. For a moment he just stands and breathes, the weather of this place tugging at him differently than New York, and casts an eye over the cozy cottage. The girl sitting on the porch is vaguely familiar, and Thor feels a stab of regret that he hadn't learned all his people's names before so many were lost. Who else has he forgotten? But he manages a faint smile anyway, because she is living proof that something of Asgard survives. One of his people that he has not failed as harshly as the others, someone who might not now live if not for the evacuation to the Nexus.
"And so I am," he answers, a little surprised not to see condemnation in her eyes. It would be less than he deserves. Nor does he feel terribly much like a king at the moment, clad in fresh Midgardian clothes, the left arm of his hoodie bunching oddly around the prosthesis. But Stormbreaker hums solidly in his hand, giving him the strength to weather whatever tempest his people throw at him in their grief. "You're Fǫnn, right?"
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That's the bottom line right now. There may be criticism of Thor's actions coming from some quarters sooner or later. Some of the angrier adults may even feel he should have died in battle with his people, like a captain going down with the ship. You can't control emotions and there's a lot of rage and anguish to go around. But at least in Fǫnn's opinion, better to be a decimated people with a king than a decimated people without one. And in the end, hers is likely to be the prevailing sentiment.
"You should come inside. Prince Loki told me you wanted me to look at your arm." Which is fucking terrifying for a half-trained adolescent, but she looks determined.
And as if mentioning his name twice has summoned him, Loki appears in the cottage doorway. He's...he's soaked. His hair is up in a messy man-bun, and he's got a towel over one shoulder, and he looks ruffled and cranky. "Hello, Brother. I'm never bathing a toddler again."
"You said that two days ago, too," Fǫnn tells him soberly.
"Yes, well, I never claimed to be a man of my word."
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Though she clearly only means to voice her gladness to see her king still lives, Thor still can’t help the pang of guilt that he couldn’t save more. Only one Asgardian survived the destruction of the Statesman, and sometimes he wishes he hadn’t. Still, he’s able to smile faintly, and bow his head to her. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re all right, as well. All of you.”
Not enough.
He’s had a little practice masking his feelings over the past few days, however, and he’s far more alert than the shellshocked warrior he was a week ago. He’s about to agree and follow her into the cottage when suddenly Loki appears, drawing his attention, and in better days he might have laughed at his brother looking like a cat who’s just escaped an unwanted bath. Now, he still manages a smaller smile that almost reaches his eye, and it's not remotely in his heart to try to find some teasing jab to make light of his brother’s irritation. “They’re not giving you too much trouble, I trust?” he says instead, and buries the thought that he doesn’t know what he will do if the answer is yes, actually.
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She puts her hand on Thor's good elbow as if to guide him, and she doesn't smile at Loki's quip, but the way her eyebrows quirk suggests amusement.
He, meanwhile, shakes out the towel on his shoulder and steps down to meet his brother, green eyes searching his face. "I ought to hug you just to get the bathwater on you, too," he says, and reaches out to curl his hand around the nape of Thor's neck. Not an embrace, but the next best thing, a friendly touch.
"No, they're all right. If I had to bathe all of them I think I'd have drowned by now, but a few a week I can tolerate." He sniffs and holds the door open for them.
"...anyway, I'm the only one Eindrid will sit still for, for whatever reason," he adds. As if he doesn't already know the reason.
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Eir would have done the same, anyway, without a care as to what he thought of it, caring only for the well-being of her patient. The uncertainty of her survival grates at him, a nervous twisting in his belly, just waiting for the axe to fall. Waiting to find out who has lived, and who has died, and who has turned to dust.
While he does little to shake Fǫnn's touch, Thor relaxes into Loki's, his voice momentarily strangled by a lump in his throat as he remembers anew that this is not his brother, that this Loki is no less dead than the one whose body was left in the debris field of the Statesman, just one of hundreds lost. He would have thought by now, he'd be used to the grief, the odd moments of turning to share an amusing thought with his brother only to find an empty space where he used to be, or the moments where he casually speaks as if Loki is alive only to realize what he's said after. But mourning Loki will never get easier, it seems, no matter how many times he must start again.
If these little moments are all he has left, then Thor will cling to them for all that he is worth.
He struggles a moment to force those thoughts down, hidden underneath the mask he's still learning to present to the world, the only way he knows to cope with everything that's happened. But he smiles, a little, and manages to strangle any tears before they fall. "Hug me at your own peril," he answers, though he wouldn't mind much if Loki did, too used to rain to terribly mind getting a little wet. Still, it's a kind of normal banter that he needs, a moment where he can pretend that everything is all right, even if reality must intrude on it almost immediately.
"How is everyone doing?" Thor asks, stepping into the cottage at Loki's silent invitation, Fǫnn still at his elbow. It's a question part of him doesn't want to ask, because he knows the answer already, but his people are still his responsibility, and he can't abandon them no matter how much he hurts.
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He cannot bear the thought of being the sole stray from his world. A dead god, helpless and alone. Every person from a parallel world, be they Asgardian or Avenger, he will claim if he can. He has been, all along. Yes, let me be the Loki that destroyed your New York. Even resentment is a lifeline. Better than nothing. Better than solitude.
"Oh," he chuckles at Thor. "You ought to know by now, Brother, that's precisely the way to get me to hug you."
Congratulations, Thor. Now you have a healer on one arm, and Loki wrapped around your free side. Such determined affection. And soapy water.
Indoors, there's a large common room, relatively dimly lit, with a couple couches, a blanket fort hung with a garland of dandelions, and some mats and cushions on the floor. There are crayons and newsprint, a stuffed bear and a set of blocks that some of the children have been playing with. On one of the couches Solvi sits, and next to her a little girl is holding a familiar sleeping infant.
"As well as can be expected," Loki answers Thor. "I've done my best, but we have also had some generous hosts give them sanctuary. Material needs are all met; that ought to please you."
Emotional needs are harder. It's a work in progress.
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His step falters when he sees Solvi, recognizing her at once, his gaze darting quickly to the sleeping baby in the arms of the other child. He hadn't dared hope that they'd made it, knowing only that so many hadn't, unwilling to consider who he'd mourn the loss of more than others. They are all Asgard, and the king cannot choose his favorites to survive, but there's a brief and utterly alien flicker of joy in him that this mother and her newborn are not among the dead. Thor's vision blurs with tears of relief, for the first time in a very long while, and he gives her a watery smile that is probably several kinds of undignified.
Loki's news is also just as welcome, and Thor drags his attention back to his brother, blinking several times to clear his sight. "It does, thank you. Or... I should... I should thank them, too. I... we can't do this alone." It has been easy for him to forget, in the solitude of his empty room at the Avengers compound, that he is not as alone as he feels. That Loki, and others, have been diligent in looking after his stranded people at a moment's notice, sheltering and clothing and feeding them when their king could not. Still cannot.
His weakness shames him, the scars running deep beyond just the ones he wears on the outside, but he is not the only one wounded this way either. And the mind is not so easily healed as the body. For now, it is enough to have their bodily needs met, giving them all the time and resources to try to begin healing otherwise. It has only been a week, no matter that it feels like years already, his sense of time stretched out and muddled in the aftershocks.
Healing. Right. Thor turns his head enough so that he can see Fǫnn, no doubt waiting impatiently for him to allow her to see to his arm instead of getting lost in his own head again. "Where should we sit?"
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(Not really his, but he tries to forget that.)
--enough safety nets that he can take the time to scream his anger and grief into the void, bury himself in it, and perhaps rise again, if not renewed, at least repaired. And so he clings to Thor a little longer than practical, and finds some small, hysterical part of him wanting to curl up in a knot in his elder brother's lap and stay there, and believe nothing could harm him there, as he once did when they were very, very small.
He can't have that, of course, and he detaches himself when Thor reacts to Solvi's presence, watching the joy flicker across his face with a small burst of pride in his chest. He knew it, even without the new mother's confirmation. And this more than anything else was a mercy he thought Thor might take heart from. This reminder that he has gifts other than battle prowess. That he need not be Odin.
Solvi gets up as quickly as she comfortably can, eyes shining. It's an echo of her king's emotion. Relief that he's alive, gratitude for what he did for her and her daughter. She clearly has no idea what to say, but she smiles, clears her throat and murmurs, "She's gained almost half a pound since we got here. I think the place agrees with her."
The little girl holding the baby looks utterly fascinated, her gaze going to Loki as if for reassurance that whatever is happening is okay. And he smiles at her and goes over to straighten the ribbon in her hair, without a word. It seems to be enough.
There is no need to discuss logistics further. Thor will need a report sooner or later, but Loki is wary of laying anything on him until he asks for it. It's very hard, all of this. He will not be the one to break Thor under the weight of it, though, not if he can help it.
Fǫnn has been surprisingly patient, but now that he looks at her, she seems relieved to have gotten his attention back. "The lighting is better in my room," she tells him firmly. "And my supplies are all there."
She opens the door to what must be one of the bedrooms that she's claimed. There appear to be large windows there, as well as plenty of artificial lighting, and her own sleeping area is curtained off, but there's a neat cot, shelves and tables of medical supplies, and a few instruments that are not Asgardian make, but seem to be similarly sophisticated. She's even got a small notebook computer. Constructing the ship's medical records is going to be impossible, but based on the census Prometheus provided them, she's been slowly checking in on their people and beginning new records.
Putting the king's file in among them is going to feel quite satisfying.
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"I'm glad to hear it," he says, voice thick with unshed tears, and he's surprised to find that he means it, some small spark stirred up in the crushing ache that has lived inside him for days now. Not enough to tip the scales, yet enough to make a difference nonetheless. He briefly casts about for something else to say, some reassurance or benediction that would help ease the suffering, but Thor has no promises he knows he can keep anymore. So he holds his tongue, and gives her a small nod instead, and gazes down at the infant one last time, smiling in relief, before allowing Fǫnn to lead him away.
Her bedroom bears very little resemblance to the healing halls, and for that, Thor finds himself ashamed to be grateful. They've lost so much, so quickly, the old Asgard ripped away in fire and blood even before the greater apocalypse descended on the universe. Part of him craves those familiar touchstones, those reminders of a home they will never see again, but the wounds are far too raw to bear even the weight of that bandage without causing a greater agony. And the people... the people are what matter. It always has been, and always must be.
No matter how few are left.
It seems it's often that Thor's voice tries to leave him these days, and he busies himself with propping up Stormbreaker in a corner while he wrestles back his composure, avoiding eye contact for several long moments. But he can't delay forever, and he takes a seat on the cot, unzipping his hoodie and shucking it off. The shirt beneath is sleeveless, giving an unobstructed view of his arm clear to the shoulder. The ramshackle, near-skeletal prosthesis looks as though it was borrowed from a cyberpunk film, taking place of his natural arm partway down the left biceps. An inelegant thing, even discounting the battle damage that mars its surface and has nearly melted its electronics, its length not quite proportionally correct for him, and nothing as sturdy and beautiful as the work of the dwarves would have been. But Fǫnn is not here to fuss over metal and gears, so he releases the mechanical catches and removes the arm entirely.
Whoever amputated Thor's arm did so with one violent slash of a blade, leaving severed bone and muscle exposed, and much of the medical care he'd received had only served to stop blood loss and prevent infection. A week after his wounding, his natural Asgardian healing has grown new, tender skin to cover the injury, but with little care for anchoring muscle or tending to the sharpness of bone. It's not entirely debilitating, but it is distinctly uncomfortable, especially given the ill-fitting prosthesis' tendency to chafe.
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What is this story you are telling, O Norns? he wonders, and trails after Thor into the healer's makeshift infirmary.
"My Prince, if you would?" Fǫnn's first words are addressed to Loki, who closes the door behind him, and then sits at the desk next to her computer as if he's done this already.
"My dear, there is no one whose secretary I would rather be." He's making light, trying to put Thor at ease, and his bright smile doesn't reach his eyes, but he's trying.
He gets a mild glare from the healer for his trouble, although she blushes at the same time. She wastes no words on scolding him, though, sitting beside Thor and putting her hands not on the arm itself but on the muscles of the shoulder and neck, pressing gently. "There is much to do here, my king" she warns Thor with only the briefest of glances at the stump. "Muscle, bone, blood vessels...all need to be addressed lest complications arise later. Tell me when I touch any place especially tender."
Loki is staring a little, smile gone and replaced by glassy-eyed grimness The idea of Thor being torn apart sits ill with him. He almost looks a bit pale. Who did it, he wonders. Corvus Glaive? Perhaps even Maw, with his telekinesis?
For a second he can smell flesh burning, and he starts visibly, shakes himself and taps keys on the computer in front of him, rapid-fire clicking. The sound of soft, distant rainfall emerges from the speakers, and Fǫnn looks surprised, but makes no objection.
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He even manages a small smile at Loki's mild antics, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction, despite himself. Later, when his head is clearer and his grief and guilt are less fresh, Thor will have to find a way to properly thank his brother for everything he has done to care for this remnant of Asgard, for being the stable port in the tempest that still threatens to overwhelm Thor when he is alone. "There really is no escape from paperwork, is there?" he manages, forcing a lighter tone to match his brother's, covering for his unease. It's been a rare occasion when Thor has needed serious medical care, and it had always been Eir to see him through it. But he would still rather be tended by an Asgardian healer, apprentice or not, than turn himself over to the care of an ignorant - if well-meaning - Midgardian doctor.
Trust Loki to understand what his brother would find soothing, of course. The sound of the rain is unexpected, the subtle tug of the local weather disagreeing with its presence, but Thor does not tense as much under Fǫnn's touch as she prods at him to assess the extent of the damage. Most of it is tolerable, if not painless, but there are a few times where he flinches or hisses through his teeth as the healer finds sore spots he hadn't even known he had. "That, right there." It's irritating and uncomfortable, but necessary, so he dutifully reports when she's struck somewhere painful. Better to endure and correct it now, rather than allow childish stubbornness to keep him from the healing he knows he needs.
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"Well," Loki tells Thor, "we must have a medical file on you, and since this sort of computer is the best we have available here, the details must be entered thus, rather than stored directly within the Soul Forge as Eir once did."
"I don't know how to build one from scratch," Fǫnn says absently, pressing into the scapula. "Though I used to clean the equipment for hours at a time on Asgard when I was starting out. But surely someone on some world must make something like it..."
"We'll stock a proper clinic for you sooner or later," Loki says, typing. "Go on and dictate at any time; I am ready. And if you need my seiðr..."
"Yes, Prince Loki," she's blushing again, and then for a moment she's all dispassionate words, describing what she's seeing in terms only a healer would use or fully understand, naming the tendons that ache, the muscles that have been cut off, the places where the bone has been chipped and the spots that are most vulnerable to infection.
"Your shoulder muscles are compensating, I think, my King," she says at length. "Holding up the prosthesis, trying to accommodate the change. But the bone here must be rounded off, and the veins ligated, and then I can close the end of the stump more evenly. It should really be rested for several weeks without a prosthesis," she looks up at him.
"But I know that may not be an option. Only, promise me you will let me examine it regularly, at least until Eir can care for it."
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You're a destroyer, Odinson.
Thor fights back a shiver at the reminder of his vision from years past, Heimdall smiling at him with dead eyes, and the real memory of his fallen friend that now mirrors it. He shakes it off, shoves it down, focuses on the healer's examination with a stubborn, desperate determination not to burden her with the wounds she cannot heal for him.
Most of what she says is unfamiliar, but the quiet clack of computer keys tells him that Loki isn't having the same trouble. Or at least knows enough to spell things correctly. Thor blinks hard when he realizes she's speaking directly to him, after many long minutes of dictation that he'd begun to tune out, despite his best efforts to pay attention. The thought of a longer recovery does not sit well with him, but what choice does he have? It isn't as though he's been wearing the arm for most of the last week, anyway, though that had been his choice, and that seems it should make a difference. "If I'm not called to battle, I can get by without it for a while," he says, uneasily. There has been no word of Thanos since he fled Wakanda, but if that should change, there is not a chance in Hel that Thor would stay behind when he could help, when he could correct his mistake that has left half the universe in ashes. His mistake. If he's given the chance to do something, and have it matter.
The promise seems an easy one to make, though even such a small thing twists uncertainly inside of him, fearful of making himself a further failure than he already is. But he hides it as best he can, nodding in agreement and meeting her eyes. "You have my word," he says, and hopes his word still holds any worth. He hesitates, then adds, "I intend to meet with a smith to get a better replacement made. He'll probably need to take measurements of some kind. Will that be a problem?"
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"I don't know why disasters can't wait for more convenient times to occur," Loki puts in. His voice is smooth and casual, even lilting with the touch of sarcasm that's not directed at anyone present, just the dumpster fire that is existence in general. "And they never queue up properly, either, just shoving one another over to get to us. It's rude, is what it is."
He's smirking, but his face is paler than usual. It's upsetting to hear Thor's injury broken down into component parts. Muscle ripped, flesh severed. These things never used to bother him so much, but Thor is...Thor. He was supposed to be invincible, and he is clearly very much not.
Finished typing, Loki looks over to them with his hands in his lap. "What sort of smith are you meeting? Can we trust you near a forge now? Last time, you apparently got too closely involved with the work for your own good."
Fǫnn has not heard this story, but she looks between them with eyebrows raised, and then over to where Stormbreaker is propped up against the wall. "I don't...think I want to know."
"You don't," Loki agrees.
"...I suppose measurements won't be a problem," the healer says softly. Honestly, royalty makes the worst patients.
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Something he hopes he will learn, if - when - the other survivors are found.
Under better circumstances, if Thor still felt capable of his usual unfailing optimism, he might point out that things that would be disasters are averted because of better preparation, or something of the like. But right now, he's more inclined to just agree, sentiment and all, because months of knowing this was coming had done nothing to stop it, and now...
There are too many who paid for his failure with their lives. He can never forget that, the weight of it crushing down on him at every turn, and all he can do is distract himself as best he can, and find comfort in what little scraps are left. "It's inconsiderate at best," he says, because if he says anything else, he is bound to hurt Fǫnn and Loki both, whether he means to or not.
To his credit, he does look slightly sheepish this time when Loki brings up the axe, his own eye involuntarily going to where Stormbreaker sits in the corner. "It worked, didn't it?" he says, shrugging with his good shoulder. It matters very little to him that he could've died, that he nearly did. Desperation had driven him to the brink, out of time and with no other options, and Thor would do it again without hesitation. It was not the axe that had failed the universe, in the end.
"Anyway, this is different," he continues, before Loki can object further. "A friend of a friend, who's made works for gods before. He knows what he's doing; I'll be fine."
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And Loki is not inclined to let him get away with shrugging off the madness he apparently pulled on Nidavellir. "Just because it worked doesn't mean it was a good idea," he points out, partly because he has to--it's practically his vocation to point out when Thor does something foolish--and partly because light bickering is so normal between them it makes him feel a little more stable to have the opportunity.
On the other hand, Thor is so low right now, too much needling might actively harm him, so Loki leaves it at that for the moment. "Well, if he permits you to get damaged, he'll have to have words with me. I've finally gotten you properly broken in and accustomed to me and I don't want to have to start over with a whole new sibling."
A joke with a grain of truth, there. Loki stands and comes over to Fǫnn's side. "Do you mean to use magic entirely, for this?"
"I don't have all the tools to do it by hand," she says. "And honestly, I'm not sure any bone rasp we could get easily would be strong enough for--"
"Please." Loki winces visibly. "I'm not...that's a bit more information than I wanted." He puts his hand on Thor's good shoulder, almost protective.
Fǫnn frowns a little, but takes the squeamish moment in stride. "I will need your help, Prince Loki. That's what you're really asking, I suppose."
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Let Loki tease him as he must, then. Thor had never thought he’d hear its like again.
What follows is a little gentler, a little less raw, and he welcomes it as the attempt at normalcy that it is. If such a thing even still exists. “I’m an investment, is that it?” he asks, adopting a lighter tone than he feels. “By all means, then; I’d hate for you to have wasted your time.” Not one of his better retorts, but it’s an attempt, at least. More than he’s managed in recent days.
He hadn’t given much real thought to the particulars of what needs done, but suddenly it seems more graphically real, and Thor blanches a little at the thought of having his own bone filed down with brute force while it’s still attached to him. He hadn’t had much time to process what was happening until it was already over, when his arm had been severed in battle, but this is deliberate, planned, and very unnervingly new. But having seidr take the brunt of it... that seems better, and he huffs out a nervous breath. “I trust you,” he says, and it’s more to Loki than to Fǫnn, but he glances between them both anyway, trying to take heart in her confidence to know what she’s doing. Then again, what greater harm could be done at this point? “Let’s get this over with.”
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Fǫnn has not really watched them interact like this before, although she's seen at least one dramatization of their bickering on stage. The real thing is much smoother and more natural. She shakes her head, unsmiling but entertained, and rises to get some towels and other odds and ends for the procedure.
"It's usually more practical to do surgery by hand," she explains softly. "If the proper instruments are around. It takes a fair bit of seidr to work on such a large area of damaged tissue, but Prince Loki has been lending me the power to do larger works, and allowing me to direct it."
"You're going to want to lie down for this," Loki says. "Do you want to be asleep, or would you feel better awake and numb?"
Whatever it takes to reduce the anxiety. Loki knows he himself would need to be awake, and would probably try to watch the proceedings no matter how horrified he felt about them. There, too, is a risk of Thor having nightmares while he's under, since it would take more effort on Loki's part than he can spare to both contribute healing energy and direct his unconscious mind. But he and Thor are different people, and honestly rest would be good for him.
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As his current predicament proves well enough.
It isn't an obvious choice, and Thor doesn't answer right away, stalling for time as he busies himself with stretching out more fully on the cot, the nervousness somehow worse once he's lying down and can more easily picture what's about to happen to him. Regardless of whether it's going to hurt or not, he's never had to sit there and listen to his body being torn apart and put back together. But being unconscious through the entire ordeal is not exactly appealing either, leaving himself defenseless and insensate when anything could be being done to him without his knowing. But it needs to be done, no matter what he chooses, and so he has to decide.
"Awake," he answers after a long moment, sounding uncertain. He knows that neither Loki nor Fǫnn would think him weak for sleeping through something like this, but what's left of his tattered pride insists that he be strong for them anyway. He is still the king to those few who are left, no matter whether his foundation is crumbling or not. Some part of him needs this, to prove that he hasn't lost himself entirely just yet, to himself if no one else. "And keep the rain going, please." It probably won't be enough to drown out the sounds of surgery, but it's helped him so far, just having that soothing patter in the background.
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Both Loki and Fǫnn wait patiently, giving Thor time to decide how he wants to handle this. They may both have strong opinions, but in the end, it's his body. The healer takes a moment to prepare some kind of painkilling tincture for him, bringing it over and placing a cup the size of a shotglass in his hand. "Drink this," she says. "It will help dull the pain for a few hours even after the surgery."
Loki goes back to the computer to turn up the rain sounds, tapping a couple more keys to add a deep, intermittent rumble of thunder. Not his preferred noise-scape, perhaps, but if it pleases the patient, well enough. Fǫnn, meanwhile, has a few clean sheets to use as surgical drapes, and wastes no time setting them out and arranging them across his shoulder in such a way as to obscure his view of his arm.
Loki pointedly selects a space to sit on Thor's opposite side. He'll do whatever need be to help during the surgery, but if he doesn't have to watch, he won't. "She's really quite good," he tells Thor, probably to reassure all three of them. "She has not quite grown into her own seidr yet, which is why I'm here, but her knowledge base is more than sufficient for this."
Fǫnn blushes fiercely, but only quietly goes about disinfecting Thor's shoulder and brushing on some kind of local anaesthetic.
Loki's eyes go half-lidded, gradually becoming luminous as he summon his power. It's green, as always, glittering across his cheekbones and twining between his fingers. He places his hands on Thor's chest and forehead and continues speaking casually, as if this was a haircut or massage rather than major surgery. "You have not met all the children here yet, and may not be disposed after this, but the little girl holding Solvi's baby you saw when you came in is Sigrid. She played the infant version of myself in that play of mine."
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He squashes down the terrible thought that there may be truth in that, because once he starts down that road, he might need to be sedated anyway if the healer expects to get her work done.
Instead he keeps his eye on Loki, a quiet presence at his side, and the gentle rumble of thunder and rain that fills the room. It doesn’t quite distract from what’s happening on his left, Fǫnn staying in his peripheral vision as she prepares him for the procedure, but he feels it would be worse to go without. He takes a few steadying breaths, as if he was preparing to throw himself into Nidavellir again, though he knows this will be far less painful. At least, it had better be.
He gives a shaky sort of smile at Loki’s reassurances, still grasping for that easy familiarity to keep him grounded. “It’s your turn to be the battery, this time. Things really have changed.”
Right. Here we go, then.
It’s unnerving not to be able to feel what’s happening, other than in a vague sort of sense, but Thor is not terribly inclined to look for himself, lying still under the soft glow of his brother’s magic. He was not entirely expecting conversation, but it must be a good sign that Loki can spare the concentration for it, and that helps ease the anxiety a little by itself. “She did? The... baby icicle, I think the line was.”
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His arm, shoulder, and a considerable portion of the left side of his body go numb gradually as the green seidr washes over him. "My capacity has increased in recent years," Loki says. "And in the Nexus, I have more friends and worshipers than I have since the old days. I am many times the sorcerer I once was."
He smiles, luminous eyes unfocused. "Aren't you lucky?"
Fǫnn murmurs some kind of request, and he nods, looking across to her for a moment before returning to the conversation with Thor. "The little blue baby icicle," he says, teeth flashing in a grin. "Yes. And her little brother is Eindrid. They're sweet children. I'm growing rather fond of them."
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He's fine. Everything is fine. This is supposed to happen, he reminds himself.
The conversation is a welcome lifeline, something that keeps him from regretting his choice to stay awake for the duration, and Thor grasps at it just as strongly. "That many, hm? Don't suppose they've built you a temple yet, but there's still time."
Don't think he's forgotten about the statue, dear brother.
Sigrid and Eindrid... Thor hadn't known either of their names before today, hadn't known most of the people who had survived Ragnarok, but hearing them now makes it seem all the more real, somehow. More than just numbers and statistics, as real as Solvi and her little babe. Despite himself, Thor manages to smile through the heartache of knowing what has likely happened to the children's family. If they have no one else left, at least the siblings have each other, still.
"They must be special indeed," he says quietly. "You'll have to introduce us, when I'm... feeling more myself." Right now, he can't imagine when he might truly be all right again, clinging to a flicker of hope that it will happen someday. But learning to feign it... that, he can see more readily. "Are they holding up all right?" Thor is hesitant to ask, because the answer seems obvious, but he can't pretend that he does not care about their well-being. Them, and all the others who remain, named and unnamed.
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"You laugh," he says with a smirk. "But have you not savored adoration just as much? Who among the Aesir shies away from glory? Even Mother loved her devoted ones. Besides...it changes something, to be thought of as a benevolent force. Had I never called myself the savior of Asgard, I might not have felt compelled to stick my neck out and come away from Sakaar even after your words of wisdom."
Fake it until you make it, is what he's saying. Although he does think he did an awfully good job on Svartalfheim, thank you.
"I will introduce you to the children," he promises. "Whenever you wish. It's not fair to play favorites, I suppose, but if I allowed myself to, those two would be mine. When they first arrived, they would not let me go."
"Some are still recovering," he tells Thor gently. "All are grieving. But they are safe here, and loved, and that is no small thing to a child. We have a strong people, Thor. We will be fine."
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Once, it would have stung his pride to admit such, his own petty ego demanding that he be better in all the ways that he'd thought mattered. But it seems like eons have passed since then, since he was the spoiled prince who cared more for his own glory than the good of the people. Loki calls himself the savior of Asgard, and he is, and Thor is nothing but grateful to him for it.
Even with the melancholy that seems his constant companion of late, the thought of Loki doting on children is a heartwarming one, and Thor feels that it's something he might've teased his brother about, before the world had fallen apart. "Something else we have in common, then." How strange it must be for Loki to suddenly be the solid rock upon which everyone else stands, but maybe that is part of his strengths, to adapt to what is needed at a given moment. And Thor, at least, has needed that stability dearly.
He can't stop the shame that he is not strong enough to be there for his people, however, and the only thing that helps is knowing that they are being looked after regardless. Thor takes in Loki's assurances as best he can, trying to set them into his heart as truth, despite the guilt that tries to argue otherwise. It hasn't escaped his notice that Loki included himself in their number, either, and he closes his eye a moment to stave off any tears. He has cried enough lately without doing it in front of the healer, too. "We'll be fine," he echoes, and hopes it's as true for him as it is for the rest of Asgard, even though he does not know where his path is going to lead.
Thor looks up at Loki again, steadying himself as best he can. They will be fine. They have to be. He doesn't know what he will do if they're not.
But this is meant to distract him from what's happening to him, and this subject is perhaps a little raw still for them both, so he grasps for something to talk about that isn't quite so direct, something that won't hurt quite as much. "The people really did seem to like your play," he says at last, no matter how melodramatic he'd found it. "Sigrid enjoyed her role, I trust?"
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It would be nice to think his counterpart might have heard something else. Even a 'Loki, no!' would be an improvement, and an equally fitting coda to a life of getting hoist by his own petard. Loki, yes. Always.
This, though, is the sweetest of praises, and his magic glimmers brighter, tinged with gold for a moment. "Thor," his voice shakes, "you can't say things like that while I'm trying to concentrate. Save your doting upon my tender altruism for later, won't you?"
His lips curve into a smile, though. He cannot judge his own worth by what Thor thinks of his deeds. That would mean Loki is not being his own person, and he's spent too long doing that. But when what he must do by his own nature and choice coincides with what his brother appreciates, that's a sweet moment, and he'll savor it.
"Asgard lives," he goes on, reassuring. "And we have our children."
Fǫnn is utterly focused on her work right now, and might not even notice if either of them cried. Drawing from Loki's seidr, she shapes it how it needs to go for the task at hand. It's hard work, even a little painful, but now that she's in the midst of it, she feels a familiar confidence. She's got this under control.
Loki chuckles at the mention of the play. "Well, the dialogue wasn't the best I'd ever written. I undertook it seriously, you know, but...it was so raw. I ended up making it overwrought on purpose. Really, it's to all the actors' credit, the way they owned their roles."
"Sigrid says the blue paint itched," he says. "But I think having played me makes her feel...connected to me somehow? She keeps asking me questions about what it's like to be a Frost Giant. And I indulge them, because it pleases her."
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He can't stop studying his brother's face, distant in concentration, but still so very expressive. It's as if he's memorizing it, afraid that he will never see it again, as if more than a thousand years of brotherhood has not already etched Loki into his mind so strongly that he will never be lost. But even Asgardian memories are not immutable, and he can't help but wonder if there will come a day when he thinks of his brother and won't recall what he looks like anymore.
He doesn't weep at the thought, and his breathing stays steady, but dampness trickles down his temple and tangles with his hair anyway.
Thor smiles faintly through it as Loki answers, and almost forgets to pay attention to what he is actually saying. It's a strange and bittersweet thing, but he can see in the curve of his brother's lips and the little crinkles around his eyes that he is genuinely pleased by the little girl's affections. "Maybe she's studying for her next performance," he suggests, as lightly as he can manage. Part of him wants to ask Loki why he wrote that part into the play at all, why he chose to reveal his heritage to a population that might have seen him instead as a monster as so many of them had been taught, when he could have just as easily stayed silent and let them think what they had all been lead to believe for so long.
But Thor understands now that even though Loki is a talented liar, his lies have meaning. Purpose. So too do his truths. And though this is one thing that Thor may never fully understand, not in the ways that matter most, being Jotun means something to Loki. And no matter if it was a means to be more comfortable in his own true skin, or ripping the veil away just to see if Asgard would condemn him or pity him, Loki's reasons are his own. If it is what he needed to find himself, then Thor will not question it.
"What is it like?" he asks instead, impulsively.
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And he probably will, though even at this point it may be tongue in cheek.
He feels watched; Thor's eyes on him are heavy, because Loki fears what he's looking for is hope. He can offer so little in the way of reassurance. The world that he comes from the world that Thor comes from, and at least some others, are cut in two, and Loki cannot fix that any more than he could prevent it. (And he tried, he really tried.) He can promise his care to the children here, and his shoulder to Thor to lean and cry on, if he will accept it. All of that may not be enough, and all of it weighs on his shoulders so heavily it makes his spine ache and creak and cry.
But here, in this room, there is a single small task, and a brother with kind words for him. And that is bearable.
"If she grows up to be a mimic of me, we're all in a great deal of trouble," he says of the little girl, laughing quietly, but his distant expression falls into more sober lines when Thor asks.
It's hard to answer, and still a bit raw and uncomfortable, but he smooths the backs of his fingers over Thor's forehead as if to reassure him that the moment of silence is not a sign that Loki is angry or hurt by the query. "It's like being stripped down to the bone," he says slowly.
"When I first saw the blue skin I knew I had lost everything. Nothing would ever be the same, no matter what anyone said in explanation. And when I put my hands on the Casket of Ancient Winters, I could feel it peeling the magical illusion away. And it made such perfect sense. I am the god of lies, because I lived a lie every day since I was an infant."
"I could not bear it for such a long, long while. But over the Winter I was forced to try, and I found that being stripped to the bone left me lighter. And the more I look at the bones, the more I see their strength and sheen, not their ugliness."
"It's a work in progress. It will continue to be for a long time. But the more I wear my true shape, the more it feels...freeing. And the more I embrace the core of what I am--this creature made of ice and darkness, frost, wind and fire and sharp angles, the stronger I become, and the more certain of who I am."
"It is my lightning."
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When Loki does not answer right away, Thor worries that he's has upset his brother, inconsiderate of Loki's troubles in the midst of his own. But that soothing touch does ease his anxiety enough to wait, and listen when Loki does finally voice an answer.
Not all of it makes sense to him, some of it too abstract for him to focus on well enough to even try to comprehend. But the last... that, he understands well enough, and it suddenly strikes him that his Loki had never had the chance to explore this comfort with his own skin that had been denied him all his life. And seeing what a difference it has made for this one... the grief he holds for one Loki is matched and mingled with a bittersweetness that the other has this opportunity, late though it is.
Late enough that he'd had to die, first.
Thor swallows against the lump in his throat, wishing he could hug Loki right now, and uncertain which one of them it would be for. "I'm glad for you," he says quietly instead, smiling faintly through the grief. Other words fail to come to him just yet, leaving him with only this simple sentiment, sincere though it is.
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"Or if you get cold." Her real concern is that he's lost blood before, not long ago, and even an Asgardian body can suffer from short term anemia. He's not likely to need a transfusion, but it's worth keeping an eye on him. Especially since, if there was an emergency, regrettably Loki's blood would not be suitable to transfer to his brother.
Loki's expression is soft when Thor looks back at him, almost tender. "I was encouraged," he says, "by more than one person, whether they know it or not."
Reynard, Harley, his alternate, even Prometheus. "But your acceptance means the most, and always will. It matters not to me that we are not from the same world of origin. Not in this."
As much as the Thor of his own world tried, they never reached this point. Loki regrets that, and he feels sorrow on behalf of his alternate, who has just been lost. Who he is certain this Thor is still mourning. Even in darkness, though, there can be faint glimmers of light, and this is one of them: they are both here, and they have a greater understanding between the two of them than ever before in their lives.
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Granted, he has spent much of the last week in bed, though not all of it had been very restful. He’s not sure whether to blame it on the nightmares, the guilt and the stress, or the simple need for physical recovery from everything he put himself through the day the universe was torn in half. It doesn’t matter, in the end. Either it will go away with rest, or it won’t.
Strange as it is to have Loki being so patient, so gentle, Thor would not trade it for anything else. He has never been one to be patient with being treated as a fragile thing, something liable to break if handled wrong, but now that he has been pushed so close to the edge, it is a lifeline he badly needs. This is not his Loki, but it is his brother, and that matters, still. And for all their petty childhood squabbles over the centuries, the last week has thrown it all into stark perspective. “I just... just want you to be happy. Whatever shape it takes.”
One of them ought to be. Thor’s hope for himself is small, smothered under the weight of all that has happened, but still there. Still burning, if faintly.
It seems there’s no avoiding treading on painful ground, no matter which way he turns, drawn back again and again like a gravitational pull. Everything that Thor can think of to speak about only reminds him more of what he’s lost, and he doesn’t know whether to keep trying to avoid its orbit, or to embrace it as inevitable. He decides to delay that even further, glancing in the healer’s direction again, just a little. “How’s it coming?” It’s probably only been minutes, but flat on his back like this, it feels like a lifetime already.
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Magic or no, he cannot imagine there has ever been anyone so strong and determined and courageous, and utterly idiotic. That's Thor. He ruffles his hair idly, lips twitching into a smirk at the thought. And then that smirk fades into a warmer look once again at just want you to be happy. Loki isn't sure anything has ever been or will ever be so simple as just happy, but it's the kind of thing Frigga would have said.
"Sentiment," he teases, and pats Thor's head. "But I'll tolerate it this time around."
And if he wants to cry just a little bit because of that tender echo of their mother, and because he feels like a proper brother once again, he'll tolerate that, too, even if he prefers not to show it just now.
The procedure takes another half hour, in the end, but Loki stays next to him through it, even after his seidr is no longer required. Fǫnn seems very tired afterward, and a bit stiff, but she cleans the stump and lets him look it over before binding it in soft gauze to ease any lingering inflammation. There are no stitches; no need for them. Everything is tidily reshaped and open edges healed together, sealing out any potential for infection. It might be sore for a while, but it should be much better than before, at least.
Loki does not seem to have suffered from the expenditure of his seidr. He gets up and insists Fǫnn go watch up and then rest, and takes care of cleaning up the surgical towels and sponges, then brings Thor some hot tea with milk and honey to drink before he'll let him get up and go anywhere. When they do emerge at last, Solvi is peaceably watching her baby's cradle in the common room, while the little girl from before, a toddler boy, and an older boy with dusky skin and hazel eyes, sit in a little circle on the floor stacking blocks. The point of the game seems to be for the older two to get the tower as high as possible before the little one gleefully knocks it over.
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Still, it's fine work, and he's sure to thank her again before she goes to rest.
It's probably for the best that Loki does not allow him on his feet right away, because just sitting up again makes his head spin a little, and he has to take a long moment to reorient himself. He's feeling enough like himself to make a face at being presented with tea, however, and sips at it little by little until it's down to the dregs.
He leaves both Stormbreaker and the prosthetic arm behind for the moment, quite unable to carry them both one-handed, and in no particular hurry to take his leave now that he's here. While Thor has had the option of company for much of the last week, he hadn't found much comfort in it, all parties steeped in grief that he had helped cause. Watching the refugees, however... there are signs of trauma here, too, but less. Signs of healing, however slow, and comfort in sharing one another's company in this refuge that Loki has provided. Life, not just existence.
Thor lingers at the doorway for a moment, watching the young ones at play with a bittersweet sting in his eye and a small smile on his lips. Laughter is something he’s heard very little of, in recent days, and it heartens him to see the children thriving despite their own losses. He’s hesitant to intrude and disrupt them from their game, but he rather suspects that Loki is going to insist he sit down if he doesn’t do it himself soon, so he seeks out a spot near Solvi and the crib, close enough to see the baby.
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At least he is not so afraid that he's failed to recall his brother's feelings on tea. The milk was what he really wanted him to drink, to replenish lost blood and give him a bit of protein. Putting it in tea just means he gets to watch Thor make faces as he drinks it. And, really, after all he's done and as nice as he's been today, Loki thinks he deserves that amusement.
When Thor emerges and comes to sit near the baby, Solvi gives him a subtle once-over look, and then smiles and turns back the lacy coverlet so he can see the sleepy little face. The infant is a bit bigger, and has more hair, and there are little mittens on her hands with pink owls on them, to keep her from scratching herself with tiny fingernails.
Loki, meanwhile, puts dishes away in the kitchen, washes his hands thoroughly, and then comes into the room and drops lightly to sit on the floor amongst the children, as if it's nothing at all unusual for a prince of Asgard to roll around on the carpet. "Where's your bunny gone, then?" He asks the littlest boy. "Did it hop away? Has a fox eaten it?"
The dusky-skinned boy points mutely under one of the chairs, while the toddler looks quizzical.
"He likes to put it under things," the girl says. "I don't know why."
"Is the bunny hiding?" Loki asks the toddler, petting his hair.
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"She's doing so well," he says, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the baby, and gives Solvi a small smile. "She's going to take after her mother, I think."
It's oddly endearing to see his brother sitting on the floor among the children as if he were simply the largest child here, playful seriousness in his tone as he addresses the littlest boy, who Thor presumes is Eindrid. Too young for coherent speech yet, possibly, not that Loki seems to mind either way. The girl, he recognizes as the one who was holding little Jorunn when he first arrived, which means she must be Sigrid.
They all look so comfortable with him there, already a fixture in their lives, and Thor can't help the twinge of desperate gratitude for it. It's not difficult to imagine how things would have ended if the Nexus hadn't been an option, or if the refugees hadn't found friendly arms waiting on the other side. But here they sit, safe and cared for, under Loki's watchful eye.
"At least you know where to start looking," he comments, a trace of amusement in his voice.
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She gives Thor a warm nod. "Please come visit her whenever you wish."
Loki says lightly, "Oh, I think we'll leave the bunny hiding for now. Sometimes he gets frightened, it seems, and he hides until he feels safe again. We'll just wait out here and protect him from foxes."
Eindrid looks at him for a second before reaching for a couple blocks to bang together. Loki snorts and leaves him to it. It's probably a good sign if he's willing to play noisy games.
Looking back up at Thor, he gestures at the other two children. "Sigrid, you've met. The littlest boy is Eindrid, and our other friend here is Agnarr."
He puts his hand on the darker boy's shoulder and squeezes gently. "You all know who Thor is. He is your King, but he is also your friend. Please don't be anxious. This is a place of safety for all of us."
They haven't been too terribly shy about Loki himself. Even if Thor is twice as visible and considerably grander, he imagines they'll get over their shyness fast. "Ah, and remember we don't climb on our friends without asking first, won't you?"
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He does not know what the future holds for the baby, for any of them, but they are safe and alive, and for this moment that is enough. "I would like to see her again. Both of you." His smile is subdued, but sincere nonetheless.
Thor is not entirely unused to children being shy around him, whether because of his size or his presence, or his rank. Maybe they're right to be wary of him, after everything that has happened, everything he has done or failed to do. Or maybe he does look as badly as he feels, and for ones so young as these, they may not have much experience yet with wounded warriors. But as diminished and tired as he feels, he selfishly hopes that they won't be intimidated by him for long. "It's good to meet you all. Or again, as the case may be," he adds, putting in an effort to muster a smile for Sigrid, hoping to put her at ease. All of them, really. "My brother has been telling me how special you all are."
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"What does that leave for me?" Loki pretends to be indignant. "Am I not at least a godparent?"
"Maybe I'll wait and let her decide," Solvi tells him archly, and he laughs.
"Too late for that. You're stuck with the both of us."
The laughter prompts an excited squeal from Eindrid, and Sigrid gathers him into her arms to keep him from flinging blocks around. A tickle-fight seems to be imminent. Agnarr, meanwhile, studies Thor with eyes too serious and thoughtful for a child his age, but after a moment he gets up from the floor and tentatively comes over to sit next to Thor, saying nothing but giving him an earnest look and leaning close.
"He does not speak just now," Loki tells Thor softly. "But that's all right. He will get his voice back with time."
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He does not know if he is up for the task, not now, not yet. But uncle... that doesn't sound so bad.
There's a fond, faint smile on his lips as Loki draws Solvi into bantering with him, edged with heartache. "'Uncle Loki' does have a nice ring to it," he muses, scratching his beard as if in thought. "It'd be a shame not to use it."
Agnarr's silence is troubling, if not terribly surprising. The boy is old enough to fully understand what has happened, or well enough, and too young to know how to cope with the horrors he has lived through. Thor himself scarcely knows how, even at his age, even with the countless battles he's seen over the centuries. But never with this scale of loss, not to Asgard, nor the universe. He does not know if he can be a pillar of strength for others with his own foundations so broken, but it seems a small thing to put his arm around the boy when he leans close, tucking him safe and secure against his side.
"That's all right," he agrees quietly, turning his head toward the youngster to see him better. "I have not done much speaking this past week either. Words aren't always what we need for ourselves, are they?"
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"Uncle Loki," Loki repeats, and looks decidedly uncertain about it, if still amused. "No, I think you're right, Solvi, we'll let Jorunn decide."
Loki watches Thor with the boy, a hint of relief in his eyes. The ones who cannot speak, he finds harder to deal with. Agnarr has been gentle, perfectly behaved, no trouble at all, and still so obviously damaged. He can deal with children who act out. Not so much the ones who do not. He dares to hope Thor can help, if only with his presence.
"Perhaps I rely too much on words," Loki says. And Agnarr says nothing, but curls up and snuggles into Thor's side gratefully. It's clearly some kind of help.
"There are two other children staying here, Una and Saeve, but Rindr took them out to get shoes that fit properly," Loki says. "They had soft slippers for the ship, but the ground here is a bit more rugged."
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Thor carefully does not think of the void on his other side, the stark absence of both a second child to embrace, and an arm with which to do it.
Instead he turns his attention to Loki, absently rubbing small, soothing circles on Agnarr's shoulder. It's an unpleasant reality that none of them had been prepared enough to leave Asgard, let alone the Statesman, but Thor is of a slightly better mind to think on it now than he was before. He pushes down the guilt, the failure of his duties to keep his people safe, as best he can. There will be time for that later, when he's no longer surrounded by tangible reminders of what little he'd managed to save. "Good. That's... that's good. I'm sorry to have missed them. Maybe the next time I visit."
Whether it is to have Fǫnn check that he is healing well, or perhaps to remind himself on his darker days that there are those who still live because of him, there will be a next time. Thor is certain of very little anymore, but if it is within his power, he will do it. Even if he does little more than sit with Agnarr in silence together, or watches the baby sleep. And perhaps, if the fates are kind and the Infinity Stones are found, one day soon he will be able to bring them good news of his own.