Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, King of Asgard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pirateangelbaby) wrote2019-05-15 09:22 pm
pirateangelbaby) wrote2019-05-15 09:22 pm
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[ENDGAME SPOILERS] Half of a Whole
Three weeks after half the universe turned to dust, several things happen all at once.
Nick Fury's transmitter abruptly stops its broadcast, not because the battery has died, but because its intended recipient has finally arrived. Carol Danvers has flown from one end of space to the next to find them, bringing news of worlds in chaos across the galaxy and seeking an explanation - seeking Fury, who they cannot give to her, his body Vanished along with half of the Earth.
Rocket gives her the transmitter frequency for the Benatar, desperate for news on his missing team. She leaves, and returns a day later with a crippled spaceship on her shoulders, its engines dead and life support failed completely. Rocket is among those who run to greet its arrival, beady little eyes desperate to catch even a glimpse of his family, but the only one he knows who emerges is Nebula, sorrow in her black eyes as she takes his small hand in hers.
She's not alone, however. The other occupant of the ship is Tony Stark, looking much worse for wear, half wasted away from injury and starvation, and so upset that he works himself into collapse only hours after landing. Tony confirms what the Nexus has already hinted to Natasha: Peter is gone, along with Rocket's family and the Sorcerer Supreme. The Man of Iron may be too weak and too emotionally shattered to be of much help but Nebula quietly confirms that she's fit for duty. Whatever horrible alterations have been made to her body, at the very least starvation doesn't seem to work for her quite the way it does for humans. When she and Rocket fill the other in on what each has missed, she immediately volunteers to sign on with him.
The mission is to find and kill Thanos. Where else in the universe would she choose to be?
And it turns out she knows a great deal indeed about his plans for after accomplishing his mission. An unremarkable world only a few jumps from Earth, uninhabited by any civilization, that Nebula calls the Garden. And once Rocket restores power to the Benatar, the ship's scanners tell a startling tale - the energy wave of the snap in Wakanda has been sighted again, on that very same world that Thanos has intended to call his home.
Confirmation that he is there, and so are the stones.
For weeks, Thor's battle-fire has been banked in his heart, smothered beneath the heaviness of blame and grief, but now it begins to smolder again as he calls Stormbreaker to his hand, and goes to find his new-forged arm, stronger than the last. This, then, is his chance for redemption. His chance to undo what has been done, and bring back the trillions of lives he'd failed to save. One way or another, either Thanos will die today, or Thor will meet a warrior's death trying.
As he looks around the room, he sees that same sentiment reflected in the eyes of those who still remain. "Let's go get this son of a bitch," Steve declares, and Thor feels cold determination settle into his stomach.
After three long weeks of waiting, finally, they can act.
Nick Fury's transmitter abruptly stops its broadcast, not because the battery has died, but because its intended recipient has finally arrived. Carol Danvers has flown from one end of space to the next to find them, bringing news of worlds in chaos across the galaxy and seeking an explanation - seeking Fury, who they cannot give to her, his body Vanished along with half of the Earth.
Rocket gives her the transmitter frequency for the Benatar, desperate for news on his missing team. She leaves, and returns a day later with a crippled spaceship on her shoulders, its engines dead and life support failed completely. Rocket is among those who run to greet its arrival, beady little eyes desperate to catch even a glimpse of his family, but the only one he knows who emerges is Nebula, sorrow in her black eyes as she takes his small hand in hers.
She's not alone, however. The other occupant of the ship is Tony Stark, looking much worse for wear, half wasted away from injury and starvation, and so upset that he works himself into collapse only hours after landing. Tony confirms what the Nexus has already hinted to Natasha: Peter is gone, along with Rocket's family and the Sorcerer Supreme. The Man of Iron may be too weak and too emotionally shattered to be of much help but Nebula quietly confirms that she's fit for duty. Whatever horrible alterations have been made to her body, at the very least starvation doesn't seem to work for her quite the way it does for humans. When she and Rocket fill the other in on what each has missed, she immediately volunteers to sign on with him.
The mission is to find and kill Thanos. Where else in the universe would she choose to be?
And it turns out she knows a great deal indeed about his plans for after accomplishing his mission. An unremarkable world only a few jumps from Earth, uninhabited by any civilization, that Nebula calls the Garden. And once Rocket restores power to the Benatar, the ship's scanners tell a startling tale - the energy wave of the snap in Wakanda has been sighted again, on that very same world that Thanos has intended to call his home.
Confirmation that he is there, and so are the stones.
For weeks, Thor's battle-fire has been banked in his heart, smothered beneath the heaviness of blame and grief, but now it begins to smolder again as he calls Stormbreaker to his hand, and goes to find his new-forged arm, stronger than the last. This, then, is his chance for redemption. His chance to undo what has been done, and bring back the trillions of lives he'd failed to save. One way or another, either Thanos will die today, or Thor will meet a warrior's death trying.
As he looks around the room, he sees that same sentiment reflected in the eyes of those who still remain. "Let's go get this son of a bitch," Steve declares, and Thor feels cold determination settle into his stomach.
After three long weeks of waiting, finally, they can act.
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A part of Steve knows it even as he's listening to Nebula deliver her intel on Thanos. Listening to Carol's confidence in carrying out the assault on the Titan. But Tony's outburst at Steve has only pried open wounds he's been digging into his own chest for weeks now. No one, not even Blaze and Ghost, have been able to keep Steve grounded in the present. His guilt is a living entity that eats away at him. In a sense, nothing Tony can say to him is worse than what he's already been telling himself.
And if he's as desperate to prove Tony wrong about him as he is to shut up the roots of self doubt that have twined desperately around his heart, well. It keeps him from second guessing himself when he stands tall and gives the Order. Natasha's hand seeks out his and squeezes it gently while they both duck their heads to board the Benatar.
"Who here hasn't been to space?" Rocket calls out once everyone's had a chance to strap in. Despite how queasy he looks Bruce shrugs while Rhodey and Natasha raise their hands. A Look passes between all of them when Steve remains still.
"Been to Venus." Steve mutters quietly. "A version of it, at any rate. Blaze needed a hand with one of her patrols." The answer appeases Natasha, while Rhodey and Bruce both mouth 'a version of it?' to each other while Rocket grunts from his seat.
"You better not throw up on my ship."
"At least no one's shooting at us while we go, this time." Bruce mutters darkly just before they Jump. This time it's Steve's hands that reach out and take both Natasha's and Rhodey's to hold in a steady grip. Any other time he'd be thrilled to even catch so much as a glimpse of space. A look back at the Earth. Anything. Right now, it's hardly worth even thinking about. Only one thought breaks through the buzz in the back of Steve's head.
Thanos.
Quietly, Steve hopes beyond all reason that Carol is as strong as she claims to be. They lost against the mad titan with a much stronger force than they're bringing to The Garden once. What they're trying now is suicide on paper. But if this is the day they die then Steve's more than willing to go out swinging.
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Soon, he tells the weapon, and it quiets like a predator on the hunt, waiting for its prey to come near.
He could be there in mere moments if he used the Bifrost, but for once, Thor does not want to make a dramatic entrance. He wants to sneak up on the Titan and slit his throat before he ever knows they are there, before he has a chance to snap his fingers and destroy even more precious lives long before their time. He has waited twenty-three days for this moment. He will not ruin it now, and throw away his only chance to bring back those who were lost.
The ship accelerates through the jumpgate in a brilliant streak of light, bringing them to the Garden which lies before them like a poisoned jewel, deceptively beautiful despite its danger. Danvers' recon takes little time at all, and the news that Thanos is entirely alone and undefended strikes a dark chord of satisfaction in Thor's heart. Cautious, of course, aware that even without his armies and weapons, the six Infinity Stones alone still make the Mad Titan nigh-unstoppable. But it is a sign of his arrogance, assuming there is no further use for such things.
They will teach him the error of their ways.
The plan is simple, and takes little discussion at all. Thor enters the hut in a blaze of righteous fury, taking in the sight of Thanos, choked and pinned by Danvers and Banner's Hulkbuster, his gauntleted arm stretched out helplessly. Perhaps not for long. Thor's own amputated arm throbs angrily in remembered agony, and relief and retribution bursting in his chest as he swings the axe and cleanly severs the Titan's arm at the elbow, sending the gauntlet dropping harmlessly to the floor with the arm still inside.
Never has Thor taken greater satisfaction in hearing someone's screams as Thanos cries out, and though Thor wants nothing more than to make him beg for mercy, he refuses to repeat the same mistake again. Not even now that they've secured their victory, and the only hope of returning the lives of trillions to the universe. He places the bloodied edge of his axe at Thanos' throat, metal fingers creaking from how tightly he grips Stormbreaker's haft, ready to end his life at the smallest twitch.
Behind him, he can hear Rocket scramble for the fallen gauntlet, turning it over with a metallic scrape. But instead of a shout of triumph, what he hears is a soft, quiet exclamation that sends ice through Thor's veins. "Oh no..."
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The simple chain with the arrow charm on it feels cold against her skin underneath her uniform. A reminder of how pathetically ordinary she is compared with everyone here. Even the goddamned raccoon can apparently pilot a space ship with ease and cobble together weapons of mas destruction out of nothing but shoelaces and some old gum. It's been enough to take her enemies by surprise before but neither Loki nor Ultron were anything like this. Thanos is...the ash streaked mask Miles and the other Steve were holding in the Nexus makes her eyes water. She has to stare up at the ceiling of the ship to stop her tears from falling.
No place for those now. Steve needs--hell, all her friends need for her to be strong for them now. Her hands close around Steve's as they're making ready to leave the ship.
"This is going to work, Steve." Her voice is quietly sure as if her faking a confidence she doesn't hold would make it true. There are no depths for how much Natasha wants it to be so. Needs it.
"I know." Steve's reply is slow. His gaze even slower when it turns to hold Natasha's own. "Because I don't know what I'm going to do if it doesn't."
Do any of them?
Natasha wonders if she's the only one who feels a spike of fear rather than confidence that the Titan is in this Garden alone. He's used the stones twice, to some as of yet unknown result the last time. Him being alone doesn't feel like their odds are any greater. It feels like bait. A trap. Even if it is, there's no where else to go. Steve's keeping pace with herself and Rhodey while the rest of the team rushes on ahead to Thanos' hut.
The spy's stomach plummets to her feet when she hears the titan's screams pierce the air right before they're rushing inside. In front of them Rocket holds the gauntlet, empty of what it was made to contain and channel. Her eyes fly to Rhodey's face, then to Steve's. She thinks Steve might be a second away from screaming.
"Where. Are they?" Every thundering beat of Steve's heart can be heard in his words. Or maybe it's Natasha's heart. She can't tell the difference anymore. It's difficult to breathe. She thinks Carol might have said something. Natasha's gaze is locked onto the empty sockets of Thanos' gauntlet, her eyes wide as saucers. Buzzing that might be words until Bruce's enraged shout snaps her back.
"You murdered Trillions!"
For the first time since he took half of the universe from them Natasha Romanoff stares down Thanos where Bruce has shoved him to the dirty ground. There has never been more icy steel in her voice than this moment.
"Where are the Stones?"
Silence fills the hut. Everyone knows the answer in their hearts. Natasha can see it in their faces. Reduced to atoms. Gone.
Gone.
Their only hope.
Gone.
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He stands, frozen in place, as the Mad Titan’s raspy voice drowns out every other sound but his own heart racing in horrified realization. “I used the Stones to destroy the Stones. It nearly killed me, but the work is done. It always will be.”
No.
No no no.
The only force in the universe capable of undoing the culling was the stones themselves. Was. Without them... without them... there is no going back. No hope of redemption, to bring back the lives of half the universe, to reduce the immeasurable suffering that all the living now endure, an entire reality in mourning for loved ones who are gone forever.
Thor had prepared himself to die today to avenge them, but as Thanos looks up at them all with dark, satisfied, peaceful eyes, it becomes so horrifically clear that there is nothing to be done. No way to resurrect the dead. No way to bring back the Stones from oblivion. There will be no fight, no honorable death in combat that will send them all to the gates of Valhalla and cleanse his soul of the shame that rots him from the inside.
Thanos has won. Half the universe is dead. And it always will be.
Others are speaking, the Titan’s mouth is moving, but something inside Thor snaps like a broken neck and he cannot stand to see the butcher of trillions utter another sound.
Stormbreaker flares bright and carves through Thanos’ neck without a hint of resistance, splattering Nebula with her father’s blood and sending the Titan’s head toppling to the floor. Thor stands there, heaving in great breaths to try to ease this tightness in his chest but nothing helps, nothing has changed, Thanos is dead and it makes no difference. There is no satisfying thrill of revenge, no reassurance that a dangerous foe has been slain, no vengeance for the murdered trillions. For Asgard.
Nothing at all.
Thor stands over the corpse of his most hated enemy and feels nothing but a vast emptiness inside of him, his very self consumed by the Void.
“What did you do?” Rocket cries out, angry, in disbelief.
Thor finds his voice, dragging it out through paralyzed lips, the words that have haunted him for three weeks like a prophecy, now fulfilled. “I went for the head.”
He meets no one’s eyes as he turns, and walks out of the hut.
The Garden is green and fresh and alive, but Thor sees none of it as he makes it halfway through the rows of crops and stops, unable to take another step, unable to raise Stormbreaker to summon the Bifrost and take him somewhere, anywhere but here. Storm clouds gather overhead, rumbling in time with his heavy heart, and lightning strikes the edge of the field and sets it ablaze. If left unchecked, it will raze the entire crop.
Thor just stands, and watches, his gaze as hollow as his soul.
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Voices buzz without meaning in the back of Steve's head. They only had one chance to put this to rights but it was gone before they even knew about it. He stands over Thanos' lifeless headless corpse and remembers the months he spent tending to Blaze's body in his home in the Nexus before all of this. Everything he's withstood to get here every push and urging from his friends to get back up burrows underneath his skin. Picking him apart.
What good has it done?
He doesn't remember his legs giving out but the next thing Steve knows Carol's holding him upright while Natasha's shaking hands are finding his shoulders. Telling him to breathe. There's nothing more to be done here. Nothing more any of them can do. If there is an atom of Nebula that wishes to bury her father she will have no one's help but perhaps Carol's. What is left of the Avengers file back into Rocket's ship and sit to take in the bitter truths surrounding them.
Nothing is right. Nothing is avenged. They cannot do a single thing to fix this. There's the other Steve's world in a distant portal across the Nexus but nothing they do to try and help his will alter their own world. Might make things worse. Steve sits amid their defeat but burned into his retinas the image of Thanos' headless body on the floor of the hut will not go away. When he looks up and sees all faces turned to him for guidance something shatters inside of Steve. Every stare an accusation and proof of his failure to lead them to any sort of future.
He gets to his feet like he always does. Looks over each of them one by one.
The inspirational hopeful words don't follow. Steve Rogers has nothing left to give. He steps off of the ship and takes a seat on the grass next to the ship to wait for everyone else to come back.
It's Natasha who gets up when Steve leaves them. Turns around sharp enough to have her hair whipping over her shoulder when she squares her shoulders.
"We'll have to make damn well sure what's left is a place worth living then."
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Rocket wants to rage and scream, to howl at Thor for killing this shitbag before he had a chance to tell them the truth, because the Stones can't be gone, but the Asgardian is already dragging himself out the door like some kind of zombie and leaving them all alone with the body of the monster who killed Rocket's entire family.
Killed so many families, but Rocket's... Rocket's was his, and he'd never had one before, and he loved those losers with all his little heart and now they're all gone.
He grabs at his own ears and pulls hard, and it hurts, but it doesn't wake him up from this horrible nightmare he's been trapped in since the day everything went to shit. This can't be the end, there has to be something, but the gauntlet is empty and Thanos' head is on the other side of the room from his body and even the humans are collapsing into despair, and Rocket falls right along with them.
It's as if his body has an autopilot he never knew about, trudging him back to the ship, because it doesn't feel like him doing it, like he's just watching from somewhere far distant behind his own eyes. He passes Thor, standing uselessly in the middle of the stupid field and staring at a fire that's enveloping the rows of crops, and if Rocket was in control of his own legs he'd be kicking the shit out of him right now. But he's not, so he passes on by as if he doesn't care, following the others back to the ship and leaving Nebula to do whatever she wants with her father's corpse. Spit on it, maybe. Bastard doesn't deserve rites. He didn't give 'em to anyone else he murdered.
He heaves himself into the pilot's seat and stops, though he should be running preflight checks, his hands don't seem to want to move and everything's gone blurry. No one else says a word either, all trapped in this muteness together that seems even worse than the day half the universe went to dust, because now the shock ain't there to muffle the horrible weight of what they're facing. This... this is it.
Natasha's words are like a whipcrack, breaking the silence with a call to action that jolts him out of his head, and Rocket looks up at her, his stomach dropping even further into his feet as he realizes that he doesn't know a damn person still alive that he gives the slightest shit about except for these people. "Where do we even start?" he asks, thinking of the little tasks he's been given over the last three weeks, little ways to keep everyone going, to go out in the world and do... whatever needs doing. But it feels like so little, and Rocket has never felt smaller in his life than he does right now.
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Barton and Fury changed everything. They're both gone now. But if they can't bring back the people Thanos erased from reality then Natasha sees only one valid way forward.
"We go back to the complex and I call everyone that will listen. We tell them this is it. There is no going back." Okoye will mourn. They will all mourn. A world collectively paying respects to the people its lost. "Then we start picking up the pieces, one at a time. I'll do everything I can to..." The spy raises her arms, but the gesture she wants to make dies halfway through and leaves them flopping uselessly against her sides once more.
"...To keep people safe." Rhodey finishes, voice tight with emotion. "I'm in." Bruce doesn't speak up from where he's still watching the door to see when Thor and Steve will come back. Natasha's lips quirk in the beginnings of a smile she knows is forced but does it anyway. This is the only way forward. It's what Nick would do, and he's one of the best men Natasha knows for all his faults. If Steve isn't strong enough to do it then Natasha will.
Someone has to. She looks down at Rocket before walking over to where his seat is.
"You've got a home with us for as long as you want it. No strings attached." There is no hope in her face. No blind idealism that this will somehow be okay. Just a grim determination to make something meaningful out of this even if it kills her. Better to die among friends than spend even a day living the way she used to. She won't go back to that.
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He looks up at Natasha, furious sorrow in his beady eyes, and even he doesn't know what he's looking for. A hint of what he's supposed to do, maybe, some direction he could go if he chose to say no. But what else is there? Maybe Kraglin is still kicking around out there somewhere, but Rocket only knew him for like a day. He was Quill's friend, not Rocket's. Ain't no way in hell that he's gonna sign on to whatever's left of the Ravagers and live by their stupid rules, whatever they are.
But these folks... Rocket isn't used to being a hero type, except when it pays, but this is bigger than anything he's ever seen before. And his lifespan is too short to keep starting over again and again. He's spent three weeks with these folks, and what they're trying to do... well, it's either here with them, or out there with strangers lookin' to take advantage.
"I'm in, what the hell," he answers, letting out a mournful sigh. "Got nowhere else to be."
Not like he has a home to go back to, anyway. His home is right here, on this ship. Or it had been, anyway.
Outside, the fields are catching fire faster, wind fanning the flames higher, and the thunderheads above don't release a single drop of rain. It's only when embers and ash start to rain down on Thor that he finally begins to move again, his steps heavy as he slowly comes back to the ship as if in a daze. Nebula and Carol are not too far behind him, Nebula still spattered with purple smears and a blank, troubled look in her dark eyes.
Behind them, the hut begins to burn.
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Steve wonders if he looks any different to them.
For the first time in his life he takes no interest in the plans he can hear Natasha murmuring to Carol and Nebula as they make their way back to Earth. Steve tunes out everything but the sound of the ship's engines. It's so much easier not to think, to just let the numb haze of his own memories drown out the present around him. If he shuts his eyes and focuses hard enough, Steve can almost see Bucky sitting next to him by a fire, his rifle taken apart in front of him to clean while they rest after their evening meal. Can remember the tune Dernier used to sing even though no one but Jones understood the words. More often than not they'd all end up at least humming along to it before they'd turn in for the night.
In a way it's cruel, unfair of Steve to settle in with these ghosts rather than support the friends he has alive at his side. People who are still very much here who could use a soft smile or at least some company to grieve. But he's given and given and given until he feels empty inside and yet still they look to him for answers no one can give.
His small sigh isn't untroubled but it's more relaxed than it's been in weeks.
In the end Carol leaves fixing things up back on Earth to the Avengers. There's a big universe out there with countless places not so fortunate to have people like them on its side. She'll end up handing out tasks for Natasha to pass on to Rocket and Nebula if the trouble is semi-close to home ground or at least a jump point. Steve watches from the window when Bruce leaves them to it. Uninterested in ever seeing another fight. He doesn't try to stop any of them. He becomes more of a fixture at the complex than a leader, always off on the sidelines watching.
Natasha has a fire in her. One that Steve's grateful for because he's never felt more adrift and lost than he does right now. It's easier to just let her take charge after so many years of working at his side. Easier to put his head down and follow orders when they're given.
Easier to let himself be overlooked so he can sit in the empty rooms with his Ghosts and remember better days than these.
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Maybe the only thing keeping him from losing it entirely is the promise of something useful to do. He's always found it easier to cope when he has something he can do with his hands, and right now, both are tightly clenched around the controls of the ship, leaving the stupid Garden behind to burn.
Good. Let it.
It'll be hard, starting all over again. But Rocket will throw himself into the work with a single-minded stubbornness, determined to keep himself busy enough that he doesn't have to think about what he's lost. The Benatar will come in handy for tasks that take their little team away from Terra, but he doesn't mind sticking around the planet either, lending a hand when they need a mechanic's touch. Fixing up weapons, vehicles, learning more about Earth tech and how it's supposed to work, and making it better. And slowly, as the days pass, he gets to know these humans a little better, finds a place where he fits well enough to be okay with it, even if a part of his heart feels like it was ripped right out of his chest.
It ain't home, not as it was. But it's something. And at least he's not alone.
Thor, though...
The Asgardian doesn't speak a word to anyone the entire way back. Even once they land, he doesn't go back into the compound, just standing out on the lawn with his blood-crusted axe in hand like he doesn't know how to take another step. And eventually, he disappears in a flare of rainbow light and comes back hours later, stumbling gracelessly back to his room, leaving a strong scent of liquor in his wake.
It won't be the last time.
But it doesn't last forever, either. Eventually, a call comes in from the Norwegian government for the god of thunder, and Thor listens to the message with a shadowed eye. And later that evening, his room is empty of everything but his unmade bed, a pile of empty bottles, and a note scribbled on the desk with a forwarding address for Henningsvær, Norway.
He doesn't bother to say goodbye, too ashamed to look anyone in the eye, too broken to face the blame he knows he deserves. The best thing he can do is leave them alone.
He's done enough damage.
Time Passes
There's four of them at dinner tonight.
Nebula never says much unless it's to do with their work but she listens to everything. Takes it all in with dark eyes that aren't quite so sharp as they were when she first arrived. She's folding her napkin into a little paper football the way Tony showed her how to do when they were stranded adrift in space. She never asks anyone to play with her but just making them seems to bring her comfort. Rocket's perched on a bar stool so he can sit and still properly be at the table instead of half underneath it. Steve's back for the night, his gaze focused on Natasha while she's speaking rather than the food in front of them.
It's the most of them that have been in one place for weeks but there is little in the way of smiles or jokes just yet. They've mostly been catching each other up on work.
"Did they say how his people were settling in, at least?" Steve knows there were refugees with Thor now. Neither he or Natasha have been back to the Nexus since Thanos yet but they've got other ways of getting information. Natasha being on speed dial of every major government left standing is a huge one. He takes half a sandwich and eats while trying to sort his thoughts out on the matter. It's hardly as though Steve's magically over all of this. What's happened isn't the sort of thing one just gets better from. But he is more steady on his feet than he's been. Coherent enough to think back to the times he and Thor spoke before the Garden.
Thor had been worse off than him then, too. It doesn't sound like he's gotten any better in the weeks since. Would Steve either, if Natasha hadn't kept trying to reach him?
"I don't have counsel tomorrow. I should go check on him. If you don't mind giving me a lift, that is, pal." Steve shifts his glance across the table toward Rocket and Nebula. Either one of them would be able to get him to Norway quick. "Be welcome to come with too, if you wanted."
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Keeping busy has been good for him, so far. There's no shortage of work to keep his hands moving, to let him tire himself out so the only time he has to think is when he's asleep and dreaming, and that shit's going to happen either way.
His ears perk up the moment it's even hinted that there's somewhere to go, something else to do. That it's for Thor is an added bonus. Rocket hasn't known the big guy terribly long, but they went through some crazy shit together that day that everything went to pieces. And there ain't a lot of people left for Rocket to care about anymore, and neither does anyone else. "Yeah, I can do that," he agrees without hesitation, and only afterward does he look over at Natasha. "If Boss don't need me for something else, that is." With Tony Stark out of the picture, Rocket has quickly become their most skilled mechanic, though Nebula isn't far behind him. She should be able to spare him, he thinks, and it'll be good to get out of this place for a short while before things start to feel too safely routine.
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But Natasha nods around her own food, quirking a tiny smile on one side of her face.
"Go on. Nebula and I will have a girls night or something." Steve knows more than likely if they do anything together it will be dirty and dangerous work but he gives Nat the joke without question.
"Thanks. If you've got anything that needs delivering we'd be happy to take it while we're heading out that way." To be honest Steve hasn't spent a whole lot of time with Rocket, just a few missions here and there when he's asked. But for how strange the taking raccoon is, he's damn good at what he does.
"I appreciate the help." And if there's any heavy lifting to do in preparation for their departure, well. Steve can definitely manage that for his pilot.
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Delivery's a good idea, now that Steve's brought it up. Rocket's got no clue what they've got for supplies out in Thor's neck of the woods, but more can't hurt, and they've got basics to spare. It still isn't exactly second nature to help without expecting to get paid, but there ain't much else he can do with himself right now, and keeping busy is keeping busy.
The next day, the overcast skies above the little fishing village of Henningsvær are split with the roar of engines as the Benatar zeroes in on the little chain of islands, and Rocket cranes his neck to look for a good landing zone. The football pitch is still covered in ships that look like they're being stripped for parts, so he picks a clear - but smaller - spot a little further north, right next to a row of houses. There are people out and about, mostly adults dressed in a mix of Asgardian robes and more local clothing, and some of them stop to look at the alien craft as the ramp lowers, letting in a chilly breeze that ruffles Rocket's fur.
There's no sign of Thor, but it doesn't take long for an Asgardian woman to approach, striding up like she owns the place. Her sharp, dark gaze flashes over them both, sizing them up like a warrior would. "Welcome to Asvera," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "We didn't know we'd be having visitors today. Or deliveries."
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"I'm Steve Rogers." Always best to be polite after all. "I'm a friend to Thor Odinson. He left this as his new place of residence, so we're here to see him if he's around."
Somehow, given how Thor was at the Avengers Complex, Steve rather fears the Asgardian doesn't get out much if the trend has continued.
"We brought some supplies we thought you might make use of."
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Mention of Thor brings a tension to her jaw, like she's biting back a comment not fit for company, at odds with the way her hardened gaze seems to soften just a little. "Don't worry, you're in the right place. Not sure if His Majesty's fit for company right now, but I'll leave that up to him." The Valkyrie looks like she's thinking about saying something else, but she turns her attention to the ship instead, peering around Steve - and over Rocket's head - at the cargo sitting just past the ramp. "Appreciate it. I'll get some people to offload it while you're doing your housecall."
Rocket is no fan of people poking around his ship while he's not there to supervise, and if these Asgardians looked as desperate as some of the folks they've been helping these past few weeks, he'd insist on staying behind to make sure they don't strip the Benatar like they're tearing apart the escape pods. But they look plenty calm, in comparison, and besides, if they wreck his ship he'll know where to find Thor to complain. So he takes a moment to briefly outline which crates are up for grabs before they set off toward the south.
By sheer coincidence, their landing spot is only a few minutes' walk to where the Valkyrie's taking them, just across the football pitch and up a short trail to the top of the southernmost bluff. A small lighthouse and a little cottage sit alone on the rock, overlooking the sea that encompasses the entire southern horizon. It's quiet, almost deceptively peaceful, and far humbler than the golden palace that Thor used to call home. The Valkyrie studies them both while they walk, making no secret of it. "So you're his Avengers, right? The whole 'Earth's mightiest heroes' thing. He told us about you a bit, before everything went to shit more than it already had."
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"He wasn't when he left our place either, but nevertheless I'd like to see him." Steve sets the box he'd been working on down with a small nod.
Steve spends most of the walk out to the solitary home steeling himself for what he fears is coming. Either an outright dismissal from his friend or a sullen refusal to speak. Thor has no way of knowing that Steve is--was-- well accustomed to both of those responses from Bucky for years. He's a bit more steady on his own feet now. Thor may be stronger than he is, but this isn't the sort of defeat any of them should be shouldering alone.
He's drug out of his self peptalk by Val's questioning and while his face twists into a slight grimace the life in Steve's eyes doesn't fade this time. He can't afford to lose it right now.
"We were. There's only a few of us left now. But we still do what we can for those what need it. And that includes each other."
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Rocket has to hurry a little to keep up with these longer-legged folks, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to, and he keeps pace with Steve well enough. “Yeah, tell me about it. Nothin’ like having something to do and people to do it with to keep you sane.”
Her expression twitches, but she doesn’t voice whatever’s on her mind, just finishes closing the distance to the little cottage. There’s a faint murmur from inside, like a television left on in the background, but little other sound until the Valkyrie raps on the door hard enough to rattle it in the frame. “Hey, Majesty,” she calls out, thoroughly irreverent. “You’ve got visitors. Come take them off my hands, will you?”
There’s a loud thump from inside, like something heavy hitting the floor, and the clink of glass rolling across hardwood. After a delay that’s just long enough to start to feel uncomfortable, the door creaks open and Thor braces himself against the frame as if he’s relying on it to keep him upright, squinting into the sunlight a bit harder than is really called for. It’s early afternoon in Norway, but it’s clear just from looking at him that he’s gotten a head start on his evening drinking, judging by the flush in his face and ears, the glossiness of his eye, the way he’s swaying slightly on his feet even with the support of the doorframe. His hair and beard have both grown a little longer since Steve last saw him, long enough to make it obvious he hasn’t washed or brushed either in at least a couple days, and his sweatshirt is rumpled like he’s been sleeping in it, its left sleeve hanging empty.
It takes him a moment to realize who’s standing there, sullen irritation giving way to surprise. He hadn’t truly expected any of them to want to see him again, not after what he’s done, but even through the muzziness of alcohol he can’t read anger and blame on any of the faces at his door. “Steven, Rabbit... what’re you doing here?”
Rocket is gaping up at him, and smacks him in the knee. “We’re here to see you, you idiot.”
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He has no way of knowing what kind of expression he's wearing. Looking at Thor upends all of the walls Steve's put up to convince himself and others that he's functional again. Thor yet grieves and Steve wants to grieve with him. But it won't change what's been done.
"Rocket's got the right of it. Hadn't heard anything from you since you settled in here."
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Between the amount he's already had to drink and the depth perception issue, he keeps his hand on the wall on his way back inside. It's a cozy little place, especially for a man of Thor's size, though he carries himself differently than he used to, head and shoulders bowed as if his grief is a physical weight pressing down on him. It makes him seem smaller, almost, despite the dimensions of the house.
Most of the decor is clearly left over from whoever owned this cottage before Thor, a thin layer of dust settled on various knickknacks on the shelves, artwork of mountains and sailing ships on the walls. The layout is simple, but most of the rooms look like they've seen little use, save for the living room. The couch sports a small, messy pile of knitted blankets, its accompanying coffee table strewn with empty ale bottles piled around an onyx-black prosthetic arm, and there's a small stack of kegs against one wall that are stamped with the same dwarven symbol that had been on the mead Thor had shared with Steve all those weeks ago. Stormbreaker stands propped up in the same corner, its metal head gleaming brightly despite the shadows around it, clean of any dust. A television that looks to be twenty years old sits against the wall, volume low as it displays reruns of a Norwegian drama.
It isn't a total pigsty, but Rocket still looks around at the interior in mild dismay. "Well it ain't exactly a golden castle, huh?"
Thor doesn't quite flinch, busying himself with trying to pull a knit hat over his hair one-handed, not really sure why he's bothering. They've already seen it. Habit, maybe. "It suits me all right. Sorry, I don't... usually have visitors." He almost goes to clear off the table, but he has nowhere else to put the bottles, so he gives up and sits down heavily on the couch instead, avoiding meeting their eyes.
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"You've got enough to worry about right now. Mind if I poke around a bit?"
It shouldn't take long for Steve to pick up the garbage at least, bag it up with whatever the previous owner had lying around for their trash. He's half tempted to do it anyway even if Thor objects but he doesn't want to discount anything his friend has to say right now.
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"I... yeah, fine." It's not like Steve can judge him harder than he's already judged himself, and yet it still makes a mild dread clench in his chest, and Thor reaches for one of the few full bottles still on the table, popping off the cap with his thumb, before pausing. "Sorry, did you... do you want something to drink?" Just because he's not used to houseguests is no excuse for being a poor host, and they've come all this way to... see him. Which he still doesn't quite understand, because why would he deserve their attention anymore?
Rocket gives him a look, sniffing at the bottle and making a face. "Y'know what, I'll pass."
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"I'll get something when I'm finished, thanks pal." The smile Steve gives when he glances up is small but there all the same. Though it's only going to be water for him when he does help himself to a glass after taking the bags of trash outside to the bins. He'd have grabbed Rocket and Thor some as well but Thor seems to already have a drink and Rocket's turned it down.
"You don't have to do anything, you know. Even if we just sit here in silence for an hour, it's good to see you." Steve doesn't need Thor to force himself into pretending he's okay. Knows that this isn't something people just get over. "If you're up for it later though and don't want to do that, I think Rocket and I would appreciate a walk around."
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He should stop them. Take over, do it himself. But for some reason he can't bring himself to move, so instead he just sits uselessly on the couch with his ale, and tries not to watch them work as he drinks just for something to do with his hand.
Thor is not sure he's ever felt so at war with himself. He wants to be alone, but he doesn't want them to leave either, now that they're here. He doesn't want to talk about anything to do with... with that guy, but he's tired of only having his own thoughts for company, no matter how much he tries to drown them out with drink. He wants to drink enough to forget, but he wants to be sober enough that they won't worry about him more than he deserves. He should do something, but he doesn't know what, so he does nothing at all.
That last part has him blinking up at Steve, though, caught wrong-footed by the suggestion. "You want a tour of the town?" Of course they would, wouldn't they? This is supposed to be the New Asgard, or so the humans who deliver their supply shipments have been calling it. And Thor had never managed to show his home to his mortal friends before and now it's gone, and this is the kingdom he has to work with, if he can even call it that.
He's barely even aware that Rocket has slipped off toward the kitchen, poking around the refrigerator and the cabinets to investigate if there's even any food in the house. What the raccoon finds is not terribly encouraging, mostly just canned goods and shelf-stable snack foods, but no leftovers and nothing fresh. A few dirty dishes in the sink, though, so at least he's been eating something once in a while.
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Steve doesn't think there's a single one of them left alive that isn't struggling with some kind of crippling mental illness after the trauma they've all gone through. Families ripped apart. Empty homes just sitting untouched as a reminder to what's been lost. While Thor is losing himself to Inaction Steve is a slave to Avoidance. If he just keeps busy, if he just sits down and remembers the past he doesn't have time to think about the present.
The future may as well be nonexistent.
And so it's easier to focus on Thor than to spare time worrying about himself. Steve nods ever so slightly from where he's seated across from the couch but doesn't press the issue.
"We brought supplies for your people. It's not terribly much, but it wasn't being used back at the Complex and we knew your people hadn't been able to bring belongings with them."
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But now they live in dead people's homes, wearing dead people's clothing and eating dead people's food. Or abandoned, but in the end it makes little difference. There is no place in this new world for reluctance to use what is still here, because half the world no longer needs it. And Thor is fairly certain he has no pride left to stand in the way, anyway. "Thank you," he says quietly, still not quite making eye contact, half afraid of what he will see if he does, and unsure whether he prefers condemnation or pity more.
That he continues speaking comes as much a surprise to him as it might to Steve, though it's hesitant and halting. "The people are... adjusting. Learning new crafts we need. Fishing, mostly. Not much farmland yet, too rocky, might be able to fix that. Too late to plant this year though." Too late. How he's come to hate those words. Thor takes a pull of his ale to deflect from it, for his own sake as much as his guests'.
Though Rocket has never been a stickler for keeping things neat and tidy, he hasn't been able to resist the urge to clean up a little too, washing up the dishes in the sink. He leans in the doorway between the living room and the small kitchen, drying a plate with a decorative hand towel as he listens. "The folks in town looked pretty well spread out," he comments casually. And maybe it's a bad idea to ask directly, but he's never been terribly good at the whole sensitivity thing, either. "How many are there, anyhow?"
Thor stares down into the glass bottle in his hand as if he could refill it by sheer force of will, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he forces the numbers out. "Eight hundred and twenty-two." It's more than there should have been, he knows. Over three hundred saved by being evacuated to the Nexus, mostly children, who are alive now because of it. Yet Asgard once numbered in the tens of thousands, and he cannot forget that every time he looks at them.
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When there's no battle to be fought with fists there's still suffering elsewhere to combat. Poverty, hunger. Steve tries not to think too hard about it. Tries not to think too hard about anything. It helps the days go by easier.
"Earth's your home now too. We take care of our own." It includes Thor and his people. Steve doesn't press further though. He'd rather listen. Parse what he's being told versus what they saw when they were coming in. It seems true enough though the Asgardians have not been here for long they do seem to be adjusting well. No one flinging magic about or causing a stir so far as he could see.
"Plenty of resources around to help them learn almost anything. If it's not online there's always the Nexus library." Practiced doctors or specialists will be harder to find but it's that way everywhere. Thanos' wish may not have preferred any one type of person over another but for industries where there was already more demand than supply--especially those that serve people directly--the loss is exceptionally difficult. Half the population is gone, yes. But those that remain disproportionately All need help in some kind or another.
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Thor has rather a lot more trouble believing that, now. But he does not know what else to cling to. Some of Asgard yet lives, and it should be enough. Maybe if he keeps telling himself that, it will one day be true again.
Self-study is not unknown to Asgard, though apprenticeships and tutoring were more the norm for most subjects. Having to learn an entirely new trade is a weighty undertaking, and they will surely need all the help they can get. A pang of guilt nibbles under Thor’s ribs that he had not even considered the Nexus library as an option. No, the only thing he has accomplished in his recent visits has been to stock up on his own supplies, and nothing more. “There is, isn’t there?” Which means he should probably get some PINpoints to be used by those who need access, and some way to track who has left the settlement, in case something happens. Without Heimdall to keep an eye on things, it is nerve wracking enough to watch the fishing ships sail out past the horizon. That is part of the reason why Thor tends not to watch them go, as if not seeing it means it isn’t happening.
Though they have not spoken of it recently, Thor recalls several conversations with his shieldbrother in the glory days of the Avengers, where they had discussed a little of Steve’s struggles reintegrating with Earth life after his long sleep. Strange as it had been at the time to consider seventy years long enough to cause such drastic changes, he’s since seen just how quickly the tide can turn and sweep away all solid ground. If anyone will understand how it is to have lost everything, then it would be Steve, though he had ‘died’ a hero, rather than dooming trillions. “What... would you have done,” Thor asks, hesitant and quiet, “if the Avengers had never been needed?”
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Steve's spoken to Thor over the years about how he was changed, different now. Thor's seen proof of it first hand over the time they've spent fighting alongside one another. Staying with each other during the brief time they called the tower Home. He's talking about the sickly waif of a man they show in the museums. As if it was by effort and not freak chance Steve ended up looking the way he does now. Capable of so much more than he ever used to be.
"If the Avengers hadn't been needed, I wouldn't have stayed back home for long." How could he? What exactly would have been there for him? Certainly not the team he has come to love as his own family. He probably wouldn't have met most of them even. "I'd have tried to find a way back to the Nexus a lot sooner. Maybe started over here, or maybe uprooted entirely and moved in to someone else's world. Someplace where they could use me."
It's easy to say now--knowing what he does-- that he would have stayed. That he would have done good however he could and been happy leading a semi-normal life. Steve knows it as sure as he does his own heartbeat that he wouldn't have wanted to do that. If he'd been forced to, stuck there with no hope of going back to the Nexus, then he would have adjusted.
He'd have made do.
"I knew soldiers here. I knew there were people I could help. I'd have tried to come back."
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Thor listens, and what he hears is much how he'd expected Steve to answer. Of course he would have. The captain has always been brave and stubborn and driven by the need to act if there is anything to be done, anything at all. That he is here is proof enough.
If he tries, Thor can almost remember what it felt like, to be the same. To have something to do with himself, something helpful, heroic even. It feels like a lifetime ago. Thor has always thrived on action, and without it, he feels he is withering like a plant without the sun. But what other choice does he have? His place is here, no matter how far Asgard has fallen. And even if he was to leave, and find a cause to lend his axe, he no longer trusts himself to act as he should.
Thor thinks of himself only that mere handful of years ago, waxing maudlin on the helicarrier about how he had come to see the truth of war, and thinks, I was still so naive, then. Before he realizes that he even intends to speak, he finds himself doing it anyway. "My whole life, my father told me that a wise king never seeks out war, but must always be ready for it. He never really told me what to do after." Or how to lose. But Odin hadn't lost, had he? Not that he'd ever said. He'd certainly never killed half the universe, even in whatever bloody conquest he'd led to bring the Nine Realms under his heel.
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Staying with his people, being here for them even if he's not at his best. If he's trying to compare himself to Steve with that line of questioning, Steve knows he sounds like a traitor. That he'd so easily abandon his own people to seek out another world. But if the Avengers didn't exist, if Steve didn't know all of the things he does now?
He wouldn't have wanted to stay. Too many friends waited left behind that threshold between worlds. If he hadn't been needed at home and was just a relic from an age gone by...
"I don't have a purpose anymore. But I can't run away now. The world is like this because of me." Because of them. "I go and I sit and I listen to people open themselves up. Talk about what my failure has done to them. Sometimes it helps them. It feels like the only penance I can give anyone, anymore."
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But he supposes that he has not failed what is left of Asgard since they landed, so if Steve wishes to count that as a victory on Thor's part, then so be it. At least they have a place to stay, to build something like a life. That is something, anyway.
He wants to argue that Steve holds far less blame in this than Thor himself does, but the rest of what his friend has to say has him blinking in surprise. He does not know much of Midgardian grieving customs, but an emotional weregild is not exactly what he'd expected. Though he supposes that even Stark's vast riches would not nearly be enough recompense for the billions on Earth whose lives were cut short, and those left behind to grieve. "Just talking? And... that is enough for them?"
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But no one would be in this situation if they hadn't failed. No one would be this devastated, this traumatized. Everyone who's survived Thanos has been changed. There can be no fixing that. All they can do is learn to live with it day by day. Which honestly, Steve isn't. He spends all his time listening to people talk about what they've lost. How their lives have changed because of his failure. It leaves him rooted in the spot and unable to move on.
Or unwilling.
Steve doesn't want to live in a world without the people that are gone. He doesn't want to just 'Move On'. There's even a small part of him that resents those that are, especially among his friends. It's not a fight he'll ever pick but the feelings are there all the same. Raw in their honesty as ugly as it is.
"If I can help even one person...It'll be something."
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The only friends he has left now are the Avengers, mortals he has known for a mere handful of years, brothers and sisters in arms now scattered to the winds. But here is Steve anyway, still trying to help in what small ways he can, traveling halfway around the planet just to see him, no matter how unworthy Thor is of his attention. Still making an effort, even if it is only what he needs to cope with the world they now live in, a distraction from reality, much as Thor is trying to drown his sorrows until he can't think of them anymore.
Well, he is not as drunk as he'd like to be just yet, but there is still plenty of time left in the day. So Thor drains the dregs of his ale and sets it down on the coffee table, and doesn't get up for another, burying his hand in the hoodie pocket so he will not fidget without a bottle in it. At least not openly. "You're a stronger man than I am," he admits quietly. A burden shared is a burden halved, but when everyone is carrying the weight already, Thor can't imagine it makes it much easier to bear. It is difficult enough facing those he knows; listening to the grief of countless strangers would be enough to break him, if he wasn't already.
He intends to leave it at that, but finds himself speaking anyway, after a few moments' silence. He may have shut himself away from the world on his own, but he is learning that it does nothing to make him feel less lonely, no matter how much he thinks he deserves the suffering. "There are three hundred fourteen of my people alive now because of the Nexus," he begins, hesitant. "Most of them children. We've done the math; there would have been less survivors otherwise. I should be grateful, but..." But there should have been more. Even if there was nothing more he could have done to stop the massacre aboard the ship, that had not been the final blow to what remained of Asgard. And it seems petty and selfish to be so distraught over a mere handful of lives, compared to the loss that reaches across the universe, but they were Thor's responsibility. Faces he'd come to know, over the months since Ragnarok. Men and women and children alike. It's personal, in a way that makes the horror of what he's done far worse.
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Steve doesn't want to lose him, too.
"I'm not going to give up on you." He holds out a hand expectantly for Thor to take to help the god up to his feet. "Show me around. Please?"
That's three hundred and fourteen souls that want to see their king succeed. Who are relying on him to lead them through these horrible times. Steve can't do that for his friend, but he can sure as hell support the Asgardian.
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What kind of man would Thor be if he rejected this, too? He can handle one little walk around town. He must.
It takes a moment, but he grasps Steve's outstretched hand, letting the captain pull him upright. "All right." He tugs on his knit hat to make sure it's covering enough of his hair, though he quickly deems it too much effort to put his arm on. He shouldn't need it, not right now. "Rabbit, are you coming?"
Rocket pokes his head back through the doorway, looking slightly agitated. "Nah, I'll catch up. You ain't done laundry once this whole time, have you?" There's more, but he bites back the comment before he can voice it, that sad look in his eyes that means it has something to do with his family. "I'm gonna wash some stuff," he declares, acting as if he'd never faltered.
If that is how he wants to spend his time, Thor will not stop him. Though he was going to get around to doing that himself. Eventually. "All right."
With Steve at his shoulder, it is not quite as difficult to step out of the door as it would be alone, the village sprawling out across the islands before them, people moving here and there with purpose. Thor's pace is slower, not quite aimless, and not so unsteady that he needs help walking. There is only one road that traces a path across all the main islands, and with solid asphalt under their feet, the two men trace the route through town. Here and there, Thor points out humble little landmarks - the village grocery, the fish-drying racks along the shores that have yet to be filled, a repurposed church being used as an administrative center, a small greenhouse that is under construction. It is nothing so grandiose as Asgard had been at its height, rugged and simple without a trace of gold anywhere, and not for the first time Thor regrets never getting a chance to show his home to his mortal friends. But this is home now, and they are fortunate to just have a place to call their own at all.
They do not walk the entire length of the road, as the last two islands closest to the mainland are the least developed, mostly rock and grass with only a few buildings of interest. But Thor has a distant look in his eye as he points out one of them across the strait, its high bluff overlooking open sea to the east, and names it Odin's Tower. The place where his father died, and Thor's life had changed forever.
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Steve hopes the look that flickers across his face at Rocket isn't too worried or concerned. None of them like their wounds being prodded. It's so very easy to step on landmines here of emotional unrest without even being aware of it. Everyone has lost so much. Rocket more than most. The soldier nods and follows Thor out the door. They won't be gone terribly long, Steve would be willing to bet.
It feels good to be out walking. Not a feel good that makes one happy by any means--Steve's not sure he even knows how to be that anymore--but it's something to do that pushes away the chance for too much introspection. It's something to focus on. Activity to keep a body so used to physical activity from aching with its disuse.
Thor's people are adapting well from everything Steve can see. There's nothing for strife among his people though some must certainly exist. They're putting the community first. It's been touching to see communities coming together in the wake of Thanos. Steve only wishes it didn't have to be because of something like this stealing everything they loved away. Those who have survived have to lean on each other to keep going. No one's strong enough alone.
"Will there be a tower there, someday?" Steve has heard of the god's passing from Thor before now. He lets his gaze wander across the strait and tries to picture it. "You could make anything you wanted out of this place, given enough time."
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He becomes aware that he’s taking too long to answer, and forces a more neutral expression onto his face as he looks out over the water, though he is not quite as successful at chasing the melancholy look from his eye. “Maybe. I hadn’t planned one, but... a memorial, perhaps. There were statues, on Asgard. For my family.” His voice does not break, though it is a near thing. Thor lets out a weary sigh, and his gaze sweeps across the little islands, trying to envision them as anything other than what they are now. “There’ll be time to shape it to our needs. Make it home. Or close enough.”
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Steve would have said so even without Natasha's input, but the soldier desperately wants Thor to know he's got people on his side right now. When the world has fallen apart at their fingertips, at the very least they've still got each other. What's left, at least.
"I'll come out here as often as I can, if that's what you need."
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But here is Steven, telling him that he is still welcome. That Natasha agrees. That even after everything he has put them through - is still putting them through - there is still a place for him among them. Still an Avenger, in name if not in deeds. He does not deserve such friends, and yet... he has them anyway. And it does not matter that their lives will be brief in the long span of years that Thor may have yet left to live. They are here. Now. And even Asgardian lives may be cut short well before their time. He can be certain of nothing except what exists in the moment, and in this one, there is a hand offered in friendship, whether or not he is worthy of it.
His view of the island grows misty, in a way that has little to do with the flow of the weather, and Thor scrubs at his eye. "...thank you." It seems inadequate, but he can't find the right words, gratitude twisted with his own self-loathing until he can't separate them at all. But his understanding with his human friend has never been only about words, and after a long hesitation, Thor reaches out to put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Thank you," he repeats, a little stronger, and though his smile is faint and hollow, it's a smile nonetheless. "If you... I'd like to see you again."