That makes some kind of sense. Though when Thor had needed counsel in the past, he had always gone to his friends, or family. People he knew well, and could confide in privately. Never anything on this scale, and never when they were hurting also. But the friends he'd once relied on to guide him true are gone, all of them. Except perhaps Sif, though if she differs from the one he's met in the Nexus, her fate is still unknown to him, and so she is still out of reach. But his mother, his father, his brother, the Warriors Three, Heimdall... all now feast in Valhalla, or eternally rest in Folkvangr.
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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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.