Disclaimer: All rights go to Marvel because who else is going to emotionally destroy me

A/N: Hi! Do people still leave author's notes? This is my first fanfiction I've written in about...seven years? I have taken many a liberty with Norse mythology, the Thor franchise-basically everything, so please forgive any inconsistencies of canon/mythological material. This fanfiction is a very self-indulgent work because l love time travel and angst and I have a new appreciation for Thor as a character (though Loki is an old favorite of mine, the lil shit that he is). Plus, I've noticed a lack of Thor time travel compared to Loki so why not. No idea how fast/consistent I'll be with updating, but my goal is to finish before Avengers 4.

Warnings: Spoilers for the Beginning of Infinity War, mild profanity, violence

Feel free to leave constructive criticism or positive reviews while you're at it; it does wonder for my self-esteem ;)

Burnt Stars

When Hela crushed Mjolnir, Thor had thought she might as well have crushed his heart as well.

His father had only just faded-leaving in his place the terrible revelation that there was yet another family secret lurking under the glorious, golden sheen of Asgard's history. The betrayal from Loki's deceit had still stung even as anger and relief warred in Thor's mind. And maybe worst of all, it turned out Thor was the middle child in a family of liars and deceivers. Seeing Mjolnir shattering, tumbling out of Hela's clawed grasp in dull, broken pieces, had only added to his grief. Thor had thought then, foolishly, I will protect everything else I hold dear .

And then Ragnarok happened. And Thor would have gladly given up himself and Mjolnir to prevent it all.

Asgard, his palace and home, consumed by fire and reduced to nothing but ash. His own eye, swiftly destroyed in one of Hela's effortless strokes. Thor hadn't been strong enough to defeat Hela, hadn't been able to best her without the heavy cost of his kingdom. Again, he swore to become stronger, strong enough to be a worthy king. And as Thor walked to his throne-albeit more like the captain of a ship than a king, given the small Asgardian population left-he felt hopeful that one day he could become the leader his people needed. With Loki returned and the last Valkyrie at his side, Thor thought they could manage.

How foolish.

Not even one night later, with a sweep of his hand, Thanos cleaved half of what was left of Asgard; the other half left to be slaughtered by the Black Order. Blood and burnt flesh splattered the floor of the ship. Valkyrie-on the front lines because where else would she be?-had been a force of graceful destruction that stalled the Black Order long enough for a measly portion of Asgardians to escape, but even she could not hold out against magic older than the gods, could not stop the spelled spear that broke her defences and split her breastplate and body in two. Loki, who had been unrivaled in sorcery and required earth's mightiest heroes to defeat, was killed in a show of sheer, brute force. For once, Silvertongue could not lie his way out.

A crushed windpipe, a snapped neck.

And Thor, the newly crowned king of his people, god of thunder, Odinson , was used as a hostage and confined by twisting metal and magic. As if he were a force not even worthy of death.

How arrogant-how stupid - of him to think that he would be enough in a war against the cosmos. How weak and pathetic. Thor knew Odin would have been disappointed in his heir. As the ship rained down around him and space peeked through the broken bits of metal as a threatening void, Thor could only crawl to Loki's corpse, already cooling to the unforgiving temperatures of space. He had wept (for days, weeks, years? It mattered no longer.) and though death neared, sweet and cloying in his lungs, Thor could only feel grief and electricity and starlight. Something buzzed under his skin, followed by a flooding of heat and potent rage. The world burst around him. Pain, white hot and searing, so hot the universe might as well have had split and swallowed him for all he cared, filled Thor. Unconsciousness was a mercy.

Light, awakening, the oddest prodding at his pectorals. The Guardians, but they were only as arrogant and foolish as he. Thor couldn't stand being too close to them-who would want an omen of death lurking in their midst? They reminded him too closely of his other family, and Thor was struck with the swift and crushing realization of how alone he is now with only a few Midgardians left as his friends. He had to at warn them of Thanos' strength (but how long had it been since he had seen the Avengers? Two years to him may have been two centuries, and time passed strangely enough on Sakaar to prolong the human lifespan of Banner.)

But. But that anger which had filled him as he was dying on the ship, which had left the burnt wreckage floating in space. That was something all too familiar. That all-consuming rage had nearly brought down Asgard many a century ago, and Thor knew it was only a matter of time before everything he was suppressing (every death and tragedy and ruin) would rise to the surface again. He was not about to become a time bomb amidst the Midgardians. Hardy and determined they may be, mortals were not made to withstand the unleashed might of a god, never mind a god with Odin Borson's blood. No, Thor refused to be used by Thanos as another potential weapon.

He needed another Mjolnir, another medium to focus that frenzied knot of power at his sternum. Just one well aimed blow, bolstered with his entire life force and power. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to stall Thanos and allow his friends to slay him. The sacrifice of a young god is a mighty thing after all. And then, finally, Thor could redeem himself of his failures and enter the golden halls of Valhalla.

Thor decided he need not live through this battle.

The forge is cold, empty of fire, but all Thor needs to do is withstand the force of a star and not die. Simple enough-if Death has not claimed him even when he wanted it to, a star should be nothing.

The rabbit is not half bad, he decides, and Thor adds on another friend to his roster ( Another death ? A nasty little voice whispers in his mind to which Thor promptly slams away). And then, he's there, braced and ready for the blow.

Thor has never been so wrong about something in his life-and that is a hefty claim, given the centuries he fooled himself that he and Loki were having a fantastic and functioning brotherly relationship. He manages a strangled curse. The star hurts worse than when he had died as a mortal.

It's light sinks into him, saturating his very being, and though his mouth opens to scream, no sound escapes. He's sure his gaping mouth becomes a black hole, swallowing galaxies and comets, because everything burns and hurts, and can burst stars truly kill gods? He's not sure if that thought is hopeful or despairing or just stupidly curious.

But in that bright pain, Thor's mind is clearer than it had been in ages, the storm clouds swept aside in a way that it has not been since thunder erupted beneath his skin, since lightning blossomed in his veins to make way for undiluted energy. The star burns through everything-flesh, thought, power-and Thor feels relief . Rest.

Asgard herself, come to claim and condemn her champion and greatest failure.

Darkness, and Thor loses all he ever was and ever will be as he hurtles into nothingness-falling, falling, falling, and by the gods, is this what Loki felt when he fell from the Bifrost? Is this the descent every warrior faces before entering Valhalla? Or perhaps Thor has just disappointed the universe so thoroughly, he deserves to be in Hel.

He lands, and the impact is jarring enough to feel as though his soul is being ripped out of his body. He's pretty sure something tears.

Valhalla sucks .

Darkness.

The screams of the dead and the living collide into one massive wail as he hurtles through space. A cataclysm explodes within his chest; his ribs break and crack, becoming a crooked gate of ash and bone for the empty cavity within him. It needs to be filled, but everything is numb and silent and unknown.

He is floating. Weightless.

"-or."

Death-or was her name Fate?-strokes a finger up the bone of his exposed sternum, trails a sharp nail along the vulnerable skin of his neck, pries open his lifeless lips with the gentlest of motions.

Then, she plunges headfirst into his gaping mouth until he cannot swallow, cannot breathe, cannot even choke. Death fills him like a plume of smoke, replaces the channels of empty veins with her dark brand of ichor.

Her presence dissipates at the pit of his stomach.

"Thor."

Her voice calls to him, a herald even in the nothingness, echoing in the empty chamber She has carved out in his ribcage.

At times, it's a lullaby.

Others, its a taunt, a dare, a croon, a promise.

"How long until we meet again, Hero?"

And how odd, for there's sensation flooding back into his nerves and a hot surge of blood filling his fingertips with warmth, and oh , is he—

" Thor !" And it is that familiar exasperated voice, tinged with worry he has not heard in eons, that gets Thor to slowly open his eyes. It's—too bright, almost painfully so, and Thor has to squint to let his eyes adjust. Vivid green and an almost gaudy gold fills his vision.

Besides Hela, and Thor highly doubts that voice is her's, he knows only one other who wears such an atrocious color scheme.

"Loki..?" he manages to mumble. His voice comes out low and hoarse, his lips cracked and bruised as though he had been whipped by wind and then by Sif's right fist.

"Yes, you stupid oaf," Loki replies, but the words sound fond and relieved. "That's good, you remember my name-I can't imagine how insufferable you'd be if you lose even that bit of knowledge. Now, are you alright? That fall was nasty, even for your prideful ass."

"M'ass...is not prideful." Thor says, but the haze in his mind is clearing and the memories of Loki's crooked neck and the hot, burning light of a star are flooding back in, and by Odin's tangled beard, he must truly be dead. "Is this Valhalla?"

"What?" And Thor's eyes-both still intact, he realizes in astonishment as he blinks-adjust enough for him to look up at Loki's bewildered face. "Thor, if a fall from a balcony was enough to kill you, I think father would need to rethink his choice of heir. Did you hit your head too hard? You can't lose the few precious brain cells you have left."

"Heir?" And Thor's heart stops at the sight that Loki's hair is short . Asgardians age slowly, so slow that he and Loki have maintained relatively the same appearance since when they had just entered into adulthood, and that appearance is not very subject to change. Loki's hair was only ever that short in those few years before he found out about his true birthright. ("Function over fashion," was what Loki had called it, even though Thor knew that was complete bullshit given how their mother longed to see one of her sons in the cut of a scholar instead of a warrior).

"Yes...heir," Loki says slowly, and by now his eyebrows are slowly furrowing with concern. "And while I do agree that is indeed quite the questionable decision on his part, it is unfortunately true. Are you sure you're alright?"

It strikes Thor then how clear Loki's eyes are; even years after the madness of the mind stone and his fall through Yggdrasil, Loki's eyes had never quite managed to return to their former clarity. All that envy and anger clouding his mind and heart had taken a toll, left strains and cracks in his otherwise composed mask.

But now, those green eyes were wiped clean of that turmoil, and Thor, even though he hasn't understood his brother's decisions in a long, long time, knows that Loki would never choose to forget the past.

"Thor?"

"I'm...alright." Thor says, swallowing past the memory of Loki's still body clutched in his grasp as it cooled to temperatures beneath that of mortal or Asgardian. There's no way fate would be so kind as to give Thor this-this second chance . Not after it has been a bitch all his life.

He's almost scared to ask his next question.

"Are you...are you real?"

Loki's face twists in annoyance-a painfully familiar expression-and he snaps his fingers with a pointed flare. A snake, green and gold because Loki is a subtle little arse, wraps itself around Thor's arm and bites . No dream can fake that familiar pain. And surely, not even Thanos would be fool enough to attempt a ploy this stupidly convoluted. Thor jolts upright.

"Is that real enough for you?" And Loki's stupid face is smug, but that expression quickly morphs into surprise as Thor pulls him into the hug he should have given his brother on the ship, when he had said "I'm here," when there was still time before Thanos and death and-

" Loki. " Thor breathes because this is his little brother, alive and carefree and everything he was before things got messy and complicated. This is the Loki that Thor thought he had lost a long time ago because even after his brother returned to his senses, things were never truly the same. Thor feels his eyes sting.

"Thor!" Loki says in horror as tears fall onto his shoulder, and his hands raise to push against Thor's chest. " Get off ."

Thor feels himself forcefully pulled away from the embrace by a tendril of magic wrapped around his midsection. He falls onto the heels of his palms as Loki straightens and rises from his crouch. There is a brief moment of shock as they stare at each other in stunned silence. Then, to what must be Loki's utter confusion, Thor begins to laugh.

Of course. Before everything, Loki had hated him, had harbored resentment against him. Thor had been no better, had deftly ignored Loki as well, annoyed by his brother's preference for the spoken word and magic instead of the far more interesting pursuits of brawn and battle.

His behavior now would only reveal that he is no longer the same Thor Odinson that had occupied this body, and that is drama Thor wants to avoid. He shudders to think of Odin's magic tearing away his soul, inspecting it to be the fraud it must appear as. No, better to think through this first for once. Plan. Stark would have been proud.

Thor composes himself and forces on the smile he favored in his youth-charming, charismatic, tinged with arrogance. "Forgive me, brother. I seem to have lost myself for a moment."

Loki eyes him with suspicion, but releases the tendril of magic still curled around Thor's arm. The snake disintegrates out of existence. "Whatever you say, Thor. But if that fall has seriously damaged even your thick skull, I would not be surprised."

"What fall?"

"From the balcony."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"Whose balcony?"

Loki rolls his eyes, and says dryly, "Leave it to Thor Odinson, the pride of Asgard, to not even remember the name of his current pursuit. No wonder she pushed you off, though I am surprised you actually fell like a sack of bricks to the ground. I was expecting more resistance."

Thor racks his mind trying to remember when this happened-and ah, he does recall a very mad Asgardian woman as well as frying pan magicked to have far more force than it should. "I suspect you had something to do with it? You are very conveniently here."

" Me , God of Mischief, orchestrate something as mischievous as this? Why, Thor, what a low opinion you have of me."

"Loki, I thought the world of you." The words fall out of Thor's mouth unbidden, like tumbling pebbles, and for a moment he's back again, in that elevator on Sakaar, his brother at his side once more, and feeling both victorious and saddened that he's able to let Loki go.

Thor has the startling realization that maybe, in this lifetime, he won't have to.

His brother's eyebrows inch upward in disbelief. "Are you sure you're alright?"

And Thor looks up, at his brother not yet poisoned by Thanos' forces, at a Loki who still thinks himself an Odinson and Aesir. He feels a bubbling hope in his chest. He has been given another chance-no, Loki and Valkyrie and Asgard have been given another chance.

Damn Hela, damn Thanos, damn his own father for all the secrets that have festered in these golden foundations. Thor will lose no more.

"I'm fine, brother. Perfect."

He will save them all.