Author's Note: I left lotsa loose ends. I just...couldn't keep pushing. Sorry. So. Here I am. Attempting to fix the mess I left behind. This might be part of one of two, but that depends on whether or not I can think of anything I'd like to add. I'm 98% sure that I'm done though. *tired grimace*

Thank you so much for your support and interest! I hope you enjoy. You're all amazing. Please don't forget that.

Please remember to stay safe and healthy.

Warnings: PTSD, injury, some mentions of gore.

"Did I tell them all enough, how much I care?

What if I do something wrong? What if I can't be there?

Did you know I'm crazy?

You're about to see now; just how quick my waters running out,"

-The Hound + The Fox, "Quarantine"

Aftermath:

Thor can't sleep.

He refuses to.

The events of the last year (years) are branded to his eyelids, and every time he closes his eyes he sees them all. His mother's murder, his brother's failed deaths, his father withering away, other deaths, the burning, the sensation of Hela tearing out his eye, then Thanos snapping his ribcage. He's jittery. He doesn't feel quite right at any time, but he doesn't even know how to begin to explain that anytime he thinks about trying to sleep—those nightmares, all those nightmares that are more memories, and he's supposed to pretend that waking is better—he feels anxious and sick. But Norns, he's exhausted. He wishes that he could conk himself over the head with something, just so he could stop hearing himself think. The memories hurt, the shaking of his hands makes him feel weak and cowardly.

He wants to go home. Asgard home. Asgard, where he could sleep. Before Ragnarok came in and dragged a forked knife across his sense of normalcy.

He's so tired.

But he can't sleep. (Maybe he won't. He doesn't know anymore. What does he know?)

000o000

In the end, their journey to Earth via the self-proclaimed "Guardians of the Galaxy" is rather anti-climatic. He'd expected a little more hostilely, maybe outright animosity, but the only thing they do is give them a brief once over and the talking raccoon mutters, "they smell worse than Quill," before offering them accommodations. The group is...strange, if Thor is being honest, but he recognizes himself and the Avengers within them. The family that would die before they claimed themselves anything of the sort.

A little grumpy, tired, and all around worn-out, Thor takes the offered space to sleep without complaint, curling up on the hard cot without a word and only waking somewhat when his siblings join him in the room. Loki has bandages wrapped around his wrists now, but is still walking with a limp and looks like he's been pummeled by a mountain. Hela is bruised and has hastily cleaned blood wiped off, but all of them are still battle-worn, battle-stained, and all around covered in grime from the last few days.

Thor watches through half lidded eyes as Loki slumps down beside him, leaning back on the wall in a strange way as to not pull on his neck. The position looks far from comfortable, and Thor has his doubts that he would fall asleep, but Loki manages without a problem. Maybe it's less sleep and more unconsciousness. Thor's tempted by the same urge.

Hela doesn't shift into a position of ease, sitting cross legged and facing the door, a sword laying on her lap. Standing guard, even though they're safe. The bag she stole from the Guardians containing the Infinity Stones is resting at her hip.

Thor realizes with a small groan that they're going to have to figure out what to do with the bloody things now.

But not right now. Right now, Thor rolls over miserably, buries his head into his hands and allows the sound of the two of them breathing to lure him to sleep.

It doesn't last. He wakes, panting and gasping, a hand against his chest as he feels the phantom stings of his breaking ribcage. He holds a hand against the area and tries to breathe, but he can't and he's going to suffocate and it's not getting better. It hurts. He's dying. He's dying and Thanos is going to win, and Loki will die and Hela and he'll have sat here and done nothing but die.

He wheezes, a gasping wet noise.

He keeps his eyes closed, afraid of what he'll see when he opens them.

His hand pushes against his ribcage. Trying to inflate it.

A hand touches his shoulder and Thor flinches. He shies away and tries to curl in on himself in protection.

Hands slowly wrap around his shoulders and pull him upright and Thor blinks his eyes open, trying to breathe again, and looks up at Hela's blank face. Thor doesn't try to fight her about this. He suddenly feels like a child again, frightened and easily skittish before he was forced to grow up and save himself. Thor crumples and cries into Hela's shoulder. Harsh, grating things that make his entire body ache.

Loki's unconsciousness must not have been quite as deep as Thor first suspected, because his hand rests on Thor's back a moment later.

They breathe.

Hela shifts so she's leaning against the wall, but doesn't relinquish her hold, even when he calms enough to breathe without worrying that his chest is going to collapse. Thor falls asleep slumped against her shoulder, her head on his, and Loki's head on his lap, but all of them are uneasy.

Thor can't get the sound of his ribcage snapping to stop echoing in his ears. It haunts his dreams, running amok the death and murder delved out in huge portions.

It's the first night that he regrets sleeping. It isn't the last.

000o000

When he wakes, stiff and with a headache to rival some of the worst hangovers he's ever had, the Guardians feed them some of their meager rations and Tony frets over Thor as afraid all the blood on him belongs to Thor. But the Time Stone did it's work, and Thor only bears the small cuts and bruises from the battle to kill Thanos.

Still, though, Thor notes that Hela watches him and Loki as if the smallest wind will make them vanish, and though the stare is disconcerting, he ignores it as best he's able; turning instead to answer the questions Strange and Tony have for him, finding a small nook in the space for a semblance of privacy. He keeps his sister and brother within sight. It's a rather easy task, given that Loki is slumped against Hela, never seeming to not be tired, sleeping deeply and she's admiring one of the Guardians—Drax, was it?—knives, discussing with him the craftsmanship.

"I still don't know how you took on an entire freakin' army by yourselves," Tony grumbles once Thor has finished.

Thor shrugs, "We're children of Asgard." He doesn't say Odin. He doesn't know if he ever will again. He doesn't want to claim himself a part of anything that Odin did or became. Even if the man sired him, it means very little in the realm of who Thor will claim a father.

"You were half dead," Tony points out, as if that should explain everything. But honestly, Thor has fought with less strength and arrived out mostly unscathed.

"We were supposed to be completely dead," Thor then turns to Strange, who looks a little flustered and quickly flicks his gaze to the floor. Tony presses his lips together as if thinking over the words the man told them, and wondering the same thing Thor is. Why on the Nine would he lie? Why? For something this big, this life-altering? He insisted that he had viewed all the possibilities, seen everything and come up with a total of zero.

That doesn't...

Tony nudges Strange's boot with his own. Even though his voice is even, his eyes are cold when he asks, "Got something you want to say, Merlin?"

Strange's head lifts, something hot in his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about." He starts to get up. Thor makes a scoffing noise despite his, admittedly weak, efforts to hold it back.

"I think you do." Tony interrupts. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like an explanation. I mean, not that I mind liars, but I think that given the circumstances, truth would have been nice." The words might have been funny, but Tony whispers them like a threat.

Strange turns then, boring his gaze into Tony, and then Thor. "You know why I did it."

No. He doesn't. That's why he asked. Despite what Strange would like to pretend of them, Thor isn't omniscient. Thor blinks, then demands a little harder than he meant to, "How would I?"

Strange flicks his gaze to the left, where Spider-Man is talking intimately with the only woman in the group—Mantis? Mantis—so Tony and Thor follow his gaze and Thor feels his jaw slide somewhat. Spider-Man? How could a youth from Earth, not even an adult by their standards warrant that?

"Peter?" Tony squawks quietly. He gets to his feet, indignant. "Are you telling me that Peter would have single-handedly—"

"No. You," Strange interrupts. He stares Tony down, somehow seeming to tower over the other Avenger. "You are the most reckless, self-sacrificing idiot I have ever known. The moment that you knew that the odds were even marginally better than what I told you, you would have thrown yourself into the fire."

Thor's stomach sinks, realizing the truth of those words. New York. Sokovia.

"But it's not your time," Strange shakes his head, sighing quietly. Then he lifts his gaze to Thor. "And I wasn't lying. You know as well as I that the Time Stone is not a reliable prophet. I didn't know what was going to happen. I could only hope that what I saw was wrong. I asked the Stone to show me the end of the path to when or if Thanos snapped. You said he did. By all accounts, the Stone and I considered this a win by his hand. I never considered the possibility that the snap would be pointless."

Thor frowns, but Tony still looks furious.

"You were going to save me and sacrifice Thor and Hades into the fire? That's very generous of you."

Strange looks pained. "I did what I had to."

Thor's feels like someone punched him in the stomach. "You...how could you do that? My sister didn't—"

"I gave her the Time Stone. I raised your odds as best as I was able, but I suspected that none of you would leave. As I told your sister, I didn't recognize this timeline. I've seen thousands, Thor, do you honestly believe that with all of them being considered failures, I would have a single line burned into my memory? I've seen us fail sixteen million times. There was no stopping it." Strange tries to placate. His lips twist. "I'm no more happy with it than you are."

"You sent us to our deaths." Thor accuses.

"I sent us all." Strange says solemnly and tucks his arms around himself. He shakes his head. "I had to," he looks at Tony, "but even if I had known there was a chance, I would have kept it from you. You are not a lamb to be slaughtered the moment we need a sacrifice. Peter needs you, as does Earth."

"You sent them as a distraction. You all but pulled the trigger." Tony's voice holds an emotion Thor can't place. Oddly, the words warm him, despite the circumstances.

Strange closes his eyes, "But the bullet missed."

Yes, well, that doesn't really fix the problem that Strange wielded the gun in the first place.

But even as much as Thor hates it, he knows the truth behind Strange's words. He himself argued with it yesterday—today? Norns, when was that?—but he hadn't really expected anything to come of it. But it makes sense. To ask for the alternate path of every possibility, the Time Stone would take a shortcut. Strange would have no way of knowing that Thanos's win wasn't a win. If he had all the Stones and snapped, it was a win.

Thor realizes then, how very, very low the odds were of him walking away from that.

How low the odds were for everyone to walk away from it.

000o000

When they get closer to Earth, Quill and one of Thanos's daughters, Nebula, argue vehemently for the Soul Stone, apparently convinced they can trade it for Nebula's sister, Gamora. Thor has heard of such instances happening before, but he can't cite a source and Loki looks a little sick at the idea. Thor suspects that once Loki claimed the throne he did a much deeper study of the Infinity Stones than he and Thor ever received in their education.

After much arguing, they all finally come to an agreement about the matter. The Soul Stone is safest with its guardian, even if it means that they'll no longer have access to it. Thor wracks his brain with what to do about the other Stones. They've caused nothing but misery for the lot of them, and don't seem intent on stopping any time soon.

On top of that, they're making the Midgardians and some of the Guardians sick. Nebula and Quill seem relatively fine, but Thor knows that long-range exposure of the Stones can be like Midgardian radiation poisoning. Even after two days, Thor has a persistent headache that won't leave, and Loki's hands refuse to stop trembling.

He and his siblings have privately discussed destroying them, but Thor doesn't know what that would do long-term. They've been here since the beginning of the universe. They are the universe. The very thread that holds it all together, and their destruction may very well have long-term consequences that none of them want to deal with.

And they don't have a vault to simply throw it in and forget about for the next thousand years until they cause some other problem.

They go around in circles for hours about this. Arguing. Ideas thrown and discarded. The thought of letting them wander free is mutually unwanted, but Thor doesn't know what to do. Thor wishes that the remaining five had their own protection like the Soul Stone. But he doesn't even know how to do that.

But if there was, then that would put more roadblocks in the way of anyone who wanted to duplicate Thanos.

"Jotunheim," Hela pops out finally, seeming beyond irritated and both he and Loki stop, looking up at her. Hela releases an agitated noise, confirming Thor's quiet suspicions. She leans forward, resting her hands on her knees. "They have sacred temples. And guard. Most importantly, they won't use it for anything stupid."

Thor's throat runs dry. He tries to keep an open mind, but thousands of lessons from dozens of different tutors, his father, friends, books he read...everything within him refuses to trust the Jotuns with anything more difficult than scavenging for food. He's been taught they were bloodthirsty barbarians since he could listen.

He looks towards his sibling, but realizes that Loki is watching him warily. Almost as if he expects Thor to release a violent backlash.

Thor realizes with a jolt that they're looking to him. He's their king. They're treating him like it. This is what he was trained from birth to do, but he hasn't felt prepared for this position since he took it. Still doesn't. Months have gone by. He wonders if this will ever fade.

He clears his throat, clenching his fists. "That...we can try that." He concedes and tries not to be hurt by the actual flicker of surprise that flashes through Hela's expression. He breathes out and lets his mind run ahead, planning. He's always been a man of action, planning continuously felt tiresome and monotonous to him. But he needs to do this now. He has to adapt. This is who he is now.

"We can scatter the remaining five through the Nine," he suggests, "we have allies in all the worlds. I'm certain they would understand our needs. Jotunheim among them. Probably not Nidavellir, but Vanaheim, and Alfheim…" Thor trails off, waiting.

Hela nods, leaning back. "Keeping them together would be foolish."

"So it's settled." Loki's voice holds a tone of finality.

Thor looks to the small bag in the center of all of them. The thrumming headache behind his skull reminds of the need for this and he sighs, nodding. "I'll talk with—" He stops. Oh. That's right. He dissolved the council before running after Loki. Who will he talk with now? He's...going to have to put them together when he gets back to his people. "—I'll make preparations for travel," he corrects himself.

"If I may," Hela interjects, "I'd like to take the Stone to Jotunheim myself."

Thor rubs his thumb over his knuckle, knowing why, but hesitant to admit the truth to her. Loki pull his gaze away, suddenly looking sick. Norns, Thor sometimes forget how fast his mind is. Thor rubs harder. "Please. But...but sister, if you are expecting to talk with Laufey…"

Loki clenches.

Thor forces the words out, "You will be disappointed. He has been dead for several years." There. It's out in the open, without condemning anyone as his murderer. He doesn't even know how much Hela knows about the circumstances of his first, failed coronation. He and Loki haven't spoken of it since Surtur.

Hela's expression flickers. Grief. Then she steals herself. "I see." That's it. No demands on how it happened, no anger, no sadness. Just a flat tone, like she's remarking on the weather. Loki anxiously rubs his thumb across his palm, eyes wild, but face so, so tired.

"It was me," Loki whispers, even though no one demanded that he admit his guilt.

Hela's gaze stares at him, hard. Waiting.

Loki swallows, still looking down at the floor. The Infinity Stones hum between them. Thor rubs at his knees anxiously wishing that he had something to say. "There was...circumstances arose and I thought...thought it would be better if he...I'm sorry, sister. I know he meant something to you."

Hela is quiet. "Did you know? That he was your father?"

Loki twitches. He closes his eyes, something like shame flitting across his face. Thor almost startles at it. It's the first indication he's ever received from his sibling of regret for what happened on Jotunheim. "Yes,"

"Then why—!?" Hela's voice drops the anger suddenly. Almost as if all the fight had drained from her. She shakes her head slowly and releases a long, worn sigh. "He should have meant something to you, too," Hela sighs, and gets to her feet. "He wasn't my father. He was yours."

Loki looks a little sick. Thor can guess on why, but he suspects it's the same reason Thor is. Laufey left Loki to die. He was hardly the father that Loki…Unless Laufey didn't, and Loki was a prisoner of the war that ended when he was born.

"I'm sorry." Loki whispers. His eyes are still closed. "I didn't understand."

Hela stares at him for a moment, something puzzled on her face before it darkens abruptly. "You did it for Odin, didn't you?"

"I did," his brother's voice is barely audible.

Hela simpers, but it isn't happy. "Well." She doesn't say anything else. The heavy syllable hangs in the air before Hela turns and exits the room. Thor watches the exchange with something tight in his chest.

Loki lifts the back of his hand to his mouth. He opens his eyes and looks towards Thor, breathing out heavily. "I killed my father," he says. Thor doesn't understand his tone. There's grief there, and certainly disgust, but it's also a little broken. Loki's eyes are wet. "I didn't even know him, and I...Norns."

"There was a war going on," Thor says softly, trying to think coherently as his headache spikes for a moment. "You were trying to lessen causalities. That war was Laufey's not the Jotun's. Without him, they backed down."

Loki laughs, dark and bitter. "I don't know what I was doing. And I killed the one person our sister has ever regarded highly because of that."

000o000

When Thor finds Hela later, her eyes are red and it's obvious she's been weeping. Mantis is sitting across from her, antennas twitching slightly as she talks quietly with Thor's sister. It's mindless prattle, but Hela doesn't hear her. Her gaze is distant, eyes lost and posture defeated.

Six years earlier, and Hela would have had the chance to see Laufey again. But none of this would have happened if the events around the whole mess had been jumped over.

Maybe that would have been for the better.

Norns, this hurts.

If Loki and Hela have a conversation about what happened, he doesn't see it. He doesn't suspect that they do. Hela seems to grudgingly shoulder this through and Loki is quieter than normal for a few more days. They don't speak until they do, one moment they're not speaking and Hela is simmering silently with a fury not directed at his brother, but Odin, the next she breaks the silence and that seems to be that.

(Very privately, Thor wonders if Laufey would have even remembered who Hela was. Odin's memory spell swept through more than just Asgard. Loki may have done her a service, because surely it would have hurt more to have been forgotten than to never see someone again.)

Thor notices something odd about Loki, though, as he watches them throughout this long journey: he doesn't use magic. Not once. His brother has relied less and less on it throughout the years, but he still wields it like he does breath. He knows that Loki can use it—how evades him, but neither Hela nor Loki will give him a straight answer when he asks—he just...doesn't.

It's weird.

As weird as you not sleeping? A snide voice questions in the back of his mind. Thor bites on his inner cheek and shrugs it off. He notes it, but he doesn't act on it. Maybe if he did, he would have saved them all some grief.

000o000

They arrive on Earth. Thor meets his people there and deals with all the messy politics that follow, an exhaustion settling deeply into his bones. He hardly feels alive, and more like a routine. Eventually, the Norwegian government agrees to grant them land on the edge of their territory and he and his people take it with thankful tears.

Thor asks Brunnhilde, Korg, and a few other Asgardians to take the Stones to the realms and ask for their help as Loki and Hela travel to Jotunheim, earlier animosity forgotten. They eventually return cold, but Hela looks somewhat elated, even if Loki looks like he got kicked in the shins and didn't quite shake it off. Thor can barely spare a moment to talk with them, even if he wants to know more of their travels. Jotunheim was asked to look after the Tesseract.

(Thor thought it was only fair. The Casket of Ancient Winters was their only means of realm travel. The Tesseract can serve them well and hopefully they can open up better trading routes than what they have. He wants to repair the damage his father did, but he doesn't even know where to start. This is somewhere, a grievance a thousand years old, but it's somewhere.)

Setting up the kingdom, even with the aid of sedir, takes weeks. Thor looks back one evening and realizes they've been on Earth for four months, but he can barely remember enough to fill a week. He thinks of the blurred days and the even blurrier nights. (He still can't sleep. Won't. The nightmares are worse, and he chokes on air that should be easy to breathe.)

Yes, he decides, four months sounds about right.

Matters of state take hours and longer than his energy can hold out for. He appoints a new council and as his people slowly settle into their new lives, Thor feels something in him slowly begin to release with relief. They're alive and as happy as they can be, Thor hasn't failed them.

He hopes.

000o000

"Thor," Loki asks one morning, looking up from the cup of tea he's been staring into since Thor stumbled into the kitchen. Probably longer than that, judging by how cold the cup is.

Thor hums in question, squinting at the back of a box of...something and trying to get his brain to process the words so he can know how to prepare it.

Loki sighs. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

Thor gives up on the box and sets it down, looking up at his sibling properly for the first time. Loki is bare-footed and his hair a mess. Thor wonders if he ever left the room during the night. His eyes are shadowed deeply. He looks troubled.

"Brother?" Thor moves to the table and takes a seat next to him. The cup has clumps of something floating in it. Thor doesn't want to think about the implications of that. "What's amiss?"

Loki's mouth twitches. He still won't look at Thor, gaze pinned on the wood. "Nothing of consequence, I didn't mean to disrupt you. Please. I know you're busy."

Busy. Busy?

Yes, Thor has been running ragged from one thing to the next, in a perpetual state of ready-to-collapse and so high off of energy he feels like he's been drinking Midgard's caffeine pure. But he's...he's not ignorant; nor too busy to offer the comfort Loki looks he needs.

Thor remains where he is. He narrows his eyes, and then sits back, blowing out a long breath. "Look, I know that I've been a little...preoccupied these last few weeks, but that doesn't mean that I can't—"

"We haven't spoken in two weeks. Did you know that?" Loki looks up. His eyes are sharp, but red and wet. His tone wasn't even angry, just resigned.

Thor blinks. "No. That can't be right. Surely…" he stops. His mouth twists into something unhappy as he tallies the days and the hours, working back through the mush and mess and realizes that Loki is probably right. A fortnight? They live in the same house. Thor sees Loki frequently, but...it...oh.

Loki exhales and then continues slowly, "You're running yourself to the ground. If you keep pushing this hard, one day you won't wake up. The point of a curia regis and advisers is to take some of the weight from your shoulders. You needn't do this alone."

Thor bites on his lower lip, flicking his gaze down. A part of him wants to rouse to the words and entice an argument, simply because his pride insists that Loki has just called him weak. But Thor is so tired of fighting. "I don't know how else to," he admits. "Father never taught me anything different."

"I know." Loki promises, that tight look on his face again. "But don't...don't…" Loki doesn't finish his thought. Thor wants to ask, but thinks better of it. Instead he tightens his grip on the wild chaos running around inside him and gives a thin smile. His smiles feel strange now. As if he's forgotten how to do it without straining his face and making him feel more tired than he was before.

(But he won't sleep. He can't. No dreams, no dreams, no dreams.)

The words fall flat, because they've had this discussion before. And Thor has already shifted as few responsibilities as he could without feeling like a coward. A leader's job is to delegate, Thor remembers Commander Tyr stating once, but that had always contradicted how his father ruled Asgard.

Thor thinks that this is the heart of the problem.

Talking about anything to avoid what the actual issue is. And even knowing what they're doing leaves him with a tired, worn feeling, but no real desire to stop it any time soon.

"Thank you for your council brother, I will take your words into consideration." Thor promises, and gets up to his feet. His balance strains for a moment as his vision tunnels, and Thor accidentally shoves into the table, hard. Hard enough that the cup Loki was drinking from spills over the edge and liquid begins to dump out all over the floor.

Loki catches it. With sedir, as he always does with something startles him. The liquid remains frozen in place, suspended in the fall, but not touching the floor. Thor expects, as Loki has always done, to simply wave a hand and place it back into the cup. He doesn't.

Loki releases a ragged noise, shoving back sharply into a staggering stand and the tea spills against the ground.

Thor eyes it, his brain trying to process what just happened. Why wouldn't Loki just use magic to fix this? Why would...?

Thor looks up, and sees that Loki is staring at the tea with wide-eyed horror, as if he'd just murdered something. His hands are trembling and he makes a noise in the back of his throat, moving towards the counter to look for paper towels. Paper towels, when his brother could just use magic and fix this. There's a tightness to Loki's step. An anxious jitter.

"Loki," Thor breaks from his stupor. "Loki, what are you doing?"

"Cleaning." Loki snaps.

"I can see that," Thor says, somewhat irritably. "Why don't you just use magic?"

Loki nearly drops the paper towel roll. He kneels down next to the spilled tea and hides his face behind strands of dark hair. Thor moves forward some, lifting up the cup and righting it on the tabletop. Loki soaks the tea into the paper towels, sounding like he's trying not to be sick or weep.

"Loki."

"No, Thor."

"Loki."

"No."

His patience thins. "Do you think I'm blind?" Thor demands instead of answering. "I know that you've been using your sedir little recently, and I want to know why."

Loki stills, muscles taut before he seems to break free from the timid mess he's been since this started. "What would you have me say!?" Loki exclaims, looking up at him harshly. He scrapes the paper towels against the floor and bunches them up, surging to his feet in a sharp motion. He throws the paper towels onto the table. "Would you have me explain how it felt to have my sedir eating me apart or how it felt when Hela—" he clamps up, as he or Hela always do regarding this subject.

It is a mystery that drives Thor insane.

"When Hela what?" Thor says in exasperation. "Will you tell me what happened? How she brought you back from a death sentence?"

Loki shudders, his mouth snapping shut. He shakes his head lowly. "You want to know why I'm not using it?" The words are delivered as a threat, but an obvious attempt at a subject change. "Because I am a coward. I'm so much of a coward that I'm afraid that the slightest use will rupture my heart and send me exactly back to where this started. There is a reason people don't survive sedir collapses, Thor." His tone is haunted.

Thor hates the morbid curiosity that wants to ask what it felt like. It's not his story to know.

Loki is afraid of his sedir? Something that has been with him since his birth? Something that their mother taught him in, the last memory he has of her? Sedir is as much a part of Loki as lightning is for Thor. This...it almost feels ridiculous, but Thor understands. As much as he can. It's...it's like the dreams. Thor needs sleep, but he'll go to Helheim and back before he does it willingly.

"I..." Thor can't come up with anything to say. This is apparently worse than blabbering. Loki's expression closes off on a barely controlled flicker of hurt. He clears his throat. "I see."

"No, you don't." Loki says.

He doesn't.

"I can try." Thor promises. "Just let me know how I can help, please. I've never heard of survivors to this, I just...I don't know what to do."

"It is my burden to bear," Loki's fingers clench around the cup. Tight. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable.

"But not alone." Thor insists. "Just...please?"

Loki's lips ghost a smile. He looks up towards Thor's face, all sharp angles, still. "Of course."

Thor's too tired to fight the lie. Instead, he pretends that he didn't pick up on it, and smiles with that fake, exhausting thing and tries to go about a normal routine where his head isn't whirring. Loki is afraid of himself. How is Loki ever going to get better if he's afraid of one of the things that used to bring him so much joy? How is Thor supposed to help this? It's bigger than him. Bigger than all of them.

Loki's eyes follow him across the room. Too late, Thor realizes as he's later stepping from their small home, did he think to ask why Loki had been there all night. Well, it's rather obvious. He wasn't okay.

Thor is not okay.

He doesn't think any of them are. But Norns, how good they are at faking it. Thor plasters that ugly smile on.

He doesn't sleep that night. This time he thinks of the horrified expression on Loki's face when he realized he'd caught the tea without meaning to, but Loki does fall apart. His magic collapses in Thor's dream, and he bleeds through his mouth and nose until he chokes, and Thor can do nothing but watch, knowing exactly what it feels like to drown in blood.

No dreams. No dreams. No dreams...

000o000

There are days that Thor feels his title is more a curse than blessing. Well, most days, today included. He doesn't even remember how it started, one moment he was trying to help two neighbors settle a dispute over sheep, the next one of Eir's aides is running up to him, breathless, and explains hurriedly about how there was a fight in the training ring and how "Commander Hela" had been stabbed.

Thor had offered her a position on the court as a Lady, maybe a duchess, but Hela had laughed and said the idea was ridiculous. Thor gave her charge of Asgard's meager army after some hesitation, and Loki the position of his head adviser. The jobs kept both of them busy, all of them busy, and busy meant no time for thinking.

No thinking meant weeks passed where they could pretend nothing was wrong.

And now Hela's gone and got herself stabbed.

There's more annoyance than worry building in him as he follows after the aide, long since assured of his sister's ability to recuperate after wounds that should have killed any other man. He bursts into the healing wing, flinging open a door with the aide scurrying inside before he locates his sister on a cot.

She's sitting up, gauze wrapped around her torso and dressed in a thin gray, sleeveless shirt. The sight strikes him as odd immediately. He doesn't think he's seen her show any more skin than her fingertips and face. Maybe her feet once or twice. But it's not that she's pale and bony that stops him nearly dead in his tracks. It's the scars.

Up and down her arms, stitched and ugly. Most are battle wounds, some from Surtur, but as his gaze slips to her forearm he can see the awful mutilation where the dwarf metal hides inside. And Norns she's thin. Sickly. Thor didn't realize how much she hid behind the thick swathes of clothing until it's not there. Loki does the same. Hiding a slight figure beneath armor. Thor still remembers the way his spine had stuck out when he'd showed them the scars and—

Hela looks up from her crossed legs to him, a wane smile on her lips. He doesn't think he's ever seen her look more uncomfortable. "Hello, brother."

Thor blinks. Then he breathes. And then he remembers why he's here. "Are you in mortal danger?" he questions. His tone sounds far more flat than he meant for it to be.

Hela quirks her lip and tilts her head, dark hair falling over her shoulder. It hides some of her left arm, but not enough. "Why? Are you concerned?"

"Yes." He grits out. He doesn't want to play this game today. He's running off of less than four hours of sleep in twice as many days and he's not in the mood for their usual banter. Hela looks a little confused at his tone. "What happened? Did you provoke it or did someone else?"

Hela shifts some and winces, hand straying to her side. "It was more of an accident than anything else."

How do you accidentally get stabbed? Thor bites back the incredulous query and instead says, "That doesn't answer the question."

His sister sighs, then pulls her gaze away for a moment. "I don't suppose you have a blanket I can borrow? My armor was a mess and Eir refused to let me keep it on." At that she makes an unhappy face, clearly wanting to add something, but doesn't.

Thor glances around for a moment, trying to spot the desired object, but having little success. He doesn't really want to go rummaging through everything. Thankfully, it was a little colder today than normal, so Thor had decided to bring his cloak. He unclasps it from his neck, fumbling with the buckle for a moment before sweeping it out and wrapping it around Hela's shoulders.

She grasps the edges and pulls it around her body tightly, sitting up a little straighter.

Thor frowns. He feels like he's been doing that a lot recently. He can't remember when he actually smiled last. Norns, if this is what his father felt all the time, it's little wonder he went off the deep end. Loki once called the crown a burden. Thor has never felt more inclined to believe that statement.

"Thank you," his sister's tone is soft. He looks up and she releases a tight breath before saying, "Heimdall and I were sparring. His sword slipped."

"Slipped." Thor repeats dubiously. He looks at the bandages wrapped around her middle. That would explain why there's so many. Hofund is a thick blade. The wounds it creates are meant to be fatal. Heimdall knows that, and he's not an amateur with weapons. Slipped. What does that even mean?

Hela fiddles with the edge of the blanket. The action startles him somewhat, reminding him of, well, himself. It's an action that's almost childish in nature, but speaks of her discomfort more than anything else could have. There's something she's not saying. More to the story, he supposes.

Thor takes a seat on the edge of the cot, forcing himself to loosen. He is not her king. He is her brother. He doesn't need to treat her like a convicted criminal, nor serve as her judge and jury. She was stabbed. He's supposed to be helping.

"Yes. Slipped." Hela repeats, voice almost wistful.

Thor watches her for a moment, biting on his tongue before saying, "You're even worse a liar than I am." He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to be right, but has to anyway, "Did he attack you?" He can't see Heimdall doing anything of the sort, but he can't rule out possibilities.

Hela looks startled. She raises her eyes from where they'd fallen down and squints, then shakes her head. "No. We were sparring, I told you. It was an acci—"

"—dent. Yes. But I've seen you with blades; I've fought you. Accidents like that don't happen. Not with you."

Hela is quiet. Stubborn.

Thor waits.

Then she sighs heavily and pins her gaze up so she doesn't have to look at him, wrapping her arms around herself. "Brunnhilde took me here," there's something mirthful about her tone, like that should be funny, "she promised if I didn't say something that she would murder me while I slept." She bites on her lower lip for a moment, "I was dizzy. I couldn't focus. When he brought his blade forward I...collapsed into it."

Thor stares. He doesn't understand. "How—why—?"

How does Brunnhilde know what's going on before Thor does?

She and Hela hate each other.

...don't they?

Hela turns her face away now, clearly embarrassed. "It's the food. On Midgard. They've...it tastes strange. I can barely gag through it, but I've rarely gotten it to stay down." Thor feels mild horror wash through him. They've been here nearly five months. She's...has she eaten nothing since they got here? Why didn't she tell him? Thor remembers that at first he thought the food was poisoned, much to his mortification and the end of Selvig's temper, but it had passed after a while.

Thor manages to find his voice. "Why didn't you say anything to me? Please tell me that you haven't been running off of nothing this whole time?" Hela doesn't offer the reassurance. She instead looks towards the floor like if she does so for long enough it will grant her mercy and swallow her. Thor swallows thickly and tries not to be irritated as he asks, "Did you tell Loki?"

Hela shakes her head, then turns her head sharply towards him. "If you mention one word of this to him or Eir, I will not be responsible for the bodily harm I cause you."

"Then why did you tell Val?"

"She found me throwing up last week." Hela says, jaw taut, "She kept pestering me until I explained. If I didn't know her better, I might have labeled her as concerned," his sister's lip curls.

Thor throws up his hands. "Throwing up? I can't not say anything to Eir. You could have been killed, Hela. You collapsed, in the middle of a fight, how did you survive Helheim if a few months was enough time to—"

"I didn't." Hela is stiff now. Stiff and still, but radiating power and anger. She doesn't expand on the thought and Thor is afraid to ask. Her steal blue eyes lift to meet his. "You know that our father...gifted me with the spell that I could do no harm to myself?"

It slipped his mind, admittedly, given recent events. He gives a brisk nod anyway.

Hela gestures vaguely. "That's what this is. It's not my choice to run around with nothing. I must have a susceptibility to something they use to preserve their foods. Hence, the vomiting."

Oh. Great. He bites back a grimace and runs a helpless hand through his hair. "There must be something that can be done. Let me speak with Eir, I'm sure that you're not the only one bothered by it. The crops we planted aren't due for another few weeks, but we can find something. I'm sure of it."

Hela looks doubtful.

Thor tries not to be hurt by that.

She sighs wearily and tips her head back against the wall, his cloak still wrapped around her shoulders tightly. She looks exhausted. Thor kicks himself mentally for being such a fool. How could he have been so ignorant to not notice what was going on? He's been trying so hard to be what everyone needs, but how can he take care of a country if he can't even care for his family?

There's the sound of footsteps and Thor looks up before the door is opened and Loki bursts inside. "I heard what happened," he says shortly, walking up to Hela's side, "Eir explained. Are you well?"

Hela shoots him a warning look to keep his mouth shut, but gives Loki a tired smirk. "Dear brother, be careful. One could mistake your tone for concern."

Loki scoffs. "Merely annoyance."

That tired smirk grows while Loki studies her with his eyes. "Just a training accident is all. Happens to the best of us."

Liar, liar. But who is he to talk? (No dreams, no dreams, no—)

000o000

"You need a vacation," Brunnhilde tells him the next day. Thor looks up from the paperwork he's trying to shuffle through to the Valkyrie. He sighs tiredly and leans back against the chair wishing he could burn the paper rather than read through it.

"Do you want something?" he asks her. He's already irritable and they've exchanged only two sentences. This is going to be one of those days, then. He doesn't want to be frustrated, but he's still exhausted, and the events around Heimdall and Hela's squabble aren't helping. Especially the gossip that he heard spilling through the crowds.

He had managed to speak with Eir though—discreetly, because he fears for his safety if Hela is to ever learn of it—the one small highlight in this, and though the head healer hadn't promised an immediate fix, she did say she'd look into it. She had a remedy she'd been giving other Asgardians with similar problems—how has he not caught wind of this before? If there's an ailment going around, as king, Thor should know—but she doesn't know if it will fix Hela's particular situation. If it does turn out to be an allergy, and not just a fight past the gag reflex.

But still. That doesn't cure everything. It's not the simple solution he wanted to offer his sibling. But it has to be enough right now.

Brunnhilde smirks, sinking into the chair opposite the desk and lifting her feet up onto the wood. Her boots are dirty, and Thor shoots her a pointed look the Valkyrie seems to take great delight in pointedly ignoring. "No. Just wanted to check up on you."

Thor brushes some of the grim away and fiddles with his pen. "I'm doing fine, thank you. You can take your concerns to where they're actually warranted."

Brunnhilde lifts an eyebrow at that. "I'm pretty sure they're exactly where they need to be."

He sighs. Exhaustion eats him to his bones. The type of weariness no amount of sleep can help with. But he has to keep pushing and pulling and yanking himself through this. He's king now, not just prince. He's in charge of all these people. Their safety and stability rest on his shoulders. He can't just stop because he's a little tired.

Thor returns to the papers.

Brunnhilde tries at conversation again. "I heard what happened to Princess. Well, saw it actually. I helped carry her mangled body to Eir. She wasn't doing so well. Any change?"

Mangled?

He grunts.

"You're just in the mood for chatting today, aren't you?" the woman sighs. Thor scribbles his signature down on the bottom of the page, not entirely comprehending what he just agreed to, but needing something to do to avoid her.

"I'm busy."

"You usually are. Hence, vacation." Brunnhilde says.

"I'm fine."

"No, actually; you're not." Her tone has grown more serious, and Thor stares harder at the paper. The words are blurring. His headache is getting worse. She leans forward. "Listen, it's almost endearing how hard you're trying at this, but you need a break. Have you even slept since you landed?"

He twitches.

No dreams, no dreams, no—

"Probably." Thor assures. But he knows the dark rings beneath his eyes are getting harder and harder to hide. He flips the page, only to have Brunnhilde's hand slam down in the middle of it. He nearly startles backwards, but holds himself together and looks up at her. "What?"

She's scowling at him, but her voice is surprisingly benign when she says, "Go home, Thor. You need some sleep."

He shakes his head and then regrets it. He bites back a cry of pain and waits for the world to stop spinning so much before he meets her eyes again. He forces a smile. It hurts. "Really, Val. I'll be fine. I'll just finish this and then head home."

Brunnhilde doesn't move her hand. "Do I look stupid to you? You either go now or I knock you out and drag you there. Which one do you want?"

Thor waits, expecting her to back down. She doesn't. "You're serious."

"I don't think a punch will help your headache, Majesty." She almost says it sweetly. Now she's smirking. Thor scowls when he realizes there's really no way out of this. She's stubborn, and Thor lost the energy to fight her about two weeks ago.

He gets to his feet. Brunnhilde looks triumphant and all but shoves him out of the office.

Thor falls against his mattress, but waits for sleep to come and it doesn't. He's too exhausted to rest. (No dreams, no dreams, no—)

000o000

Loki is off...doing something, Thor doesn't know what, but Thor has just returned to the house when he hears a loud crash and muffled cursing. Hela was released from the healing wing yesterday and Eir had explained that she'd need a few days of rest, but should be back to normal before the week was out. Eir had also, not within the earshot of either of his siblings, said that without any energy for her body to use, Hela's healing would be considerably slackened.

Thor thinks about that. He knows the Helheim wasn't a bountiful place for food to blossom. Hela drew her strength from Asgard. Without that, now she's just as vulnerable as the rest of them. Thor can take a hit, but a stab like that would knock him down for a few days.

Eir hands him a tonic and tells him to have Hela report to her every other day until they can get the food situation solved.

Thor tiredly follows the source of the noise to Hela's room. The door is half open and Thor can see an open first-aid kit on the bed. Exhaustion is quickly replaced with concern and he pushes open the door completely, taking a step inside and—

Hela is standing next to the bed, shirt tugged up on her left side to reveal the wound as she wrestles with a needle and thread, applying stitches to pinched, angry skin. It's bleeding lazily. Thor gapes for a moment, trying to comprehend that she's trying to give herself stitches before swallowing his words of frustration and anger. Instead, he moves forward and catches her fingers.

She flinches, then looks up at him. Her expression clouds instantly.

"Let me," he offers and she sighs, but lets go of the needle and thread. Thor takes up where she left off. The majority of the stitches held, but it looks like something yanked on them sharply. A small voice in the back of his head says that he should take her to Eir, but he shakes it off. "What happened?"

"Fell up the porch stairs." Hela mumbles.

"Fell...you fell up a staircase?" Thor questions incredulously, unsure that he heard right.

"Well I didn't fall down it." Hela retorts sharply. "I felt the stitches pull."

The unspoken why floats through the air. Malnutrition. It's getting worse. Eir's tonic better do something, or Thor doesn't know what he's going to do.

"Norns," Thor sighs. He pulls a few more stitches through the skin before tying and snipping the string. "Turn, I need to look at your back."

She tenses. "I—I'll take care of it." Thor closes his eyes for a moment, trying to will patience forward. Thor has heard of some impressive feats of healing on the battlefield, but not once has he heard of successful stitches done by the injured on their back. He gives her a pointed look and Hela closes her eyes, resigned and turns slowly, keeping her shirt tucked up only enough to let him see the wound.

Thor runs his hands along the stitches. Nothing looks broken, but he wants to be sure. Hela grows more tense with his touch, almost skittish. He bites back any comment and determines that the stitches are intact. He moves back to her front and Hela drops the shirt, tucking her long sleeves over her hands.

He can feel her eyes on him as he begins to clean up. She seems confused, but not unhappy. "Thank you." She says after a moment. "It's much easier to have someone else do them."

Thor eyes her. She shrugs lightly, and then says like it is just a perfectly normal fact of life, "No one cared enough to do it before. Eir insisted, but I know that's only because of you. And I was unconscious by that point."

Thor chews on his inner cheek. "You wouldn't let them use sedir?"

A twitch. "It's only a few days. It's already much better than it was." Which isn't much of a consolation. It's still grotesque. "I didn't," she tugs at the sleeves again. Thor remembers the mangled scars on her arms and doesn't have to guess at what she was going to say. Hela is terrified of sedir, a quiet fear, but one that's there all the same.

Thor thinks of Loki, and his stomach twists with discomfort as he realizes he still has not seen his brother use any. Loki hasn't approached him about the topic. They've said nothing regarding it since the tea.

He closes the first-aid kit. "Just let me know if you need help with it again. Please?"

She nods.

Thor leaves the room and once in the privacy of his own slides down the door and tugs his legs up to his chest, breathing between his knees. His eyes burn, but he blinks them back harshly. He's not going to cry. He's king now. He's not even sure what he's so panicked about. He's just been dramatic. But there was blood.

There was so much blood.

Thor nearly drowned in his blood. Thanos crushed his ribcage and then nothing but blood bubbled up. Not air, not water. Just blood. He rubs his hands across his scalp, but the smell and the feeling won't leave him. His breath hitches several times as if trying to make it past the blood pooling there. But his throat is empty. He's not drowning, even if it feels like he is.

000o000

Loki is screaming.

Thor doesn't know the exact moment he connects the strange wailing noise with his younger sibling, but he's already moving before he does. Thor throws open the door to Loki's room, expecting some sort of threat, something, but there's nothing there but Loki curled in a tight ball and gasping on the mattress. He's sobbing.

The light clears from his vision, lightning settling inside him again.

Thor lingers in the doorway for a moment, but then blinks past his confusion and moves. "Loki," he whispers. Loki doesn't respond. Or even seem to hear him. His brother twitches, hands wrapping around his ribcage further, digging into his back.

The light from the hall offers enough to see by, so Thor leaves the door open. He reaches out a tentative hand to Loki's shoulder before laying it there. A twitch. "Loki," he whispers again, "Loki, it's alright. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you, I swear."

Loki still doesn't seem to realize he's there.

Thor sighs in sympathy before sitting on the edge of the bed and moving to start to gather his brother into his arms. Loki's head snaps up, something between a keen and a wail slipping through his teeth. "Don't—" he commands harshly, shuddering. "Please, I can't…"

"Loki," Thor keeps his voice as even as he can. "It's alright. I'm here. I won't let anything harm you."

Loki stares at him, squinting. Then recognition slowly settles and he breathes out sharply. In a voice that sounds young and tired, he asks, "Thor?"

He nods, trying to dredge up a smile. It isn't very successful.

Loki uncoils and sits up stiffly, blinking rapidly. He's crying quietly now, and Thor scoots across the mattress before he wraps his arms around his sibling and holds him. In a true testament to how unsettled he is, his brother doesn't even protest. Loki simply rests his head on Thor's shoulder, breathing out raggedly. Not crying, just breathing.

Thor works his fingers through Loki's hair. "It's alright. Nothing is going to happen. It's over." He whispers mindless things and tries not to think about how quickly Loki managed to find reality again. How many of these has he had? How many has Thor ignored simply because his brother wasn't loud enough?

Thor holds Loki until his younger brother slips into an unsteady sleep.

He settles him back down and throws a blanket over the thin frame, staring at him for a moment before exiting the room and pulling the door closed behind him. Movement catches his eye and Thor looks to his right where Hela is sitting against the wall in the hall, knees tucked up close to her chest. Thor stares at her for a moment, and she returns the favor.

"Have you been there this whole time?" he whispers.

Hela doesn't say anything, but that's enough of an answer. "Is he asleep now?"

"Tentatively," Thor answers, rubbing at his face. Hela gets up to her feet, her eyes still lingering on him. Thor begins to move back towards the living room, aware that if they have a conversation outside of Loki's room, they'll inadvertently wake him. Hela follows after him.

"Have you slept at all tonight?"

(No dreams.)

"Some," Thor settles on, instead of the honest answer of no. "Have you thrown up yet, or is Eir's medicine working?"

Hela tips her head. "This isn't about me."

Thor sinks heavily onto the couch. He stares at the paperwork again. It never seems to go away. He works and works at the pile, but it mutates and spawns new life when he's not looking. Even now, the stack seems far larger than what he left behind. Thor reaches for it.

Hela swipes the entire mess off the couch to the floor. He makes a sound of indignant protest, but it's meaningless. Hela sits down on the couch across from him, pointedly shoving some of the pieces away with her bare foot. Now they're scattered across the ground. It will take forever to organize.

Great.

Scowling, he looks up at her. She's guiltless. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I want to talk to you, not my king." She says flatly. Like there's a difference. Thor's about to make a point of that, but she slaps a hand over his mouth, sighing heavily in annoyance. "No. Be quiet. I want you to listen very carefully, and then you can say whatever you want. Let me speak my piece. This isn't working. Whatever it is you think you're doing. You're going to have a very short reign if you keep this up. Thor, I have tried to be subtle, but short of slapping you over the head with a pan, I have reached my wits end. You need to sleep."

(No dreams.)

They're supposed to be talking about Loki. He feels almost tricked.

"I can't." He protests.

"Why?"

"I—" he hesitates on the word. No dreams. "I have to run the kingdom—"

She leans forward. "Fibbing, Thor. Stop it."

She stares.

He stares.

The silence grows. Tight. Uncomfortable. Choking. She waits, stubborn, and the pressure gets worse and worse.

Something in him just...breaks. It's like glass hitting the pavement. Shattering and loud. "Because if I sleep then I'll dream, and if I dream then I'll be in a worse state than Loki is now. I have tried, but I'll take marginally functional over insane!"

Hela's eyes grow dark. "Loki isn't mad."

"I never said that I thought he was—" Thor stops, frustrated. He did say that. But he didn't mean it in that way. He exhales in frustration, squeezing his eye shut.

Hela shifts. "Sleep deprivation isn't the answer to this."

"Then what is!?" Thor barely keeps from shouting. He tears his eye open. "I can't think, but I can function. Asgard needs me. I'm not allowed to fall apart right now. When will it be my turn? When will I get to be the one that's a mess? When? Never! Because I'm the king and—"

"And my little brother," Hela snaps. "It is my duty to look out for you."

Thor stares at her. "Then where on the Nine were you for most of my life?"

She flinches. Thor feels his face drain of color. That was too far. It's always too far. Now she's going to strike him, or take out his other eye, or up and leave, or decide to conquer Midgard, or kill something and—he doesn't want to be blind.

"I was exactly where our father left me." Hela's tone is flat. She doesn't make a move against him. She's bristling, but she's not attacking. She breathes out, "You need a few days where you can just rest. Please, Thor, I can rule as regent for a few days if it will get you to stop."

She can...what?

It's not that bad.

It's really not.

Thor is still going. He's still pushing and getting done everything everyone wants him to. He's not. Whatever it is Hela thinks he's doing. He's fine. Really. Aren't they all? (His smiles hurt. Smiles shouldn't hurt.)

Hela gets him to sleep that night, after more arguing. Thor wakes up, panting, to the taste of blood in his throat and the sensation of his ribcage being snapped. He lays awake for hours, barely breathing, and convinced he's one breath away from choking again.

He kicks off the blankets.

No.

There's a reason he does this as rarely as possible. Next time it will be Loki's dead eyes staring up at him, or Surtur consuming Hela completely, or watching Frigga fall to the floor in a crumpled, bleeding heap over and over and over again. He can't sleep. He won't. He refuses to see those dreams again. No dreams.

000o000

Life goes on. Thor keeps moving. Pushing. Pulling. He won't stop because when he does he thinks too much. Thinking hurts, but little doesn't now.

A week after Loki's dream, Thor arrives back home to Hela vomiting in the bathroom while Loki stands in the hall, arms crossed over his chest and expression pinched. Thor sighs, resigned, and then shares a look with his brother.

They wait until Hela emerges, looking pale and sickly, but more frustrated than anything else. "I'll talk with Eir," Thor promises, and he and his sibling guide their sister to bed. Hela collapses against the mattress and faces the wall instead of them, silent. Stoic. "We'll find something else."

Hela doesn't say anything.

He has to keep clinging to that hope, because if he lets go, he'll lose himself. Well, lose what's left.

000o000

Oddly, it's an off-handed comment that changes everything. Thor hadn't been prepared, and he doubted that Tony meant to change so much so simply.

"So how are things? In New Asgard, was it? You, Grim Reaper and Jingle Bells ready to call for a mutual disownment yet?" Tony sounds amused on the other end of the phone and Thor can only contain his grimace.

"We're just about there." He admits tiredly. Everything he does is tired now. He feels drunk sometimes, and so very, very dead others. The lingering effects without sleep are bleeding into everything he does now. His voice, his movements, even how he drinks water.

"Oh. I was joking," Tony sounds a little sheepish. "Not all fun and games, I see."

Thor snorts. "Not exactly."

"I'm guessing that's why you called."

"You called me, Tony." Thor reminds him irritably. "I don't want to sound rude, but if this isn't important, I really have work that I need to—"

"Are you serious?" Tony almost squawks. "You're pulling that card? You sound like my dad—" Tony continues on his tyrant, but the words don't really register after that.

Thor stops. The world almost seems to fold as the words strike him, and then settle into a very dark corner of his mind that has pled and pled and pled that he be anything but his father since Loki fell. Thor nearly drops the phone. He's becoming just like Odin. He's turning into everything he swore he wouldn't.

His lungs clench inside his chest. He can't breathe, and this time it isn't because he's choking on blood.

"I have to go." Thor whispers, and hangs up the phone before he hears Tony answer. He holds the device in a trembling hand for a long moment, trying to breathe normally and find something funny. To do anything but slowly crumple like pillowing dust. Weeks. Months.

Pushing so much has forced him to focus on survival, and survival alone. Thor hasn't been living. He's been...putting the kingdom before everything else at the cost of everything.

Tony calls him again several times, but Thor doesn't answer.

He collapses to his knees and releases the device, moving to shuffle against the wall and hyperventilate. What is he doing? What is he doing? What is he doing? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT!? He's tried so hard and become the very thing he sought to avoid. He's...he's…

Crying.

Thor blinks back with surprise when he feels the wet moisture slide down his cheeks. He hastily rubs it away with the back of his hand, but it doesn't help. More tears follow. More and more until he's sobbing. Screaming.

Thor grabs at his hair and yanks. The power in the small room flickers and flares.

He doesn't know how long he sits there before hands wrap around his shoulders and Thor feels himself get pulled against someone. He doesn't care who it is, opting instead to cling to their arms and cry like a lost child. He feels like one. A child wandering out in the woods too late and never made it home again.

A third hand joins the two, and Thor hears a second person shift down next to him.

He cries himself to sleep.

000o000

When he wakes, he stumbles into the living area with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sees his siblings sitting on the couch. Loki is reading and Hela is flipping through some of the reports he should have dealt with days ago. And, from what he can tell, forging his signature with a disturbingly high accuracy.

Both of them look up at him when he enters, but it's wordless.

Thor stands still for a moment before he sits down on Loki's left. Still tired, he slumps against his younger brother and reads the words over Loki's shoulder. He doesn't recognize the writing or the author, just sits in silence for a long time as Loki turns the pages, and Hela illegally does work for him. He should feel worse about that, but he doesn't.

He wants her to.

Norns, he's too tired to do it himself today.

Hela gets up and prepares a meal, setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. It isn't anything fancy, sandwiches with salad, but Thor doesn't really care. Hela doesn't immediately leap from the couch to throw up when she bites into it, so Thor considers that a win. In fact, the whole thing seems rather pointed, as if she's trying to show of.

Eir must have stopped by, which is weird, because Thor hasn't been asleep that long, has he?

With the meal settled and Thor slowly losing himself to sleep—no dreams—again, he asks, "How long was I asleep?"

"Three days." Loki answers, flipping the page. Thor feels mild surprise, and then it settles into a resigned acceptance. Three days doesn't seem long enough. He's ready to add a forth if he's being honest with himself. "And—amazing feat, Asgard didn't crumple to ash while you were doing so."

The jibe is pointed.

Thor only grunts, then watches Hela scribble his name down. "You know that's illegal, don't you?" he questions. Hela hums in agreement. Thor sighs. Of course she doesn't care.

"You can rest, Thor," Loki says quietly, "we'll still be here when you wake up."

"D'n want to dream," Thor mumbles. Loki lowers the book and Thor can feel him staring. Then he sighs and lifts a hand to pull his index finger across Thor's palm and murmurs something. His hand twitches as a warmth trickles up through it, and then settles in his mind like a slight fog. Thor shudders, wrapping the blanket tighter. "What'd…?"

"It's a dreamless spell." Loki explains.

Oh.

That's—wait.

Loki just used magic. A rush of elation washes through him. Loki just—without even seeming to hesitate, he just...did magic. For Thor. As if Thor is more important than whatever fear Loki has of another sedir collapse. Thor wants to make a big fuss about this, demand answers and shout and yell, but his mouth is rather opposed to the idea, and Thor can only slur out a few stumbled syllables.

He's too tired to think.

Loki used magic. Hela ate something.

"Th'nks." He sighs. Loki lifts up his book again, a slight tremor to his hands, and Thor leans heavier against his shoulder as he starts to slip into oblivion. Before he can though, his mouth opens and he mutters, "I didn't thi'k that you'd ever do magic again on Statesmen. Still don't understand how. You were…deading." There. He...asked why Loki's doing it now. Sort of. No, not really. But he brought it up.

Hela and Loki both still as if struck. Thor blinks confused and then lifts up his heavy head to look at them both. "You never explained how you got him out."

Hela gives a thin smile. "I think that's a story for another time."

"I want to know."

"You're practically asleep, brother." Hela reminds sharply. "Not now."

When will it be? You never say. I'm still in the dark and it's been months.

Thor goes quiet. His mind is pulling on sleep and dragging him down, but he plants his feet and thinks. Strange gave Hela the Time Stone to even the odds, but he didn't drop them in the same place. So Hela must've...what? Found Thanos first? Maybe she bargained for Loki's life with the Stone. But Loki was already dead by that point, it wouldn't have really…

Oh. But she's not even a sorcerer so—you don't need sedir to use it.

Hela had the Time Stone.

Thor blinks, trying to focus. "You found Loki, but when you did, you used the Stone on him to heal him, didn't you? To before...everything." But that's a long time to go through, years, and how would she know when to stop? And why wouldn't they have just told him?

Loki's hands are going white around the edges of the book.

"No." Hela says softly, "But I wish I had."

"Then…?"

"In their basic state, all Stones are an energy source, Thor," Loki's voice is tight. "She used that to jumpstart me, for lack of a better phrasing. Thanos had all but killed me when he took the Space Stone. He used a different Stone to take it, which kept me alive long enough for Hela to get there. Sedir is energy. The two sources merged and..." Loki's lips press together. Thor guesses. Pain. The two wouldn't have meshed well and...oh. That is much worse than just using the Time Stone. "Thanos destroyed me with one Stone, and Hela revived me with another. It's an ironic circle, is it not?"

No.

Thor's lips twist into a frown. "Loki…"

"Don't." Loki snaps, hefting the volume up higher. "I don't want to talk about it. I won't. Just go to sleep Thor."

"But I—"

Loki whispers something under his breath and Thor feels the rush of sedir before he slumps. Cheater.

Later, Loki admits to him that it was the first time he'd used magic since the tea. Thor had been quietly humbled as Loki had grit his jaw and looked away from him, saying that he had "used it for you, because you needed me too," as if that was that. Thor had given his hand a squeeze and thanked him, because Norns it's such a relief to have dreamless nights.

Loki starts to use sedir a little more after that. Hesitantly, like dipping a toe inside of cold water before trying to emerge the foot.

Thor also learns that Eir thinks she's found something that will work. Hela hasn't thrown up in nearly two days. It's strange that he's so happy about that.

000o000

Thor takes the next week off. It's weird to sit around and do nothing, anxiety claiming that he must be moving at all times or else he's wasting his time as a lazy crass. But Thor thoroughly enjoys the freedom of being able to stare at the same speck on the wall for four hours and have no judgement cast down upon him. If he wants to look at the chipped wood, he has all the freedom in the world.

The week doesn't last, unfortunately, but it's enough to calm his frayed nerves. He delegates. He tries to shift the responsibilities around as much as he can so he's not being crushed by it, and it helps. Somewhat. Thor still can't sleep, but at least now he has the option of doing so.

More often than not he finds himself in the living room, counting the cracks on the ceiling as he waits for dawn to approach. Sometimes one of his siblings will join him, Loki more often than their sister.

"I'm not okay," Loki admits to him during one of these. The long hours have waned, and both of them have begun to whisper into the dark. They're side-by-side on the floor, thinking.

"Neither am I." Thor says softly. It feels good to say it. To shove off the unbreakable king persona and just be...Thor. Loki breathes steadily, and Thor mimics him.

"I keep seeing it happen, over and over. I thought...I was getting better. With the dreams. I didn't have them as often before Ragnarok." Loki says.

"I can't stand the taste of blood. Or the smell. I was drowning in it." Thor admits.

"I wanted to be brave, but I cried when I saw him again. Thanos."

"I thought that Hela was going to die that day. Or everyone. The snapping sound haunts me."

"I'm afraid of the shadows. I don't want to be left alone to suffocate again."

"His grin is seared into my memory. I can't believe how satisfied he was to kill so many innocents."

"I'm afraid of dreaming."

On and on they go. They don't talk about what was said, or laugh at each other later. There will be days in the future when they will bring up these events purely to antagonize, but there is a solemn understanding of these few hours. They won't talk about it. They won't need to.

000o000

The sun is slowly setting in the distance. Thor is sitting on the roof with his siblings on either side, looking out at the bustling people beneath them. Thor feels...content. Maybe not quite happy, but he's getting there. He will be on it, some day.

"They never look up." Hela remarks, leaning her head on her hand as she surveys the land. "We could be assassins for all they know."

"Right." Loki sounds exasperated. "Because that's a problem New Asgard is struggling with."

Thor watches a young girl weave flowers into her brother's hair and a couple reunite after a long day. There's people moving, and the world is still awake. Alive. Safe.

"It's basic safety to be aware of your surroundings." Hela protests. "All they're doing is...ugh, are they kissing?"

Thor laughs. "Not a romantic, I take it?"

"My one romantic stint was when I was a youth and a visiting prince punched me in the face." Hela answers blandly. Thor and Loki stare at her, and she glances at them. "What? It was war. He could have stabbed me instead."

"Because that's better." Thor grumbles.

Hela shoves him off the roof.

000o000

That night, Loki uses sedir to clean up the mess on the table. Hela eats something without vomiting, and they crowd around Thor's phone to watch a rented movie Tony recommended. It's awful, but they laugh and sneer and Thor hasn't felt this happy or relaxed in a long, long time.

He smiles, and it doesn't hurt. It feels normal. Natural. Relaxed. And Thor realizes that he feels better. They all do. There wasn't some grand conversation where they decided they were going to get better, and that would be that. It just...happened. As if the darkness that has followed them needed to be balanced with light. As if that's just the normal order of things.

He isn't going to complain. He likes these smiles that don't make him ache.

That night, he sleeps.

And he doesn't dream.