It had been Tony's idea, strangely enough.
After he'd returned from that horrible planet -with ashes on his hands and glazed empty eyes- through an ancient portal he'd somehow, in his mute shock, managed to activate, he had collapsed right into Pepper's arms -Pepper, who had screamed, and clutched at him, and if he'd had the strength, he would have clutched right back and never let go- after muttering only two words: I'm sorry.
And after a whole day of sleep and slumber at the -ironically intact- Avengers mansion, he'd woken up with a strange, bubbling energy.
While around him the remaining world stumbled and cried, he'd started running around, grabbing people, pushing them, almost screaming at them, to be heard past the walls of shock and grief.
Barf, he'd scream. To see them again.
And finally, Thor, consumed by anger and grief, had taken him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall with just enough force to make him stop.
It turned out he wasn't talking about barfing, but B.A.R.F., the technology that allowed people to put their conscience to rest by reenacting scenes from the past.
How could they go forward, if pain anchored them to the past?
And so the Avengers, the original bunch, took a moment to soothe their pain. A word, a glimpse of a lost person.
Steve was the first, and he wanted to share with the others any and all good memories he had of Bucky, of his mother, of the life before. He even shared his memories of Howard Stark, to show Tony just how like his father he was, a good man at heart.
Then Tony, who shared his moments with Peter, and managed to give everyone even more reason to fight back. Then Natasha, who showed the good moments she'd had with them as a family, to bring them even closer. Clint, who honoured the memory of Wanda and Pietro, and Bruce who wanted to honour Vision, who was born pure and died loving.
And finally, Thor stepped forward.
«I was blind,» he said, voice firm. «My grief and guilt now tighten their grip over my heart, knowing I condemned a brother who was already suffering. A brother I swore to protect.» he knelt on the white floor and smiled sadly as two tiny figures appeared on a golden balcony, in a golden palace.
«At the peak of the war with Jotunheim I was sent away from the palace, and when I returned my mother was holding another child. He was smaller and paler than any other I'd ever seen, and I loved him even before she told me his name. He was my brother, she said. Mine to love and protect.»
A child, five or six years old, was crouching before a great cushion, making faces at another little child no more than one year old, who giggled and tried to get hold of the other. His raven hair contrasted with the white of his skin and the white of the cushion, while the older's was shining like gold in the late afternoon light.
A woman appeared near them. She was golden too, and proud, as she looked at her children with a loving expression. Her green gowns shimmered and flowed, and young Thor laughed and called out to her.
«Look, mother! Loki is not fooled by the trick of the hands!» he then hid his face behind his hands, and the little child grew serious. He looked at them and frowned, leaning forward and determinedly taking hold of the older's fingers to pry them away from his face, smiling triumphantly when he could see Thor again, who was giggling like mad.
The woman laughed too, and their merriment attracted a man with a missing eye who hugged his wife and kissed her cheek.
«That was my family» whispered Thor, still kneeling. «That was my world…»
The scene changed: they were in a cove, a boy was sitting under a tall tree, reading a book. His clothes were elegant and rich, fit for a prince, and his features were sharp, but still gentled by the roundness of childhood. His eyes were quickly skimming over the pages, green and bright, his lips thinned in concentration.
He held up a pale hand and waved his fingers, and light danced on his fingertips: a flower bloomed between them, white and pure, a waterlily.
The prince smiled and stood up, holding his book against one hip. He sauntered over to a small pond and gently laid the flower down on the water.
He sat down again with a sight, and rested his chin on his palm, gazing at his creation floating away.
«That was my brother» whispered Thor again. «That was him. A scholar, a flower… not a madman, not a mass murderer… that wasn't my brother, and I didn't see it.»
And he cried, kneeling on the grass that wasn't there, and he kept crying when it all disappeared and Steve, the good captain, just laid a hand on his shoulder and sat next to him, in silence, together with the others.
And he cried when, at last, they triumphed. He again hid his face in his hands while around him the lost half came back, thanks to the power of the Stones.
With a little twist, they went even further -or to better say, backer- and combined the B.A.R.F. technology with the Stones, exploiting their immense potential to remedy all the previous wrongs.
Around him, his people cheered and called him King, but still, he cried. His father and mother were now in Valhalla, not planning on rejoining the living anytime soon, and his brother…
Loki wasn't with them. He wasn't among the restored Asgardians either, and not even Heimdall could see him.
And so he cried, for his brother whom he loved and of whom he couldn't beg forgiveness. While joy erupted around him, he sat on the grass of the cliff in Norway and cried. Quiet little sobs, to mourn that piece of his soul he hadn't been able to restore.
His people understood, and gave him space. They quieted their merriment and didn't try to cheer him up, not even the Warriors or fierce Sif.
They kept their distance, everyone but one.
From the crowd emerged a child, of ten or eleven. His green eyes were wide and worried, his mouth a thin line, and he tip-toed close to the grief-stricken King of Asgard.
Thor didn't seem to notice him at first, still trembling and sobbing, shielding himself from the universe by hiding his face in his hands.
Until the child tilted his head, thoughtful.
He crept a little closer and looked at the big, lonely man. He marvelled at the contrast between his pale fingers and the rough hands he lightly touched, and at how even that touch was able to startle the man.
The child grew bolder, prying the thick fingers away from the man's face, and looked him right in the eyes -the blue and the glass one.
He didn't let go when the other jerked and gasped, lowering both hands, and finally, he smiled when he was able to see the man's entire face.
And Thor smiled back, feeling like his soul was whole at last.
Crossposted on Ao3