AN: This was a story I had previously submitted, but I revised and changed a few things. This was previously known as "The Seven Stages of Grief".
Death was never something Thor paid much attention to, and being a warrior it was for the best. Those he killed deserved it and those he watched die deserved it; that was all there was to it. Thor knew that the families he helped destroy would be hurt, but he knew they would get over it because he was doing them a favour - removing the disgusting creature their loved one was would be considered a blessing surely. No one questioned Thor and they never doubted him either, for he protected them and he deserved their respect. It was Thor's life. Kill, bask in their love, pride, tales of adventures, repeat. It was pleasant and it was beautiful.
But death is never that simple, and somewhere Thor knew that. Being on the Bifrost with his baby brother, grasping his hand and staring into his eyes, Thor couldn't help but think of all the others that had watched him kill people they loved, people they knew. He couldn't help think about the look in the eyes of his victims, and his mind whirled noisily in his skull.
Thor didn't remember much after Loki let go. He remembered screaming no, but after that nothing really made sense, and it didn't make sense for a very long time.