Well, my first published Marvel fanfic and it ends up like this. *throws pillow to the door with a scream*

So, reviews are love, I'm here if you wanna get mad with me about the movie, and if you have to get harsh with your criticism, keep it constructive and it would be welcomed (I need what you think, so thanks in advance for sharing). Fic recs too please, post-IW stories if you can! I need something cathartic. Need it. Writing this didn't make me cry as hard as I wanted to. I don't think I'm going to move on from this. I'm not forgiving Marvel if they don't fix this. I just. I can't.

See you around, and I hope you enjoy a fic written in the wee hours of mo(u)rning.

...

...

...

A burst of hysterical laughter, a precious thing he hadn't heard in so long.

"Your stupidity knows no bounds, Thor!"

"Did you honestly fall for that again?"

"You bumbling eejit."

"Thor!"

"Thor—"

"Thor, you silly goose." Loki made the exasperation bleed from his words when he placed his fingers on his brow and all-too-wearily shook his head, but Thor, oh, Thor of all people knew it was but a dramatic lie, because the amused laughter that struck his little brother's eyes practically made them shine with that signature misbegotten mischief. Though he knew he was the target of his brother's mockery, Thor found himself smiling back at him. The devious little witch. Loki never did have a sense of—

Thor blinked.

He'd been staring into a basin of water, the immaculate surface of which was disturbed by a single drop that soon flowered into ripples, taking with them the fading image of that memory and replacing it with his own haggard reflection. Realizing this, Thor none-too-gently rubbed the heel of his hand against his cheek in a clumsy attempt to erase any remaining tear tracks and chided himself for getting too caught in such thoughts when he knew that—when he knew—

He thrust his rugged hands into the basin of water and aggravatingly splashed the ice cold liquid onto his face, washing the grief away yet feeling it swallow him right back, exhausting himself in his much-needed respite from this—

This—

He was done with the basin. He flung it to the far side of the kitchen with an agonized roar of thunder, briefly impacting the white wall before it clattered back to the floor.

His face a blank shell of what was once Thor's, the Thunderer found himself weakly staggering to the table, pulling out a chair, and slowly, shakily, settling into it.

And then he stared into the space in front of him.

It still cannot sink into him. It can't. Perhaps it was the predictability of the situation, perhaps it was the shock, but he still found it difficult to grapple with it, to grapple with the reality, because it stung. It stung, because it was so, so cold that it burned his skin from inside out. Or maybe perhaps it was because it's Loki, and Loki...well. The naughty imp had a penchant for glorious resurrections, having already made Thor suffer twice through the hellish depths of grief for nothing, because each time he came out of it, he came out alive and grinning and mocking Thor for falling for it.

Though Thor's mind kept insisting that he let the tears out now so that he could move forward from his sorrow, his heart refused to budge from its place, forever stuck in the first stage of grief.

Denial.

And it made his grief so...dry. A part of him sought to purge his body of this crippling emotional pain, to scream and to summon all the universe's storms and fall to his knees and cry and beg and please bring him back, but a part of him refused to give in, held it still and growled no. Don't. You can't go through the whole painfully pointless process again, because there's still hope, this isn't over, he's playing a joke on you, he's going to come back, it's a lie—

He rested his face into his palms and let a trembling breath escape through the fingers.

He was exhausted and he wanted oblivion. But he'd already tried that. The kind Midgardians of this mansion offered him and the others some ale, and though it worked for them, Thor found the kick to be too laughably weak it might as well have been water. Repressing his thoughts of Asgardian mead—the golden feasting hall, a grand banquet, the permeating laughter as all told their tales of battles and ventures, the amused Allfather drinking wine, the Allmother fussing over how little his younger son was eating, and Loki sitting beside Thor and flusteredly refusing to admit he's actually enjoying the attention from Frigga—

Asgard is not a place.

(and it's lost, it's gone, it's nothing now but a legend—)

It's a people. And I am...I am the only one left who is...

He repressed his thoughts of Asgard.

I am the only one left who is somehow not dead.

He repressed his thoughts of Asgard.

After finding the Midgardian ale too laughably weak for his preference, he had humbly and politely asked the one in charge of the mansion if he could have a room to himself instead. He was kindly provided one; bless the people of this Midgardian abode for their generosity. He had hoped that sleep would be so kind to become his last resort to escape this all. And he's grateful, he's definitely grateful for the room, but...it did not exactly serve his purpose.

If anyone asked why, he'd tell them that it was because the bed was too uncomfortable.

The nightmares were dead moving bodies come alive. Sleep only brought him back to that pivotal moment in time where he was chained to sit and watch with his eyes forced open, the cruel Norns making him live that painful moment again and again and again, only to be killed on the inside each time he failed, failed to stop his brother from—

(He heard the crack, but it didn't register in his brain, because no, no, surely—)

Failing to stop that Mad Titan from—

(surely it's just one of his tricks.)

Right?

Yes, yes of course. His brother was predictable, after all. He was the god of lies, he's probably out there waiting for the right time to say 'Surprise, idiot, you fell for it. Again.' Even if Thor knew it would be more painful, Loki would want Thor to keep his hopes up—maybe that way he'd hurry up and reveal his prank already, because where's the fun in surprising a resigned old geezer?

Thor didn't know what he was sitting around here for. Maybe he was mourning, but he couldn't muster the grief, not yet. Or thinking, but his mind was a blank slate. But maybe, maybe, he daren't think it, but maybe—

Maybe Thor was waiting. For something. For someone. For a miracle, because Norns, if you are real, please, please, you have been cruel enough. For one more time, for one last time, please.

Be kind. Hear my prayer.

Tell me that he had lied to me.

"What are you moping around here for?"

Thor stiffened, shocked out of his religious orison.

What?

He could hear the movement as the person behind him picked up something metallic.

"Ah, this poor basin, what a mess...what have you done now?"

The voice—he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't dare hope whose, because hoping was fragile and he can't afford to shatter it into a million pieces again he can't—

"Haven't I assured you," he said, softly, sincerely, cutting short Thor's inner tirade and hauling him up from his sputtering struggle underwater to let him break the surface and breathe, "that the sun will shine on us again, brother?"

Thor sat still. He didn't move, he couldn't move, but his heart thumped fiercely against his chest and this shell of a body finally felt alive—he could feel the blood in his veins, the hope, the happiness, the fear that this...that this might be a trick.

But he was sure he'd heard movement from behind him, felt the presence of someone from behind him, and though he hadn't heard the definite footsteps of his approach, Thor was sure that—

Thor wanted to be sure that—

He dared not look.

"Thor..."

The voice was gentle, soft, a dash of amusement making it twinkle like a blinking star, but it was the familiarity of it that brought to life the whole of Asgard, as solid and sure as a hand clasping his shoulder and telling him to—

"Turn around, brother. It's alright, I promise. It's not a trick. Don't be afraid."

But Thor was afraid. He was afraid that the moment he'd turn around was the moment Loki would vanish, afraid that this was just the trick of a grieving mind desperate to hear a voice it thought it would never hear again. He was shaking where he sat, and the tears were welling, but he wasn't letting them fall, he wasn't.

As if reading his thoughts, the voice became flesh when Thor felt a strong hand on his shoulder, dashing all his fears.

"I'm here," said Loki as he crouched to his ear, and Thor knew this wasn't a trick because the voice, he was not certain it didn't just come from his own head anymore—

Because it carried through the air.

Thor closed his eyes and curled his fingers into fists onto the tabletop. He inhaled sharply as tears ran down his cheeks.

His lips were trembling, and he was struggling not break down right then and there, but he managed to say it.

"Loki."

He could hear Loki rolling his eyes as he lightly, playfully slapped the same shoulder he'd held just a few seconds ago.

"Who else, you miserable oaf?"

Thor finally gathered the courage to look up at him and he choked on something he refused to call a sob. He stood so abruptly the chair he sat on fell, but he didn't care. The half-laughing half-crying Thunderer swept his fragile little brother—his little brother, his best friend, always and always through thick and thin, from the beginning till the end of time—

Thor hugged Loki, true and tight.

"Loki, you are alive," Thor breathed, and the words cracked just around the edges like a broken dam barely able to contain the water in. "I cannot believe—what happened to you? What did you do, where did you go? No, no, that doesn't matter right now—Loki, brother, oh, my brother, all is not lost, I still have my brother—"

Thor was yabbering and he knew he was beginning to sound stupid, but even as he held Loki he was melting in his brother's arms that it was Loki who had to keep carrying him up.

He even felt Loki raise his arms to hug him back.

"I am just as glad to see you, Thor, but if you do not mind...I'm a little sore."

Thor, realizing that his brother, though he is back, may still not be in the best of shapes, finally, though reluctantly, let go of the hug. But he refused to draw his hands away—he rested one on Loki's shoulder and the other gently at the back of his neck, which, Thor noted, held marks burned into his brother's skin by the Mad Titan himself.

He vowed it. He would killThanos.

For Asgard. For the last remnants he had of home.

For Loki.

Loki cleared his throat, a fist over his mouth, his eyes darting away, as if uncomfortable with Thor staring at him like that.

"You...you once said, in that elevator," he began, almost timidly; and Thor lifted his eyes to meet Loki's suddenly shifty ones, "that our paths have diverged...a long time ago. But I wonder. I think that...I think that we are meant to walk together, brother. Our path had always been one and the same. It is...it is I who strayed."

Loki met Thor's eyes this time, strong, fierce, unyielding.

"I lie, and I trick, and I betray you time and again. And...and it's been a long time since...since I have last said this, but..."

In that one moment, Thor saw a glimpse of the Loki he once knew.

"Never doubt that I love you," Loki finally said, and, as if hesitating to go through with the afterthought, he added, "my brother. My friend."

Thor chuckled, and easily returned it, because he knew in his heart he had never stopped loving Loki as well—not once, not ever, and all that happened in between was just petulant noise.

"I love you, too, brother."

Now Loki smirked at that, and it seemed deliberate that he let the mischief shine in his eyes so that the wet sheen that had begun to well over them couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

"Well well, it seems the confessions are done. Now give us a kiss."

Thor grinned, proud to have a counterattack. "Stop it, cow."

"Cow? You don't really want to start this again, do you, chicken?"

Thor's face crinkled with restrained laughter, but he managed to feign offence.

"I'm not wearing my helmet—"

"And I'm not wearing mine. Your point?"

As they continued their teasing repartee, the pitch black night had begun to lighten to shades of grey—and, just on the far horizon, a tiny yellow ball peeked shyly over the hilltops, letting its bright yellow rays shine once again upon the reunited brothers.