Author's Note: I'm three viewings into Endgame and may never fully recovered.
Idea for this story started a long time ago. After Endgame, it seemed like it was probably time to get around to actually writing it. Spoilers abound. Also, while I have some issues with how many characters were used in the film, this story will still operate out of the context of Endgame to the best of my ability.
(And yes - kidfic.)
Before
Later - if someone asks - Bruce will tell them that he barely had any time to think. But that, in the end, is not the truth.
He acts in seconds, but those seconds stretch on ad infinitum, like in the quantum realm: an explosion of searing pain that decimate nerve endings and threaten to flay him in two, literally. There is more, though - bone-deep, gut wrenching need - and it's a different kind of pain, so many voices crying out to him at once, and he just - he just -
He tells Cap he wished for her to come back. Nat. And he did, he thinks. He does.
But maybe the wish was simpler. Maybe it was more base.
Maybe it was fix it - fix it - fix it.
Aboard the Milano
They've been in space less than a standard Earth day when his communication device dings.
It's Stark tech, and thinking about that brings a tightness to Thor's chest that he is trying not to acknowledge. It's easier when the display springs to life and before him stands Brunnhilde.
"Your Majesty," He says. "Miss me already?"
She scoffs. "I'll need a few hundred years before that's on the table." But her eyes are bright with affection, even when they roll heavenward. "No, I have news."
Thor leans back in his chair, trying not to betray the thrum of panic making rounds with the lightning in his veins. She wouldn't start so calmly if it were serious. "Of Asgard?" He asks anyway.
"Thor," Brunnhilde says, her whole face softening. "There's someone here who'd like to speak with you."
The projection widens then, and a figure steps into view. "My prince," The warm voice rumbles; and then, with a wry smile: "Or, perhaps not, anymore?"
Thor is overcome. "Heimdall," He breathes, reaching out as though to touch the gatekeeper. His fingers stop short of the flickering image, and he clears his throat with effort, eyes whipping back to Asgard's new queen. "How?" He asked.
The Valkyrie shrugs. "There's a saying here - don't look a gift horse in the mouth?" She raises her eyebrows. "And he brought back quite the gift."
"Our people. Those Thanos killed on the ship," Heimdall explains, saving Thor from trying to speak around the lump in his throat. "All resurrected. It took some effort to get here, but we made it. A story for the next time we see you, perhaps?"
Thor has been homesick so long that some days he cannot remember what home feels like anymore. It seems like every year chips away something more. But now he feels it like a tidal wave, and it is with true regret that he dips his head. "I would love to hear it. But it may yet be a while."
Heimdall and Brunnhilde share a glance. "You're always welcome here, Thor," Asgard's new queen tells him.
"Thank you. I know," Thor said, and is grateful to find that he truly does. Abdicating the throne had always meant to him the end, a full-stop to everything he had ever known. But things were not so black-and-white anymore. "I just mean, I do not know when our next circuit to Earth will be. And I am not the leader of this ship."
Brunnhilde nods her understanding. "We'll be fine in your absence." A quirk of her lips at Heimdall, as close as she comes to a smile. "Even better now."
Heimdall motions, and she hands him her device, the edges of the projection fraying as she steps out of its range. He leans close, his expression grave. "Sire," He says. "I have not located your brother."
Thor draws in a breath, determined to keep his nerves steady. "Loki is dead," He says. It is nothing new. An old wound. But it aches - by the nines, it aches - and he can scarcely stand to meet Heimdall's eyes. "Do not waste your time."
Heimdall looks troubled. "He has been dead before." Then: "I was dead, a day ago. If this solution you found brought us back, why not him?"
There is much to scoff at. That Thor had found a solution - that Thor had proven anything but a failure in the last five years - that Banner's snap might have brought back his brother, that Banner would have ever wanted that, when they only knew him as villain - ("Who put me there?" Loki had bellowed at him, on that ship, his pain and fury spilling over between them, and Thor doesn't miss those dark days, he doesn't, knows he was right when he shouted back that Loki knew damn well who, but if the others knew - if they could understand - )
"Sire?" Heimdall asks, his voice soft.
Thor puts up a hand. "I have ceded the throne," He says. "And there is no one else left of Odin." He leans forward, smiles. "I am so glad to see you, my friend."
Heimdall has always been gracious. He accepts the transition, finally, with a dry smile. "And I you, Thor."
Somewhere in New York City
He wakes up gasping for air, staring up into the sky. He'd been having a dream of a hand like a vice around his throat, squeezing - and then throwing away, like so much trash, and there was a fall - falling, falling, falling -
He skitters back against the closest wall, and then pulls himself up, needing the ground under his feet. Can't resist the temptation to creep a hand up to his throat, but everything seems fine. He's alive. That's good.
"Hey!" A loud voice cuts into his space, and then its owner follows. A round man, his expression pinched. "You one of these dustees been coming up all around here? Because listen, kid, you aren't welcome here. Some of us think Thanos didn't do a half-bad job, doing what he did, you get me? And I don't need - "
He doesn't hear the rest, because Thanos is a name that sends a shiver straight down his spine. He turns and bolts.
If only he could remember why.