One More Life

By SW-0608

Rated T

~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~

Chapter 1…

Thor sat in the dim, messy living room of his rickety home, staring at nothing. Well, the television was playing, its flickering light the only illumination in his silent house … but the sound was low to avoid waking Korg in the next room and Thor wasn't even watching the late-night drama. He was slouching in his favourite armchair, a ratty, rickety thing Valkyrie had picked up at one of those Midgardian pawn shops … thrift stores, he thought they were called. He sipped from the bottle of beer in his fist and belched quietly, casting a bleary glance over the heap of empty bottles scattered on the worn carpet and on top of the coffee table. The largest bottles were the kind of stuff he used to get muzzy quickly, and the beer was a nice bonus to keep him safely in that fuzzy, comfortable zone of thought where he cared about nothing and the pain in his heart was dulled to an almost unnoticeable ache. He guzzled the rest, automatically grabbed another from the box at his side, and cracked the lid off, tossing the bottle cap on the floor with the dozens of others. He looked at the empty one and smiled a little, a totally unconnected memory bubbling to the surface of his consciousness.

This drink … I like it. Another!

That was another Thor. Another lifetime. He carefully set the glass bottle on the coffee table with the other ones, and settled back in the chair's worn comfort. He raised the bottle in mocking parody of a toast and guzzled half of it in a few gulps. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks and he angrily swiped them away with the hem of his filthy sweater.

Hail the King! He mocked himself. Pathetic. You're so pathetic.

He knew it. But he couldn't fight it. There was no one to fight for any longer. He glared at the bottle, guzzled the rest, and threw the bottle. It hit the sofa on the other side of the room and made a muffled thud as it bounced off and hit the carpet. Angry and fighting more tears, Thor cracked open a fresh bottle and sniffed the contents. The smell of defeat, despair, and cheap Midgardian alcohol wafted up to his clogged nose, grown even duller from five straight years of drunkenness. The Valkyrie herself was starting to worry about him, but he could not deny that her former method of coping had turned out to be rather effective for him. Not only did it dull the sharp pain of grief, failure, and denial, but being drunk conveniently left someone else to pick up the responsibilities of managing New Asgard. He was technically still King, but he could see the glances of pity and worry when (if ever) he poked his head out of his hut. He only ventured out to get wood sometimes, especially in the harsh Norse winters. He left Korg and other kind souls to buy his liquor, especially since he'd been pulled over by Midgardian police three times the first year for dangerous driving. Luckily, at that point he had not actually been drunk; he had simply not really known how to drive Midgardian vehicles. He disliked using Stormbreaker to perform such mundane tasks as flying into the nearest town to buy alcohol.

Sighing and shaking his head at himself, Thor raised his fresh bottle again, the echoing cheers of Volstagg and Fandral coming to his ears from memory, and … no, he would not think of him. Not Loki. Not tonight.

He was drinking to forget. So he would forget. He would not think about Loki; not his expression when he realized who was attacking their ship, not the twist of his long fingers as he gave up the Tesseract to save him, not Loki's final gasps as the Titan crushed his neck …

Letting out a wail of grief, Thor flung his bottle across the room and it shattered against the wall. He covered his face with his calloused hands, tangling his fingers in his long, matted hair. Five years. It had been five years today since his little brother died in front of him again … to save him. He knew that now. Loki would never have done something so stupid, so brazenly brave, unless he knew that the purple beast would leave only one of them alive to grieve. He had goaded the Titan into killing him, so that Thor would be spared. He could still remember Loki's voice, quiet and full of conviction …

I assure you, Brother, the sun will shine on us again.

Five years later, the sun still refused to shine. Thor's grief at the worst of times brought vicious storms lashing their little seaside village, but the alcohol helped. It dulled his emotions to the point that he could grin and laugh. He could act silly and play videogames with Korg, enjoy pizza, and throw rocks at rows of empty bottles. It helped him to forget, so that the surviving Asgardians could have a little sunshine, instead of constant rain. Tonight though, the emotions and memories were such that even the most potent of Midgardian drinks were unable to keep his storm powers in check. An ice storm was beating against the windows and walls, the wind was howling, and he could almost hear the ocean roaring angrily as it was lashed into a frenzy. The wood stove glowed a comforting red in the corner and the television darkened as the credits rolled for the show he'd been non-watching.

Thor straightened up and wiped the tears from his face. He staggered to his feet and barely avoided tripping on the bottles on the floor. He was intent on opening that crate he'd received as a Yule gift from Tony Stark, which he had been told was full of what the Man of Iron called Russian Fire, the potent liquor known as Vodka. Perhaps two or three bottles of that would allow him to sleep. He stumbled into the dark kitchen and fumbled for the light switch. He hadn't found it yet when he was startled by several hard raps on the front door. He tripped over something and fell in a heap on the wood floor in the darkness. He frowned in confusion. Was he expecting anyone? He didn't think so. Thor truly had no idea why anyone would be out in a storm like this. He lay on the floor for several seconds, trying to get his muzzy brain to work, but he lay there stupidly for several more seconds and didn't move. The knocking came again and went on longer and harder as if their visitor was growing impatient.

Groaning, Thor heaved himself to his feet and limped out of the kitchen. His bare toe had caught on something, possibly the doorpost, and now it was throbbing. His head was still swimming from the liquor he'd drunk so far, but he wasn't completely intoxicated yet. He stumbled through the dark house, tripping over various things on the floor and groping the walls for the light switches, but he was a little too drunk to find them. By the time he reached the narrow hallway leading to the front door, the visitor was knocking again, with firm heavy blows that made the door shake and the windows rattle. Thor fumbled with the lock, only belatedly realizing that he should have grabbed a weapon. But if they were knocking, it probably was a friend rather than a foe. And anyway, even if it was an idiot out robbing houses in the middle of a terrible Norwegian blizzard, Thor was an Asgardian. Even drunk he could take on any petty Midgardian criminal who dared tangle with him, and if it was actually some other creature … Thor was reasonably certain he deserved whatever the Norns decided to throw at him next. After all, what else did he have to lose?

He jerked open the door, getting a face-full of freezing wind and ice pellets. Spluttering, he squinted at the tall, hooded figure standing under the flickering porch lamp. His face was shadowed by the hood he wore, and the rest of his clothing was in the style of Old Asgardians. His cloak was stiff with ice and barely shifted in the dreadful howling wind, and where the light struck it, Thor was reasonably sure that it was white.

"Took you long enough," a hoarse, somewhat familiar voice rasped scornfully at him.

For a few seconds, Thor didn't answer, and stupidly squinted at the visitor. Between the dim, fluttering bulb of the light above the door and the raging blizzard, he couldn't see very well. His fumbling hand, tapping the wall beside the door, suddenly found the switch for the hall light, and he clicked it on so he could get a good look at his guest.

Standing on his front porch was a Frost Giant.

Thor yelped and staggered back, old instincts roaring to life and his hand flying out to summon his hammer. But he tripped on the hat stand and fell hard on his back, getting the wind knocked out of his lungs. The Frost Giant caught Stormbreaker when it flew in, calmly stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and shook the ice and snow out of his black hair. The ridged blue face and red eyes suddenly melted into smooth pale skin, blue eyes, and a familiar scowl.

"That glad to see me, Brother? Just what have you done to yourself this time?"

~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~

Loki of Asgard was exhausted. For five years he had been a pilgrim in the cosmos, searching for the survivors of the Statesman. He knew there must have been some who had managed to avoid destruction. And whatever he had pretended in the past, he refused to believe that Thor was dead. He had given his life so to speak, and if he found out that Thor had gone and thrown such a gift away after all the trouble Loki had gone to so the Mad Titan would leave him be … Well, Loki might just become a necromancer and resurrect his brother just so he could kill him again for stupidity and ingratitude.

After the scavengers picked his body out of the wreckage of the Sakaarian ship, Loki had awoken and slowly recovered: emphasis on slowly. He had survived getting stabbed in the chest by a Kursed Dark Elf, and yes, he could survive getting strangled by an insane Titan. But his magic, while it could work miracles, took time mending all that had been mangled and crushed by that Infinity-Stone strengthened fist. His voice had only been regained in the past year.

From Belvere to Nidavellir, Ria to Nornheim, Vanaheim to Alfheim, he had wandered like a cursed being, seeking news like a starving man sought bread. He soon found that he actually knew more than anyone else at this point. Everywhere he went, it was the same story: half the population turned instantly to dust. No explanation, no precursor to this plague … Most had never even heard the name 'Thanos'. Loki knew then that Thor had failed to stop the Titan's mad scheme, but had the brave fool gone and died for it? Had he vanished into dust like the other fifty percent of the universe? No one had heard news of Asgard's refugees, and Loki prayed that some at least had survived and continued on to Midgard as planned. The Asgardians who had already been on the Realms of Vanaheim and elsewhere grieved for their lost mother-Realm, of course and welcomed Loki's news most eagerly. But surprisingly, they seemed overjoyed to see him, Prince Loki, alive and well. Loki was grateful that no one was meaning to tar and feather him before burning him at the stake, but he could not stay. At each world, he was forced to trick or work his way aboard a vessel to reach another Realm, intent on reaching Midgard, if Thanos had not blasted it into oblivion yet. But seeing as no one had heard the name of Thanos, that was a good sign. It meant the mad Titan wasn't trying to conquer the rest of the universe with the Inifinity Stones, and it possibly even meant that the purple monster was dead. One could only hope. But without true knowledge, Loki had a duty to find Thanos and his evil children and wipe them out before they could invade the struggling worlds. Time was slipping by so quickly, and like it or not, according to Eitri, Thor had a weapon that could summon the Bifrost. If Loki was to wipe out the rest of the Titan's minions, he would need Thor on his side.

Without the power of his silver tongue, Loki had found his travels to be quite difficult indeed. Only last year he had managed to reach Alfheim, and after recovering his voice, he had worked for nine months to earn a favour of the Elven mage-guild. Though it had taken his most skillful wheedling, he had managed to convince the Elves to open an ancient portal to Midgard for him. The elation and excitement, not to mention the relief, that had engulfed him as he stood in the Elvish rune-circle vanished as soon as he was pulled across the universe to Midgard.

The land and sea had shifted in the past thousand years or so, judging by the icy water Loki was dumped into upon his arrival. The portal dropped him twenty meters or so into the sea, in the middle of an ice storm that rivaled Jotunheim. To keep from freezing to death, Loki had shifted instantly to his 'other form'. Blue-skinned and rather comfortable in the icy water, the former Prince of Asgard fought through the waves and dodged chunks of ice, and eventually swam to shore. Fearing hypothermia in this horrible storm if he changed his body back to Aesir, he stayed Jotun and trudged up a rocky, icy shore toward the faintest of lights in the distance, flickering through the blowing ice and snow and sea spray.

He had grown a bit more comfortable in his Jotun skin in the past few years. That is to say, he would use it if he had to, and only if no one could see him. But he did not want to see himself in this hateful skin. It was useful, as all of his skills were, but it would never be something he was proud of. Jotun eyes were also very useful in this environment. They saw in several wavelengths of colour that Aesir eyes did not, including the infrared spectrum. He saw heat not a few miles away, and made straight toward it, reluctantly thanking the Norns that he was such a freak. Who knew how long he would have aimlessly wandered otherwise?

Loki was surprised that he recognized the structures that rose up to greet him. They were crude buildings, but obviously built in the Asgardian style. A strange hope rose up in his chest and he impulsively dragged on the magical bond he had shared with his brother since they were very small. It sang happily at his tug, informing him that Thor was not far from where he stood. Loki slipped through the empty streets, glad that the buildings offered some protection from the wind. His clothes were frozen stiff from his dip in the ocean, but he was not cold in his blue skin. It felt rather pleasant out here; like a cool spring breeze, and the snow striking his cheeks seemed to freeze there, as soft as thistledown. The huts lining the crooked streets glowed to his red eyes, and he could see that they had adapted Midgardian technology like electric lights to keep their little village from being completely dark. He could see fine in such a storm, but he was reasonably certain that it was simply because of his eyes, not that visibility was any different here. He found the house where Thor's signature was singing at him, the highest hut in the village, of course. He stopped a few feet away and observed it in silence for several seconds. The hut was small, but well-built. The curtained windows were mostly dark, save for one front window that flickered with faint light. Perhaps a fire was going. His sharp nose could detect wood smoke in the wind. It smelled strangely homey and welcoming.

Here is home, Odin's dying words floated through his mind.

Was Loki home? He felt curiously like he was. After five years of trial and struggle, his own personal odyssey, he had made it back to the man he once called brother, and would reluctantly continue to call so …

The relief that Loki felt was almost crushing. How would his brother receive him? Would he faint of shock? Accuse him of playing a cruel joke? Hug him and start crying? Ugh.

Loki shuddered at that image. He was here for business, not sappy reunions … he might give Thor a little hug if the golden oaf started it, but he would outwardly not enjoy it. The light hanging over the hut's door was flickering fitfully with each gust of wind. It was rather pathetic to see what Asgard's King currently lived in, but the simple fact that it was a dwelling no more elaborate or comfortable than the ones in the village was proof of how Thor had changed in just the last eight years. Had it only been that long since the spoiled, arrogant prince attacked Frost Giants for a stupid insult and got himself banished? It felt like half a lifetime already.

Loki shrugged his white elvish cloak more tightly around himself, even though he wasn't cold, and was a little alarmed that the supple cloth was almost too stiff with ice to move. He dared not shift back into his Aesir form for fear of looking pathetic when Thor or whoever else answered the door. He tugged his frozen hood over his head though, to keep his blue skin from showing too easily in the bad illumination of the lightbulb. That done, Loki marched over the icy ground up to the door, and the hollow thunk of wood under his boots told him that there actually was a porch here, however crude. There was no doorbell or knocker, so he raised his fist, being careful not to look at the blue knuckles or the ridged lines he had inherited from his monstrous father, and rapped hard on the wooden door. He waited impatiently for a minute before he knocked again, harder and longer. Thor was a very sound sleeper, so Loki might have actually been better served by simply letting himself in and dealing with Thor's shock in the morning … but better to get this over with as soon as possible. Plus, it was simply discourteous to break into the home of the King of Asgard. He almost sniggered at that … as if a consideration of such a silly thing like manners would stop him from breaking in if he really wanted to. Loki shifted his feet on the icy porch and knocked again, with firm and heavy blows that would instill urgency in the oaf who would hopefully unlock the door sometime tonight. But Loki had always been patient. The first round of knocking might have jarred Thor out of sleep, the second round would prevent him from going back to sleep, and this one would wake him fully. He would stagger out of his bed, stumble through the dark house, and fumble with the door-latch in three, two, one …

Right on cue, the door rattled, a lock clicked, and a clumsy hand fiddled with the doorknob. Loki stepped back slightly, but not enough for the porch light to illuminate his face. His heart fluttered nervously at the thought of what Thor would say, or do, when he saw Loki's true face. He planned to get invited in by the gregarious golden Prince … or King, he should say … and he would be able to shift back to Aesir form once he was inside the warm house and Thor would hopefully not think anything of it. Well, besides the whole presumed resurrection-thing.

The door opened, and Loki couldn't see anything really. Even to his Jotun eyes, the inside of the house was extremely dark, and with the flickering porch light right over his head, it wreaked havoc on his vision. Somebody was most certainly standing there, but it probably wasn't Thor. For one thing, his silhouette was too wide and rounded.

"Took you long enough," Loki snorted.

For several seconds, the silhouette stood silently, not demanding his name or who he was, or inviting him in. Rude creature. Warmth wafted out of the house, along with the strong stink of Midgardian liquor. Cheap stuff, he would assume by the stench. Had Thor recently had a feast here in his humble palace? Loki was just getting ready to rudely point out how rude it was to leave a guest on the porch in this horrible weather, when the figure's fumbling hand found a light switch inside the hallway and turned it on. The sudden influx of light made him squint slightly, and the round figure let out a hoarse yell, falling backwards in a crash of junk that made Loki see just how messy the house was … and how drunk the man must be. His ratted blond hair was very long, and his beard was unkempt and very long as well, his startled eyes were wide with surprise more than horror, and his hand had shot out as if calling for Mjolnir. But it wasn't a hammer that came racing toward them from the dark innards of the house. It was a huge battleaxe/war-hammer with a polished wood handle that he had never seen before. Loki gave it only a brief glance before snatched the huge weapon out of the air, surprised that it didn't immediately drag him down with sudden weight. So it wasn't like Mjolnir. Loki stepped inside just as the man fell, kicked the door shut behind him, and stared down in horrified disgust at the fat, filthy, alcohol drenched and disturbingly familiar idiot who had basically just tried to kill him for knocking on the door.

It was without a doubt, Thor.

But the years had not been kind to him. Besides his unkempt appearance, his large gut now rivaled Volstagg's and his eyes, one blue and one strangely brown, had lost their fire. He was staring up at Loki without recognition, only a dead sort of resignation. Loki shifted his body back to that of an Aesir, his usual appearance, and watched the shock bleed over the features of the man he had once been proud to call Brother. This brother, who had just tried to kill him just because of the colour of his skin. He had been far too optimistic to think that Thor could overcome a thousand years of prejudice just because his once-brother had happened to be a Jotun. The anger and disgust he felt, more than the shock, bled into his voice, turning it biting and cruel.

"That glad to see me, Brother?" he sneered. "Just what have you done to yourself this time?"

Thor said nothing for several seconds. He didn't even blink. If anything, his eyes got wider. What had he done anyway? Loki did not want to believe that the Mighty Thor had simply fallen apart on his own; far easier to think he had bungled some bit of engorging magic or ticked off that Midgardian half-rate sorcerer they'd met the last time they'd come here together … but it was rather obvious, just from seeing the dead look in the familiar face, that Thor had truly just lost himself somehow. Could someone so strong fall so far in just five years?

Loki sighed, his anger forgotten in a sudden surge of scornful pity, and he tossed the big axe back at its owner. Thor caught it reflexively, but didn't take his eyes off Loki. Turning his back on the pathetic creature that his brother had become, Loki tiptoed further into the house. It was, quite frankly, a vile mess. Junk lay scattered everywhere: empty liquor bottles, clothing, boxes, baskets, garbage of all sorts … In short, it was absolutely filthy. The stench of alcohol was everywhere, as well as the odours of old or burned food and smoke.

He stopped in the messy sitting room and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head at the damage. There were even more bottles in here, including broken ones, and some of the furniture was overturned. A box with a screen flickered quietly in the corner, flashing pictures and images of stupid human entertainment. A wood stove in the other corner glowed nicely, promising warmth, and Loki picked his way across the filthy room to get close to it. After shifting forms, his clothing was now uncomfortably frozen against his warmer skin. His jaw was clenched against the shivers that threatened to make his teeth chatter and he started stripping off his frozen clothes. He was dressed for spring on Alfheim, not this Jotunheim-rivaling winter that Midgard was experiencing.

He yanked off his layers and used his seidr to sweep away all the broken glass that might have been close to his now-vulnerable bare feet before he took off his shoes. When he was free of his melting garments, he twisted his magic, pulling fresh clothes out of storage, and dressed himself. He turned to pick up a slipper he'd dropped, with his new tunic still in hand, and froze, realizing that Thor had come into the sitting room, without his axe, even. Even now, the overweight Asgardian was simply watching him with those huge blue eyes. Loki huffed in annoyance, but said nothing. He put his slippers on, pulled the elven tunic over his head, and ran his fingers through his long hair, shaking out the drops of melting ice and relishing the heat from the stove at his side. His black hair had grown a bit, but it still wasn't as long as Thor's was now. Clad in clean, warm garments, relatively safe in a house, (however filthy) Loki relaxed slightly, and took the chance to look around.

"So," he drawled. "This is the palace of Asgard's King?" He paused significantly, letting his disgust clearly show on his face as he looked around. "Charming," he finally managed. "Not at all what I expected."

Thor said nothing in reply to the clear mockery. Instead, he stumbled over to the ratty sofa and fell onto it, his eyes still locked on Loki in a bewildering manner. Loki stared back at him for several seconds in silence, becoming unnerved with Thor's silence. He looked like a man in a dream … or one who thinks he is dreaming.

Carefully, (watching for bits of glass underfoot) Loki edged closer to Thor. Suddenly, the god of thunder grabbed an empty bottle from his side and threw it at him. Loki stumbled, caught off guard by the move, but he caught it easily enough. Suddenly remembering the last time Thor had done such a thing, Loki tossed the bottle aside and held out his arms with a sad, not altogether mocking, smile.

"Do you still want the hug?"

Thor blinked, looking confused. Loki dropped his arms to his sides and rolled his eyes to the roof. Did he truly not remember? Or was he too intoxicated to care?

"I don't know what you want from me, Thor," Loki said impatiently. "You're not saying anything. Care to use your mouth for something other than gaping?"

Thor still refused to say anything. He opened his mouth and tried, but a strangled, choking noise was all he could manage. Loki realized that the god of thunder really looked too drunk to believe his eyes right now. This was not only a colossal waste of time, Loki was only just now remembering how exhausted he was. He would give anything for a warm bed, and maybe a hot bath too. But he had bathed two or three days ago, so that could wait. After all, if he bathed in hot water now, he would fall asleep in the tub. Thanks to his Jotun form taking the brunt of the weather outside, he wasn't as cold as he might have been otherwise. Yes, they should both sleep, and talk tomorrow. Thor would come out of his shock by then, and probably sleep off his hangover. And by then, Loki would have the energy to punch his brother for so badly misusing the gift Loki had nearly died to give him; the gift of his miserable life.

"You know what?" Loki sighed, raking his hand through his damp hair again. "I think we should both just get some sleep. In the light of day, we can discuss this properly. Agreed?"

"W-wait!" Thor gasped, his voice sounding both hoarser and higher than Loki had remembered it. His big hands, covered in woolen gloves that were missing half the tops of the fingers, reached out pleadingly to him, and tears glistened in his left eye. The other eye, a disconcertingly real-looking thing that was brown rather than blue, stayed dry.

"Wait?" Loki repeated wearily, gathering up his frozen clothes and draping them over the two chairs to dry. "For what? I'm not going anywhere, Thor. I'm tired and cold and I just want to sleep. We can talk tomorrow when you're semi-coherent."

"Don't go," Thor whispered, bringing a fist to his mouth and trembling with his sobs. "Please. Not tonight. Please, Brother. Don't leave me."

Loki stared at him, at the raw fear and grief, the pathetic weakness of Asgard's King … and found he was too tired to fight or mock. It was almost heartbreaking, seeing how utterly broken the mighty Thor was. He sighed again, pulled his blanket out of storage, and marched over to his brother.

"Scoot over," he snapped, kicking empty bottles out of his way.

Thor looked bewildered, as if surprised that Loki had heeded his plea, but he scooted aside, sweeping more garbage off the sofa as he did so. Loki sat down in the empty spot, shook out the blanket, and spread it over the two of them. Thor radiated a lot of heat, and Loki found himself scooting a bit closer, even kicking off his slippers and dragging his feet up under the blanket so he could more easily curl up again Thor. He didn't really care where he slept, just so long as he could do it sometime tonight and didn't do it on the filthy floor.

"If this sofa has fleas, I'll throw you into the ocean and freeze it over," Loki mumbled sleepily, only just now realizing that the whole house was so unsanitary that it wouldn't be surprising if the beds and everything had fleas or other pests as well.

"I'll slay them all if they dare attack you," Thor murmured, his voice hushed and careful.

Loki grunted in a noncommittal manner, and let his head fall on Thor's shoulder. Thor was always claiming he would slay his little brother's demons when they were young. The poor oaf probably thought he was dreaming, but Loki was too tired to correct him yet, and if it allowed him to sleep in peace, he could deal with the idiot's delusions for now. Loki yawned and got comfortable, absently noting that Thor made a softer pillow now than he ever had. Maybe he could forgive the weight gain if it gave him a good night's sleep. Maybe.

Thor gently pulled his arm out from between them both and carefully draped it over his brother, picking up the corner of the blanket and securing it around Loki's shoulder. Loki sighed at the unnecessary gesture, but he was too tired to resist. He had found Thor, and that was all that mattered tonight. He needed sleep. They could fight and bicker tomorrow. Tonight, he could pretend that everything was fine and safe and the universe was a happy place …

"You stink," Loki muttered, right before he shifted and curled up a little closer to Thor. The thunder-god was nice and warm after all, and Loki was still shivering just a bit. Thor did smell ripe, but Loki had been sleeping in Alfheim stables for the last nine months, so who was he to complain? He let his eyes close to the flickering light of the Midgard-entertainment-box, allowed his weary muscles to relax, and he fell asleep on his big brother, glad to have found him at last.

~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~

Thor sat in a daze for who knew how long. He wished he could find the television remote to shut up the idiotic re-runs of that lame soap opera that came on at two in the morning. But the TV hummed on, and Thor couldn't really think with his alcohol-muddled brain anyway. He resigned himself to just sit in strange contentedness with his delusion, his arm curled around the strange vision that had appeared to comfort him in his despair, and wait for the dream to fade. But time passed, his mouth started to feel foul from all the beer he had drunk, and his back started aching. The ghost that appeared to be sleeping at his side slept on in relative silence … but then, Loki never snored. Thor endured his aching back for a while more, not wanting to wake his little brother, but next minute he rebuked himself for being silly. This Loki was a dream, a delusion; it was all in his own drunken head. He shifted into a more comfortable position, and Loki's head moved, now sort of on his rather embarrassingly large stomach. But it did not vanish as he had feared. Loki's head, solid and warm, settled on his ribs, and he seemed comfortable enough. Loki shifted with a sigh and stilled, settling back into the steady breathing of deep sleep.

Thor blinked at the tears in his good eye, and didn't stop them from falling. If the Norns saw fit to bless him with this beautiful delirium, he would not complain. This dream, however dull it might be to anyone else, was heaven to Thor. Loki was here, sleeping without fear or scorn at his side, trusting in his warmth, even sharing a blanket with him. It had an unfamiliar pattern, but Thor knew that drunken visions could be very odd indeed. He raised his free hand and tenderly placed it on Loki's head. His hair was soft, and damp from the blizzard, but his scalp was warm. Sniffling away a few more tears, Thor wiped his nose on his wrist and leaned his head back against the top of the sofa. He would just close his eyes for a bit, listen to the comforting lie of Loki's breathing, as familiar to him as his own, and wake alone in the morning, hopefully better able to help the Skjalfson brothers raise the new roof on their barn. The last one had caved in during a storm near Yuletide. He would remember the blessing of the Norns on this five year anniversary and treasure this simple dream, and perhaps he would grieve better. Loki, who had given his life for Thor, deserved a better appreciation than the fat, drunken fool he now was.

Closing his weary eyes, allowing the pleasant burn of the alcohol aid his peaceful mind toward oblivion, Thor curled his arm around dream-Loki's bony shoulder and fell asleep.

~I~N~~T~H~E~~E~N~D~G~A~M~E~~N~O~W~

I'm starting a new story. I know, I'm bad. Sorry, but this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone!

Sorry for the mistake in posting the whole document all at once before. If you caught that, then you got an exclusive preview into how the next few chapters are going to go! Also, you got to see how pathetically short it still is ...

How embarrassing. ;)

Please enjoy!