They still called him the Gatekeeper.

Though there had been no gate to keep for many months, the title remained his to hold.

Why? It wasn't a question he could answer. The reason lay with the people, where it would stay until he gathered enough courage to address the matter.

Heimdall was by no means a cowardly being. Quite the opposite, in fact. But peering down into the eyes of a mother who just lost her child and correcting her choice of vocabulary was not a thing he could find the strength to do.

In short, it was not necessary.

Perhaps the people needed a dose of familiarity in this time of change. Perhaps he had held the position for so long that the title was embedded too deeply in their minds.

Perhaps, the fact that there was no longer any gate to keep reminded all that Asgard was also no more.

And perhaps… this wasn't a fact his fellow Asgardians were prepared to accept.

When all's said and done, it wasn't a fact Heimdall felt the need to argue.

Asgard was gone and so was its magnificent gate. The Bifrost would never open again.

And yet, her gatekeeper remained, a steadfast bulwark against each trial thrust upon her people.

What a pitiful mess they all were! What a most depressing lot to have landed on Midgard at such an untimely moment.

Thanos.

The Infinity Stones.

The Snap.

All were terms that continually set Heimdall's skin on edge. Even after it was all over, it still wasn't over.

Perhaps, it never would be. Perhaps they would never see an end to this madness.

Thanos: cut down at the hands of the mighty God of Thunder.

The Infinity Stones: dissolved into dust, and thus, oblivion.

The Snap: a simple slide of the fingers that stole more than half of the people he swore to protect.

From Hela. From Thanos. Gone.

All of them, gone.

To this day, Heimdal can't remember the last time he allowed himself to mimic the motion. Sometimes, Brunnhilde would do it—would snap without thinking. A tick, his prince had termed it. And the sound would prick Heimdall's skin like the sharpest of blades.

Most wouldn't dare to believe it, wouldn't even entertain such a notion, but the All-Seeing Gatekeeper of Asgard could suffer—had suffered. Fear, anger, concern, these emotions were not foreign to him.

It was how he chose to live in light of them that made him stand out from the crowd.

Fear was not something to hold onto—it was a thing from which you fought tooth and nail to free yourself.

Anger was meant to be quelled—a fire that should be banked at first light.

And concern… Concern was merely an extension of empathy—it was meant to drive one to help another. A brother who suffered. A son who thought himself indestructible, and therefore, placed many burdens upon himself…

A young prince, whose valiant efforts to lead his people—to compensate for the absence of their king—might have pushed him closer to the jaws of Death.

Heimdall set his jaw.

In all he did, Loki always tried too hard. This had been the case, Heimdall observed, since the trickster was a very young boy. Whether it be mischief or a streak of goodwill, the prince poured himself fully into his task.

A trait that served as both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for New Asgard; a curse for the boy himself.

How many times had Loki dragged his feet into the Valkyrie's home, carrying the weight of heavy bags of sleeplessness beneath his once bright eyes? It was a tally Heimdall had given up on making as the number rapidly continued to climb.

Who could count the sleepless nights? The long days and draining arguments? Not the All-Seeing Gatekeeper, surely.

No… Heimdall's golden gaze surveyed the room. Not I.

No one could, it seemed. Each trial, every stumbling block… They all bled together on a sickening canvas of red—a portrait of suffering that repulsed even the hardest Asgardian hearts.

"Gatekeeper!"

Closing his eyes, Heimdall filled his lungs and composed himself before turning to the young volunteer—one of his very few drafted "healers."

If only could, indeed, heal.

"This one," the boy continued, having now earned Heimdall's undivided attention. "Her fever… It's too high. Nothing we do will bring it down!"

"Have you tried the ice?" was a foolish question, so Heimdall kept it locked away in the deepest recesses of his mind. Instead, he felt his gaze wander, his omnipotent eyes drifting back toward the young Odinson as he lay on the couch, trapped in the same illness that had captured so many.

Wake up. But Loki had never been one to follow commands. Even during his early years, the beloved Queen—Vahalla rest her soul—was the only one, it seemed, who truly held the boy's ears and heart.

It was for this reason that Heimdall knew his plea would go unanswered.

First one, came his grim thought as he knelt to oversee their newest critical patient, now the other.

Was Asgard simply doomed to lose her entire royal lineage? A queen to the blade; a king to old age. A prince-turned-king to his own mind.

And now, an enemy-turned-friend to a mysterious plague.

Perhaps Asgard's age of glory had truly come to an end…

The volunteer knelt beside him, breathless from his continual rush about the room caring for the sick. "Is there nothing else we can do for them?"

Call a doctor. Is that not what Dr. Banner had suggested? The words felt as though they had been uttered a lifetime ago. So much had happened, and still, there was so much to be fixed.

Silence reared its ugly head as Heimdall fought to find the words to say—any words would do, as long as they crushed the silence.

In times of peace, Silence settled in as a dear friend, bringing a much-needed quiet to Heimdall's active mind. However, during trials such as this, Silence morphed into a beast he could hardly recognize—a friend turned enemy. One with whom he could not seem to reconcile.

"They're here! I got them!" The child's voice pierced the void that had begun to consume the hall and Heimdall turned.

Though he would never show it, relief showered his tense body as the Valkyrie strolled in with her doctor.

Banner spoke first, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the sort of unique concern for which Heimdall had developed a deep appreciation.

"We came as soon as we heard."

"Who was it?" Brunnhilde's tone was all business, though her pain shone through the hardened wall of unshed tears, which had at long last begun to fracture.

Heimdall's own tone matched hers—short, somber, and to-the-point. "Haldor."

A slight flick of his hand beckoned them across the room. With each step, they drew closer to the place where Death had chosen to linger, its breath thick and suffocating.

Behind him, Brunnhilde swallowed. "You haven't told his family yet?"

A mere shake of his head was all Heimdall had to offer.

Bruce bit out another one of those Midgardian curses Heimdall still could not seem to get used to. "How many kids?"

How many children were now rendered fatherless by Death's greedy claws? It was a question on which Heimdall had refused to dwell. Now, the good doctor had forced the image of four young, clueless children back into his mind.

"Four," Brunnhilde responded, voice dismal—and rightfully so. "Norns, I hate this."

Banner knelt down, his eyes clouded with an intensity unmatched as he studied the lifeless body. "What were his symptoms right before he died?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't say," Heimdall said. "I was not with him when he passed."

"Who was, then?"

With a quick wave and a whistle, Heimdall summoned another volunteer from across the room. "Eira, tell the doctor what you saw."

Nodding, the young woman began her disorganized explanation. If Banner could make anything out of the shocked girl's hysteria, he would earn Heimdall's eternal respect.

Perhaps, he mused as he tugged the Valkyrie a short ways away, he has already done that.

Who knew a simple Midgardian could ever turn out to be such a valuable asset—and friend.

Heimdall took a brief moment to study Brunnhilde's face before speaking, voice low. "How is he?"

The warrior huffed, her eyes filling with that familiar glimmer of irritation. "As infuriating as ever. Do you know, he just stood there—all the way on the other side of the room—while Bruce and I scrambled to work with the ice. I just can't believe him sometimes—"

"No," Heimdall replied, swallowing any ounce of desperation that threatened to bleed into his tone, "I was referring to Loki."

"Oh." At the mere mention of the young prince's name, Brunnhilde's eyes glazed over. "Bruce said he woke up once. I wasn't there, but… but he was calling out for me. We left Thor with him, and if the big oaf is taking his job seriously, he should be trying to cool Loki's fever as we speak. Do you—" Here, she cleared her throat, an obvious distraction from the way her voice had chosen that moment to crack. "You think he'll be okay, right?"

"Our prince is strong. I've learned it takes quite a lot to kill him." At this, the Valkyrie let out a weak chuckle. "I know he'll be all right."

"Okay… Yeah. Yeah, okay." Whether she was trying to convince him or herself of this fact, Heimdall didn't know.

He only knew that Loki was not the only Asgardian who could conjure up a convincing lie.

"That's it." Banner stood up and rejoined their little group. "I'm calling it. Loki said I could make the call to get a doctor—a medical doctor—in here if things got ugly. And I don't know about you guys, but I can't think of anything uglier than death."

Heimdall nodded. "Do whatever you think best, Dr. Banner. We are at your disposal."

Relief painted the doctor's face as if he hadn't expected such ready compliance. "Great. Uh… I'll, uh, go do that, then."

Another nod dismissed Banner, who wasted no time in whipping out his phone.

"I suppose we should tell his family, shouldn't we?"

Heimdall glanced at Brunnhilde. "Wouldn't you want to know the moment something such as this happened to someone close to you?"

"I was afraid you were gonna say something like that. But, yeah. I guess I'll go find them—"

"No. I was the one in charge when this tragedy occured. I'll tell them."

"You sure? You don't really look like you want to."

"Who would? And yet, it must be done."

Brunnhilde gave the slightest of nods. "I'll keep watch here. No one else is dying tonight. Do you hear?" As she raised her voice, the small army of volunteers froze and all eyes landed on the Valkyrie. "I won't have anyone else dying tonight. Is that clear?"

A chorus of affirmatives answered back in dissonant unison, as if this task was something they were certain they could achieve.

Great reluctance drove his feet out the door and his heavy heart did nothing to speed the journey along. Quite the contrary, in fact. To resist the magnetic pull that beckoned him toward the young Odinsons' home was a difficult feat indeed.

Fortunately, Heimdall was mighty.

For now.

Should his prince die, however, the Gatekeeper had no doubt this might—this great strength of will that had not once failed him—could very well begin to fade away.

Then, who would guide the people?

The last of the ice melted through his fingers and onto Loki's forehead, reminding Thor, in a dismal sort of way, of his own life.

Constantly slipping out of his grasp.

Why? It was a question he couldn't answer yet. His mind moved far too slowly these days to comprehend such a momentous thought captured in a single, small word.

For a long moment, he just stared at his brother; at his own hands; at the fleeting last droplets of water.

Now what? Thor was sure he didn't know. But he was going to have to figure it out if he wanted to keep Loki's fever down.

When I find out who did this, I'll—

A sharp gasp caught his attention, stopping his nails from digging through his clenched fist.

A groan. Barely there, yet Thor still heard it. His gaze shot back down to his brother in an instant.

"Loki?"

Nothing. Thor didn't even try to slow his hammering heart. Let it thunder—maybe that way, he might remember why he was still alive.

"Loki…?"

This time, another soft groan came in answer.

Come on, Loki…

Thor had only been shaking his brother's shoulder for a second when Loki's eyes fluttered open. The relief that flooded through the washed-up king was quickly shattered by the thick haze clouding the prince's orbs.

Loki's voice, when he finally spoke, tore at Thor's ears with its gravely tremor. He couldn't imagine what damage it must be doing to Loki's throat.

"Thor…?"

Another wave of relief cooled Thor's burning skin—and he wasn't even the one suffering the fever.

"Loki! Thank the Norns, you're awa—"

A ragged cough pierced the air as Loki turned his gaze upon Thor… and looked straight through him.

"Thor…? Where's Thor? I need—" Another cough ripped at his throat, morphing into a long coughing fit.

Right. Hadn't he heard Bruce mention something about delirium? And just when he thought things were about to get better…

"Calm down, brother," Thor soothed. "I'm right here—"

"Thor! Where…" Another cough as Loki's blank eyes frantically scanned the room for the one person he didn't need to search for. "I need him! Val, I… I… Where's Thor?"

And if Thor's heart hadn't already been mangled and bruised from the aftermath of the Snap, it would've crumbled right then and there.

"Thor…" Loki continued his dazed, childlike whining until Thor was certain he wouldn't be able to stand it any longer.

"Loki!" He pressed even as the tears leaked down his cheeks—the first he'd shed in months. "Brother, I'm right here. I'm here, I'm…"

The sudden thought that Loki might not even believe his reassurances choked the thunder god. After all, how many times had Loki needed him, and yet he hadn't been there?

How many times…?

"Oh, Loki…" He could barely make out his little brother's fevered frame through the tears now.

"Thor… I need him…. Where's…?"

"Brother…" Thor wrapped Loki's hands in his own trembling ones and squeezed. "I'm so sorry. Y-You might not…" He swallowed. "You might not ever forgive me. That's okay… Just don't—" When his breath hitched, Thor feared his airway might close off entirely. Any minute now… Because he can't die… Not again. "Just stay with me. Please, don't leave me again."

"Thor… Where's…?" As Loki made his slow descent back into unconsciousness, Thor held onto his brother for dear life—for both their lives.

"I'm sorry." The words were barely audible, but he hoped Loki had heard them. "I'm so sorry, brother…"

Next up: Bruce's POV! Then, Tony's… ;)