[Odinson heads in the other direction, knuckles white.
(Once, the storm would have answered his anger with a timely roll of distant thunder, but the sky is still and lifeless, promising nothing more than snow.)
His thoughts are white hot and angry- crackling under his skin. Is it giving up to mourn the death of a brother? Is there anything of the child in him, or is it all a facade? How dare that monster accuse him of not working with what he has- he has lost his name, his weapon, his confidence in what either of those can accomplish! All Loki has lost is his brother's love.
(When the anger fades he finds himself standing in a deserted alley, his knuckles bloody and the wall defaced with crude phrases and lewd pictures is battered and cracked)
Not for the first time, he wishes that he could give up that love. He has killed monsters before, clinically and without remorse. Death is the only answer for some. He remembers killing Gorr; whether the monster was right or not it had been a just thing to do. He had revelled in that death, that revenge taken on behalf of all who had suffered at Gorr's hands.
To think of Loki dead sickens him. It might have been a just death when Loki was a crazed madman, it might be just in retribution for the child's death- but Odinson would have to die himself before he allowed it. After all, to be Odinson- to be Thor was to protect those around him that he loved. His worthiness came from those around him, from the Asgardians and the humans he served and protected, his friends, his family.
And he had not protected his brother.
(He walks the streets, the night coming on. Snow begins to fall again. He runs into some infected, subdues them. They are stronger than he expects. He bleeds.)
The anger smoulders within him still, even hours after the encounter with his brother. But the anger is not directed at Loki, he realises. Whether his brother is now what he claims, or simply a madman again makes no difference. He has survived Loki's madness once before and will again. No- his anger is at himself. His lack of confidence, the mistakes he has made, the lives he has not saved, the pathetic mess his life has been since that day on the moon. All of these things weigh him down, make him less than what he knows he should be.
What would the child think, to see him like this? His brother had thought the world of him, thought him capable of anything, thought his every action just and his every word true. At the time he had carelessly accepted that as his due. Now, he recognises it for what it is: a challenge.
(Night has fallen. He will not sleep, he is not ready to face his nightmares yet.)
Deep down, a resolution: He will be better than these failures.]
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(Once, the storm would have answered his anger with a timely roll of distant thunder, but the sky is still and lifeless, promising nothing more than snow.)
His thoughts are white hot and angry- crackling under his skin. Is it giving up to mourn the death of a brother? Is there anything of the child in him, or is it all a facade? How dare that monster accuse him of not working with what he has- he has lost his name, his weapon, his confidence in what either of those can accomplish! All Loki has lost is his brother's love.
(When the anger fades he finds himself standing in a deserted alley, his knuckles bloody and the wall defaced with crude phrases and lewd pictures is battered and cracked)
Not for the first time, he wishes that he could give up that love. He has killed monsters before, clinically and without remorse. Death is the only answer for some. He remembers killing Gorr; whether the monster was right or not it had been a just thing to do. He had revelled in that death, that revenge taken on behalf of all who had suffered at Gorr's hands.
To think of Loki dead sickens him. It might have been a just death when Loki was a crazed madman, it might be just in retribution for the child's death- but Odinson would have to die himself before he allowed it. After all, to be Odinson- to be Thor was to protect those around him that he loved. His worthiness came from those around him, from the Asgardians and the humans he served and protected, his friends, his family.
And he had not protected his brother.
(He walks the streets, the night coming on. Snow begins to fall again. He runs into some infected, subdues them. They are stronger than he expects. He bleeds.)
The anger smoulders within him still, even hours after the encounter with his brother. But the anger is not directed at Loki, he realises. Whether his brother is now what he claims, or simply a madman again makes no difference. He has survived Loki's madness once before and will again. No- his anger is at himself. His lack of confidence, the mistakes he has made, the lives he has not saved, the pathetic mess his life has been since that day on the moon. All of these things weigh him down, make him less than what he knows he should be.
What would the child think, to see him like this? His brother had thought the world of him, thought him capable of anything, thought his every action just and his every word true. At the time he had carelessly accepted that as his due. Now, he recognises it for what it is: a challenge.
(Night has fallen. He will not sleep, he is not ready to face his nightmares yet.)
Deep down, a resolution: He will be better than these failures.]