Chapter Text
~
What did you do? Thor had roared, even as Thanos grinned cruel, triumphant, assured in his victory before vanishing.
But he found out soon enough, as friends and comrades disintegrated into ash all around him. And when the magnitude of what Thor had allowed to happen, had done, finally struck him, he had sunk to his knees in mud and stone and soil, his last hope torn from him.
Thanos was gone. And with him, his gauntlet, the stones, and the chance to reverse all that the Titan had done.
Dreadful awareness comes swift after Thanos’ departure, that their efforts have all been in vain—for Thanos has won, and taken half the world’s lives in his madness. Leaving Thor, who had hoped for vengeance, for the opportunity to wrest the gauntlet from Thanos’ hand, with nothing. With the fight leeched out of him, the blazing fire of revenge in his heart extinguished, Stormbreaker driven hard against earth all that keeps him from crumpling to the ground in defeat.
He had avenged no one. Not his brother. Not his friend, impaled like little more than a feasting hog. And not his people, half of whom lay dead aboard the Statesman, or what remained of it, after an explosion had shaken the ship apart.
He had avenged no one, in fact causing others the same pain, the same soul-rending sense of loss—
“Thor.” A hand clasps his shoulder, shaking it, gentle. “Thor.” With immense effort, Steve hauls him to his feet, though even his strength cannot sustain Thor’s weight, and before long Bruce flanks his other side. Suited in armour not unlike Tony’s, albeit larger, and for lack of a better word, hulking.
“Am I ever glad to see you,” says Bruce, hefting Thor up without issue, with the one mechanical arm left to him. The other has been torn away, leaving a mess of sparks and wires, courtesy of his fight with a lieutenant of Thanos’ order, presumably. He pauses, searching the area around them before tilting his head, confused. “Where's Loki? I thought he’d be right behind you. Beside you,” Bruce amends with a smile, knowing how things had changed between them in recent days.
Thor’s knees buckle beneath him again, at the mention of Loki, and he slips from Steve’s grip. Shakes his head, silent, willing himself not to weep. He cannot bring himself to speak of Loki’s fate, for it would mean having to acknowledge that Loki is—
“Oh,” Bruce says, quiet, realizing what he has blundered into. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Steve hefts Thor’s arm over his shoulders this time, his grip firmer, secure. Guides them in the direction of a city in the distance, and takes one determined step toward it, then another, even if each must feel a chore, a fight against leaden weights, a miring bog, as Thor’s do. “Thor, we’ve all lost people,” he says. “But what we’ve got to do now, is figure out the next step.”
Next? Thor thinks numbly, his gaze unseeing. What next is there? Even as he allows Steve and Bruce to herd him along, stalwart bookends for a broken tome, he reflects upon the lives of the Asgardians lost. His friends from Sakaar, his home.
His brother.
We have all lost people, Thor echoes in his mind. But I—
I have lost everything.
~
“Of course it is a good idea to return to Earth,” Thor had said airily, short days ago. When Loki had lived, drawn breath, the kinship between them repairing itself, slow. Even then, had potential to grow. “The people of Midgard love me.” For was there not merchandise of his likeness, from backpacks to lunchboxes, and toy replications of Mjölnir itself?
“The mortals’ love for you does not extend to me,” Loki said sourly.
Given time and opportunity, they shall come to love you, Thor had thought. As I do. But he kept the words secret in his heart, fearful of letting that seed of sentiment bloom too soon. When Loki could clip the bud with a harsh word or a thoughtless cruelty before it could flourish, unprepared for such a thing.
He had wound his arms cautious around Loki’s waist instead, seeking permission for another embrace—an affection they had shared more often since their impulsive, initial one after Asgard’s destruction. When Loki had whispered I’m here, oddly gentle, even as a sob escaped Thor at the thought of all they had lost. I’m here, I'm here, and I shall never leave again.
It had been a wonder to have Loki in his arms again, a delight. To have him warm and real and present, after so many years spent in strife. And the truest wonder was that Loki had allowed it, though by the way he wound his arms around Thor’s neck in turn, an embrace more intimate than the first they shared on the ship, he had certainly been ready to allow more.
They had had time enough to discuss the course of their journey henceforth, and what their first actions should be upon arriving in Midgard, with Loki offering to negotiate with Tony for use of his technology and resources to help them rebuild. “That is, if he can tear himself away from his pet projects long enough,” Loki snorted, fingers drumming thoughtful against the sill of his window, one gazing out into the cosmos.
“Pet projects?” Thor had furrowed his brow, unfamiliar with the term. “Do you mean he is breeding small animals to—”
“No,” Loki said hastily. “I mean minor amusements and experiments he engages in, to pass the time. Take his B.A.R.F. technology, for example. Unfortunately named, and though it has real potential, its applications are limited.” As he went on to explain this, along with Tony’s other experiments, Thor could only be grateful Loki had not idled away his time on Asgard’s throne, keeping a close eye on all the Realms from Hliðskjálf instead.
He had taken in neither the knowledge nor the technical terms of what Loki spoke of; preferred instead to watch Loki talk, revelling in the easy cadence of his voice and the animated gestures of his hands, a fond smile gracing Thor’s lips and a familiar happiness not felt in years warming his heart.
They had time now, Thor thought. To sort out who they were. What they were to each other. Perhaps they could start by sharing a bed, due to the ship’s ever-crowded quarters. Thor could touch a tiny kiss to Loki’s cheek, to test the waters. And if Loki reciprocated in kind—well.
But it turned out they had no time at all.
For Thanos had descended upon them, swift and sudden and merciless, the behemoth of his ship dwarfing the Statesman entire. And before Thor knew it, the ship had been blown apart, half his people were strewn dead among the rubble, and Loki himself had descended into nervous prattle, a pendulum swing from brokering deals to betrayal. Why he had not used the Tesseract to escape himself was beyond Thor—perhaps he feared Thanos could track the trajectory it took, or feared leading him to the destination of the Statesman’s escape pods—but it was clear enough when he offered it, that he was making a play for time.
The bitter irony was that he had bought so little—enough for remaining survivors to escape, to free Thor from Thanos’ grasp—and absolutely none for himself.
There had not been time to brave a rescue, with how swiftly Thanos acted after, and Loki—Loki had died a king of nothing, and no one, despite the titles he gave himself. Titles and standing Thor would have given him, gladly, if only he could have Loki back.
In the days to come, he would wonder why Loki’s plan had been to leap at Thanos with little more than a dagger. Spend time and thought in attempt to unravel Loki’s actual plan, if there was one. Finally, he would be forced to accept that perhaps there had been no plan, and the dagger was Loki’s last, desperate attempt to vanquish the Titan.
But amid the burning wreckage and corpses surrounding them then, Thor clutched him for as long as he was able, for he would die with Loki, would protect his body from the cruelty of space, as he had failed to on Svartalfheim—only to discover when he had come to, been seen to, a blanket thrown around his shoulders and hot porridge pressed into his hands, that he had been found alone.
“Like a single, solitary bug splattered on our windshield,” the tiny woodland creature—a fox, a squirrel, a rabbit? A rabbit, surely—Rabbit had assured him, Rabbit’s friends nodding silent behind him.
It meant he had lost Loki at some point. Let go without meaning to. Let him go again.
“But my…my brother’s body,” Thor had tried, the words rasping harsh through his throat, a labour to force them into being. “Is there any way we could…” Is there any way we could return for him? he wanted to ask, willing his hands not to tremble around the crude bowl he was given.
They must have been hours away from Loki by then, however. And by the look his rescuers shared between them, it was clear they thought Thor lucky to have escaped with his own life intact. That, and they had their own urgent plans now in the scheme of things, knowing Thanos was on the move again and actively seeking the stones.
So the answer to his question unfinished was a clear no, with Rabbit patting Thor’s knee with a tiny paw, strangely empathic. Them’s the breaks, kid, he had said, even if the others shuffled away awkward to their controls, not meeting Thor’s gaze.
The thought of Loki drifting aimlessly in space, like so much jettisoned debris, was too much to bear, and Thor had decided then and there he needed a plan—a simple checklist of items that would keep him focused on one thing, then the next. He would have a weapon forged, for thunder and lightning had done little to penetrate Thanos’ defense. He would have his vengeance. And after his vengeance, he would search for Loki’s body, bring him back, bring him home, wherever that might be, and if the Norns allowed it.
If there was anything left of Thor by then.
But for that, he would need to commandeer a ship. Or a pod.
“No one,” said the crew member named Quill, drawing himself up to his full height with a huff, “whether god-man or pirate-angel, will be taking our pod today.” A response to Thor’s less than subtle bid to key in the nearby pod’s passcode.
“Yeah,” added the tree-like being behind him—Tree, Thor secretly called him—his voice the sway of branches in an autumn wind and the creaking of old doors, but understandable in the Allspeak all the same. “No one steals from the Guardians of the goddamned Galaxy.”
A laugh, bitter and small, escaped Thor then, for he had to agree; a galaxy without his people, his friends—his Loki—was certainly damned. Caught red-handed, and with no other recourse, Thor reached for words to explain his utter desperation, what having the pod would mean to him.
Knowing the weight his next words would carry made their delivery no easier, however, and Thor turned to the habit that had always calmed him. Reaching up to twist the lock of hair between his fingers, the one twined with a lock of Loki’s. When he would find himself thinking what would Loki do, what would Loki say? his brother’s hair silky and soft, wound gentle within the coarseness of his own.
Except Sakaar had robbed him of his last memento of his brother, the lock of Loki’s hair twined with his own shorn, then discarded like rubbish. And perhaps that was what had broken him—that the last vestige of Loki he cherished so dearly should be stolen from him, that he had nothing left of Loki to call his own—for Thor wept tears he had not known he had left to weep.
In front of strangers, no less.
Perhaps the sight of a god mourning so wretchedly moved their hearts to pity—Rabbit had jumped readily enough to his defence, followed grudgingly by Tree—for swiftly after that had been the journey to Nidavellir, the forging of Stormbreaker, and then, and then, and then—there had been no time for tears at all.
~
“Here,” Steve says now, hefting a set of chairs into Thor’s arms. “Help me with these. This’ll keep your mind off things.”
Thor simply nods, silent, and carries them where he is told, only too grateful for busywork to keep his mind from grief.
They are moving chairs and tables into the throne room within the Citadel, a palace Thor has since learned houses the royals of this country, called Wakanda. At present, it appears more a war council room, as one in the Asgard of old, than a throne room, with several remaining Avengers and Dora Milaje clustered together, poring over maps and schematics. Others trickle in silently, some still in shock, and others their motions wooden, dulled—all of them survivors of Thanos’ massacre.
It is a strategic regrouping, Thor decides, to determine what they must do next.
And though there are other matters Thor should see to, he supposes—the safety of the Asgardians and ex-Sakaarans who did make it to Midgard, the welfare of the wounded in the recent battle—he wants to take part in a plan that will see all his people arrive safe on Midgard. Hopes against hope that something will come of this council besides a mass mourning, and the logistics of seeing to their dead.
It is too bitter a pill to swallow, for them to have fled Hela’s wrath and Asgard’s destruction—only for Thanos to decimate them soon after.
In short order, Steve introduces him to others in the chamber: there is Okoye, of the Black Panther’s own guard; M’Baku, leader of the Jabari tribe, for this country seems to be divided into tribes, a different system than Asgard’s entirely; and other tribe leaders and council members besides, most of whom are too stricken to greet Thor properly.
They have just finished paying their respects to the Queen Mother, when a girl appearing no older than twenty summers hurries breathless into the chamber, a tablet clutched in hand. Visits briefly with the elders of the council, before marching toward Thor and Steve, brisk.
“You!” she calls, before Steve can make a proper introduction, her voice vibrant, undefeated. Stops in front of Thor, her gaze keen and assessing. “Your Avenger friends tell me it was you who turned the tide of the battle.” She extends a hand toward him in greeting, the beads on her bracelet inscribed with glyphs like the ones glowing bright from the chamber’s golden columns—bastions of strength between the high ceilings and glass floors. “I must thank you.”
Thor clasps it, brief and polite. “I only wish I could have done more,” he says solemnly, recalling his failure to take Thanos’ head.
“This is Princess Shuri,” Steve interrupts, as if he can read the flow of Thor’s thoughts. “The…ruler of Wakanda now?” he adds, hesitant, glancing quick between Ramonda and Shuri for confirmation.
“Acting ruler,” Shuri says, with a curious confidence. “My brother will return.”
Ramonda, clad in black from head to toe, from the fabric scarf wrapping her hair to her flowing dress, in mourning for her son, does not appear to share her daughter’s unwavering belief. Takes her leave of them to her chambers with hardly more than a murmured goodbye, clearly ceding decisions to Shuri.
Shuri, on the other hand, wears neither all black nor all red, colors customary for mourning for her people, as Steve explained to Thor earlier. Her attire is coloured red and white instead, a combination that resonates with Thor, for to him, they are fighting colors, like his own.
“I am not in mourning,” Shuri says, catching Thor staring. “My brother will return. But we will speak of that soon enough.” She invites Thor to take a seat, finding one of her own as well, even as she pointedly avoids taking the largest, most well-adorned chair, one circular in nature with two proud, curved horns flanking the backrest.
The throne of the king, Thor recognizes, immediate. He settles into a chair not far from Shuri, wondering at her strange optimism, as Steve, Natasha and Rhodey take seats to his left. Bruce reclines in the chair to Thor’s right—a small comfort, for Bruce had been on the Sakaaran ship with him, had lived through the horror Thanos inflicted upon them.
Rocket—who had informed Thor that their lost friend was named Groot, and friends remembered other friends’ actual names—squeezes between Thor and Steve, sudden, with a hey, how ya doin’ and a tiny stool he has snatched from who knows where. Steve blinks, stunned, perhaps at the sight of a talking creature, but nods all the same, while Thor simply smiles, relieved at the presence of another friend. Squeezes Rocket’s paw, a return of the comfort he received for Loki.
The others talk amongst themselves, Wakanda’s tribal council members’ conversation a thinly-veiled panic about the fate of their country now, and Steve and Natasha about what to do regarding the dead. But Thor finds himself restless instead, wanting to do something, to take action. And he does not have long to wait, for a respectful hush falls as soon as Shuri rises from her seat, just right of the throne.
“I thank you all for attending this council, even in the face of such loss,” Shuri starts, when the murmurs have quieted and she commands the attention of all those in the chamber. “I have called this meeting from what survivors we have left of Thanos’ actions, to discuss the next steps we should take.”
She meets the gaze of each person seated, including Okoye to her right, a fierce mother hen if Thor has ever seen one, though her demeanour makes sense, especially if Shuri is the last heir of her line. There are guards too, scattered secret between the chamber’s immense pillars, but fewer than there should be for any royal palace, an occurrence Thor can only attribute to Thanos’ annihilation.
“Maybe we could have a memorial,” Natasha ventures, in the absence of other suggestions. “For the dead.”
A memorial. The words sit like cold ash in Thor’s belly, the very idea of it a reminder of what he had lost. A muddled mosaic of images floods Thor’s mind, of Loki cold and unmoving before him, the vicious memory that no amount of tears would bring him back, and the anguishing thought that Thor had failed to bring Loki’s body back once again. He could not send it off to Valhalla in a blaze of glory, for he did not even have Gungnir in his possession to do so. Nor had he ash of him, or an urn to keep his remains, keep him close—
“I appreciate the idea,” says Shuri, acknowledging the suggestion with a nod. “But no, we will not be having a memorial. We will be bringing those we have lost back.” Her fierce determination is what shakes Thor from his stupor, stirring the ashes of his own fiery resolve.
“But how?” Bruce asks, voicing the sentiment for him and Thor both.
Just then, there is a melodic hum, the sound emanating from the gleaming black beads wound around Okoye’s wrist. Kimoyo beads, Steve had called them.
Okoye arcs her wrist, graceful, one of the beads rolling gentle into her palm. A small array of what appear to be sand particles issues from the bead, coalescing into an image of one of the Dora Milaje. Warriors so like the Einherjar in discipline and demeanour that Thor could weep at yet another reminder of what he had lost.
“Ayo?” Utter joy spreads across Okoye’s face, her stern expression broken sudden by her smile, perhaps in relief her comrade had been spared. She murmurs her gratitude to a being named Bast before clearing her throat. “Report,” she says curtly.
“We have just received word of a small, unidentified spacecraft approaching our airspace,” says Ayo. “They seek permission to land.”
“More of Thanos’ allies?” Okoye’s eyes blaze. “How did they find us?”
“The pilot claims they intercepted a message sent to a ship belonging to one of Thanos’ allies. One that told them of the rendezvous point for battle—the coordinates of which lead here, to Wakanda.” Ayo pauses, considering. “But the two people aboard this craft claim to be the Captain’s friends. A…Tony Stark? And a Nebula?”
“Tony?” Steve sits up straighter, immediate. “Yeah, he was…” The breath Steve draws is small and soft. “He is a friend.”
“Tony Stark?” Shuri echoes, her interest piqued. “The Tony Stark? Yes, he will be a worthy addition to our council. Have him and his companion sent here at once.”
Okoye acknowledges this order with a nod—a sound one, for more allies can only be a boon, more friends to stand against the darkness. “Allow them to land,” she commands. “And when they disembark, escort them to the throne room immediately.”
“Yes, General,” Ayo confirms, before Okoye terminates the call, the bead in her palm rejoining the others on her wrist.
Tony arrives shortly after, dishevelled and worse for wear, accompanied by a woman whose body entire appears augmented by machinery. Both are flanked on either side by one of the Dora Milaje, but this does not seem to deter Steve in the least.
“Tony!” Steve calls, springing from his seat, before slowing his approach, hesitant. Holds out his arms for an embrace, and though Tony falls back, reluctant, crushes him to his chest all the same.
“What…what’s this for?” Tony asks stiffly.
“I’m just glad I haven’t lost another friend today,” says Steve. Before Tony can ask him to elaborate, Steve adds, “Where’ve you been this whole time?” He holds Tony by the shoulders at arm’s length, but seems unwilling to release him. “Last I heard on the news, you were M.I.A. Or should I say, M.I.S.?”
The words draw a faint twitch of grin from Tony. “Missing In Space? Yeah, believe me, it drove me nuts, not knowing where we were half the time.” He jerks a nod in his companion’s direction. “Good thing Nebula here knows her way around ships of all sorts. And the operation of them. Oh, and let’s not forget the navigation of them through—what, miles?—of endless space.” Tony shivers at the recollection.
“You’re not so bad at it yourself,” Nebula replies brusquely, as she inspects their surroundings, a response Tony beams at, approving.
“It was her rig we used to get back here,” Tony continues, giving credit where it is due, “even if we had to scavenge a few parts from the ship I commandeered from Thanos’ creepy little evangelist. But it looks like we were late to the party anyway.” He stops to take a breath, seeming to finally take stock of his location. “I know we had coordinates, but what is this place? Where is it?” Tony pauses. “And why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s nothing,” says Steve, his smile entirely too fond. “I just…I’m remembering why—”
“Why we fought?” Tony bristles, instantly on the defensive. “Why you—”
“Why I missed you,” Steve finishes, stunning Tony into a wordless silence.
Thor matches Steve’s smile with one of his own, relieved to see that in the multitude of partings only short hours ago, there is at least one joyful reunion among them. For though Steve had spoken to Thor of his falling out with Tony in the intervening time, it seems they are able to reconcile, at least for now, against a common enemy. Thor himself claps Tony on the shoulder, once Steve has deigned to release him, only too grateful for another friend spared from Thanos’ tragedy.
“Good to see you again, big guy,” Tony nods. He raises a brow as his gaze wanders over Thor’s shorn hair and his mismatched eye, though he does not make mention of such changes for now.
“I would say the same,” says Thor, “though I wish our reunion could have been under better circumstance.” Warmth threads through his heart at the way Tony pats his hand, gentle, in commiseration.
At Shuri’s suggestion, now that they have all gathered, everyone in the council is briefed on Thanos’ purpose with the Infinity stones. His penchant for invasion and the bringing of ‘balance’ by annihilating half of a planet’s population. His accomplishment of such a thing with the gathered stones—on a universal scale, they discover—this revelation complemented by reports of what happened in the battles on Titan and Midgard, and a recounting of whom among their comrades they lost.
Thor himself shares what transpired aboard the Sakaaran vessel, before his arrival on Midgard, when he and the other Asgardians ran afoul of Thanos—though he does not speak of Loki’s fate. This, he leaves to Bruce, who can corroborate Thor’s account, and who tells of it rather kindly, amid less sympathetic whispers of wait, Loki was alive all along? and does that mean he died…again?
“Uh…yes?” Bruce tries. He presses a hand to Thor’s shoulder, easing the leaden lump forming in Thor’s throat, as he says his next words. “But it might be for real this time.”
Thor passes this comfort on to Rocket, who holds his head in his paws, murmuring no, no, no, I should’ve gone with them, at Tony’s confirmation that he encountered Rocket’s remaining friends on Titan. Watched them all meet the same fate as those they lost here, before adding, whisper-quiet, that he too had lost someone—a child named Peter.
In the wake of such findings, they are all left in a dejected silence, each of them having suffered a loss; Shuri, her brother T’challa, whom she seemed adamant she would bring back; Steve, a friend named Bucky; Rocket, his partners in crime and perhaps even his family, and Thor, who had lost—no, he would not think about that. He would bring Loki back, the same conviction burning in his heart as Shuri.
As always, it is Tony who is first to bring them a faint ray of hope, despite his own grief.
“Here’s the thing,” he says, breaking the silence. “That happened. We couldn’t stop it. But the question is, what do we do now? We can’t let Thanos run free, or he’ll do this again, to other people, other worlds.” He pauses to draw a breath, his eyes closed brief to compose himself, before speaking again. “And we can’t let who he’s taken stay gone forever.”
“No, that we cannot,” Shuri determines, grim, taking the opportunity to press forward with her suggestion before Tony’s arrival. “So the solution I propose is this: we bring back those we have lost. And we kill Thanos.”
Those are lofty aspirations, to be sure, a belief shared by all those in the council, judging by their silence. But before Thor can ask for details, Bruce beats him to it. “See, that brings me back to my question from before. How?”
“Well,” Tony says, catching the gaze of each in the council, “what’ve we got to work with?”
“I’ll tell you what we don’t have,” says Steve. “We don’t have the Time stone, to reverse what Thanos did, because last I saw, Thanos still had it.”
An eternal guilt coils low in Thor’s belly at that; if only his strike had been a hand’s breadth higher, if only he had thought to cleave Thanos’ head from his shoulders, and prevented that ill-fated finger snap—then Bruce’s hand alights on his shoulder, steady, accompanied by a shake of his head. As if to warn Thor not to blame himself, for that is a slippery slope from which he may never return.
Tony jabs the air with a finger, undaunted by this pessimism. “Time. Right, okay, about that—I’m glad you brought it up. Because that’s something we can work with. Or reminds me of something we can work with, anyway. May I?”
Shuri lends him the tablet in her possession, and with several quick swipes of his finger, Tony brings up a miniature holographic schematic, one he magnifies for the council to see with a flourish of his hand. “Allow me to introduce,” he says, rotating the schematic of the complex-looking technology for effect, “my brainchild. Idea. Whatever. I call it…B.A.R.F.”
Unfortunately named, Loki had said of this apparatus. Thor twitches a melancholic smile at the memory.
“What’s B.A.R.F. stand for?” Tony continues, pacing a circle around the seated council members, as though he is a schoolteacher. “Binarily Augmented Retro Framing.” He says this as though it is supposed to mean something, but when he is met with blank looks in return, Tony huffs, incredulous. “Really? Did none of you catch my presentation at M.I.T. on this tech? Thanks for the support, guys.”
“I saw it!” Shuri beams, earning her a beam back from Tony, before clarifying, “via stream.” She weathers Tony’s sigh of disappointment before adding sunnily, “But I have the introductory materials and a copy of your presentation downloaded here.” With a few quick flicks of her fingers on the tablet, she brings up another set of files, one of which Tony plucks from the screen, and magnifies into an interactive holographic interface with a wave of his hands. A simpler one than the first he had shown them.
“Okay, so here’s the crash course,” says Tony. “This baby right here? Is used to work through traumatic memories, but with the caveat that it doesn’t change actual events.”
He explains how this technology works in conjunction with different parts of the brain, locating such harrowing memories and creating a vision in the user’s mind of a gentler, happier outcome. Projecting this onto an external infrastructure, that one might find solace in their interaction with these altered realities.
But Thor fails to see how it can change their present circumstances, for in its current capacity, it functions as no more than a machine for wishful thinking. Finds himself relieved when Bruce interrupts Tony’s spiel of not on the market yet, new, and features still in the works with, “Sounds great, Tony, but how’s it supposed to help us?”
Tony huffs at the interruption, but acknowledges the question, as many seem to share this sentiment. “Since you asked, I’ll go ahead and say it: it’s dangerous, it’s unheard of, but I believe that with a few minor—okay, I won’t lie—a few major adjustments, this might have the capacity to change actual events. Making the projected memories into reality. It just…might take a few days.” He thins his lips at the multitude of hopeful faces turned toward him. “To lower the margin of error? More like a few weeks.”
The council seems to sigh as one, their mood deflated, before Shuri clears her throat.
“Actually,” she says, “I have been tinkering with this as a pet project for a while, and I have some modifications in mind already. Ones that allow us to return to brief moments in time, and with certainty, change actual events.” At the murmur of wonderment that ripples through the council and Tony’s own shocked, disbelieving awe, Shuri adds, “I may have secretly poked around in the source files. To improve upon the design.” She tilts her chin up, daring. “Is that not what science is all about?”
Tony’s eyebrows climb even higher, for ‘secretly’ suggests Shuri had achieved this through less than legal means. “When this is all over, young lady, we’re going to have a talk about this.” He attempts a tone of deep disapproval, before giving up the charade and grinning, suitably impressed.
Ever pragmatic, Steve presents the first plan of attack having this technology will allow them. “If this machine does what Shuri says it can, we could use it to send us back and destroy the Mind stone before Thanos completes his gauntlet.”
“No,” Nebula says, curt, the first she has spoken in this council. “Send us back to the time when our party was on Titan. When we were about to take the entire gauntlet from him.” She sits back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “No stones, no problem.”
“Yeah, okay, all great ideas,” Tony says, placating, “since we need an exact moment to return to, that’ll help us win this war. Except for two things.” He pokes two fingers into the air, before reluctantly adding a third. “Three things, actually—see, you guys really have to wait for me to get to the limitations of this thing—the first of these being that B.A.R.F only works with one person. The interface simply isn’t designed to search through memories of multiple people.” At Shuri’s discreet hand signal, Tony amends, “Maybe two, at most. But you’ve got to consider that two people will still have different memories of the same event.”
“Couldn’t we just do multiple trips of two?” says Steve. “And meet up at a certain rendezvous point?”
“You can’t just…yank the interface off whoever’s using it, and put it on someone else.” Bruce’s reply is patient, even as Tony’s mouth drops open in an incredulous o. “It doesn’t work that way. Besides, time travel is an inexact science. Even if we could send two of us at a time, without years’ worth of calculations, we’d all end up days, or even years apart, making our time jumps ineffective.”
“There is also the fact that the more people we send, the more anomalies we create,” adds Shuri. She pauses, abridging this for Steve and the rest who are not scientifically inclined as, “Rips in space and time—in other words, damage. Too many of these, and we risk creating a cascade of failures across the timelines.”
While the others hurriedly discuss a similar notion called the butterfly effect, Thor decides it goes without saying that they do not have years to reverse Thanos’ deeds. And even if the idea to send a group did succeed, a venture avoiding tears in the fabric of space-time, he knows from experience—due to Loki’s skill with illusions—that multiples of the Avengers in any city are bound to make people talk. Even if they are lucky enough not to run into their past counterparts, who knew how much further this would contribute to the rifts Shuri speaks of?
No, they could not send a group of people, whether the Avengers were stronger together or not.
Tony nods his agreement in Bruce and Shuri’s direction. “Yep, all of that. Second of all, we’d need enough juice to bring whoever it is we sent, back. And right now this gadget’s optimized for fifteen to twenty minutes, tops. Maybe thirty.”
A troubled quiet follows. It seems no one can think of a single, pivotal moment to send one person back to that will change the course of this war, or what action they can take in such a limited amount of time.
We need a moment, Thor recognizes, in which Thanos has not started his quest for the stones in earnest. He does not yet speak, however, for though each fragment of his understanding is falling into place, he does not yet see the whole.
“What is the third limitation?” Shuri asks finally, when minutes pass and no one breaks the tombed silence that has fallen over them all.
“Never thought about this before,” says Tony, “until I was M.I.S.—thanks for that, by the way,” he nods at Steve, “but this tech’s pretty much earth-bound. It was never built for the purpose of interstellar travel, and we don’t have ships of our own that can head to Titan at a moment’s notice.” He pauses, reflective. “We’d need the Space stone for that, which—correct me if I’m wrong—Thanos still has, and even then, conditions for B.A.R.F. off-planet aren’t optimal.”
This last statement is a death knell for several in the council; Nebula slumps in her seat, her hope of returning to Titan dashed, and Thor swallows, tight, his own secret desire crushed—that of returning to Asgard, to turn Loki from his path of destruction, long before he had fallen into Thanos’ reach.
But there are always other ways, other paths one might take, as Loki has long shown him. And in the course of this discussion, Thor has been listening, absorbing, and processing, much as he had done in Odin’s councils.
His thoughts have led him to one solution, and though it is spurred by a deep and hollow selfishness, it remains prudent to him all the same: The Space stone, from the Tesseract. Perhaps a chance at another stone as well—and one who would know how to wield them.
“What if,” Thor says, the rumble of his voice commanding everyone’s attention at once, “we did not send someone back to simply alter the past, but to bring something from the past here?”
Tony blinks. “That’s…different, okay. Keep talking—what’re you suggesting?”
“Using this apparatus, we can retrieve Loki from the moment our battle with the Chitauri drew to a close,” Thor explains. “We had the Space stone in our possession at the time, or were moments away from reclaiming it. And if my memory serves me correctly, the sceptre containing the Mind stone should be near it as well.”
He pauses, heartened by the realization dawning in Tony’s eyes, before continuing. “Only I would have to make the journey for this, for I have the particular memory of knowing Loki’s location, as well as that of his sceptre, and the Tesseract. One person, within minutes, and Earth-bound.” Thor fixes his gaze on Tony, Shuri, then Bruce, the major players in this venture. “All within the parameters of this technology, is it not?”
“Not bad,” Tony admits, nodding. “Out of that, we’d get two stones, and a batshit—”
“And a brilliant tactician,” Thor interrupts. Stressing this point so that none may accuse of him of suggesting this simply to see his brother again.
“Still, we’ve just gotten to the part about being able to return to the past to alter events,” says Tony. “Reliving certain occurrences. Changing what you do, in the circumstances. But what you’re suggesting? That’s something completely different.” He mimes plucking something from mid-air and displacing it into another pocket of air. “You’re talking about taking physical objects with you as you return, and I’m…not sure that’s possible.” Tony hmms, contemplative, in the face of this conundrum, as if running through mental calculations, before turning to Bruce. “Is it possible?”
He and Bruce exchange a flurry of terms and numbers and something called coefficients that no one can follow, until Shuri casts her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Surely both of you realize that Mr. Stark’s technology only requires a quick reworking of the framework it uses for projecting reality and instead using it to physically recreate the unique atomic signature of the items in the present timeline, once removed from the past. I can easily rig something together that first reduces an object to its most basic form, then reproduces—” She pauses at the dumbstruck expressions both Tony and Bruce give her. “Are you following me so far? I am saying it is possible.”
Bruce shuffles his feet. “Yeah, I—I was just waiting for you to say it first.”
“Wow,” says Tony, once recovered from his speechlessness. “No one’s ever thought of rewiring B.A.R.F as a fancy three-dimensional printer, until now. I needed you for Stark Industries like, yesterday.”
“I am flattered,” Shuri beams, at Tony’s unmistakable approval. “But my place is here with my people.”
“If we’re talking about bringing physical objects back,” says Steve, shattering that brief moment of warmth, “then by that logic, I could go back to when I was fighting Red Skull for the Tesseract. We’d get the Space stone, just like that.”
“Just before you plunged into the deep freeze, you mean? No thanks, Capsicle.”
Thor steps in before Steve and Tony’s fragile camaraderie can disintegrate. “The scenario you speak of only gives us one stone. Returning to an analogous moment—before our offensive against Ultron, wherein we had the sceptre with the Mind stone—would again only give us possession of one stone, for by then, the Tesseract had already returned to Asgard.”
“And of the other stones we know about, the Power, Reality, and Soul stone, all of those are off-planet,” Tony chimes in, citing B.A.R.F.’s third limitation again. “Which leaves us with...the Time stone if we can’t get the first two.”
“Okay, just an aside here,” says Rhodey, “why not use B.A.R.F. to return to a time where we can meet up with Strange and borrow the Time stone from him?”
“Because one,” Tony starts, “we all know what a tight-fisted son of a—” He backtracks quickly at the disapproving glares from elders of the council, at such words for a former ally. “Because as Nebula here can confirm, I was practically dying before he coughed it up. And two, show of hands here, how many of you knew him before all this went down? Or remember meeting him before then? Because you can only go back to a moment that exists in your memory.”
No one raises their hands. Perhaps many knew of him, but had not been formally introduced. Bruce, for his part, murmurs that by the time he dropped in on Strange, in the most literal sense, Thanos’ plans had already been in motion. “Plus, I get the feeling he’s not fond of unexpected visits,” Bruce adds, sheepish.
This is a sentiment Thor echoes in his heart, though he keeps to himself his and Loki’s encounter with Strange months before this. The last time they met with Strange, the sorcerer had been ready to eject Loki from Midgard forthwith, calmed only by Thor’s explanations that they were simply searching for their father.
He would, without a doubt, refuse to part with the stone in his safekeeping.
When no one speaks in the ensuing silence, Thor takes the hope he has held in his heart, the tightly guarded seed that has bloomed wild in his chest now—for his suggestion appears more plausible by the second—and puts it forth to the council again. “If we have no viable options to wrest the Time stone from Strange,” he says, taking advantage of the momentum this pause created, “then I say we move forward with my idea: to retrieve Loki and the stones shortly after the battle in New York.”
And when all was said and done, either he or another of his comrades could return the stones with no one the wiser, and all would be as it should again.
There is no flaw in this solution; none that Thor can see.
An outcry flares up then, arguments ranging from we only need the stones, you don’t need to bring Loki back too and who’s to say he’ll actually help us, instead of cutting loose and running with the stones? all of which Thor simply meets with, “We can have both the stones—and Loki, or we can have nothing at all.” He spreads his palms then. “My brother knows how best to utilize the power of the stones. Without him, we could well cause the collapse of this building—nay, this city—a fate S.H.I.E.L.D’s first headquarters suffered. After all, using the stones is not as simple as…” Thor searches his memory for the appropriate analogy, “a point-and-shoot camera.”
Amid the fresh clamour that surely several among them can figure out how to use the stones, Bruce clears his throat, the voice of reason that catches everyone by surprise, including Thor. “Actually, we could really benefit from Loki’s intellect.”
“Wait,” Steve cuts in, “maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but aren’t you the one who said his mind was like a bag of cats?”
“I was, but he’s mellowed out now. You haven’t seen him in, what, six years? He’s—”
“Thor’s talking about bringing back catbag Loki, not mellow Loki.” Steve folds his arms over his chest. “In case you haven’t been listening.”
Thor barely quashes the growl rumbling deep in his chest, for Loki is Loki, no matter whether his mind is a bag of cats, a pit of vipers, or whichever vicious animal they wish to liken him to.
“Still, catbag Loki becomes mellow Loki,” Bruce soldiers on, determined, “so maybe—”
“You’re also forgetting the fact that Loki’s the one who brought the fight to Earth in the first place.” At the glare Thor levels at him, Steve only holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just trying to look at this from all angles.”
“You mean the attack on New York?” Bruce says, seizing the gauntlet Steve has thrown him. “No, Thanos is the one who sent Loki, and—” he pauses to glance cautiously at Thor, “—I’m pretty sure under duress, actually.”
Bruce speaking in Loki’s defence like this warms Thor’s heart thoroughly. He can only be thankful that even within Bruce and Loki’s brief moments of conversation after escaping Asgard’s annihilation, Bruce had gained insight into the man Loki truly was. Had seen through the thin veneer of bravado Loki laid over his fear and pain, upon facing Thanos again.
Steve sighs, in the face of Tony, Bruce, and Shuri being in clear support of Thor’s plan. “Thing is, if we’re going to send Thor anyway—why not send him to the moment before he put his axe in Thanos’ chest? He could go for the head, finish Thanos off right then and there. One person. One memory. And we’d have all the stones. There's no need to draw a wild card and bring Loki into the mix.”
Thor draws a breath, fearful, sharp; even he has no riposte for such logical argument.
“No can do,” Tony says, immediate, dispelling the anxious clench of dread that had sprung instant in Thor’s chest. “That moment’s got too many micro-moments surrounding it, with the battle going on, and Thanos’ little lieutenants running loose. We need an easily isolated event. Even if Thor holds the memory he wants to go to in mind, we could just as easily send him to the moment right after Thanos’ snazzy little snap.” Tony pauses. “The aftermath of the battle in New York, though? That’s a different story. Wormhole was closed by then, all the Chitauri were dead—we just needed the clean-up crews at that point.”
Thor knows not whether to be thankful or frustrated that Tony’s technology has such severe limitations, but at the encouraging smile Tony turns his way, he releases the tight, rigid breath he had been holding.
It seems that Tony and Bruce have, for the most part, won the uneasy support of the Avengers, and the only objections rise now from Wakanda’s own council, whose hushed whispers in their native language vary from we place the fate of our king, our world in the hands of this man? A man we have only met today? to we should send one of our own for this task, not one of these—
“Thor is a king in his own right,” Shuri says aloud, for the benefit of those who do not speak Xhosa. “He has known loss, just as we have, and he will see this through.”
Thor tips a nod at her, grateful; he had not had trouble following their conversation, courtesy of the Allspeak, and while he found their remarks disparaging, he had remained silent, knowing all too well the importance of diplomacy while in a foreign land, being at the mercy of their technology and resources.
More arguing ensues, in and among the gathered council, before Shuri rises to her feet, sudden.
“Enough!” she bellows, with a volume that could rival Thor’s, her voice echoing through the chamber. She throws her hands into the air. “Every moment we spend arguing is another moment of not knowing and not doing. I just want my brother back. And if Thor wants his brother back too, if this Loki is someone who can help us, then I say we do it.”
Shuri wields her authority like a knife, incisive and sharp, cowing all those opposed into a wordless shame. Only Steve dares speak in the hush that follows, with a stubbornness even Thor would admire him for, were he not the biggest opponent of Thor’s plan. “I get it, I do. But let’s be rational about this—”
“We tried rationality, Cap,” says Tony. “We tried bargaining too,” he adds, pointing to himself, perhaps a reference to Strange’s sacrifice for him, “which didn’t work out so well either, did it? So maybe—and I know it’s a long shot—it’s sentimentality that wins the day.”
Of course Tony had guessed the ulterior motive behind Thor’s suggestion. As had all their friends, Thor supposes, though he does not quail in his chair from embarrassment, firm in his purpose.
“This is crazy,” says Steve, not mincing words. “This plan is crazy.”
“Yeah? Well maybe crazy’s just what we need,” Tony shoots back.
Thor, and it seems most of the council as well, must admit he makes a valid point. To fight the Titan’s madness, they need a madness of their own.
In the uneasy lull that follows, Tony clasps his hands together. “Great, if we’re all agreed,” he says, ignoring the vague rumble that several are very much not in agreement, for he has Shuri and Thor’s clear endorsement, “then let’s get started. Operation Bring Back Your Dead commences now.”
“That’s not funny,” Steve admonishes, “even if that’s what we’re doing.” A sentiment Thor must side with, for it is an apt but crude name. Then Steve blinks, his expression brightening, minute. “Also, was that a Monty Python reference?”
Tony sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes, mumbling he sees the light just as Shuri disapproves with a sniff, stating they are both wrong, for the actual reference is in fact ‘bring out your dead’, along with the declaration that those gone are not dead, but simply lost. This spurs in turn yet another debate, this time over the semantics of loss as opposed to death.
But all Thor can think of, even as the strange seeds of dispute sprout rampant around him, is that soon he will bring back his Loki, no matter if he is lost or dead, and that is all that matters.