alaspoor-yorick:

There was something sharp in his pocket – like a tiny needle, poking him in the side through his clothes. Thor grimaced and fished around in his pocket. His fingers scrabbled across metal – smooth, covered in a light pattern of scratches.

“Whatcha got there?” said Rocket, from the chair by Thor’s bed. He was messing around with the complimentary tablet that the Wakandans had put in every guest room. Everyone who’d survived had been herded into these rooms, hoping that they’d be able to rest after their ordeal.

Things exploded on the screen, the light flashing across Rocket’s fur. His tiny hands shook.

Thor sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He pulled the metal object from his pocket and stared at it, turning it over in his hand. It was his eyepatch. He hadn’t worn it since Rocket gave him the cybernetic eye, but something had told him to keep it in his pocket. For sentiment’s sake, if nothing else.

“Oh, pshh, that old thing,” Rocket drawled. He waved a dismissive hand, not looking up from his game. “You can toss that, you don’t need it anymore. That eye still giving you trouble?”

It was, frankly. It kept getting stuck in awkward positions, and sometimes everything got hazy in that eye. But it didn’t get as many stares as an eyepatch did – and Thor didn’t want to hurt Rocket’s feelings.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said. “You’re right -”

“ ‘Course I am.”

“Maybe I should get rid of this.”

Shink!

Thor yelped as something sharp poked his hand. “What the hell?” he spluttered, dropping it. A tiny sliver of metal, no larger than a sewing needle, had come off the patch and stabbed him.

Rocket gave him a look over the tablet. “Now what,” he said flatly.

“It stabbed me!” Thor insisted, standing up and pointing at the eyepatch, which was now sitting rather smugly on he ground. He glared at it. “It just -”

He paused.

“It what?”

He ignored Rocket and slowly knelt on the floor by the eyepatch. It was gleaming oddly in the light – not the shine of polished bronze, something deeper. Greener.

Thor slowly reached out to prod it with one finger.

Blam!

An explosion of light, and a figure suddenly towered over him. “Holy shit!” Rocket yelled, grabbing his gun.

Thor just sat there and stared.

His brother stared back – grimy, pale, and bleeding from several nasty-looking wounds, but alive.

“Loki?” he breathed.

The trickster was silent for a long, long moment. Finally he spread his hands and said, sheepishly, “Mbleurgh, it’s me.”

It came out more like a question than a response, but it didn’t matter. Thor shot to his feet and wrapped his arms around his brother. Tears surged from his eyes. If Loki noticed, he graciously said nothing. “You’ve got to stop doing this to me,” Thor croaked.

He felt Loki smirk into his shoulder. “I told you,” he said softly. “The sun would shine on us again.”