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They are eating when the noises start again.
Thor shovels another forkful of beans into his mouth and listens detachedly.
The pounding of heavy boots across the concrete outside, somebody crying for help. The voice sounds young, too fucking young, but the words turn into a shrill sound of terror soon enough when the shuffling starts, gets lost in the muffled moans that never seem to change.
Across the table Loki lays down his fork and pushes his plate away with a frown. He looks pale and tired. Thor can’t blame him for losing his appetite, but he pushes the plate back anyway. Loki never had any meat to spare and he can’t afford it now, not when they don’t know when they’ll have another meal again.
“I fucking hate beans,” Loki says, scowling down at his plate.
“Yeah, me too.” Thor swallows another mouthful of beans and smiles when Loki does the same.
Even worse than the noises is the silence after.
*
There was no slight decline, instead it hit the city like a freight train.
Death descended on them without any regard for rank or privileges. All over town people dropped dead right where they were: in the subway, in their cars, in the middle of the street and in their own homes. Nowhere was safe.
And when it stopped after a week, when so few of them were left and they thought it couldn’t get worse, the dead started to rise.
*
Thor pockets a handful of shotshells and curses. He needn’t have worried to bring his backpack because there are only a few left and he feels the irrational urge to kick the poor guy who’s lying dead and stinking on the floor. He never stood a chance, but he could at least saved some shots for those who might still have.
“Did you find something?” Loki’s voice is muffled. He’s at the other end of the small corner shop, probably looking under the shelves if there’s anything useable left that other scavengers before them haven’t found.
“Just a few shells. You?”
“Beans. And more beans.” Loki’s head appears over a chest-high shelf. He’s holding something up, a triumphant grin on his face. “And a can of ravioli. We should save that feast for Sunday.”
They’re almost home when Loki’s panicked Thor, watch out!” sets Thor’s heart racing. He’s wandered off just a few feet, distracted by a broken shop window, and he should know better, but it’s at least an hour until sunset and the dead never come out before it’s completely dark.
Only the one whose fingertips he can feel scrabbling at the tails of shirt did come out, and Thor loses two precious seconds frozen in terror before he gets his bearings. He whirls around and kicks blindly, his hands shaking too much to pump his gun. His knee hits something soft and he stumbles backward against the window, choking with revulsion at the foul stench that suddenly fills the air.
The man– the walker is swaying on its feet towards Thor. It would look almost comical if the damn thing weren’t so close. Nothing left to lose, so Thor fires blindly, ducking and turning his face into the crook of his arm.
The walker goes down with a sickening groan, but the expected spray of blood never comes. Thor has to force himself to look, will his limbs to move towards the creature and not away from it like his instincts are screaming at him.
A thin knife is stuck in its eye, sharp and long enough to pierce its brain or whatever still works in there and makes them walk.
Across the street Loki is staring at him, pale and shaking, one arm still raised with his fingers clenched tightly around the handle of a knife.
They have ravioli for dinner. There’s no need to wait until Sunday, who knows if they’ll even make it that long.
*
Sometimes Thor wonders if it really would be so bad not to think anymore. To be dead or even a brainless carcass of rotting flesh, as long as it all just goes away.
Thor has never had anything worth keeping or living for. Until a month ago he spent his days hauling steel and stones at the construction site, his nights chasing tail or, more often, falling asleep on the couch because he was just so damn tired.
He’s still tired. He’s tired all the time, but he almost never sleeps anymore.
Instead he watches Loki.
Loki sleeps a lot, so Thor lets him keep the couch and spends his nights awake on the floor. They had to give up their apartment weeks ago because it wasn’t safe anymore. All they have now is a single room in the basement of an old office building; not enough room for a bed or a second couch, but at least it’s safe with its small grilled window and the steel door.
Loki isn’t like Thor. He should be out there, going to art school and working part-time at that pretentious little coffee shop two blocks over, be happy with his pretty girlfriends and even prettier boyfriends. But they’re all dead and Thor is all Loki has left.
*
Thor killed a man today.
They only go out now in full daylight. It means less time to go farther and find shops that haven’t already been ransacked, but they’re not going to take any risks anymore.
They’ve forgotten that there are still other people out there.
Loki found a crossbow in the trunk of an old truck. He doesn’t know how to use one but he took it anyway, because this is the law now. Once you find it, it’s yours.
He never heard the guy coming. He remembers unfamiliar hands, one around his throat and one around the bow; a low growl -give it up, pretty boy– and then the sickening sound of bones breaking.
Loki watched Thor kill the man with nothing but his bare hands, the muscles in his arms and chest bulging with the strain of it, and felt his heart beat faster.
*
“We need to leave,” Loki says. “There’s nothing left here for us.”
He’s sitting on the couch and not looking up from the crossbow in his lap. His eyes are watering with how hard he’s staring at the five bolts he’s cleaning, but if he’s looking up there will be nothing else to look at in the small room but Thor, and Loki can’t stand that. Can’t stand to look at the strange mix of fury and emptiness in Thor’s eyes and know he’s the reason for it.
”I know.” Thor says from where he’s lying on the floor. His voice is sure and stead, determined. “We’ll leave right after dawn.”
Loki watches Thor sleep for the first time in days. His face looks different, older and wary, but he’s still the man who drove Loki to school after a night of clubbing and made his heart beat faster with a smile.
Loki tries to remember if there ever was a time when he didn’t love his brother. He wishes he’d known how to let him know.
*
It takes them more than a day until they’ve made it past the mass of cars that’s jamming the highway. It encloses the whole city like an ocean of steel, rubber and decay, sealing it off from— Thor isn’t even sure from what, but he hopes that at least something is still out there.
Loki is quiet most of the time and keeps his head down, staring either straight ahead or at the tips of his boots while they walk in silence.
”We should stop and see if we can find something useful in there,” Thor says. He swears quietly at himself that he didn’t think of it yesterday. They’d scrounged together what little ammo they could find, but between the two of them it won’t last very long if they really get in trouble.
“These people were running. At the very least they will have taken guns and food with them, don’t you think?”
Loki stops dead in his tracks, like somebody pulled the plug and he just stopped working. He turns and looks at Thor, his eyes wide and horrified. They are unnaturally large in his face that somehow looks even thinner with his hair pulled back in a ponytail.
”No, fuck no!” Loki takes a step back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if not looking at the fucked up mess around them would somehow make it vanish into thin ear.
It’s something he’s done when he was little and it suddenly hits Thor like a fist to his stomach, makes him physically ill. For all his toughness Loki is still barely even twenty. He’s Thor’s little brother and he’s seen and done more terrible things in the last weeks than anyone should have to do in a life time.
”I’m sorry, Thor, I know we should… Fuck, look, I’m sorry but I can’t touch them,” Loki says. He takes a shuddering breath and hugs himself, sticking his hands under his arms. From the slope of his shoulders and the bend of his neck Thor can see that he’s shaking.
”It’s ok, hey, it’s ok. I’ll do it.”
Thor swallows the impatient remark that’s been sitting on the tip of his tongue. Instead he sits Loki down on a patch of grass, turning him gently to face away from the throng of cars and towards the city instead. It’s just a jagged line on the horizon by now, flickering in the heat like a memory already gone.
Loki folds his arms over knees and buries his face in them. Like he can’t stand to watch that, either.
Thor hesitates for a long moment, his hand hovering over Loki’s hair, not sure if his touch would be welcome. He doesn’t think so, but when he turns Loki’s fingers curl around his ankle.
*
Four hours later the world around them changes and explodes into a lush abundance of green and gold.
Thor didn’t find anything useable in the few cars that had made it to the end of the highway, only money and spoiled food. But the stench of rotten flesh is still with him, his mouth sour from when he threw up, behind one of the cars so Loki wouldn’t see him.
They’ve steadily ventured away from the highway, choosing the smaller roads that lead towards the countryside. Thor can’t remember the last time he was here, probably as kid on a family trip with his parents and his baby brother. He doesn’t think Loki ever came out here, but then, he never bothered to ask where Loki went on those nights he didn’t come home.
Loki looks better now. The gentle breeze that’s blowing out here has put a little color in his cheeks. He seems to enjoy walking over the fields. Sometimes he stops, tilting his face towards the sun with a small smile on his lips.
They get ahead much slower now. They’re both tired, Loki even more so with the unwieldy crossbow slung over his back. He’d vehemently insisted that he needed to take it when Thor had pointed out that neither of them knew how to use it, and Thor had been too tired to argue with him.
Still, it’s Loki who suddenly breaks into a jog.
Thor can’t keep up, has never been a runner with his bulk and the few minutes until Loki stops and waves his arms impatiently at him from the distance seem like ages. Thor is winded and red-faced by the time he finally catches up with him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Thor shouts with what little breath he has left, gesturing wildly. “Have you forgotten what’s out here? You can’t just run away like that and put us both at risk.”
He only notices how happy Loki looks when his face closes off again, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“I found water,” Loki says curtly, nodding towards the small stream that’s softly purling several feet away.
Loki drops his gear and strips his sweat-soaked clothes off. “Feel free to shout a little more, but I’m taking a bath,” he throws over his shoulder, already wading into the shallow water.
They haven’t seen anything that walks, dead or alive, in three days. Around them are only endless fields, plenty of time for them to notice any movement. Loki probably was aware of it all along and Thor suddenly feels guilty for going off like that.
He sighs and takes his clothes off, unable to stop a groan of unadulterated bliss when he joins Loki in the cool water. He hadn’t even noticed how filthy he was until he feels clean again.
“I’m sorry, Loki, I– I didn’t mean to shout. Look, we should set up camp here for the night, it’s already late,” he says while he washes down quickly, almost tripping over his words.
Loki keeps his back to Thor, a long and graceful line that screams resentment. He stays silent, but he doesn’t shrug Thor’s hand off when he squeezes his neck in silent apology.
Thor has a small fire going by the time Loki joins him. They don’t have anything they can cook, only food that’s light enough to carry and needs no preparation; bread and power bars, some apples. It’s probably unwise to give away their location, but Thor is tired and scared and just not comfortable sleeping out here completely in the dark.
They share their meagre meal in silence.
Thor watches Loki’s profile in the firelight, his thin lips and the sharp cut of his cheeks, and he wishes for the hundredth time that he still knew what’s going on inside Loki’s head.
His feelings have changed since it’s just the two of them, his sudden responsibility for Loki and watching him grow into a man twisting them into something tangled and complicated, but he’s always, always loved him. Sometimes Thor chokes with how fiercely he feels for Loki and he doesn’t understand how the distance between them grew so large.
Something familiar strikes him, something like home. It’s only later that night, when they lie down next to each other in their sleeping bags, that he notices it’s not his memories. It’s Loki, the familiar smell of him that sometimes lingers in the bathroom after he took a shower.
“Don’t tell me you brought lotion with you,” he laughs, a little incredulous.
“Just one bottle. Detergent, too.”
Across from him Loki’s face flickers in the firelight with a sheepish smile that turns positively wicked right before he twists and reaches for something behind his back, lobbing a still wet bundle at Thor’s face that smells like Tide and home.
Thor shakes his head with a smile. It’ll be nice to have freshly washed clothes tomorrow, and his hands do feel better when Loki scoots closer and massages some of his precious lotion into the dry skin of his palms.
*
With no plan and no direction following the stream is as good as any other option.
It’s late afternoon already and they’re going fast. Loki lets Thor lead the way, content to follow.
He can sense Thor’s restlessness. It’s in the tense set of his shoulders and radiates in waves from him, hovering in the air like the oppressive heat until Loki chokes on it.
Thor has always been the brave one, throwing himself fearlessly into everything that came his way, consequences be damned. Their father often scolded him and called him irresponsible, but Loki always wished he could be more like him.
But he isn’t and Loki can’t help being afraid. He just isn’t sure if he’s afraid of what they’ll find or won’t find.
For now the only thing they find are two cars. Thor searches them and Loki watches him, biting his lips or he’ll cry with gratitude.
He’s never allowed himself to think about how very real death is, not until he saw Thor killing that man. He can’t look at the dead anymore without remembering the look on Thor’s face, can’t stop thinking that they were human beings just weeks ago and that maybe –probably– they are next.
*
The last bolt hits home with a satisfying thunk.
Loki puts his crossbow down into the lush grass, but all five bolts are so deeply wedged into the wood that he has trouble removing them even with two hands.
“You’re getting really good at it,” Thor says. He gets up from where he’s been watching Loki practice in the grass, his eyes crinkling with a smile while he plucks the bolts effortlessly from the wood, handing them over with a little bow. “Although I don’t understand why you insist on lugging that thing around. Five shots are hardly worth the effort.”
Loki grins and curls his fingers tightly around the bolts in his palm.
“Maybe I just like sharp and pointy things.”
The smile on his face feels tight and alien, but Thor’s delighted booming laugh is the best thing Loki has heard in ages, and when Thor slings an arm around his shoulder he allows himself to lean into it, closes his eyes and just breathes.
Maybe I just can’t bear the thought that you killed that man for nothing.
*
So far they’ve avoided the suburbs and villages, venturing deeper into the green as soon as a silhouette of roofs came into view. They haven’t seen a living soul for days; it’s not rocket science to know that things this close to the city are as fucked as back home.
But after three days out here they’re both so goddamn sick of nature, of grass and wheat and bugs that they’re both ready to throw caution to the wind.
They’ve been watching the farmhouse for the last two hours. It’s nothing more but an old house set against a small grove, with a ramshackle barn behind it that looks ready to collapse any minute.
“What do you think?” Thor asks, kneeling up behind the small cluster of shrubs they are using as cover.
It’s brutally hot, as if nature is trying to purge whatever disease is rotting it to the core, bleaching everything with pale sunlight. The world around them is warped into an unnatural stillness that makes it all too easy to believe that they really are last ones left. Thor’s skin prickles with uneasiness at the thought. His head is killing him from squinting against the sun for so long and Loki looks like he isn’t much better off.
“Does it really matter? We need food and arms, and if possible a whole week of sleep in a real bed,” Loki sighs, tired and resigned. “If anybody is still in there, they’ll already have noticed us by now. If not, all the better for us.”
He’s clearly reluctant and leaves out the most likely possibility that all they’ll find are corpses or worse, but of course he’s right. They can’t trudge on and stumble through the scenery like this forever.
They almost make it to front door when the first shot rings. Dirt and pebbles explode into the air right before their feet into a dusty cloud that makes it impossible to see for a moment.
“Go, Loki.” Thor grits out, but Loki doesn’t move, too stubborn or maybe just frozen. Thor doesn’t care. He shoves him hard enough to feel him stumble before he takes off, but not a second too soon, right before he hears the cock of a shotgun.
“This is my land, you’re trespassing,” a disembodied voice rings from the house. Everything is eerily still except for that voice from somewhere inside. It’s male, but that’s all Thor can discern.
Thor always thought crazy old psychos living in old houses only existed in the movies.
“Sir,” Thor says, raising his hands placatingly, taking a slow step forward, another when nothing happens. He’s tense, poised to run and his heart pounding. “We’re just looking for food and a place to spend the night. Can you help us?“
“Go away! I have nothing for the likes of you!”
The second shot is a warning, blowing up another cloud of dust three feet to Thor’s right, but the third isn’t. Thor isn’t fast enough and he stumbles with the force of a shot grazing his side.
“Get in!”
The old truck almost runs him over, but Thor still feels faint with relief when the passenger swings open and Loki grins at him, a little wild and entirely beautiful.
For at least an hour Thor expects the roar of an engine behind them, for the farmer to catch up easily with a new gleaming truck while they struggle on with his– their decrepit old ride.
They stop when the smell of blood in the cabin gets overwhelming, sickly sweet in the oppressive heat. Thor feels sick with it and the pain in his arm and growls at Loki when he prods at him with shaking fingers.
“Don’t be such a baby, it’s just a graze,” Loki says. He rips one of his four t-shirts and wraps it around the still heavily bleeding wound gash, his fingers careful and gentle.
“Whatever happened to dresses and bandages?” Thor raises a brow and watches Loki mouth twist into an unhappy line.
“There’s no first-aid kit in the car,” Loki grates out. “And I forgot to pack one.”
Thor startles with his own laugh. It bubbles out of him until he’s panting for air, his whole side throbbing with the strain of it. He pulls Loki close with his good arm and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“Don’t worry, brother, at least we have lotion.”
*
“Jesus, did you leave anything behind?”
Loki watches Thor rifle through the contents that clutter the truck’s bed: heavy tools, boards, some blankets. It’s a workman’s car, all of it had been already in the car when he took it.
“No, did you expect me to?” Loki snaps angrily. “He shot you, he doesn’t deserve any of it.”
He’d been afraid, so fucking afraid for Thor that he didn’t even think to look around, just opened the truck’s door and turned the key. It’s not what they were looking for, but better than nothing.
Loki is still afraid. He’s been afraid of walkers and dead bodies, of dying for so long that he doesn’t know how to be anything but.
But it’s different now. Now he’s afraid that he might actually lose Thor, afraid of much he wanted when Thor kissed him yesterday and what he’ll find if he lets himself think about the last year, why he was so angry every time Thor came home smelling of perfume and sex.
“Let’s go,” he says, climbing into the driver’s seat. He can’t run from his own fucked up mind, but he can damn well try.
*
“Loki?”
Loki wipes his eyes, but the tears won’t stop. Thor is a blurry patch of red and gold next to him, but all Loki sees is the bundle of pale pink in the back seat of the blue sedan.
All he wanted to proof was that he could do what needs doing. He didn’t expect to find the body of a small girl. The car is completely empty except for her, the straps of her pale blue backpack still clasped in her already blackened hand.
“She’s alone, Thor,” he says, unable to keep his voice from trembling. “Where’s her mother? Somebody drove that car, so why is nobody with her?”
“I don’t know,” Thor whispers, “but she shouldn’t be.”
Thor’s shirt gets wet with Loki’s tears, but his chest is solid and warm against Loki and Loki doesn’t feel alone with Thor’s arms around him.
They stop for the night an hour later. The car is hot and stifling, but neither of them feels like sleeping outside today.
Thor is already half-asleep in the driver’s seat, blinking sleepily at Loki when he scoots closer.
“I have something for you,” Loki says, determined. The small package he took from the girl’s backpack weighs heavy in his hand. Loki wants to whisper, because it seems the right thing to do in the small dimly-lit cab, but he has decided he’s not afraid anymore.
Thor’s arm is thick and solid under his hands when he smoothes the bandaids over his wound, one of them with little bears on it, the other littered with tiny crowns.
“There, all better now,” Loki murmurs against Thor’s lips. He keeps his eyes closed, because despite his best intentions he’s still a little afraid.
Thor’s mouth is slack under his, but he’s quiet and docile and doesn’t push Loki away. Loki takes it as permission and slowly brushes his lips over Thor’s, again and again, a little bolder every time until his heart doesn’t pound with fear anymore.
He pulls back with a sigh, regretful and happy, pressing one last kiss against the band aids on Thor’s arm and that’s when Thor finally moves. He pulls Loki against him with a wounded little sound and kisses him, deep and hungry, holds him close with his fingers curled tightly around his neck. It’s nothing like any of the kisses Loki has had; soft, almost fragile, despite the urgency that sets his heart racing.
*
The sign reads ‘Hopetown, population 19,882’
Thor pulls into what looks like the main street and snorts at the irony. Nothing here looks like there’s any hope left with its empty streets and the dark maws of broken windows. The only thing that Thor can see moving is trash, blown over the street by a gentle breeze. Thor can’t wait to get out of here, but the red light that signals they’re running out of gas has been blinking steadily for the last half hour.
Loki has been asleep for most of the morning, nestled tightly against his side.
They’ve been up until dawn, exchanging kisses like a pair of teenagers. Something hot and urgent flares in Thor’s belly at the thought that one of them still passes as a teenager. He tamps it down ruthlessly, tries to remind himself that this is still Loki, his baby brother. It’s one thing to find comfort in each other…
Thor barks a sharp laugh and pulls over at the first gas station he sees. He can’t even convince himself with his bullshit.
Last night wasn’t only about comfort. He wanted Loki, wants him even right now with an intensity that scares the fuck out of him. Just because he’s never felt like this or didn’t act on it –hell, he doesn’t even know which of that is true– it doesn’t change the fact that his cock is hard for his brother.
He doesn’t notice the woman waving her arms at them until he rolls to a halt several feet in front of her. Thor is out of the car and by her side within seconds, so overjoyed to finally meet somebody and a million questions on his tongue that he only notices that she isn’t waving at them when all hell breaks lose.
Walkers are pouring in, six or seven rounding the corner where a small garage borders on the street.
The woman didn’t wave them over, she ran and tried to warn them to get the fuck away and now it’s too late.
Thor has never seen walkers out in broad daylight, but here they are and they are fast unlike anything Thor has seen so far.
Her wrist is thin and fragile against his fingers, but she’s warm and alive. She falls against him with a whimper, but she’s not moving, resisting his frantic attempt to pull her with him.
“Come with me, go, go!” Thor pants, breathless with the sudden rush of terror that fills him when the first walker paws at her shoulder. It’s not the face, not the smell, the rotten decay that Thor is used to by now. It’s the noises he makes when he grabs her, almost human, a low garbled moan that sounds like got you and chills Thor to the bone.
He stumbles backwards, her wrist sliding out of his grasp with the force of more and more arms tearing her away from him.
“Thor, we need to got out of here,” Loki says somewhere next to him, breathless and urgent. The distinctive thwack of his crossbow is unnaturally loud in the air, almost drowning out the awful mocking murmur of the walkers.
“We need to help her,” Thor grits out. He knows it’s madness and too late, but he can’t leave her here, he can’t let them win again. It’s easy to give in to the rage that bubbles up in him, to grab his shotgun from the backseat and watch them crumble, shot after shot, and when he’s out of shells he grabs the next best thing from the truck’s bed.
The axe is heavy, but Thor doesn’t care. All he sees is a haze of red and in the middle of it her broken body, the floral print of her dress ruined and dirty. And suddenly it’s not her face anymore, for a second it’s Loki who’s staring at him with lifeless eyes and Thor can’t let that happen. Pain flares in his arm when he swings the axe, but it hits home with the satisfying sound of bone breaking.
The sudden silence is unnerving. Thor stares at the bodies with his heart still racing, unable to comprehend that it’s over so sudden.
“Thor, we can’t stay here.” Loki sounds exhausted, his fingers hot where they slip into Thor’s hand.
Blood spatters Loki’s face and arms. After everything Thor has done, it’s a few streaks of red that break him.
“Not mine, not mine,” Loki pants into the kiss. He tries to still Thor’s fluttering hands with his own, but Thor can’t stop touching Loki’s face, his sides, his brows, needs to touch him everywhere to assure himself that Loki is okay.
“Loki, I need to–“ Thor can’t find the words because he needs so much. He doesn’t know if the salt he tastes are his own tears or Loki’s, but it doesn’t matter because Loki is here and his hands are soft against Thor’s cheeks.
*
They find a motel further down the road.
Thor knows they should look for gas and get the hell out of here, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Loki is naked and lets Thor bite hungry kisses into his neck, arches into Thor’s searching hands and sighs his permission into Thor’s mouth.
Everything about Loki is long and lean. Thor learns him with his hands and mouth, presses soft kisses into the crook of his arm, down his narrow chest, lingering where his touch draws a gasp from Loki.
“Damn, Thor, I’m not going to break,” Loki gasps, arching his back and pulling Thor on top of him. “I’m here, I’m here, so will you just fucking touch me already.”
It’s all the permission Thor needs and Loki falls apart beautifully.
Loki hands are rough in Thor’s hair, cradling him against his chest, his nipple already stiff when Thor closes his mouth over it. Thor suckles him until Loki cries out and then laps even harder at him, needs to hear him and know that Loki is alive and wants this.
“God, Loki,” he groans, but then he leans up and kisses him because it’s easier than talking. Loki is hard against his belly, his thighs trembling when Thor rolls his hips into him.
“Yes, yes, Thor, …” Loki sounds wrecked, raw, and Thor groans and thrusts harder, sliding their cocks together in the sticky mess they’re making on Loki’s belly. It’s good, so fucking good he’s already on the brink of coming. “Touch me,” he gasps, desperate to feel Loki’s hand around him.
“Wait, like this,” Loki gasps, pushing at Thor’s shoulder with both hands until Thor gets it. He kneels up and sits back on his heels, and then Loki is in his lap, his tongue in Thor’s mouth and his hand tight around their cocks. They’re straining against each other, moving together in a tight hot push-pull of their hips. Thor guides Loki with his hands on his ass, their cocks sliding together through Loki’s slippery fist.
Loki comes with a quiet sob and Thor tumbles over the edge right after him, panting into Loki’s neck while their mingled wetness slicks his thighs.
They don’t speak, because there’s nothing to say.
They’ve crossed a line that was always there in the sand and suddenly it’s gone, blown over and made insignificant by the enormity of what is happening around them.
For all Thor knows, nobody might be left out there to judge them. He’ll worry about it tomorrow, next week or maybe never. Until then all he needs is Loki, for as long as he can have him.