What More Could I Lose? (джен)

It happened quickly – like falling asleep, like waking from a dream – or a nightmare. Frenzied, gasping for breath, seeking light, Thor tumbled out of bed, disoriented, head throbbing with pain. He made for the sliver of light some paces to his right, bursting through heavy oak doors, adrenaline peaking.
A dream. A terrible dream.
On the floor was Mjolnir. Thor stepped back, thighs hitting the small table behind him, breath coming ragged. He tried to remember coming here – being here – in these chambers.
The last he had seen Mjolnir, Hela had been crushing it to shards with her bare hands. Had he dreamed that? Or was this the dream?
Desperate for an anchor, Thor took aching steps toward his old weapon, gingerly reached for it, forgetting that he could call it to him, and wrapped his fingers round the handle. The jolt of electricity that spread through his body caused his legs to buckle, and he caught himself on one knee, shoulders shaking as his disjointed memories collided and thunked into place.