C18H27NO3

The walls of the medical room at SHIELD aboard the helicarrier were bright and white, nearly blinding in the light coming in from the outdoors. Windows were always a thing SHIELD loved when it came to the Helicarrier.

He guessed it was to grant the ability to see most threats coming.

Fury was a guy who loved his security. Any advantage he could take, he took it.

He could feel someone, hands, working frantically over him, heard the way they were banging against the metal.

“JARVIS,” his voice was weak and he had to fight back the urge to cough, “open the suit,” he croaked and as it slowly opened as JARVIS followed his request, he blacked out, back in the blissful sea of unconsciousness.

“Where am I?”

Everything was dark, pitch dark, but he could feel the solidness beneath his feet and couldn’t feel a breeze of any sort.

“Your mind, my mind; the place most go when they fall into a coma,” came a voice from amongst the darkness and as the figure stepped closer, it was a wonder he could make him out in the dark, but he seemed unaffected by it. Every detail stood out in stark clarity, from the blood staining the spandex mission suit to the bare feet slowly drawing closer.

“I’m in a coma?”

“Of sorts, yes; though not for long. Your body is just merely resting and healing itself enough for you to be able to function somewhat coherently in the waking world.”

He watched Loki draw closer, the way his head was tilted slightly to the side. His expression was open and kind, reassuring and calming in a way only JARVIS seemed to be nowadays. And wasn’t that sad?

“And you? Are you in a coma?”

A slow nod was his response. “I committed a horrid mistake when fighting Amora, let my anger get the best of me and killed her without thinking of the consequences. My body is now healing from my mistakes as well as my core.” A pale hand rested on a flat stomach covered in leather spandex, green eyes flitting downwards as if in shame.

“Your core is where your, uh, magic is most concentrated, right?”

Loki nodded, lifting his hand from his stomach to brush away stray strands of inky black. “The main reason I am here, though, Tony, is to walk you through the flashes.”

“The what?”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Tony thought for a moment, dug deep into his mind trying to come up with what happened and got a brief flashing image of the fight that startled him, heard the loud echoing roar of the Hulk in his ears, saw bright orange and yellow and red in front of his, lighting up his face as he fell backwards. He saw a body falling with him, heard hollow words in his ear—“close it”.

He felt himself falling back, but a hand caught his arm, hauled his upright. “What,” he looked about frantically, eyes searching for where the images had been, where the explosion was, “was that?”

“Overwhelming, aren’t they?”

Loki’s voice was like a soothing hum in his ear, a low assurance that everything would be fine and his eyes grew wet unconsciously at eh feeling.

“Come here,” Loki cooed softly, drawing him in gently and Tony let him, let himself be pulled forward and enveloped in his arms, let long pale fingers stroke through his bloody and undoubtedly sweaty hair, let Loki’s voice filled with soft comforting words lull him into a state of calm.

He let the tears fall and felt the weight come off his shoulders, if only for a moment.

“How are they holding up?”

“They’re fine, Agent Romanov. Both of them will make a full recovery, most likely.”

The red-head sighed, shoulders slumping in relief, relaxing just minutely, but it was enough for Fury to see that this had been weighing on her for quite a bit. Probably since they brought them in from the battlefield, now that he thought about it, and it eased some level of tightness in his chest.

“Where’s Agent Barton?”

Fury released a soft snort, flicking his gaze back the way he came. “With the rest of the crew in the room,” he responded and watched her nod slowly, corners of her lips twitching upwards in a small, tight smile.

The tension in her probably wouldn’t ease until they woke up; this much he knew.

“Go on ahead.”

She nodded, curt and stiff before walking briskly past him, her fingers brushing the back of his hand gently, almost as if in apology for her behavior. He knew it was. He didn’t hold it against her.

Loki had been of great help to her even when they hadn’t known each other and Tony had been under Natasha’s protection—she had seen him and taken care of him when he was quite literally being killed by the very thing also keeping him alive.

Exhaling deeply, Fury gave a small shake of his head before continuing on to where he had been originally heading to begin with.

A scream tore itself out of him as his fingers clutched at his head, heels of his palms pressing roughly against his temples. “Make it stop, please, make it stop,” he sobbed, knees meeting the ground harshly as he collapsed forward, breath harsh and heavy.

“Breathe through it, Tony.”

“Please, just make it stop,” he whispered, lips quivering, tears streaking down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead into Loki’s chest.

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

Another scream ripped through him, his back arching, muscles tensing and releasing violently as images flashed behind his eyelids. It was like an assault on all of his senses. He could feel the weight of the body in his arms, the weightlessness of space, could see the blinding light of the explosion.

“Breathe, Tony, breathe. Just relax.”

Sweat dotted his brow, small droplets rolling down the sides of his face to mix with his tears, wetting his cheeks with the salty mixture. Loki’s fingers were cool, a sweet relief to the burning he felt all over, stroking over his face, massaging his scalp. His breath was cool where it brushed Tony’s skin and he forced himself to follow the breathing even as another flash hit him, threatening to overwhelm him.

His lungs ached, his throat sore, as shuttered breaths escaped him, body sagging forward in exhaustion. “How much more?” he whispered hoarsely, voice tight in agony. His whole body was shaking, unsure if it could handle another onslaught.

“Until you wake up,” Loki responded, tony slightly apologetic.

“When’s that?” Tony was slurring now, tongue feeling heavy and too big for his mouth, lips sort of simply lying parted, jaw loose. He felt like he was three minutes away from drooling, maximum. His fingers barely twitched on command, his arms and legs feeling too long, too uncoordinated to bother moving them. The room was shifting. He couldn’t see it, it was still pitch black, but he could feel it—that is until he realized it was him shifting, Loki turning and tugging his body until he was on his back on the floor, looking up at the god’s face.

“When you are ready,” Loki whispered to him, his voice sweet and soft, melding together like his head was encased in gelatin and he couldn’t hear clearly; like there was cotton in his ears. And he wanted to tell Loki that, ask if that was normal, how he knew if it was or wasn’t normal, how come Loki hadn’t woken up yet—he seemed ready. But he couldn’t, his body lying uselessly where Loki positioned him, jaw slack as he gazed up at the god of mischief with a dazed expression.

“Lo,” he breathed out on a shaky exhale, but it hurt to even do that and he really couldn’t think straight enough to form a complete and functioning sentence.

“Hush, Tony,” and it was amazing how that didn’t even sound deprecating or patronizing, but comforting instead, “just rest.”

He couldn’t even gasp out as ‘okay’ before his eyes were rolling back, eyelids fluttering shut, a line of saliva trickling out of the corner of his mouth as his head lolled to the side; exhaustion finally winning out.

Who would’ve known you could feel so exhausted while unconscious.

“Close it,” Steve ordered. Loki heard it filtering through the comm. that was practically broken, not designed to handle a trip outside of Midgard. His skin was peeling, lungs burning with a need to breathe, but this air was poisonous, not to add the smoke from the explosion, debris already falling in their direction—well, floating, but rapidly.

He turned his body, an action that took a colossal effort and shoved at the chest of Tony’s suit, trying to push him out, push him faster, to make it to where the portal was already starting to close, the image of Midgard slowly being eaten out of existence.

His efforts were weak, strength barely there as he struggled to maintain consciousness long enough to at least get Tony out. Tony needed to make it back. He was going to do great things; he needed to make it out alive.

He believed it was that frantic thought that made him let out a burst of seidr, part of his reserves, put weight on both their bodies, heavier than the gravity of Midgard, but not so much that it was detrimental to Tony’s health. The added weight, though, let them slip through the portal, just in time, closing just after them.

Then, everything went black.

Clint groaned as a tap on his arm woke him up, shifting and releasing another groan as his back popped, arms coming up to stretch over his head, relishing in the release of tension in his muscles before blearily opening his eyes to look over at whoever woke him up.

He saw a shock of red before his vision came into focus to make out the familiar face of Natasha looking up at him in concern. Twisting to sit up, he moved, getting off of his little niche in the top corner of the medical room where he had set up camp until Loki and Tony woke up.

He hoped that was soon. He was starting to miss Loki’s commanding yet flexible nature and he had just been getting to know Tony and the man was pretty amusing.

Grunting as his knees cracked a bit as he landed he let out a soft sigh before looking at Natasha. She had moved to Loki’s bedside, staring down at him with a carefully blank expression. Her fingers traced his cheek, not touching, but hovering.

His skin was paler than normal, just on the edge of blue. They were all anticipating a full out transformation soon, judging from his appearance. He said he typically healed faster that way, but he had a complex with his Frost Giant appearance.

After Laufey’s visit, Loki seemed to hesitate a lot less when it came to shifting to his birth form and Natasha and Clint didn’t really mind. It was the true Loki and they loved every part of him.

His skin appeared paper thin in the lighting, though, and they could see a shifting shadow under his skin, moving up his arms, wrapping around his biceps, slighting up his shoulder, curling into his collarbones, down his chest, disappearing momentarily when it reached the left pectoral before reappearing under the skin of a flat stomach, shifting across hard and smooth planes, curling and slithering restlessly.

It was fascinating to watch but it also felt like a form of low-key body horror that made both of them want to look away because Loki was dear to both of them. The last thing they needed to see on him was some sort of The Matrix stuff going on in his abdomen.

“He’s so still,” she whispered, voice colored by some form of wonderment and yet tinged with fear, fear they both felt.

What if he didn’t wake up?

What if he never moved again?

What if, what if, what if?

It was exhausting and Clint was pretty sure that was the number one reason he hadn’t managed to have a good night’s rest in days. The battle had drained them all, but he refused to go to sleep, not wanting to miss the smallest movement that might indicate that they were going to wake up.

“He looks so peaceful.”

Natasha smiled up at the sound of his voice. “He hasn’t looked like this since Thor got here.”

A frown appeared on both of their expressions, thoughts of the blonde god souring both of their already piss poor moods. Turning their attention back to Loki who was in the same position he had been for the last few days.

“I want him to wake up,” she breathed, lips trembling just slightly on a shaky inhale, green eyes slightly moist and Clint walked behind her, let her turn and bury herself in his arms as they both finally allowed themselves a moment of weakness.

“What were you like before you came here?” Clint asked, shifting to look over the raven that lied between both him and Natasha. They were on the roof of Loki’s apartment building, staring up at the stars that Loki’s magic made visible despite the light pollution of the city—a breathtaking sight that they didn’t get to enjoy nearly as much as Clint felt they should.

It made him hate the city just a bit.

Loki hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut and lips pursing as he thought, fingers stroking through Natasha’s hair where she had her head on his chest.

“In my description or the description of the people and my family,” Loki asked, turning his head to meet Clint’s gaze with bright green eyes. He swore that the bright green that were the male’s eye color wasn’t natural, but it was mesmerizing.

“Both, I suppose,” Clint muttered and Loki nodded, turning his gaze back to the sky. Green swirled across the sky, creating the image of a small boy standing in the corner of a large room packed to the brim with people.

“In my terms, lonely; I had no friends, my family and I didn’t get along as well as the public thought. Shunned is probably another word for it.” The image changed to another one of a slightly older version of the boy, looking like he was attempting to ask a man, older with an eye patch who was talking to another group of men, something and yet no one paid him any mind. “As I grew older, the feeling never changed. As a matter of fact, it grew, as I was old enough to understand more clearly what was going on—that no one desired my presence in the near vicinity of them.”

The green swirled, showed another image of a Loki looking just a bit younger than the one laying next to him, huddled in the corner of what appeared to be  ball or celebration of a sort if the people dancing and drinking and laughing were anything to go by. And yet Loki was in the corner, looking out in front of him with a mask of indifference, but knowing the Loki he knew now, he knew the male longed to be included into it. People walked past the male and didn’t even stop to greet him or even look over—acknowledge his presence.

“In the terms of the people and my family, I was a mischievous twat. Troublesome, too curious for my own good; my mother would say it would either get me killed or used. Either way, to me it seemed like a sweeter fate than the life I was presently living.”

“Didn’t thinking like that scare you?” Natasha asked, shifting where she was lying and looking up at Loki who craned his neck to look down at her.

“It did,” he responded, eye flicking back up to the sky, “though not at first.”

“What changed?”

“I got used—or rather, abused. And I thought I would be giving these sick bastards everything they ever wanted if I were to die. And I was, am, everything but complacent, so I took to a new way of thinking; devised myself a plan to get out and now I’m here.”

Natasha had a small smile painted on her plump lips and when she raised her gaze to meet Clint’s, he mirrored it, reaching out his hand and letting their hands clasp together, resting joined right over Loki’s heart.

Natasha somehow managed to coerce Clint out of the room after they both stood there and stood vigil over the unconscious bodies of Tony and Loki. Steve was a lot harder to coax away from the room, looking so utterly devastated as he looked down at the two unconscious bodies, but she managed it somehow.

Natasha guessed it stirred memories of his best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, who had died; a fellow member in the Howling Commandos. She could only imagine how it felt to be right there, about to potentially lose two people to another fall.

Bruce refused to enter the room because he feared his anger of not being able to do more would make the other guy appear, but he stayed by the door in a chair he had dragged there and hardly ever left. It was easy for him to do, used to losing himself in science binges like Tony, and could run for days without realizing how much time had passed, how he should probably go shower and sleep.

It was like a test in strength, tearing Bruce out of the chair and down the hall to the lunch room. Thor spent most of his time there or with Jane. He seemed anguished to have potentially lost comrades in battle, but Natasha noted he didn’t seem as heartbroken as the rest of them, able to continue on with life.

She wondered if that came with being a god. You just became so accustomed to death that it just didn’t affect you as much.

Loki had once told her that death was something they experienced so often in Asgard where wars happened more often and it would decimate part of, or entire, villages, towns, even kingdoms. If he grieved every death to the fullest of its potential, he would never stop; not to mention the fact that he wasn’t actually one even a first name basis with practically the entirety of Asgard, so he wouldn’t even get the chance.

It was a sad thing.

Nearly a week later, they were all awoken by a group call from Agent Coulson; his voice sounded exhausted, but relieved—those closest to him even able to say it sounded ecstatic—as he uttered two words.

“They’re awake.”