Shit Coffee and Shitter Living Circumstances
Bruce awakes with a violent snort, head pounding harder than a drum.
He peels his cheek off the note pad. Memories of trying (and failing) to write a to-do list float through his mind. The writing is smeared and hasty, a mark of how close he was to spiraling last night. He squints, then groans when his eyes cross. It’ll take a miracle and about two barrels of coffee for him to read this.
“You’re awake.”
Bruce starts at the voice. Thor blinks blearily at him from where he’s perched on the countertop. He’s clutching a mug comically small in his monstrous grip that steams and smells of chocolate. He doesn’t seem dangerously intoxicated anymore, though the post drunk haze still fogs his gaze.
“Oh hey Thor.” Bruce rubs his face, frowning into his palm. “How long have you been sitting there?”
Thor sips from his mug. “Not long.” Another sip. “Tony will be joining us soon.”
“Oh.” He says carefully. Thor’s hair is done in a hasty knot at the back of his head, flyaway strand twisted into little braids. Shadows bruise the bottom of his eyelids. There’s a pink hello kitty blanket draped around his shoulders, replacing the dark cape he usually sports. He’s cleaner. Smells better. Looks more put together than he has in the last 24 hours.
Then how come he look three times worse?
He supposes being sober can do that to a person.
He wonders if he remembers any of the events that transpired last night. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot everything; downing a million-dollar liquor cabinet takes serious work out of a guy. A petty voice in his head hopes it haunts him forever—forcing a 500-pound intoxicated and tearful Asgardian into bed was an…unforgettable experience. One he’d rather jump into a waterslide of lava than repeat. And not the mention the uncomfortable words that were spoken…
“Don’t tell my father. Don’t—he’ll be absolutely furious with me.”
Tony glanced at Bruce, grabbing a fistful of Thor’s hair. “Sure thing, buddy. Let’s get you to bed.”
“I should’ve killed them.” There was more clarity in that sentence than there had been all night. Bruce hid his face in Thor’s back, which he pushed with all his unbudging might. “Should’ve killed them all. Stayed behind. I wish I’d avenged Loki. He’s dying, isn’t he?” Tears streamed down his cheeks, joining the sweat and drool there. “There’s nothing to be done anymore. I can’t help him. He’s dying.”
“It’s okay Thor, you just need some rest I promise you’ll feel better in the morning—just follow us—Jesuschristyou’reheavy—”
Thor stumbled on a step, bringing both men down with him in a hot, sweaty heap on the ground. “I was supposed to protect him.”
“Get up,” Tony begged. He looked close to melting into a puddle. “I fucking hate you Thor and I’m about to go into fucking cardiac arrest, get the fuck up.”
Thor burped. “Don’t tell father.” Then he passed out.
Bruce shivered. What a night.
He wonders what kind of a father Thor’s is. He must’ve screwed up bad for Thor to be so averse to bringing his own son to him for help. He remembers, against his own will, his dad. The beers, the yelling—sweet lord, the yelling. The memories, they dig into his skull and burrow themselves in the marrow, seeking and searching out the green untiltney trigger the beast. They never truly stop. They never did, not even when Bruce put a bullet there to join them.
He tries to imagine an older Thor. Grey hair. Longer beard. Wrinkles. He imagines him pushing him around. Telling him he’s a waste, a disappointment, a failure. That he’s not strong enough. That he messes up even the simplest tasks, “damnit boy, you can’t even cook a meal without burning it to shit—”
The image in his mind fades like light through fog. Bruce just can’t imagine Thor being cruel, older or not.
“Bruce. Are you alright?”
“Hm? Oh yeah just zoned out a little there.” He shifts under Thor’s gentle gaze that he can only describe as those of a baby cow. “I’m sorry about Loki, by the way.” Those eyes immediately darken. Bruce feels a twinge of guilt. He stares at the brown liquid in his cup like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, and I’m here to help however I can—"
“You should not be here.”
Something breaks in Bruce’s chest. “O-oh.” His face must show his crestfallenness, because Thor immediately adds,
“I’m grateful for your willingness to help! Grateful beyond words, truly, I cannot thank you enough. Of all our teammates, your kindness has always stood out to me the most. You are an honorable friend and a wonderful companion and your support means the world to me. But that is precisely why I don’t want you here. I mean!” Bruce wilts in his seat as Thor struggles with his words. “I simply…” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Stark had it under control. And this is dangerous business.”
“Tony came to last night practically in tears, begging for my help. Besides, I’ve faced danger. Hell, I saved New York.”
“I meant no disrespect. I am well aware of your capability. But this is a different kind of danger. Proxima was a formidable foe, powerful and resourceful, yet she is insignificant in comparison to her allies. Not her mindless henchmen, but her father and her other siblings. I have never met with such cruelty, with such capability. They have weapons of unimaginable power. I never should have exposed you to such risks.”
“Hey, hey, none of that. I can handle battles fine. I’m a tough guy, both of me. Hulk will kick all their asses while Bruce solves the math equations. Me and Tony will have this figured out by the end of the week. Boom! No problem.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
Bruce chuckles nervously. “How is this a bother? When we’re not going on missions I basically rot in my sad lonely little apartment doing nothing all day. In fact, this is a way for me to broaden my anatomy studies.”
“Broaden your anatomy studies?”
“Yeah! I mean I rarely get to study aliens, and you’ve given me the perfect opportunity. So technically you’re doing me a favor.”
Thor’s still glaring at his cup like it’s done him unforgivable acts of immorality. Bruce nudges him despite the awkwardness chewing at his insides. “He’ll be okay. We’ll fix him. I’m glad to help. I promise.”
Thor offers him a tired smile. But he still doesn’t look up from his drink. Bruce leans back with a heavy sigh.
Something crunches under his butt.
He yelps, falling off his seat. He lands on a pile of glass shards.
“Bruce! My apologies!” Thor says, helping him up midst his scream of “Gah! What the fuck!”
“What—” he realizes like a punch to the neck that the basement’s mini living room, sophisticated and clean the last time he was awake, now looks like it’s been reorganized by a couple professional bulldozers. The couches are overturned, papers float everywhere on the ground, glass shards decorate the carpet, and several cracked windows are hiding behind pathetically arranged Star Wars-themed pillows. “What in the world happened here? Were we attacked?”
Thor reddens. “Oh Stark and I just had a, ah, minor spat, nothing serious—”
“Minor spat? You put ‘four skylight windows’ on the List of Things You Owe me and nearly threw me through one to boot.” Tony stomps through the doorway, a tray of coffee in little cups like a fourth grader girl’s tea party set balancing on his fingers. He guffaws at Bruce’s disturbed expression. “You slept through the whole thing, Brucie. I took a video.”
“Thor, why did you attack Tony?” Bruce yells as said demigod reaches for the tray like a child being handed playdough. Tony falls into the seat next to him with a dramatic air, deliberately sticking up his pinky in a suggestive way as he takes a prim swig from his cup.
“What can I say? I am one irresistible doggy. Driving the men and women insane since 1970.” He kicks his legs into Bruce’s lap. Bruce shoves him away with a scowl. “Owchies! That wasn’t very nice. Anyway, he came after me for coming to you last night, just because I promised I wouldn’t. Can you believe it? After everything I’ve done for him? All I asked for was a helping hand. He made me promise that you would consent to him personally which I’m assuming you did or else I’d be a steaming pile of goo on the ground right now—”
“That can still be arranged.”
“Hah! Thor, you’re a blast. Anyone ever told you you’re doggone hilarious?”
“Dog…gone?”
“Damnit Thor. And here I thought those long hours spent watching Disney movies were at least teaching you something.” He loops an arm around Thor’s neck. “Tell you what, Bruce and I are going to teach you everything you need to know about human culture with the time you’ll spend with us this next week. Call it our secondary goal. Show you what you’re missing out on.”
“He likes chocolate,” he mutters to Bruce. “So I put it in the coffee, all of it. I swear to god it’s the only thing keeping me alive right now. Until Pepper kills me of course.” There’s mania in his eyes. Bruce pushes him away gently.
Tony clears his throat. “So, uh. What now, Bru-Bru?”
“What do you mean what now? I’m not in charge here. I barely know what’s going on.”
Tony frowns. “Thor didn’t explain anything?”
“Anything is a strong word.” Deciding he’s got nothing to lose, he takes one of Tony’s cups. He nearly chokes. It’s poisonously sweet. The taste of chocolate assaults him from all sides, singing his taste buds with both the flavor and the scalding heat of the drink. He drowns in the stuff for a good minute before gathering himself enough to finish his statement. “I know Proxima and her psycho family are after Thor for some reason. I know we can’t take Loki back to Asgard, but I don’t know why.” He swallows a vomit. “Tony what is in this?”
“Hm.” Tony throws back his cup like a shot. “There are a few extra things I’d like to know too. Thor, care to explain?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Why don’t you just start from the beginning?”
“The beginning.” Thor repeats solemnly. He scrunches his eyebrows, pouting so his lips disappear under his beard. It’s moments like these when Bruce remembers Thor is, in fact and in real life, a god. People have prayed to him for centuries. He’s been alive long enough to hear them, grant them. He’s been to places Bruce can only dream of, battled monsters Bruce can only ever have nightmares about. Yet here he sits, weapons down, sipping sugar poison out of a little teacup, still managing to look every bit as majestic and ethereal as he is. It’s utterly ridiculous.
His face is like stone. Most people would think he looks positively murderous. Bruce knows he’s just thinking.
“Do any of you remember what color Proxima’s magic is?” Thor says after a while.
Tony scoffs. “How could I forget? Green as Bruce’s Mr. Hyde here.”
Thor nods. “That was one of the first things I noticed of her. It was not technology, nor a physical weapon that could be built. It was completely natural. Inherited. It’s very rare for one to have such a thing, especially for someone of her kind. It puzzled me, so I confronted her when we fought on Stark Tower.
She was evasive. She taunted me when I asked. When SHIELD took her away, she shouted at me. ‘My congrats, Odinson,’ she said, ‘your Midgardians are saved from the wicked tyrant. It truly is a shame you were not able to save all of your little pets.’
Her words vexed me. I assumed she simply meant the lives lost in the battle, which I mourned greatly indeed. However, my mind could not be at rest. The way she said it…it did not sit right with my soul. It was as though she were deriding me for another thing entirely. I asked Fury for an audience with her, but he refused. He said she was under severe surveillance and could not have outside communication no matter the circumstances.”
“So you snuck in? Damn.”
“I broke in,” Thor says. “It was not difficult, though I am certain Fury holds no good will towards me now. He surely knows I spoke to her by now.
I took what I needed from her. She told me that—she said he—”
Thor looks at his hands, his fingers curling into fists. He closes his eyes. “She told me she knew of the second prince of Asgard’s fall. And she told us we mourned for nothing, for he was alive. Her father had him. The void had spat him into their lap in the crevice of their dark world by chance. No one knew how long he had drifted. They only recognized him as a prince of Asgard, and a valuable asset to their twisted plans. They questioned him, but he was incapable of answering. So they found a way.
They tortured him. Brutally. He told them where the tesseract was. He told them everything they wanted. They wrang him dry, they took it all, they violated his very being until he was mangled speechless.”
Thunder booms outside. Bruce lays a hand on Thor’s bouncing knee. It slows to a stop. “Proxima claimed her father had great plans for him. They’d even arranged to send him instead of her to subjugate Midgard. But their ‘preparations’ for him turned out to be too much. Time wore on and their methods became increasingly cruel. Loki’s body and mind became weaker and weaker in their care. They overestimated how much he could take, and one day he just…broke.”
Thor sighs and wipes his eyes. “They lacked even the mercy to kill him. No, they found yet another way to debase him. One of her siblings is a mage of sorts. Ebony Maw, she called him. He uses the foulest, most dishonorable way in order to gain magic. He leeches off other’s and steals it for himself. Dark magic. It is banned in Asgard, and rightfully so. There is nothing viler. And here he was, doing the exact thing to my brother. He must have taken a bit too much one time and shared with the rest of his villain family.” He spits the word out like a curse.
“Does that mean his magic is gone?” Bruce asks timidly.
“Loki’s magic is like blood. When a portion is lost, his body automatically regenerates it for him. In time it should return back to its full power. But we don’t know how much they stole from him, so there is no telling when he will heal.”
“He’ll be okay.” Thor looks away, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “He will. If he survived this long, he can live another week. He’s tough.”
“That is not the only reason I have to worry. Mages are rare. Maw needs Loki to use magic, he could be searching for him at this very moment. Some of the most dangerous beings on the planet are seeking out our destruction at this very moment—”
“Huh?” Tony’s eyes widen like a mouse.
“—they will kill us if they find us. They will take Loki back if they can, and they will continue hurting him—”
“No hold on, back the hell up.” Tony shakes his head, waving his arms around. “Thor, you did not mention they would be looking for us.”
Thor raises an eyebrow. “Did I not?”
“I thought Loki was just some prisoner, not their prized trophy! We’re using Pepper’s house, is she safe? Is she?”
“Anyone lacking my presence is safe. They will not want the extra attention, nor are they eager to face the combined forces of the Avengers and SHIELD again.”
“Tony, calm down,” Bruce says when Tony’s eye begins to twitch, a tell-tale sign that someone will get hurt very soon. “Thor, calm down!” He adds when lightning flashes outside the shattered windows in retaliation. “Let’s just all take a deep breath. How about we all calm down, eh?”
Tony peeks around Bruce’s shoulder, pointing an accusatory finger up Thor’s nose. “If anything happens to Pepper—”
“Nothing will happen to Pepper,” Bruce interjects. His head begins to pound all over again. “Look—” he groans in frustration. Thor wilts noticeably in guilt.
“Thor,” he says. “Why don’t you go take a nap somewhere?”
“I am well rested, I assure you.”
“But we need you to out of the way so we can have a checkup with Loki. You don’t need to sleep, you can just watch TV or something.”
“Or you can clean up my basement. Well. Basement by extension,” Tony says. Bruce elbows him. “The vacuum’s in the closet to the right of the bathroom,” he persists, undaunted.
Thor nods tightly. As he trails up the stairs, the sound of his steps plodding upwards, turns to look at Bruce, a look of bleary-eyed exhaustion curling his entire face. “You see what I have had to deal with for the past few days?”
“You should’ve come to me sooner. This is worse than I thought.”
“And it only gets worse. Sure, Thor’s a pile of horse shit on fire, but Loki’s even worse. His readings are all over the place, one minute he’s got a raging fever, the next he’s dying of hypothermia. It’s like his body doesn’t know which form of him he likes better so it tries to do both at the same time, but it’ll just end up killing him.” He looks close to delirious tears. Bruce pats him on the back. “I still can’t believe I managed to take care of them both myself for as long as I did. I know I’ll probably laugh about this later, but right now I just feel like dying. In my sleep preferably, slathered in silk sheets and a face mask.” Bruce continues to tap at his back until it feels more like a weak-ass massage than a pathetic attempt at comfort.
God, he hates himself.
“Do you think it has anything to do with him being an ice-thingy? The temperature thing,” he says, changing the subject.
“Frost Giant. And absolutely. That combined with the crazy number of infections he’s got to have from all his wounds, I’d say he’s having a pretty intense space god fever. Thor says he’s never seen him blue. He’s had issues with the heat in the past, but never to this extent.”
Bruce curses under his breath.
“Yeah, fuck,” Tony agrees. “I’m thinking maybe they found a way to mess with it as another form of torture. But how they managed that is another mystery. One that we have to solve.”
Hey, chin up soldier,” he adds when Bruce buries his face in his hands. “We’re in this together. One little tweak. Right?”
“Yeah, a little tweak.” Bruce reaches for the ibuprofen in his pocket.
Tony claps his hands together. “So shall we check up on the patient?”
“Let’s.”
His eyes are open when they walk in, but that’s about it.
He’s not even looking at them. His eyes stare into nothing. They’re an eerie color, a dull grey. Not silver, not even the color of a storm cloud. It’s like they once had color a long time ago, but has since been sucked dry of it.
Bruce walks over. Every step feels like a mistake in the midst of making, shaky and unsure. He hesitates before waving a hand in front of Loki’s face. Nothing.
“And it’s been like this from the start?” he asks, watching his unwavering gaze. He wonders if he can see them.
“The very beginning. Nothing can get him to move, eat, anything. Thor’s trying to trigger his memories by talking to him, and this isn’t some happy-go-lucky kid’s movie so of course that hasn’t been working. I’m starting to think more drastic measures are about to be needed. We just need a reaction, something, anything to know he’s still in there. Oh Bruce, by the way, don’t touch—”
Too late. Bruce snatches his arm away, hissing in pain. There’s a shiny red burn on his fingers where he’d touched Loki’s pulse point moments before. “What the—”
“Sorry, I should’ve told you. Yeah, if you touch him, you get frostbite. It’s a minor case, don’t worry about it.” He tosses a jar of cream at Bruce who barely catches it in time. “I’m thinking it’s some kind of developed instinct from all the pain he’s endured from touch. Like flinching, or holding your breath underwater when you’re a baby. Thor carried him all the way here and he didn’t even notice his arms were smoking, so it’s a weak one, anyway. Probably worn down from time. This form isn’t his usual one, after all.”
Bruce cradles his hand. The cream helped. He should ask Tony about it later when he has time to wonder. “But this is good, isn’t it? It’s a reaction to touch, like you said.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the kind we’re looking for. If anything, it’s the opposite. If he can’t tell us apart from his torturers, that is a whole new level of messed up.”
Bruce eyes the blanket covering Loki’s body. Then before he can change his mind, pulls it off. Criss-crosses of bloody reds and purples passes over his vision. He closed his eyes before the image can set into his mind, but the memories of what he’d seen on Loki’s skin last night is enough for green to dot his vision under his eyelids. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, blotting out Tony’s cursed chocolate coffee flavor and replacing it with something far worse.
“Doesn’t get any better the second time, does it,” Tony says with an affected voice. “Holy hell, this is sickening.”
Bruce can’t disagree. The dampened sound of a vacuum begins running in the background. The knowledge that Thor is here trusting them enough to put the life of his brother in their hands is somehow enough for Bruce to wrench his eyes open. Still, he almost vomits.
What really gets to him though, through all the slices and burns and gore, and even the hand-shaped bruises on his hips and thighs that make a chill run down his spine, is the fact that blood still seeps through the bandages littered across him. He’s seen Thor after battles. No matter how much he gets hurt, after an hour he’s usually completely healed.
Loki’s injuries don’t look like that. In fact, they look more like a human’s after being run over by a truck.
Humans usually don’t survive those.
Bruce shakes his head. Focus. Gather data first, worry about probable impossibility of survival later. He may not be the kind of doctor they’re looking for, but at least he knows basic procedure.
“So have you scanned him yet?” he asks.
Tony nods and hands him the pictures from the cabinet next to the infusion pump. “Sorry for the bad quality. ‘S not like I could’ve brought my entire lab with me in my Louis Vuitton. Hold on. That’s actually a pretty good idea. JARVIS, put ‘portable lab’ on my to do list.”
“Right away sir,” his wrist answers.
“This makes no sense,” Bruce breathes.
Tony gasps in mock shock. “Blasphemy. Just for that comment, I’m making TWO of them, and you’re not getting one. JARVIS, buy me that Home Depot, the nice one down the street—'"
“Not that. Take a look at this.”
“Not until you apologize for dissing my portable lab idea.” His pout turns into laughter at Bruce’s glare. “I’m kidding I’m kidding learn to take a joke—Geez, okay here we go.” He takes the photos, adjusting his dumbass sunglasses. He frowns. “Huh. How about that.”
“I thought you said he had a fever.”
“Uh, correction, I speculated he had a fever. Very different. Hold on. Wait no that’s actually the same thing now that I think about it—” he shakes his head at Bruce’s raised eyebrows. “Right. Scan. Yes. You know I never got a good look at these. The machine was printing them out last night when I went to your house. But yeah, this is weird.”
“Weird indeed. How does a guy suffer these many injuries and have such unreliable body heat and not be absolutely cooked on the inside?”
“Do Asgardians get fevers? Maybe that’s just a human thing.”
“Or maybe his magic has been working this entire time. Maybe it’s just been busy keeping his body from frying up against infections.”
Tony opens his mouth. Closes it. He shoots Bruce the familiar look or surprised admiration. “You’ve done it again, Brucie,” he says proudly. Bruce glows.
“So he’s still in there.”
Loki is so still. But if Bruce looks closely enough, he can see his chest fall and rise under the discolored rags barely covering his tiny frame. He can see his eyelids twitch against the slight breeze from the fan in the corner. He sees his dark, messy hair tumbling over his shoulders, curly whisps falling on his face. He sees his muscles moving minutely every now and then when the whisps brush against his eyelashes, tickling his skin.
“Do you think he can hear us?” Bruce wonders out loud.
“Hopefully,” Tony says. He taps Loki’s forehead. “You hear us? We’re not giving up on you. Your brother still needs you. I don’t know what you’re seeing in there, but you’re safe now. Just hang in there, kiddo.”
Hang in there.
Loki is so still.