Bloody Hands
Thor’s hands are covered in blood. A combination of blood. His own. The girl’s - the apprentice healer’s. He nearly lets out a sob, but swallows it down, letting the air out of his lungs in a long whoosh instead.
There had been an explosion in the engines. An accident, a foolish accident, and Thor and the young Asgardian girl were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Thor reacted too late to the sound of grinding metal, to the cry of one of the Sakaaran mechanics as the joints fail. It’s the shrapnel that gets them. Thor manages to shield the girl from the concussive wave, but the shrapnel had torn through them.
One long, jagged piece of steel catches the girl in the leg, severing the artery in her thigh.
She had bled out unbelievably fast.
Thor had held his hands clamped over her leg, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He tried to pinch the end of the artery closed. He had shouted at her to hold on, tried his best to stop the fountain of blood, cursed, but she had still slipped away. When he looked up at her eyes he knew she was gone. Blood had soaked through everything, pooled on the floor around them. Thor now can’t take his eyes off his hands, stained bright crimson.
She had been so young. He had never bothered to learn her name, but she had been soft and kind, if nervous and bumbling that time when Loki fell ill.
He faintly hears someone calling his name. It’s probably the Valkyrie, he thinks. Or Bruce. Maybe Loki. They would come for him. They’re trying to move some of the metal, the metal that trapped he and the corpse down in the storeroom. The corpse that had been a girl.
He feels dizzy, nauseated. He’s shaking, his hands trembling before him. Dully, he realizes it’s not just emotional shock that’s making him shake. There’s pain, creeping in past his shock. Hot, wet blood drips from several cuts, including a deep gash in his side. He should try to stop it, but he can’t stop looking at his hands.
He barely even registers it when the rescuers break through the twisted metal. A cool hand grasps his shoulder.
“I tried,” He gasps. “I tried.”
“Brother, quiet,” Loki says. His hands are pressing down on the biggest gash now, light green sparkling at his fingertips.
“I couldn’t save her, there was just so much blood. She bled out too fast,” He slurs.
“You can’t save everyone,” Loki says. “It wasn’t your fault. You did you best.”
“My best has never been good enough.” Loki’s wide green eyes blink up at him, confused. Thor’s best has failed the ones he is supposed to care for, time and time again. “It’s never been good enough.”
“Stay with me,” He hears. Loki’s voice is insistent. “Hold on.”
“I can’t,” Thor whispers. Loki calls his name. Then the blackness closes in on his vision and he knows no more.
He wakes up hours later, on his side, shirtless. He raises his head a little and sees stark white bandages wrapped around his middle, padded over the largest wound in his side. He drops his head back down.
Loki is fast asleep in the chair next to his bed, curled into a tight ball. Someone has cleaned off the blood, but Thor looks down at his hands and thinks he can still see the stains.