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"I don't know how you manage to get yourself into these kinds of situations, Lackey."
The Valkyrie stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, taking in the scene before her with an exasperated expression. Loki turns to glare at her, but it comes out as more of a grimace.
"I wouldn't-ah," agony shoots up his arm and he grits his teeth against the pain, "I wouldn't be in this situation at all if the problem had been fixed when I brought it up."
Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. "We're all busy around here. All you had to do was remind us. Then, we could have sent someone down here who's actually qualified to work with heavy machinery."
The witty retort on the tip of Loki's tongue slips away as another pang rips through his bicep. Stars dance before his eyes and a strange rushing noise fills his ears. He clamps his eyelids shut and breathes, trying to hold on to consciousness.
"Loki?" His name sounds strange on Brunnhilde's lips. Is this the first time she's ever used it? "Loki!"
He opens his eyes with a groan.
"Stop shouting," he snaps, or at least tries to. It comes out more slurred than he would like. Perhaps, he should be worried about that. "I'm right here."
Brunnhilde shrugs. "Can't have you passing out on me." She crosses the room and bends over him. "Mind if I have a look?"
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
She purses her lips in mock thought. "Hmmm, no, not really. Unless you'd like to just sit here and bleed out."
Despite her flippant tone, Loki can see the slightest hint of worry on her face as she leans down and peers into the interior of the large fan. It only takes a few short minutes for her to assess the situation.
"Oh, yeah," she says, backing away. "Yeah, that's bad."
Loki turns just enough to be able to take in the damage. The majority of his arm is rammed tightly between one of the fan's blades and the circular enclosure that holds it. Leather and skin have been ripped away, the limb reduced to an unrecognizable mass of mangled and bloody gore. From his vantage point, Loki can just catch a glimpse of pristinely white bone. A pool of blood has formed at the fan base, and more drips into it from the steady stream trickling down his fingertips. He watches its progression with a kind of morbid fascination.
Thor's going to kill me, is the only thought his clouded mind can form.
"Okay," Brunnhilde mutters, as she paces the length of the small, dimly lit, engine room, "We need Bruce. He's got seven PHD's; he can figure out how to pull your arm out without amputating it. And of course, I'll need to find Thor...."
"No," the word comes out sounding more pitiful than Loki likes and he clears his throat and tries again. "Do not get Thor."
Brunnhilde stops pacing and raises an eyebrow at him.
"He's your brother, he needs to be here."
"I don't," a wave of nausea shoots through Loki and he crumples in on himself, holding his free hand to his stomach. "He c-can't see me like this. I promised him, I promised...."
What did he promise Thor, again? To not run off? To not do anything stupid? To stay alive for once? He made so many vows that first night--both to himself and to the brother who'd held him in his arms like he would never let go. Now, with the sickening rush of adrenaline, pain, and fear he can't remember exactly what was said. He doesn't realize he's begun to hyperventilate until Brunnhilde rests a calming hand on his shoulder.
"Loki."
When he manages to look up, Brunnhilde's features have softened, though her voice remains firm, "Thor would want to know."
Tears prick at the edges of Loki's eyes. There’s nothing in the world he would like more than to feel the warmth and security of Thor’s embrace, to hear him whispering words of affirmation that he is loved. But not here, not now, not like this.
"I'm gonna go get help," Brunnhilde is saying. "Just hold on. I'll be back soon."
Loki tries to dredge up an argument, or at least a witty comeback, but it's a struggle just to keep his eyes open. So, he watches mutely as she streaks out the door and down the hall in a blur of silver and blue.
Just hold on. He can do that, can't he?
A streak of hot pain shoots up into his shoulder and he doubles over, retching. Bile stings his throat, and he wonders foggily if Brunnhilde will bring water with her when she returns. Yes, water would be nice right now. He can imagine the coolness of it sliding down his throat, icy as the glaciers of Jotunheim.
Seconds tick by, counted out by the unending drip of blood, and quickly turn to minutes. The rest of his body is beginning to ache now, eager to protest his cramped position. He shifts a little, trying to find some relief, and nearly screams as his arm twists in its position. His vision clouds with spots of black and white, and he shuts his eyes tightly.
Stupid, his mind berates him, angrily, absolutely stupid. Why did you think coming down here would be a good idea?
Because one piece of broken machinery would lead to another, and another, until the engine died and they were stranded in space. Because he has brought it up at three council meetings now, only for it to be quickly squashed by a barrage of other, seemingly more important things. Because Thor was looking overwhelmed, and he was running out of ways to help. So, he tried to do the one thing he was utterly unequipped to do: fix a spaceship. And now he’s added yet another problem to their growing list.
Wonderful, Loki, truly brilliant. You’re just as useless as always.
He leans his head back against the wall and inhales a shaking breath. Why is Brunnhilde taking so long? He doesn’t want to be here, alone with his thoughts, and the unceasing pain. The cold and the dark and the agony all remind him too much of the Sanctuary. Loki doesn’t want to go through that again. He can’t go through that again.
“Thor,” he whispers the name like a plea. Pathetic.
Tears begin rolling down his cheeks and he is powerless to stop them. Because he is afraid and alone and it hurts and why won’t Thor come? He doesn’t realize that he’s shivering until his teeth begin chattering. When did he become so cold?
Muffled voices are coming down the hall towards him, but he can’t decipher what they’re saying. Perhaps, he never made it off the Sanctuary and the only ones coming for him are the Black Order, ready to torture him some more. Perhaps, the prospect of having a relationship with his brother again was all just an illusion conjured to make him break. Well, then, they’ve done a good job. Loki can’t find an ounce of fight left in him. He lacks the strength to so much as open his eyes as the voices come closer.
“I found him like this. It's not pretty,” someone who sounds strangely like Brunnhilde is saying. “I don’t know how the Hel we’re gonna get him out.”
“I’m sure we can figure something out,” replies a voice that sounds like Bruce.
"Could he not use his magic?" asks someone who sounds like Thor.
"He may have tried before I found him," the Brunnhilde voice says, "but by the time I got there he was too weak. Who knows how long he had been trapped by that time."
Heavy footsteps pound their way into the room, and the noise reverberates painfully through Loki’s skull. He tries to turn away but with the slightest of movements the dull throb pulsing in his arm becomes sharp and lancing. A hiss of pain escapes through his teeth.
“Loki!”
Suddenly, someone is very close to him, grasping his shoulders, cupping his neck. Their presence is comforting, and Loki relaxes slightly beneath their touch.
“Is he unconscious?” the person who sounds like Brunnhilde asks. They sound worried.
“No, he's moving a little," says the person closest to him. Their voice sounds very much like Thor’s. "Banner, what's your assessment?"
There’s a slight shuffling sound and then a hot, clammy hand presses against his forehead.
“Loki, can you hear me?” asks the Bruce voice.
How can I not hear you? You’re being impossibly noisy.
“I need you to try and look at me, okay?”
The hand removes itself from his head and presses against his neck instead. With a groan of protest, Loki tries to move away. Pain radiates through his arm and his stomach heaves. He barely has time to lean forward before a mixture of blood and bile splats onto the floor in front of him, nearly hitting someone’s large boot. Another series of shivers tears through his body as he gasps for breath.
Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?
“Damn it, he’s going into shock,” the hand retracts from his neck and whoever it belongs to backs away. “We’ve got to get him out, now. Brun, I need you to help me with this fan. It’s too heavy for me to manage alone. Thor, you stay with Loki. This is going to be painful, so I need you to keep him as calm and still as possible. He’s gonna try to move and if he manages to so much as squirm this could all end very badly.”
“Got it,” two voices say in unison. There’s the sound of scraping metal and shuffling feet, and Loki’s foggy mind tries in vain to make sense of what is happening. Someone wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing his head forward to rest on what feels like a large, warm chest. If he listens hard enough, he can hear the rapid beating of a heart.
“Thor?”
The arm around him tightens slightly. “Yes, Brother, I’m here. Just hold on. We’re going to get you out of here.”
Hold on. Why is everyone asking him to do that? All Loki wants is to go to sleep. He is so, so tired. If only his body would stop shivering, maybe he could drift off.
More scraping metal and then, “Ready, Bruce?”
There’s a pause, and Loki feels a slight increase in the pressure on his arm.
“Okay,” the person who sounds like Bruce lets out a nervous huff, “let’s do this.”
The arm around Loki tightens even more, and the heartbeat pounding in Loki’s ear speeds up.
“Here we go,” breathes the Thor sound-alike, and suddenly, the scream of a buzz saw fills Loki’s head, blocking out all other sound.
It grows in intensity until he is certain his skull will explode. Then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.
“Well, that wasn’t too bad.”
Someone nearby snorts. “That wasn’t the difficult part, Your Majesty.”
“Hold onto him, Thor.”
There’s a short screech of scraping machinery before pure agony shoots up from Loki’s fingers to his shoulder. It steals what little breath he has left from his lungs, and his scream lodges itself in his throat, coming out instead as a choked whine. He tries to move, desperately attempting to yank his uncooperative body away from whatever is causing the pain. But the grasp around him is firm and he is helpless to budge it.
“Shhh,” someone whispers against his head, “it’s alright, Loki. It’s almost over.”
It’s cold, so cold and Loki is sure that at any moment he’ll vomit again.
Why can’t it be over now? Why won’t you make it stop?
“Banner?!”
“Almost there, almost…Got it!”
Someone grasps his arm, grip feeling like the merciless fangs of a wild beast, and a strangled shriek finally breaks loose from Loki’s lips.
“It’s okay, Loki. It’s okay.”
“Ugh, there’s blood everywhere.”
“Bandages!”
“These aren’t enough, Bruce. We need to get him to the healers.”
“We will! Oh, this is bad, this is really, really bad.”
Another stab of pain streaks through Loki’s limb and he feels himself losing what little control he still has, slumping limply against the chest he is resting upon.
“Brother?” Hold on, Loki, hold on. “Loki!”
He lets go.
Pain.
That is the first thing Loki’s mind registers as he slowly surfaces into consciousness. Stabbing, searing pain, tearing relentlessly through his right arm. Then, heat, oppressive and sticky, causing his clothing to cling to him and his head to throb. His mouth feels as dry as a desert and the disgustingly metallic taste of blood is on his tongue. Every muscle aches as if from overuse and his body feels stiff and uncooperative. As his senses gradually heighten the pain in his arm intensifies.
When he dares to open his eyes, Loki, is promptly assaulted by the glare of several florescent lights. He tries to turn away, but the movement causes his surroundings to rock and tilt like skiff tossed by waves. His stomach twists and before it can decide to toss what little remains inside it, Loki slams his eyes shut.
“Your brother is an imbecile.”
Brunnhilde’s voice travels to him through the rushing in his ears, a mixture of fondness and exasperation. If not for the fact that Loki has been crammed on a ship with her for weeks, he would not have picked up on the undercurrent of anxiety present in her words.
“Oh? I thought we’d already established that.”
Thor.
Guilt and fear hit Loki like a wave, and he wishes he had the strength to make himself disappear.
Well, now you’ve done it, he thinks, savagely. Wonderful job of helping, Loki. Not only did you fail to fix the thing you were attempting to fix, but then you nearly got yourself killed. And they, what, had to saw you out from under that blasted thing?
The whole affair is so preposterous that Loki has an insane urge to laugh.
“Loki?” Loki can feel Thor leaning over him, invading his personal space. “Are you awake?”
Loki forces his eyes open once more. His brother’s face smears and shifts like an abstract painting, and he has to blink several times before his vision clears.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he croaks, wincing at the scratchiness in his parched throat.
“Good morning, Lackey,” Brunnhilde says, stepping out from behind Thor. When he peers in her direction, she waggles her fingers at him. “Have a nice nap?”
He tries to dredge up the strength for a glare but comes up short. “Wonderful,” he replies in a weak attempt at sarcasm. “Best one I’ve had in years.”
Brunnhilde snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Then, the humor leaves her features. “I thought you were going to die on us for a moment, there. Let’s try to avoid similar situations in the future, got it?”
He was trying to avoid near-death situations. Just, they seem to follow him everywhere he goes.
He manages a feeble smirk. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good.” Brunnhilde crosses her arms and turns to Thor. “I’ve got to go check on the engine situation with Bruce. I’ll be back soon.”
Thor nods and watches her waltz out of the room, which Loki now realizes is the make-shift med bay. Whose idea was it to place the med bay in a room with so many florescent lights?
“What were you thinking, Loki?” Thor’s voice jerks Loki viciously from his thoughts. It shakes with restrained fury, and his remaining eye is brimming with anger and fear.
Loki tries to push prop himself up on one elbow but ends up collapsing back down onto the cot.
“I saw a problem, I tried to fix it. That’s more than can be said for most of the people on this ship.”
Thor looks unenthused. “You should have brought it up at the council meeting.”
Loki summons the harshest glare he can manage. “I did. At three consecutive meetings, in fact.”
Thor frowns. “You did?”
“Yes, Thor, I did.”
“Why do I not remember that?”
Ever ounce of guilt and fury within Loki erupts and the words are spewing out of him before he even knows what he’s doing.
“Because you don’t listen to me, Thor! Three different times, I brought this problem to your attention. If we don’t fix this soon, it will lead to engine failure, Thor! Thor, this could lead to bigger issues down the road! Oh, hello, Brother, did you know we’re in imminent danger of becoming stranded in space? But every time I try to tell you something, I get drowned out by every other imbecile vying for your attention!”
He stops, chest heaving, breath coming in little gasps. Pain splinters up his arm again and tears well in his eyes. He didn’t mean for this to happen. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fight with Thor. But he doesn't have the strength to hold it all together any longer. He has tried so hard to be better since the fall of Asgard. A better brother, a better leader, a better friend. He has done everything in his power to ease the burden from Thor’s back and comfort the remnants of their people. Some days, he has even stooped to cleaning bathrooms or dishing out whatever slop they’re calling dinner. But it is never enough; he is never enough.
After all this time, says Odin’s voice in his head, you are still unworthy.
“I’m sorry, Loki.”
Loki turns to Thor so quickly that the room spins.
“What?”
Thor’s face crumples and he collapses onto a chair beside Loki’s bed.
“I’m sorry,” he looks down, unable to meet Loki’s eyes. “I don’t know how to rule our people. I’m floundering about, pretending to be the ruler they all expect me to be, but I know nothing. I,” he swallows, trying and failing to hold back tears, “I didn’t listen to you. And because of that I nearly lost you…again.”
Suddenly, he reaches out and grasps Loki’s uninjured hand, squeezing it tightly as if he’s terrified to let go. His tears run rivulets down his cheeks.
Loki stares at him in shock, unsure of how to proceed. Of all the ways he thought this conversation would go, this was not one of them.
“But you didn’t,” he finally says. “You didn’t lose me.”
“No,” Thor shakes his head, “but I have, many times before. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
“I do.” When Thor looks up at him, Loki gives him a weak smile. “I meant what I said, you sentimental idiot. I’m here to stay.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“True. Then again, death doesn’t really seem to stick to me, does it?”
Thor manages a teary grin. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He takes a deep breath. “Promise me that you won’t try something like that again?”
“Like what? Saving our people from impending doom, for the second time?”
Loki can’t help but chuckle at the scowl Thor sends his way.
“Loki,” he growls, warningly.
“Alright, alright! I promise.”
With that, a grin is back on Thor’s face. “If you weren’t injured, I’d give you a hug right now.”
Loki laughs. “Injured, or not, I am fully capable of embracing you, Thor.”
When Thor just gives him a look of cautious confusion, Loki rolls his eyes.
“If you want the hug, you big oaf, you’re going to have to come to me. I’m not getting up anytime soon.”
“Oh, right.” Thor moves forward and gently helps Loki into a seated position. The room spins as he does so, and when he envelopes Loki into an uncharacteristically gentle embrace, Loki collapses into it more heavily than he meant to.
“Are you okay?” Thor asks, worriedly. “Am I hurting you at all?”
This coming from the brother who has used him as a human bowling ball multiple times, strikes Loki as hilariously ironic.
“I’m fine, Thor,” he mutters, closing his eyes, “just tired.”
Thor gives his shoulders a small squeeze. “Then, I will let you rest, Brother.”
He begins to let go, grip slackening as he eases Loki back down onto the bed, and Loki panics. His mind fills with memories of sitting in that cold engine room, alone and bleeding, fearing that the pain would never cease.
“Don’t leave me.” The words rush out of him, pitiful and pleading, before he can even think to stop them.
Thor freezes and for a moment Loki regrets this uncharacteristic show of weakness. Perhaps, this is too much. Perhaps, Thor doesn’t want to be reminded of this side of Loki, the side that is still very much the little brother in need of comforting. But then Thor’s face lights up in a smile.
“You don’t have to worry, Loki,” he says, settling back down in the chair and grasping Loki’s good hand in his own. “I will never leave you again.”