ChestPains
marvel trash
"oh, monsters are scared..."
"...that's what makes them monsters."
-
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Fandom currently untitled L oki/B ruce
- Thread starter ChestPains
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"oh, monsters are scared..."
"...that's what makes them monsters."
ChestPains
marvel trash
So some triggers/context for this post: it references torture somewhat explicitly, so if that’s not okay with you, I can change some areas. I should note that this is 100% my personal take on Loki, which is mostly based on the MCU version, but also involves my own headcanons. On the topic of Thanos/what happened to Loki when he fell from the Bifrost, it’s my belief that he was tortured and screwed up badly before he was sent to earth, but not controlled. Whereas I can see some brainwashing going on with Loki and Thanos, I think Loki’s will was his own, and that he never actually intended to win in the Chitauri invasion. That’s a very, very long rant for another time, though. xD
————
Loki had heard many words for it throughout his life. Fate. Karma. Destiny. Devine will. In any case, regardless of what it was called, it seemed the power that pulled the strings attached to sentient beings had a cruel sense of humor. Only that would bring him back to the city of his defeat, even if that defeat was planned. Only that would drop him at the doorstep of his enemies, entirely reliant on whatever mercy they could dredge up.
Mercy, or perhaps pity. The idea of banking on such a pathetic sentiment was repulsive, but although Loki had yet to catch a glimpse of his reflection, he had seen enough of the flayed corpses of those who had once defied Thanos to guess how he might appear. The strength he’d lost was a palpable difference, like the ghost ache in an amputated limb. Though the vestiges of his magic still burned in the back of his mind, it was beyond his reach for the time being. He’d had to be creative: the scepter had been taken back with him and, just as before, used against him. More proof of fate’s irony.
He’d torn free of the chains and hooks that kept him suspended and screamed as his flesh had torn, the light of the scepter’s power source burning the backs of his eyes, but he’d been determined. He’d had conviction—wouldn’t that mortal man who accused him of the opposite be so proud. He’d bitten through the fingers that threatened to drag him back and had found himself on his knees before the scepter, its stare harsh and reaching into each crevasse of the jagged rocks. The Sanctuary, Thanos called it. The sanctuary for whom, Loki had once wondered. The answer was clear to him now: it was a requiem for death itself. It was a welcome mat of the grandest sense, where the Mad Titan took the souls he wanted to prepare before sending to the abstract spirit he thought his lover. Loki had tired of playing the role of the pawn; the weapon. The sacrifice. He would survive this. If not for anyone else, then for himself. His fingers had found the half-familiar shaft of the scepter and held. There is nothing you do not have the will to outlast, he’d whispered to himself with a voice rough from disuse, and he’d risen.
He’d lost count of how many he’d killed before he’d seen the first slit of the eternally dark sky. He staggered at the sight of the distant stars, but he had not fallen. Pulling on the strength of the hidden infinity stone even as its power seared his veins, Loki had fled towards those pinpricks of light, pausing on the edge of the dimly lit platform outside the cells. The darkness seemed to tilt towards him, threatening to swallow him again and he would be falling, falling forever but this time there would be no end, this time not even Thanos would consider him worthy of twisting into a servant, this time the void would crawl under his skin until there were no boundaries between the two—
The tesseract.
The thought had jerked him back onto the stable ground beneath his feet. Sucking in deep lungfuls of cold air and ignoring the twinges of pain that shot up and down his spine, Loki had borrowed the mind stone’s energy to pull the surrounding darkness around himself and the scepter, vanishing them both. Thanos would not leave the tesseract unattended, but having only one infinity gem would not offset the Mad Titan’s collection enough to concern him. Again, the immortal paused: perhaps he could use that to his advantage. If Thanos did not consider him a threat worth pursuing, it would allow him enough time to—
What, exactly? Raise an army? Inspire a following to rival that of Thor’s? No. Even if he did not lack the rapport his brother shared with his adoring subjects, there was no amount of warm bodies hoisting spears that would have the power to defeat Thanos. The only hope that existed to defeat the creature was to fill and use his gauntlets against him.
But perhaps he didn’t have to defeat Thanos—simply escape him. But to what end? So he could crawl on his belly until all the realms burned away around him, burned away by the power the Mad Titan possessed? Survive long enough to see everything else die around him? But if he was to fight, what goal would that fill? He had no well of empathy for his fellow living beings, especially the cockroaches on Midgard. He had no plan for his life beyond that war; no moral compass to guide his actions like the costumed fools on that same planet. And, according to fate, he was to act as the catalyst for the apocalypse. He might as well start now. After all, who was he to disappoint?
And yet.
And yet, there was no satisfaction there. Loki knew there was no redemption in his cards, but perhaps there was a chance of ending up somewhere that wasn’t Hel. If his death was honorable enough, perhaps even the gates of Valhalla would open for him. Scoffing at the sheer ridiculousness of the concept, he stepped closer to the edge of the platform again, the grip he held on the scepter tightening. The prisoner squeezed his eyes shut, adrenaline surging back to life at the prospect of willingly falling again. Perhaps that was his true destiny.
Pointing the glowing tip of the scepter towards the blackness below, Loki stepped off the ledge and into darkness once more.
***
He had not expected to open his eyes again. He certainly had not expected his plan to work. Dragging himself from the earth and restoring the invisibility spell that had began to erode, he listed sharply to the side as exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. Sinking back to his knees, Loki sucked in a half dozen ragged breaths before digging the butt of the scepter into the dirt and hauling himself upright with its aid. Trembling with fatigue, he wove himself through space one last time towards a familiar destination. Take me to the scientist, he directed the spell weakly, biting down on his tongue until he tasted blood as the dimensions twisted around him. When the building that had housed his defeat materialized around him, complete with the man whose true nature had beaten him into the floor, Loki decided that yes, fate had a cruel sense of humor.
“Take it,” He rasped as the scepter slipped from his hand, its gleaming gold stained with grime and blood. Lifting his head, the god bared his teeth at the expression on the man’s face. He knew what the good doctor saw: his hair fell a foot longer down his back than the last time they’d seen each other and hang in lank tendrils around his shoulders. His face and body both were gaunt, sallow skin barely covered by filthy scraps of blood encrusted cloth. What wasn’t obscured by fabric or grime was caked with new or old blood: wounds that appeared to have been caused by the lashes of a whip crisscrossed his back and burns spotted his sternum and inner forearms. His fingers and toes were both missing their nails and the bones within them were warped, indicative of several breaks. One shoulder hung loosely from its socket, the skin around it swollen from its use during the escape attempt. It was too soon to determine whether it had been successful or if this was merely another illusion created to test his sanity: like his body, there had been distinct interest in how far his mind could be pushed before it broke.
“Are you going to—just stand there and stare,” Loki hissed raggedly, wincing as he arranged his legs under him in preparation to stand. “You are a doctor, are you not,” He asked breathlessly, offering a cold smile that quickly became a grimace as he dredged himself up from the floor only to drop back down again with a hiss. Resigning himself to a position on the floor, his shoulders slumped against the wall, the war criminal glared expectantly at the human across the room. The urge to laugh struck him briefly: this was not, he expected, the evening Banner had intended to have.
————
Loki had heard many words for it throughout his life. Fate. Karma. Destiny. Devine will. In any case, regardless of what it was called, it seemed the power that pulled the strings attached to sentient beings had a cruel sense of humor. Only that would bring him back to the city of his defeat, even if that defeat was planned. Only that would drop him at the doorstep of his enemies, entirely reliant on whatever mercy they could dredge up.
Mercy, or perhaps pity. The idea of banking on such a pathetic sentiment was repulsive, but although Loki had yet to catch a glimpse of his reflection, he had seen enough of the flayed corpses of those who had once defied Thanos to guess how he might appear. The strength he’d lost was a palpable difference, like the ghost ache in an amputated limb. Though the vestiges of his magic still burned in the back of his mind, it was beyond his reach for the time being. He’d had to be creative: the scepter had been taken back with him and, just as before, used against him. More proof of fate’s irony.
He’d torn free of the chains and hooks that kept him suspended and screamed as his flesh had torn, the light of the scepter’s power source burning the backs of his eyes, but he’d been determined. He’d had conviction—wouldn’t that mortal man who accused him of the opposite be so proud. He’d bitten through the fingers that threatened to drag him back and had found himself on his knees before the scepter, its stare harsh and reaching into each crevasse of the jagged rocks. The Sanctuary, Thanos called it. The sanctuary for whom, Loki had once wondered. The answer was clear to him now: it was a requiem for death itself. It was a welcome mat of the grandest sense, where the Mad Titan took the souls he wanted to prepare before sending to the abstract spirit he thought his lover. Loki had tired of playing the role of the pawn; the weapon. The sacrifice. He would survive this. If not for anyone else, then for himself. His fingers had found the half-familiar shaft of the scepter and held. There is nothing you do not have the will to outlast, he’d whispered to himself with a voice rough from disuse, and he’d risen.
He’d lost count of how many he’d killed before he’d seen the first slit of the eternally dark sky. He staggered at the sight of the distant stars, but he had not fallen. Pulling on the strength of the hidden infinity stone even as its power seared his veins, Loki had fled towards those pinpricks of light, pausing on the edge of the dimly lit platform outside the cells. The darkness seemed to tilt towards him, threatening to swallow him again and he would be falling, falling forever but this time there would be no end, this time not even Thanos would consider him worthy of twisting into a servant, this time the void would crawl under his skin until there were no boundaries between the two—
The tesseract.
The thought had jerked him back onto the stable ground beneath his feet. Sucking in deep lungfuls of cold air and ignoring the twinges of pain that shot up and down his spine, Loki had borrowed the mind stone’s energy to pull the surrounding darkness around himself and the scepter, vanishing them both. Thanos would not leave the tesseract unattended, but having only one infinity gem would not offset the Mad Titan’s collection enough to concern him. Again, the immortal paused: perhaps he could use that to his advantage. If Thanos did not consider him a threat worth pursuing, it would allow him enough time to—
What, exactly? Raise an army? Inspire a following to rival that of Thor’s? No. Even if he did not lack the rapport his brother shared with his adoring subjects, there was no amount of warm bodies hoisting spears that would have the power to defeat Thanos. The only hope that existed to defeat the creature was to fill and use his gauntlets against him.
But perhaps he didn’t have to defeat Thanos—simply escape him. But to what end? So he could crawl on his belly until all the realms burned away around him, burned away by the power the Mad Titan possessed? Survive long enough to see everything else die around him? But if he was to fight, what goal would that fill? He had no well of empathy for his fellow living beings, especially the cockroaches on Midgard. He had no plan for his life beyond that war; no moral compass to guide his actions like the costumed fools on that same planet. And, according to fate, he was to act as the catalyst for the apocalypse. He might as well start now. After all, who was he to disappoint?
And yet.
And yet, there was no satisfaction there. Loki knew there was no redemption in his cards, but perhaps there was a chance of ending up somewhere that wasn’t Hel. If his death was honorable enough, perhaps even the gates of Valhalla would open for him. Scoffing at the sheer ridiculousness of the concept, he stepped closer to the edge of the platform again, the grip he held on the scepter tightening. The prisoner squeezed his eyes shut, adrenaline surging back to life at the prospect of willingly falling again. Perhaps that was his true destiny.
Pointing the glowing tip of the scepter towards the blackness below, Loki stepped off the ledge and into darkness once more.
***
He had not expected to open his eyes again. He certainly had not expected his plan to work. Dragging himself from the earth and restoring the invisibility spell that had began to erode, he listed sharply to the side as exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. Sinking back to his knees, Loki sucked in a half dozen ragged breaths before digging the butt of the scepter into the dirt and hauling himself upright with its aid. Trembling with fatigue, he wove himself through space one last time towards a familiar destination. Take me to the scientist, he directed the spell weakly, biting down on his tongue until he tasted blood as the dimensions twisted around him. When the building that had housed his defeat materialized around him, complete with the man whose true nature had beaten him into the floor, Loki decided that yes, fate had a cruel sense of humor.
“Take it,” He rasped as the scepter slipped from his hand, its gleaming gold stained with grime and blood. Lifting his head, the god bared his teeth at the expression on the man’s face. He knew what the good doctor saw: his hair fell a foot longer down his back than the last time they’d seen each other and hang in lank tendrils around his shoulders. His face and body both were gaunt, sallow skin barely covered by filthy scraps of blood encrusted cloth. What wasn’t obscured by fabric or grime was caked with new or old blood: wounds that appeared to have been caused by the lashes of a whip crisscrossed his back and burns spotted his sternum and inner forearms. His fingers and toes were both missing their nails and the bones within them were warped, indicative of several breaks. One shoulder hung loosely from its socket, the skin around it swollen from its use during the escape attempt. It was too soon to determine whether it had been successful or if this was merely another illusion created to test his sanity: like his body, there had been distinct interest in how far his mind could be pushed before it broke.
“Are you going to—just stand there and stare,” Loki hissed raggedly, wincing as he arranged his legs under him in preparation to stand. “You are a doctor, are you not,” He asked breathlessly, offering a cold smile that quickly became a grimace as he dredged himself up from the floor only to drop back down again with a hiss. Resigning himself to a position on the floor, his shoulders slumped against the wall, the war criminal glared expectantly at the human across the room. The urge to laugh struck him briefly: this was not, he expected, the evening Banner had intended to have.
Strawberri
Wayfinder
It had been a while for Bruce. A while since anything had surprised him. A while for anything really. Most of his days after the attack from the alien army were spent alone in the lab Tony let him use to research and help with things; mostly to keep himself busy.
Sometimes the doctor just sat and the lab and contemplated moving and starting over again. He could imagine helping poor people in some unknown country half way across the world and living his happy life with no threats of becoming the mutant part of himself that he found disgusting.
Other times, the doctor thought about killing himself. He knew he wouldn't really do it, but he thought about it. What was his benefit to the world other than being a nice guy who could turn giant and green at any given moment?
This is where Bruce was. Sitting in the lab, his hands moving diligently across holographic screens that's glare reflected brightly in the lenses of his glasses. He had been working for hours with nothing else to do.
With a sigh, the scientists took his glasses off and decided it was time for a coffee break. He saved and shut down all of his equipment before walking out of the lab and into the kitchen that wasn't far from it. Just as he was taking a long sip of his coffee, it happened. Bruce was surprised.
His eyes were wide and his mouth was slightlt open as he stared at the god that had just...appeared before him. His eyes took a quick moment to look at the scepter that lay at his feet before returning to the god that was having touble standing. He could do nothing but stare.
"Wh-why are you here? How did you get here?" The doctor tried not to stumble over his words, the questions leaving his mouth before his brain could process. He had to shake his head to clear it and keep himself calm.
Sometimes the doctor just sat and the lab and contemplated moving and starting over again. He could imagine helping poor people in some unknown country half way across the world and living his happy life with no threats of becoming the mutant part of himself that he found disgusting.
Other times, the doctor thought about killing himself. He knew he wouldn't really do it, but he thought about it. What was his benefit to the world other than being a nice guy who could turn giant and green at any given moment?
This is where Bruce was. Sitting in the lab, his hands moving diligently across holographic screens that's glare reflected brightly in the lenses of his glasses. He had been working for hours with nothing else to do.
With a sigh, the scientists took his glasses off and decided it was time for a coffee break. He saved and shut down all of his equipment before walking out of the lab and into the kitchen that wasn't far from it. Just as he was taking a long sip of his coffee, it happened. Bruce was surprised.
His eyes were wide and his mouth was slightlt open as he stared at the god that had just...appeared before him. His eyes took a quick moment to look at the scepter that lay at his feet before returning to the god that was having touble standing. He could do nothing but stare.
"Wh-why are you here? How did you get here?" The doctor tried not to stumble over his words, the questions leaving his mouth before his brain could process. He had to shake his head to clear it and keep himself calm.
ChestPains
marvel trash
“For your delightful company, of course.” Loki sneered in response to the question, turning his head to spit out a mouthful of blood. The glare he shot the other was hot, but its effect was partially ruined by its owner’s inability to do anything but pant weakly for breath. Already, smears of blood were beginning to form on the linoleum beneath him, staining the off-white a dark red. The adrenaline rush of the escape had begun to fade, allowing the sensation of pain to creep back into his awareness.
It was not a sensation he was at all unfamiliar with: before his death, the Other had made him a certain promise. For the most part, it had been a bluff (if Loki had known then how easily the creature’s neck would snap, he would have broken it himself), but the Chitauri were well-versed in a very certain brand of torture. It was a tedious affair, but not an extraordinary one. Loki could endure the bite of the whip, even if it did come a hundred times.
When Banner simply continued to stand, motionless save for the slight shake of his head, the god snarled again. “Move, you oaf. I will be unable to relay to you the full story of my presence here if I am to bleed out on your floor.” He had not come this far to be defeated by a handful of shallow wounds. He had not come this far to be indebted to a mortal sheath, but given the two options, he would gladly take the one that would keep him alive. Though given the doctor’s record of motionlessness, perhaps medical aid was not something Loki could count on. Hissing impatiently, the god nodded towards the scepter. “I used its energy to come to your realm. Does that satisfy you, or would you prefer a lesson on interdimensional travel?”
It was not a sensation he was at all unfamiliar with: before his death, the Other had made him a certain promise. For the most part, it had been a bluff (if Loki had known then how easily the creature’s neck would snap, he would have broken it himself), but the Chitauri were well-versed in a very certain brand of torture. It was a tedious affair, but not an extraordinary one. Loki could endure the bite of the whip, even if it did come a hundred times.
When Banner simply continued to stand, motionless save for the slight shake of his head, the god snarled again. “Move, you oaf. I will be unable to relay to you the full story of my presence here if I am to bleed out on your floor.” He had not come this far to be defeated by a handful of shallow wounds. He had not come this far to be indebted to a mortal sheath, but given the two options, he would gladly take the one that would keep him alive. Though given the doctor’s record of motionlessness, perhaps medical aid was not something Loki could count on. Hissing impatiently, the god nodded towards the scepter. “I used its energy to come to your realm. Does that satisfy you, or would you prefer a lesson on interdimensional travel?”
Strawberri
Wayfinder
Bruce listened as the god spoke and watched him suffer for a few moments before Loki's words actually sunk in. The man was obviously too weak to move and the scepter's light was dull, confirming Loki's story thus far. With his weakened state, the god wouldn't be able to fight him and he could get the story of why he was here.
"Where are your wounds the worst?" he asked, falling into doctor mode. He knelt next to the taller man, not caring about the blood that began to seep through his pants. His fingers gently prodded the god's body, looking for a reaction to see if there was any damage on the inside.
"Do you feel light headed? Would you prefer me to bandage you up first or can I start working right away?" Loki would know his body better than Bruce, so he was giving the man in front of him a choice.
"Where are your wounds the worst?" he asked, falling into doctor mode. He knelt next to the taller man, not caring about the blood that began to seep through his pants. His fingers gently prodded the god's body, looking for a reaction to see if there was any damage on the inside.
"Do you feel light headed? Would you prefer me to bandage you up first or can I start working right away?" Loki would know his body better than Bruce, so he was giving the man in front of him a choice.
ChestPains
marvel trash
When Banner knelt, Loki flinched sharply, the reaction a habit learned in the Sanctuary. There, movement did not occur unless it was intended to hurt him or one of the other inmates. Each time the man’s fingers brushed him, even though the touch was professional, the god continued to twitch and jump like a nervous horse. “Where are they not,” He hissed, fingers clenching into strained fists as the doctor poked at a particularly sore spot between his ribs.
“If you would be so kind as to aid me to your bath, I would certainly love to freshen up.” The words were laced with sarcasm, but the request was genuine enough: not only did the prospect of being clean titillate him, but it would also make treatment easier and more sanitary. Knowing the other had little reason to agree with the exception of his obligation as a healer, the god ground out a “Please. I’ll answer whatever questions you have if you do.”
“If you would be so kind as to aid me to your bath, I would certainly love to freshen up.” The words were laced with sarcasm, but the request was genuine enough: not only did the prospect of being clean titillate him, but it would also make treatment easier and more sanitary. Knowing the other had little reason to agree with the exception of his obligation as a healer, the god ground out a “Please. I’ll answer whatever questions you have if you do.”
Strawberri
Wayfinder
"I'm not going to help you if you continue to talk to me like this. I wouldn't have any qualms about leaving you on the floor to die." Bruce said truthfully as he continued to prod the body below him. He made mental notes whenever Loki flinched or hissed when he touched certain spots. Ever the doctor, Bruce checked some areas twice to be sure.
"Alright. I suppose you should bathe some before I begin work. We will have to drain the water every five to ten minutes, though. If we don't, dirt and other things on your body can enter your wounds. I also need to check for areas that have major bleeding and I can't do that properly in water." Bruce didn't want Loki to be in the dark about his treatment. He knew the god would constantly ask if he didn't explain what he had to do. With those words, Bruce helped Loki up as carefully as he could and guided him to the bathroom.
"Alright. I suppose you should bathe some before I begin work. We will have to drain the water every five to ten minutes, though. If we don't, dirt and other things on your body can enter your wounds. I also need to check for areas that have major bleeding and I can't do that properly in water." Bruce didn't want Loki to be in the dark about his treatment. He knew the god would constantly ask if he didn't explain what he had to do. With those words, Bruce helped Loki up as carefully as he could and guided him to the bathroom.
