Who: MCU Thor and Loki What: Brotherly bonding while Loki was hurt. Where: Medbay When: After Clint revealed to Thor Loki saved him. Warnings: Character injury. Loki’s low self-esteem.
P.S. Am posting on mobile so will make pretty later. ;)
Thor had hardly left Loki’s side since the battle. He did leave to check on Torunn before she went to bed, and he did go to the celebration for a bit-- but he was back at Loki’s bedside in a short amount of time.
Since he was there for so long, he found himself sleeping in the terribly uncomfortable chair provided for him. It was wooden and skinny and creaked under his weight. Thor fell asleep on the second night once again, arms at his side and his body loose. He looked like a starfish splayed out like that.
He was dreaming of Valkyrie and Margo dancing, fast asleep and snoring loudly. His chest rose and fell, and the terrible snorting could be heard throughout the medbay.
Though Loki appreciated Thor’s presence, he had no intention of saying so. Being stuck in bed galled his pride and his overactive mind. Loki had long since memorized the patterns of the ceiling, the floor, the walls, and the positioning of every single object in the room. He might have started counting the threads in the sheets without his brother and the occasional additional visitor to occupy his focus.
Loki sighed as he attempted, for the fifth time in as many minutes, to ignore Thor’s rumbling. Of course the god of thunder would create thunder of another sort in his sleep. Had Thor always done this, Loki wondered, casting his thoughts back to childhood and the many times he or Thor had sought each other in the middle of the night, woken by bad dreams, or worried for the other after an injury or illness. To his chagrin, Loki couldn’t remember. His recollections of home and the happier moments of his youth tended to be shrouded of late.
When it became apparent that Thor wasn’t going to do something about the snoring on his own, Loki closed his book and reached for the plastic cup on his bedside table that had contained water until he’d woken an hour ago, throat dry and body in quite a bit of pain, and drunk every last drop of the soothing liquid. Loki lifted the cup with his good hand, and lobbed it at Thor’s head.
Thor’s dream was getting a little spicy and he twitched, a louder snore resonating through the room. He didn’t snore when he was small, he only developed it when he got to be large. Large for an Asgardian, at least. Compared to Valkyrie and Loki, of course.
He often slept soundly, especially when sharing a bed with his brother. Thor had come into the medbay and wondered if Loki would allow him into the bed, but thought better of it. Loki would sooner stab him. As the plastic cup bounced off his head and hit the floor, his dream shattered. But he didn’t wake just yet.
“Oh for the love of … ” Loki muttered when Thor continued stubbornly on with the intolerable noise. “Must you always be so loud?” Bound to bed by injury as he was, Loki could only reach so many objects to hurl at his brother. He debated kicking Thor, but a memory of how much that had hurt Loki when he’d kicked Thor for lying to him before popping his shoulder back into joint surfaced and made the younger god briefly ill.
Unable to sleep, unable to read, and stubbornly refusing to use another dose of pain medication or accept magical healing, Loki was faced with a conundrum. Did he sit in bed and glare at Thor until the king roused from his slumber? His magic was turned toward his own healing, or he might have cast a spell to end his current predicament.
Loki settled, finally, on the undignified act of shouting at his brother. “Thor.” He pulled one of his pillows out from behind him and threw it at Thor, despite the discomfort that fast followed. If the gesture silenced that infernal roar, Loki’s suffering would be worth it.
The shout was bringing him back to the world. And then the pillow flopped against Thor with a soft thud. The snoring silenced and Thor’s eyes fluttered open. He smacked his lips and brought his hands to clasp in his lap.
He was still wearing his armor, having not changed since the battle. It was terribly uncomfortable to sleep in, but he managed.
“Loki? Why... “ he looked down at the pillow that laid on the floor. Bending to grab it and standing, Thor hovered over Loki and held the pillow. “Sit forward.”
“You ought to have someone look at your sinuses, that’s why,” Loki grumbled, though he did as Thor asked, wincing at the movement. Of all the Asgardians, Loki had taken the most damage. He’d never been as physically powerful as Thor. He supposed he understood that better now, knowing that he wasn’t actually Asgardian at all, but a Frost Giant’s cast-off runt. The revelation had added perspective to many of Loki’s youthful frustrations, when the despair and madness had eased enough for him to think beyond Odin’s scheming.
Saving Clint Barton had not been an entirely conscious decision. Loki had been so surprised by his own actions that the Kraken had taken hold of him unawares, and given him a beating to rival the Hulk on a bad day. None of the wounds Loki had sustained would kill him, but they would hurt for a few days yet while his body knit organs and bone back together. At least he had not made a widow, or left children without their father. And, as a bonus, the Avengers wouldn’t descend on him for letting their companion die.
“Honestly, Thor,” Loki went on, to distract himself from mauldin thoughts and the fact that sitting forward was far more tiring than it should be, “must you be so loud even in your sleep? I was trying to read.”
“My sinuses are fine,” he replied sleepily. He wasn’t quite all there just yet, his brain still foggy from being awoken during a dream. He had forgotten that Loki wasn’t Asgardian, to be honest. Well-- Thor thought of him as from Asgard, as he was raised there. But he technically wasn’t of their race.
Thor tucked the pillow behind his brother and went back to his seat, trying to sit gently. His knees swung apart wide and his hands hung down. He was like some boneless blob of Thor.
“What are you reading? Read to me, brother.”
Loki examined his brother for a moment, noting Thor’s weariness, and the ridiculous figure he made in the too-small chair. “Are you sure you want to sit there?” he asked. “You’re making my bones ache with sympathy for the furniture.” It was as close to an invitation for Thor to take part of the bed as Loki was prepared to offer.
His piece on Thor’s comfort said, Loki settled back against his pillows. He couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped. Underneath his loose white tunic, Loki’s ribs were wrapped to keep them in place, and a bandage covered where an attacker’s sword had cut through him front to back when he’d stepped in front of Barton. Another wrap, this one made of that neoprene fabric humans were so fond of, stabilized his left shoulder and arm. He was using his magic to direct his body’s energies to healing the worst the internal damage and broken bones. The shoulder would keep for a few more days.
“The Count of Monte Cristo,” Loki said at last, in answer to Thor’s question. He held the book up with his free hand. “A man wrongfully imprisoned for treason seeks revenge against those who wronged him. I think I should like to have met Mr. Dumas. Pity we were busy leaving Midgard alone during their 19th century.”
Thor perked up a little at Loki’s question. He then stood, “Bring your knees up.” When and if Loki did as he was told, Thor laid sideways at Loki’s feet, with his hands clasped behind his head. His bottom half was kept up by bent knees but it was somewhat more comfortable than the chair.
“I don’t know why you won’t let Zelda heal you. I’m sure she could help your magic along.” Thor wasn’t sure how powerful Zelda was, but Loki could use help. Loki was a good sorcerer, but he wasn’t the best. Maybe Dr. Strange was the best. “The 19th century was a strange time for us all,” Thor commented. “Would you mind starting over for me?”
Loki rolled his eyes, but acquiesced to Thor’s directive. His hip was still sore, but his legs mostly worked by now. As soon as Thor had settled, Loki adjusted the blanket, and planted his feet on Thor’s stomach. It was kinder to his back, and had the added bonus of making Thor still look ridiculous. “Warm enough?” Loki inquired, tone honey sweet. Though he largely approached Thor without malice of late, he couldn’t help his tendency toward teasing and argument. He was the god of mischief, after all.
“I won’t allow Zelda to heal me because she has taxed herself quite enough, and I’ve magic of my own to do the work. As much as I loathe being stuck here, I am well aware that my inconvenience will last a week or two at most. There are others whose wounds promise to keep them abed for months without magical intervention. It’s simple logic, Brother.” Thor did not need to know that Loki also resisted out of pride, and an ardent desire not to have another’s magic reordering any part of him, not even to heal the smallest of cuts.
“Do you even remember the 19th century?” Loki set the book on his lap and opened it, thumbing through the pages until he reached the first chapter.
Thor grunted softly when Loki put his feet on his stomach. “Oof, okay, go right ahead. And yes, I’m very warm, thank you.” He appreciated the tone, even if it was mocking him.
He sighed, “Fine, if you insist.” He knew better than to fight with Loki, especially over matters he didn’t understand, such as magic. Thor knew it was something special to him, as Frigga taught him. So he was prideful, what of it? Thor was once the same.
“19th century…” he mumbled. “Hm. Nope, not even a little bit. I drank quite a bit in my younger years.”
“I will go right ahead, thank you.” Loki’s prim expression told Thor exactly what the younger god thought of any objection Thor might raise to becoming a footrest. “This is doing wonders for my spine.” Loki made a show of settling in against his pillows, to further support his declaration.
For a moment, he regarded Thor, expression softening in thought. When had Thor started to listen again? Or had he never stopped, and Loki had simply forgotten how to listen himself? “I do insist, and I thank you for allowing it.” His voice, gentler than his words, would tell his brother what Loki could not say outright. Thor’s newfound wisdom seemed to be the benefit of them both.
“You can drink as much as you want here,” Loki noted. “At least until they find something that actually works for someone of your constitution. Now, as for the book … ” He held up the book, and raised an eyebrow, as though asking his sovereign’s permission to continue.
Thor grinned and held his head up for a second, glancing up at Loki. Loki looked comfortable, and that was pleasing to his brother. He smiled to himself as he laid his head back down onto the bed.
“I’m not allowing it, I’m just not going to fight with you. You have your reasons and I should respect them.” Thor inhaled deeply after that sentence, and exhaled loudly.
“Yes, the book. Forgive me if I fall asleep, your silver tongue is soothing to your brother’s ears.” Thor closed his eyes to better imagine that scene that Loki would soon be painting.
Startled, Loki looked up from where he’d focused on the first page of Chapter One. Had Thor just … ?
He had, Loki realized. Thor had spoken of respect, as though Loki deserved it. Loki swallowed hard. They were just words. They shouldn’t mean so much, especially when they were his due. Coming from his brother, though, they were more valuable than all of the treasures that had once resided in Asgard’s vaults. Swiftly, Loki cleared his expression. It wouldn’t do for Thor to see him gaping like a boy still in awe of his older brother’s splendor.
Loki kicked Thor in the side to cover the momentary lapse. “You’re a heathen,” he accused. “Not to mention you’re the one who asked me to read this to you in the first place. If you fall asleep, I’m going to stab you. I don’t care that I don’t have my knives. I’ll find something.”
Thor didn’t hear the first words of the book being spoken and he laid there waiting. “Anytime now, Loki.” He didn’t realize his own words had touched Loki so much. If he did, he probably would be hugging those bruised ribs of Loki’s so hard. It was all for the best that he didn’t know. Thor would react too strongly, be moved too much.
Loki meant so much to him. It was his biggest weakness.
The kick brought a small yelp out of Thor, “Hey now!” He didn’t move, even though the kick surprised him. “A heathen, you say? And I’m sure you will find something to stab me with, you always do. I won’t fall asleep, I’ve already slept enough.”
“A heathen,” Loki confirmed, with the same superiority he’d expressed whenever he mastered a complicated spell when they were young, and Thor couldn’t so much as light a candle with seiðr. At the time, it had been a game, Thor excelling in his arena while Loki developed his own gifts under their mother’s gentle guidance. The bitterness had come later. “Midgard may hardly be worth consideration, but this Dumas fellow would have been an interesting companion for a day or two. Such interesting thoughts in his head, and a fine way of putting them on the page.
“Now then. Chapter One. Marseilles. The Arrival. On the 24th of February, 1815, the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde-” But Loki’s clear, smooth voice cut off abruptly as a fierce ache cut through him. The sharp stab of pain that ran up and across his torso made him second guess his decision to refuse the late evening dose medication to ease his body’s aches. Where anyone had come up with something that worked on Frost Giants he didn’t know.
Loki drew a slow, careful breath - not too deep, or he’d make matters worse. “The look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples,” he continued, determinedly. He’d read to Thor, and he’d ignore the fire that seemed to have taken residence behind his ribs until it went away.
“A companion for a day or two,” he repeated. “Much like the Grandmaster was a good companion?” There was a smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure of what exactly their relationship was, but the Grandmaster seemed like the kind of guy that liked decadent parties.
Thor listened to the beginning of the story contently, until Loki’s voice cut off for a moment. His arms slipped out from under his head and he rose up, “Loki, are you all right?” Loki’s feet moved from Thor’s chest to his lap when he sat up, and he put one hand on his brother’s knee. “Do I need to fetch one of the metal nurses? Stop reading,” he demanded.
“The Grand Master was a means to an end,” Loki retorted. He hadn’t liked En Dwi Gast, but he had seen something in the man he could use to survive. That was what set Loki apart from other Asgardians, more so than the blood in his veins or the blue tint of his natural form. He would undertake whatever task necessary to live. If that meant entertaining the Grand Master’s idea of pleasure, he would do so.
The same stubbornness was on full display now, as Loki gritted his teeth and pretended Thor was being ridiculous. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.” Damned ribs. What business did they have that gave them the right to make such a fuss? Or to invite their neighbors to chime in?
Loki closed his eyes and took another slow breath. It helped, a little. He knew from experience that relaxing mind and body could ease physical pain. He also knew that he was being foolish and proud. The “metal nurses” had warned that Loki might not want to ease back on painkillers for at least another day. He supposed they had been right.
Thor untangled himself from Loki and went to the side table. There was a bottle of painkillers, extra milligrams per pill for the Frost Giant’s special physiology. He held the bottle out to Loki and shook it. “Take some.” It wasn’t a question, or a request, it was definitely a demand. “Let’s not speak of the Grand Master now, let us speak of your injuries.”
He let out a deep sigh, and shook the bottle once more. “I don’t like seeing you this way. Do it for me, please.” Thor wasn’t sure if that would work, but he tried. He picked up the cup Loki had tossed at his head and walked over to one of the sinks in the medbay, filling it with water. He returned and held it out to Loki.
“I want you to be comfortable while you read to me, let’s say that, if we must.” Leaving the Grand Master for another time was probably best, Loki reflected. They’d been having a pleasant evening. Sakaar might ruin that. Loki held out a hand so Thor could place the pills in his palm. He’d allow his brother this one compromise.
“The next time we’re attacked by a giant thing with tentacles, Barton is on his own.” Loki’s half-hearted grumbling made him feel marginally better. Not that he really would leave the archer to die after saving him once. It would be a waste of the effort he’d already put in.
“Do you remember when we were small? You’d fuss every time something happened. Not even a legion of Einherjar could have pried you from the room.”
After a few minutes, the painkillers began to take effect. Loki scooted to one side to give Thor some space, and opened the book again. “Come on, then. You wanted me to read to you.”
To Thor, Sakaar was a fond memory. It was where he met Valkyrie and saw his brother save someone other than himself. Sure, it wasn’t the most fun. He had to look at Hulk in a hot tub, but… other things overrode that.
As he shook a few pills from the bottle into Loki’s hand, he spoke low, “I’m proud of you, brother.” That would be the only thing he’d say about Barton. He didn’t want to put too much pressure on Loki to do good things. He wanted him to do them on his own.
With some space on the bed, Thor sat himself down, still hanging half-off of it. One foot rested on the floor, while the other laid next to his brother’s leg. He crossed his arms and tried his best to balance on the mattress. “Yes. Carry on.” At least Sakaar had revived the opportunity for Loki to tease Thor about his obsession with the Valkyrie. He might also admit that Brunnhilde could be pleasant company, under proper circumstances. She was a fine drinking partner.
Loki rolled his eyes at Thor’s praise, but said nothing in response. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, much less risk showing a second time how much his big brother’s approval meant to him. Their mother would have been pleased. Perhaps their father, too. Odin had tried. Failed, in many ways, but he hadn’t been the parent who’d left Loki to die, alone and helpless, under the frozen sky of Jotunheim.
“As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and rounding the Château d’If, got on board the vessel between Cape Morgiou and Rion island.
“Immediately, and according to custom, the ramparts of Fort Saint-Jean were covered with spectators; it is always an event at Marseilles for a ship to come into port … ” Loki lasted a full five pages before his voice trailed off again, with drowsiness rather than pain. His hands went lax, and he set the book in his lap without quite knowing what he was doing. He was so tired, and Thor was right there, against his side. Loki curled unconsciously into the warmth as drowsiness set in.
Thor smiled to himself, even as Loki’s words came to a stop. He reached over to take the book in one hand and snap it closed. Placing it on the table without moving too much, Thor closed his own eyes and thought about maybe getting back to his dream.
It wasn’t long before he fell asleep, even if he was a little uncomfortable in the small bed. Small for him-- and Loki, at least. He felt better knowing that Loki’s pain would soon be numbed by the drugs, and knowing that he was near him in case he woke in the night.