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Chapter Text

Tony, 

I arrived today at Asgard Hall. The journey was not pleasant – I was very often seasick, and the waters turbulent – but I am relieved to be again on steady ground. The Norwegian people are polite and Asgard itself a building of stunning beauty, though I have only seen a fraction of it. It is incredibly bright and airy and somewhat Greco-Roman in its designs. The ceiling is domed and painted with a beautiful mural of a folk legend. 

There are six denizens here alongside a retinue of serving staff. I have not met the patriarch, but the matriarch was blazing in her beauty and fierce in gaze and she would have been quite scathing to you, I imagine. There are four children, though I have only been able to take the measure of three – the fourth, Hela, was not present. There is Thor, the boy prince who is no longer a boy. He is handsome and incredibly good-natured and has already sought me out for casual conversation. His brother Loki is different in all ways including hair colour, with rather a sly temperament though he presented with politeness. He was wearing a rather stunning deep green ruffled gown and I think he rather enjoyed that it caught my eye. He had a twin in Sylvie, though I daresay she looks more like Thor, and she was feisty in her dismissal of my services. She will speak with me but makes clear she has no belief in or desire to be a part of my business. As Loki is feminine, she is tomboyish. 

The family as a whole has been curiously reticent about the reason for my visit. It is mentioned only in snatches and whispers, despite their summoning me for this explicit purpose. However, I suspect that they will open up more in time, and perhaps an incident will occur that will invite more suitable conversation. Still, the company is pleasant and I do not dislike the chance to get to know them. This could be useful in itself, and also makes my stay much more pleasant. 

Thor has invited me into town on the morrow, and since his father’s arrival is not expected for a few days yet, I see no harm in imploring his request. He has earmarked the medical school as a subject of interest for me and I look forward to visiting. 

Yours,
Bruce

Dear Mobius, 

That gentleman Banner arrived several nights ago and I am fascinated by him, though perhaps I should clarify it is not quite by him that I am so enraptured. Though he is here supposedly to investigate our own paranormal occurrences – my thoughts on which you are already aware – he is an exceedingly unusual man himself. At night he wanders the halls of the house and speaks in a different voice and answers to a different name. This other man, who calls himself Joe, is roguish and his manner impolite, though I delight in his tendency to speak his mind. He has made several flirtatious compliments about my appearance and I rather think I might indulge him. I ask not for your permission or forgiveness as I will do what I like. 

Thor is flirting shamelessly with Dr. Banner himself, though I remain woefully unable to discern whether Thor is romantically interested or just being friendly. Dr. Banner is returning the interest though with characteristic caution. 

Several incidents have occurred since his arrival. Sylvie and I concocted one ourselves to test Dr. Banner’s mettle; she hid in the attic and sang in the small hours in that part where the sound carries perfectly through the entire house. He passed this test rather easily upon investigation, and so I have concluded that he is no hack. 

The very next night something happened in town. People swore on the lives of their families that they saw from the very grounds of Asgard Hall a great beast, skin a hue of the most luminous green, manlike but that stood taller than the forest. This is so different to our previous issues and unexpected that I cannot at all fathom it. I look forward to any theories that you might have in your correspondence; perhaps you can forward this query to O.B., considering his imaginative intellect. Do let me know how our friends are doing. I have missed their company and look forward greatly to when we can be reunited. 

Thor, of course, proposed slaying the beast and that encouraged Sylvie and the pair were quite wound up that day. This seemed to encourage the evening’s activity, when an incredible crash sounded throughout the halls from the kitchen and upon investigation the room was strewn with pots and pans. As an act of destruction it would be impossible to do without creating a series of noises rather than an individual, thus creating the impression that the event is paranormal in nature. Dr. Banner has been puzzling this over since, and periodically we are treated to the sounds of things being dropped in the kitchen. I imagine the staff are either frustrated by his presence or enjoying the novelty of it. If I asked, of course, as their employer, they would always assure me that nothing was a bother. For Dr. Banner’s part, he has written to several people inquiring about seismic activity in the area, and is attempting to see if it would be possible to stack the kitchenware in such a way that it could all be knocked over simultaneously. This is providing him enough difficulty that it seems an improbable solution, and he conceded the point. 

“Initially,” he said, “I sought to investigate whether it was possible, keeping in mind my own clumsiness, and so I wanted to give it a fair shot. But it seems that enough time has elapsed and it remains at the outer reaches of possibility. Do you have your own theories?” 

I suggested nothing except to say that I was curious about the results of seismic activity. 

Last night I found Joe in the halls again, and his eyes appreciated my body in its nightdress, and I asked him the same question. In his accented voice, he said, “well, if I exist, then I don’t think reality is as narrow as people say it is”. Something for you to ponder over, perhaps. 

Write soon. 

Yours, ever mischievously,
Loki 

Tony, 

In my last letter I expressed to you that a remarkable number of things had happened so quickly, and sought your opinions on the case of the mess in the kitchen. I am still awaiting your response, but once again must write prematurely as I cannot keep these thoughts to myself and have no confidant here. 

I have been getting along well with Frigga, a kind and wise woman with a twinkle in her eye who was also sharing details with me about Norwegian folklore and her genuine belief in many of these creatures, some of whom she reported having seen herself. I found these stories fascinating and have written many of them down for future publication, and I intend to also ask the children.

Several nights ago, Odin returned from his business abroad and resultantly tension in the house has increased. This has also caused a significant increase in the amount of paranormal activity, though of course I imagine some of it to be the work of human engineering as in the case of Loki and Sylvie testing my mettle. As a result of the preponderance of activity I have been unable to dedicate as much time and thoroughness to each instance as I might have liked, and as such am yet to reach a single satisfying conclusion. However, the children have been of great assistance to me and undertaken their own investigations. In the case that any have been attempting to fool me with the activity, it seems unlikely that they would assist in unspooling their own ruse. I have still yet to see Hela. Loki and Sylvie both used extremely derogatory language about her in response to my inquiries, though she seems to wield enormous power and is spoken of fondly by Odin who regrets her absence at this time. Naturally, this indicates to me a rift that could be the source of significant tension, and if the theories of others are correct, then this tension is a spark for the creation of activity, which could perhaps explain the occurrence of multiple incidents per day. 

On the night of Odin’s arrival, the beast was spotted again. I remain baffled by this particular event as it is novel and seems unaffiliated with the activity perpetrated by a seemingly invisible hand. Thor once again declared his intent to slay it and I joined him in exploring the woods, something I was mightily unable to assist with, but by his reckoning any path cleaved by the beast ended cold. This mystery might be beyond my capability, Tony. 

There is something of a spark between myself and Thor. He seeks out my companionship often, and I his. I feel that I must perform to the utmost of my abilities in conversations with his siblings, because Loki is wise and of acute wit and Sylvie has great disdain for anything she deems unworthy of her time, but I do not feel the same in Thor’s company. I do not feel as though he is testing me; I feel as though he is genuinely pleased for the company. He is spirited and it can be difficult to keep up with his boundless energy, but it begets in me a great enthusiasm for living and I see the world with eyes anew. 

The kitchen incident has reoccurred, and happened twice in a single day. I am no closer to an explanation and the frequency casts doubt in my mind on the prospect of seismic activity. An instance of a similar nature also occurred in Asgard Hall’s significant library, and it took some effort by myself and others to even attempt to right the bookcases and return the books to their proper place. Whilst hard at work on this, Loki introduced me to a hidden passage in the library (something that brought me some childlike wonder!) and explained its potential for mischief and troublemaking. He explained that it was quite possible, nay, probable for unexplained voices to originate from this passage if not the attic space. 

Alongside this, several servants and even Frigga herself have reported an apparition wandering the halls at night, one that they know not to be a full-blooded person as they have seen it move through walls or disappear entirely in front of their very eyes. The serving staff were deeply afraid, and I felt disingenuous as I assured them that it was likely some trick of the light or their imagination; Frigga was not so, only thoughtful and curious. 

I wish that I had the capacity to elaborate further, but in truth, Tony, I feel distinctly unwell. I wake each morning as if I have not rested at all and sometimes find bruises and marks I cannot explain. I can no longer be quite sure what is real and what is imagined, and perhaps I too see the ghosts of Asgard Hall and simply assume them to be a figment of my tired mind. I sleep well and for many hours and so I cannot explain this despite my own physician’s training. It is difficult for me to catalogue the activities of the house when I fear that some may be the product of my imagination. I have begun to ask Thor, where possible, for clarification. He is patient with my exhaustion and has been exceedingly helpful so far, and I fear not any judgement from him. But he cannot help when I swear I hear the tread of some footstep approaching my door only for me to seize it open and see nothing there. 

Do not worry yourself. If the situation deteriorates I will seek the assistance of another physician. For now I must live in this strange space between the real and the imagined. 

Yours,
Bruce 

Dearest Mobius,

Oh! The delight with which I sit down to compose this letter to you, my darling. I have unraveled the mystery of the beast, and without so much as the rising of my own little finger! 

On some sleepless night I stood in my gown on the outskirts of our gardens, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of the beast that has caused such terror and consternation in town, when it so simply walked into my path. It was indeed huge, the size of an oak tree that has lived for centuries, with skin that shone emerald in the light of the moon, but was also distinctly humanoid; in fact I would assert that the creature is man himself but at inhuman proportion. I was proven quickly correct as this beast several times my height shrunk to the size of a man, skin returning to that peach shade, and to my surprise revealing himself to be none other than Dr. Banner himself. 

The investigator, himself a paranormal being!

When he spoke it was in the voice of Joe, surprised to see me outside. He gazed upon me there in the low light and said that I looked like a faerie from the old folk tales, impossibly beautiful and yet hell-bent on tricks and mischief. No other man has ever paid me quite a compliment – not even you, dear, though your affections come in similarly unique flavours. He was bold and touched my bare skin and slid his hand beneath my gown. I imagined myself the protagonist in some great Gothic romance, and with this thought in my mind I pounced, lips and teeth and nails in the grass, a creature all my own in that moonlight. 

It was through that inexorable charisma of his that Joe coaxed me indoors, grass still on my knees and the soles of my feet. He worshipped at my altar with his hands and his mouth and I quite embarrassed myself by releasing then and there, which is what you will say I deserve and to which I retort that Joe was quite skilled. I returned the favour, already finding him slick between his legs, and oh, dear, I fucking ravaged him. With my mouth, my fingers, my cock, I took him to pieces over and over and he cried out until his voice tired and broke. And then, of course, I enjoyed a second release. 

Dr. Banner was quite perplexed by the loss of his voice, and took honey in his tea at my mother’s recommendation, and I tried not to laugh. 

And the next night, though with not quite the same animal ferocity for we had tired each other out, we did it again. We continue these trysts most nights, though sometimes Joe is absent from the halls or the beast does not return til close to sunrise. I have gleaned a little information about him: namely, that Dr. Banner does not know of his existence; and that the creature has a name and it is called the Hulk, and they share this one body but are distinctly different characters. The latter is no surprise to me, as Dr. Banner is possessed of a certain meekness that Joe is not. Joe also infers something of a trauma in his past though without detail and I feel it would be detrimental to our relationship to press on the matter. 

You know that he will not and could never replace you. Even Joe himself walks a temporary time upon this earth. But I remind you nonetheless that this is a dalliance. One I enjoy, to be sure, but something that shall pass as all things do. 

I hope that this letter hopelessly aroused you.
Your darling Loki 

P.S. 

Something unusual occurred recently that I truly cannot fathom. I was ascending the staircase in the library after aiding a cleaning effort, and I stepped out onto the third floor instead of the second. The library stairs do not extend to the third floor. There was nothing behind me. 

Tony, 

A short one. Lost my head. I recall wandering the halls and being utterly lost, I recall walking through a corridor on the ground floor for what felt like an eternity and finding myself walking in a corridor on the second floor without ascension. Supposedly I would not stop walking and could never find my destination. To my surprise it was Sylvie who chose to intervene. Confined me to my bedroom for a week and walked me to other rooms of the house for meals. My solace was in the arrival of your letters and reading books from the library, and the occasional visits. I was forbidden from hearing about any paranormal activity, though still I swore I heard voices and crashes in the night. 

My sleep finally rested me, at least. 

Though I was not supposed to hear about the paranormal, Sylvie pitied me enough to tell me one thing: that Loki believes their sister Hela unleashed something upon them. 

I have tried not to dwell on the thought. I am no longer in confinement but I am still very much resting from my duties. I have been spending more time in town again with Thor, and he has grand notions of staying in a townhouse with some friends of his as summer descends upon us. I am not sure if it is wise to go along, for I may start to feel my age again. 

Yours with as much sanity as he can muster,
Bruce 

Dear Mobius, 

With woe and sorrow I announce that my days of pleasure and hedonism have drawn to an unexpected close. In your letter you stated to me that the only regret you have about my affairs is that you are not here to be a third, and now perhaps you never shall be. 

Dr. Banner began to demonstrate behaviour that I may charitably describe as insane, wandering the halls back and forth and insisting that he was not where he was supposed to be and that they were leading him astray and that he could not find his destination. Initially these were short incidents and he could be broken from the spell, though might stare fixedly into the distance at a mealtime later; however, it was impossible to break him from one and he became distressed. I watched flashes of emerald in his veins and wondered if the beast were about to debut, but Sylvie chose the moment to intervene and demand a course of rehabilitation. More’s the pity. 

He has recovered well, though is still avoiding discussions of work, so I have not been able to raise with him your insights about non-Euclidean geometry. My sincerest apologies, especially as it seems that he may have been experiencing similar issues to my own – he mentioned wandering the same corridor for what felt like hours among others. 

As for myself I have continued to see apparitions at night and at an ever increasing rate. As they have become more opaque, I have begun transcribing their appearances in a logbook and searching for similarities. Many of the apparitions appear not to be classical types – one would expect women in formal dresses and bathed in hues of grey or green. Those I have seen are common folk who appear in sunbleached colour and, though closer to solid than before, remain somewhat transparent – certainly enough as to be noticeable. Many are dressed in military fatigues. I feel that this confirms my theory of Hela’s involvement, though I cannot be certain. Perhaps she did not invite them upon us so much as they brought themselves to enact a spectral revenge; perhaps they are the spirits of the soldiers who stayed in Asgard Hall during the war. Good Lord, Mobius, there is blood on our hands and on this country – here’s the smell of the blood still … out, damned spot! 

I wish that you would visit. I do not like to yearn, but there is a certain misery to the house and I hope it might abate with Dr. Banner no longer confined. Something, I feel, must happen; it feels as though the atmosphere is becoming taut, as though it might snap. 

Yours miserably,
Loki 

P.S. No trouble with the stairs recently, at least. 

Tony, 

I find myself rapidly developing feelings for Thor. I know I am older and that it is foolish to want, but he is a ray of sunshine in a life that you know I struggle to find anything but bleak. I am enveloped in his boundless enthusiasm for everything, and with his strong physique and blond braids he resembles the imagined gods of old. I can do nothing but stare because it feels as though I am in the presence of someone monumental. I have not laughed as much perhaps in my life as I have these last few weeks, despite everything that has gone wrong. Tony, I am an idiot but like all men I am an idiot in the face of love.

To be in love is to reinvoke the fear of my childhood. I worry that I can no longer be an impartial observer, for I have been experiencing all these abnormal things and I see my father’s face over my own in the mirror. Allowing myself to love is something like falling from a great height. The first love in my life, my mother, was killed by my father when I was young and he blamed me for it. I have told you this before, but I have not told you that it is difficult to love because I fear I am the harbourer of something monstrous as my father so accused me. I fear that it will ruin and destroy anything I love and in turn I ruined my own marriage. I am determined to get it right this time. 

And I do not think Thor is afraid of monsters. 

Apologies for opening my letter with sentiment, but in lieu of work, I have had time to reflect on my own feelings. I should have told you before about my father, but it seems so clichéd to be haunted by him in this literal sense as well as the emotional – though I know you and I share in this. Though I have also been thinking of this in terms of work, from the lens of something truly paranormal and without the lens of currently known rationality. This is not the first time I have experienced the uncanny relating to my father, and I reflect on the extraordinary influence one single man could so exert over both my life and my wellness. I wonder if something similar may be occurring here, but I lack the knowledge and the context and I wonder further if it would be in my remit to ask and further stir up old wounds. 

Too much time to think, Tony! Too much time to think and to feel; I ought return to the library and immerse myself in some other world to drown myself. If you have recommendations I shall ignore them. 

I go foolishly in love,
Bruce 

P.S. Save yourself the ink as I will inscribe the first sentence of your next letter for you: 

“Bruce, you are the biggest idiot I have ever had the courtesy of meeting.”

Dear Mobius,

Strange tidings. The beast, the Hulk, has returned to its midnight wanderings, and as I approached it told me that it sensed something in the air, the burning smell of oncoming cataclysm. Joe said something similar, that he knew when time was almost up and “his goose is cooked”. He said that he had memorised every curve of my body and that in these last moments that he wanted to see something else, and so I showed him the clearing in the woods where my siblings and I played as children (or rather, as you well know, where we attempted to murder Thor several times over and the bastard lived on).

Sylvie found us there, and though she has been a stubborn holdout on the possibility of the paranormal despite it all, she listened to Joe’s theory without skepticism. If she had argued they would have seen the sun rise and never conceded a point. I have found it difficult to understand her in these matters – she is utterly incomprehensible in some ways and otherwise similar to either myself or Thor in others – but she seemed also resigned to the idea that there would be some kind of climax to this rising action. We all see the escalation as leading somewhere. You are an optimist and I imagine think that it may just stop , but I am a realist. 

“Cataclysm is a bit dramatic,” she said. I said it was a good word and Joe agreed, but: 

“There’s no bad word for the end of the world,” he said. “They’ve all got the ol’ gravitas you need for that kinda situation.” 

I am going to miss him, strangely enough. The two of you would have infuriated me to no end. Move somewhere with a ghost and perhaps we can invite Dr. Banner and his repertoire. 

Yours, waiting for the cataclysm,
Loki 

Tony, 

To break tradition from my upbringing and current belief systems: Jesus Christ! 

Writing this from Thor’s friends’ house; we got here in the end, I suppose, though in a rather unexpected way. As you have likely heard, Asgard Hall was destroyed in a fire. I was not asleep but I was in the process of retiring and as such did not see any culprit myself; Thor came to my rooms to retrieve me and he told me that Hela had set the fire. She was present in the house as it burned and stopped us both from exiting. It was clear that, instigator or not, she wanted Thor to burn here and to claim inheritance and power for herself. 

I do not recall what happened thereafter. To my shame, I blacked out either from fear or from the heat of the flames lashing up against me and when I woke the house was nothing but ruins and Thor had lost an eye. Hela is missing. Stories contradict themselves: Loki killed her; Sylvie incapacitated her and left her in the burning wreckage; Thor threw her aside in the confrontation that robbed him of his eye. Locals report having seen the monster inside the house and believe that it was responsible. 

It was not I who lost my home but I wept in private for my uselessness to them. They have remained steadfastly kind. 

Proximity to death has a way of outing feelings and I confessed mine to Thor, who quite literally swept me off my feet to kiss me. Dear Lord, Tony, I felt young and heady with the rush of it. I think he would gladly have gone further but I felt that it was rather too soon after such a traumatic incident. We still had yet to sort out our current accommodation, after all, and after that came securing a new house for the family and arranging travel back to America for myself. Thor will be coming, I might add – moving the royal family into a new house will take a considerable amount of time and preparation, and he plans to pass that time touring another country. Loki and Sylvie also have plans to visit a group of friends they apparently met while at university. 

But in this time as we prepare to travel to America, I have been feeling… oddly optimistic about the future, all things considered. I wish this need not have occurred, and I became unwell myself, but meeting Thor has been a delight. I have already disclosed to him some of my issues and he has been entirely receptive instead of judgemental. I feel safe enough in his presence to talk to him about these things. 

If Hela unleashed something upon them, as Loki thought, then I know not if that still exists with the destruction of Asgard Hall. Loki expressed to me before we parted ways that it felt freeing to him: that he may move on from the past with it still held in his mind, but no longer feeling shackled by it. Thor admitted he was not sure yet how to feel. I understand that, because after all this time my feelings about my father remain impossible to unravel. He has plenty of time to reflect now. 

As we plan our visit, I look forward to seeing you and getting to talk in the flesh again about this whole ordeal. You have certainly expressed plenty of thoughts in your correspondence, as I expected! And I have plenty to return to you, too. I merely ask that you refrain from making any comment on my capacity as a paranormal investigator, as this case has been difficult and I still feel that ultimately I have failed the family by being unable to come to a conclusion. Thor believes that it doesn’t matter at all because it’s over now, but he is optimistic and likely would not tell me that I had made a mess of it all. 

I ought to believe him when he smiles at me with that force of the sun behind it. 

Yours,
Bruce 

P.S. The next time that he swept me off my feet, he succeeded. 

Chapter Text

Bruce almost never has guests, so the last thing he expects when he wanders up to his door is for said guest – in a split second his brain takes it in and provides Thor – to cup his face and kiss him so hard he stumbles back a few paces. He actually laughs, somewhat from surprise and also because he’s just cracked a pillar from falling against it again, and kisses back because why the fuck not? Thor is handsome and gorgeous and once rescued Bruce from an alien planet even though Bruce knows he was a massive fucking inconvenience, and he makes Bruce laugh. Bruce just assumed he would never have a chance. 

God, he wants Thor to touch his face like this forever. 

It’s also beyond strange being the taller person in this equation, and makes it easier for Bruce to gently – and with a pang of deep regret – detach himself. Thor is getting too passionate, too handsy, and Bruce is starting to worry he has no idea upon what this decision hangs. “Stop,” he says. Thor, chivalric to a fault, stops and steps back and is about to make a red-faced apology when Bruce interrupts him. “Let’s talk first. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee would be good,” Thor says. 

The awkwardness is broken by showing Thor his AeroPress and letting him try, and all traces of it are gone by the time they’ve finished having a spirited discussion about Bruce’s nut milk selection (Thor has never had any before). Thor’s face has settled back down to its normal hue, and he’s tucked some of his unkempt hair back behind his ears. He sits on Bruce’s couch as casually as though it were his own, holding his mug with both hands as though it were cold – though Thor confided to Bruce that enduring the colossal energy of a star changed his body and that things like his temperature regulation have never been the same since. Bruce gets that; he has limited sensation and phantom pains in his right arm, and has taught himself to be ambidextrous. 

Dismissing the past, Bruce rearranges his shirt and then takes a seat himself. “So,” he says. “What, uh, brought you here today?” 

He hopes for a serious answer, because he knows Thor likes to evade those sometimes in favour of flippancy, and it pays off. “It occurred to me,” Thor says, speaking slowly as if considering his words, “that life is short, and that time I spend ignoring my feelings is time that I am wasting.” 

Morbid , Bruce thinks, and wonders if this is related to the news he heard of attacks on New Asgard. But he doesn’t want to ask. Thor has spent enough time dwelling on pain and hurt, and clearly he came here in service of the opposite. “And some of those feelings are, uh– about me?”

Thor laughs. “Do I need to make that clearer?”

“No one has confessed to having any feelings for me in about twenty years and I was expecting to live the rest of my life as a big green bachelor, so this is a bit of a surprise to me,” Bruce says, exasperated, though he lets himself laugh along. “And I mean, you’re– I always thought you were out of my league. You’re literally a God.”

“I think you’re quite something to behold yourself, Banner. I know that you don’t think much of yourself but you’re very mistaken.” 

Bruce feels a heat blossoming in his chest and he wonders if it would be a waste of their coffee to shove Thor down onto the floor and finish what they started. He swallows the feeling. “It’s hard to see myself that way,” he admits. “It’s hard to imagine someone else seeing me that way. My superpower is just childhood trauma and radiation poisoning.” 

“You saw me as a person,” Thor says, “and more than just my pain, when we brought half the world back. That’s how I see you. A person who I like. You’re smart, and stubborn, and brave, and kind, and when everybody else thought I was a joke you didn’t. And you brought me a taco that time. That’s who I think you are.” 

If Bruce had been about to let himself wallow in a little bit of self-pity, Thor has pulled him straight out of that particular mire. He blushes emerald. “If no one has confessed to you in twenty years,” Thor continues, “then that’s everybody’s loss.”

“Call it your gain, then,” Bruce says. Thor does not always say the right thing, but… well, when it counts, he does. He’s always there when it counts. Bruce has never forgotten the feeling of Thor’s fingers brushing his forehead; he thought he was going to die, that the stones were going to kill him, that this was going to be the last good thing he ever felt. He would’ve died happy, with Thor’s hand on his head and the birdsong in the distance. 

He puts his coffee down and crosses the room. “If we’re doing the feelings thing,” he says, “then I guess I should tell you that it’s always you. For me.” 

He turns his inhibitor on. He wants to be small, wants to utterly drown in Thor, wants to tuck himself into the curve of his shoulder. Oh, in the future he’ll take the full opportunities of his Hulk size, but for now he just wants to be him. 

It’s so fucking good when Thor pulls him down onto his lap, drinks forgotten, lips crashing together and hands underneath Bruce’s too-big shirt and on his bare skin. This is what he wanted. Thor was right; life is too short not to have this, to have said this, to have committed to these feelings. It’s too short not to know the feeling of Thor’s mouth leaving marks on his neck. 

Chapter Text

“Banner,” Thor says, voice warm as the sunshine on a cold winter’s day, “you look terrible.” He approaches and takes a seat next to Bruce, letting out a haggard sigh. 

“Speak for yourself,” Bruce says, glancing over; they’re both still covered in dust and dirt and debris and blood, and Bruce’s arm is numb and charred black, and Thor looks as though he walked through a storm to get here. “I like the–” he gestures to the same spot on his own face “–the beard, though.”

“Your arm,” Thor says, and then stops, as if he hadn’t quite formulated the rest of the sentence when he started and spoke purely on worry. Bruce infers it anyway. 

“I’ll have a doctor look at it later,” he says. “It doesn’t hurt.” (He doesn’t add that this is because he can’t feel it at all; he suspects that the damage is permanent, and doesn’t want to upset Thor.) “It was worth it.” In the distance, far beyond the charred battlefield and the medics and the cleanup efforts that will take days and that they will probably help in after a good night’s sleep, the sun is beginning to set. Bruce keeps thinking he sees Tony or Natasha among them, their faces materialising in tricks of the light. He feels tired. 

“It was,” Thor says. He reaches over and rests his hand on top of Bruce’s, touch surprisingly gentle; usually they meet each other with the kind of force that would bowl most people over. But here, in the aftermath, his calloused hand is delicate and careful.