Avengers fic: Gods, Giants and Superheroes
Title: Gods, Giants and Superheroes
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Mostly unbeta’ed. Very random, set early post-Avengers, so it may not fit with the rest of the actual MCU timeline. Fills my wild square for hc_bingo.
Summary: After all, taking Thor down is only half the equation.
-o-
It takes a specialized drug concoction and an elite hit team. The entire operation is carefully planned to minimize resistance and maximize the element of surprise. After all, taking Thor down is only half the equation.
Getting him out is the rest.
With the right drug; with the right people; with the right timing; with the right everything.
Then it's totally possible to sneak past the Avenger's defenses--
And walk away with a god.
-o-
"This isn't happening," Steve says. "How did we let this happen?"
"The bastards timed it right," Tony says, tapping angrily into his tablet. "Waited until he got outside -- we had no security systems in place--"
"Yeah, but a hit like that, it doesn't just happen," Clint says.
"Wait, you're saying he was profiled?" Bruce asks.
"Of course he was profiled," Tony mutters. "They knew everything, and they had the equipment to do it. I mean, they even avoided security cameras--"
"So you're saying we have nothing," Steve concludes.
"I don't have a single trace," Tony admits.
"But we still have something," Natasha says.
They look to her.
"Think about it," she says. "The scale of the operation; the precision of the hit. We don't have to see anything to have a pretty good idea of who did this."
Tony's eyes brighten. "You're right."
"We work backward," Bruce says.
"Take what we know about the hit," Steve continues.
"And what we don't know," Clint adds.
Natasha inclines her head dangerously. "And we'll know exactly who to look for."
-o-
The first dart had been nothing but a pfft of air and a prick against Thor's arm. Clad in a t-shirt he was out for an afternoon walk. He liked the hot dogs a few blocks over, and was interested in trying something known as a corn dog.
He reached up to rub at his arm when the world tilted and he fell to his knees.
Blinking, reality shifted, and Thor wavered in confusion.
The second dart hit him in the other arm, sending him off balance as the drugs took effect. The realization of what was happening stirred anger within him, and Thor looked up and down the alley with blazing eyes.
"Show yourselves!" he bellows, staggering to his feet. "You hide like cowards!"
He managed a few steps before the third dart struck him high in the chest, just above the heart.
It was like a rush of adrenaline, ringing in his ears and turning his vision gray. He blinked, and ended up on his back.
He blinked again and felt his heart stutter. Desperate, he held out his hand, beckoning Mjolnir.
The power tingled, building like a crash of thunder.
The last dart hit him in the neck, blurring his vision and stealing the last of his strength. His outstretched fingers fell slack, and the rumble died before taking life and there was no storm at all.
Only the dark.
-o-
There are no traces left behind. They pinpoint Thor’s last known location with security feeds, and they figure out the alley is the most probable location for the abduction because it’s out of the way and easy to block off.
“Plus, there’s nothing there,” Tony says.
“Well, sure, it’s an alley,” Steve begins.
“No, like, literally,” Tony continues. “The place is almost pristine. There’s not a single print, not one piece of DNA evidence.”
Steve frowns. “But how is that possible?”
Natasha is grim. “That really is the question.”
-o-
The lab is prepared for months in advance, so it is well equipped and expertly secured. The analysis starts before Thor even wakes, with samples of his blood sent off for testing.
Thor wakes when they start to hook up the electrodes. He’s been stripped down to his underwear, and the technicians do not look at him as he blinks blearily into the blinding lights of the exam room.
As awareness dawns, he tugs at his bonds. His breathing heightens as his disconcertion grows, and he starts to thrash when the doctor appears.
She is a plain faced woman with a stark ponytail. She holds a clipboard, which is perfectly antiquated for her own reasons.
“Your metabolism surprises us, Mr. Odinson,” she comments wryly.
“Who are you and how dare you hold me against my will,” Thor seethes, pulling hard against the leather restraints, bucking enough to dislodge one of the technicians.
“I am afraid I am not here to answer your questions,” she says with a small smile. She nods to a technician, who injects something into the IV.
Thor’s frustration builds, and he feels himself flush as he starts to rage.
But then the liquid hits his veins like all the ice in Jotunheim, and Thor’s spirits deflate.
“No,” she muses demurely. “You are here to answer mine.”
-o-
“It takes guts,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I mean, to walk up and take Thor.”
“That’s not guts,” Bruce says. “That’s insanity.”
“Guts or insanity,” Clint says. “The part I can’t believe is that it worked.”
“Superheroes,” Bruce says, his expression guarded. “We’re not so invincible after all.”
-o-
There is little that makes sense about Thor’s life now.
Certainly, his existence has been confusing for some time. Ever since his first trip to Earth during his banishment, he has been propelled from one conflict to the next, enduring more heartaches than he knows truly how to understand. The decision to forego the throne and live on Earth has been one that he never doubted, but that does not mean that it has been easy. For surely, he enjoys the company of his friends and his affections for Jane Foster grow ever stronger, but it is a different life.
On Asgard, he was a Prince and warrior. These mortals revere him as a savior, though their customs show such gratitude in strange ways. Still, he finds them amiable and enjoyable.
Most of them, at least.
His company here is somewhat lacking.
None of them talk to him, even while they poke and prod. His blood is taken and he is turned on his side and sat up in bed. They shine lights at him and shock him with electricity. Cuts are made into his skin, and burns are pressed upon the surface of his chest and arms while white-clad technicians watch and observe.
He is asked no questions, and he volunteers no answers. When the tests grow painful, he bites down hard and refuses to make a sound. His skin is flayed and his senses are overloaded, but he is Thor, the god of thunder, and he will not yield.
Surrender is not in his nature.
The doctor, though, she does not need his surrender. She takes what she wants from him, and leaves him breathless and wanting. Sometimes he hangs from the ceiling; other times he is strapped to the floor. It changes so often that Thor loses track, and time has no meaning to him here.
The only thing constant, then, is the steady stream of drugs, pumping into his system. Usually it is just enough to keep him conscious but utterly placid.
Sometimes, though, it puts him under entirely.
He wants to think this is a reprieve.
Thor, contrary to the belief of some, knows better.
-o-
They make a list of names, people who have the means.
They narrow it down, identifying those with motive.
Then they cross reference the names, seeing who had the opportunity.
It takes time, though.
Tony hits the table in frustration. “Damn it, it’s been weeks.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow. “We’ve got it narrowed down.”
“Sort of need to get this one right,” Clint agrees.
“Besides,” Steve points out. “This operation took months, maybe years to plan.”
Tony rubs a tired hand over his face.
Bruce smiles ruefully. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”
No one disagrees.
-o-
The operation was always a short-term hit. They never expected to keep Thor.
They only wanted to take everything they can.
The Avengers could have whatever was left.
-o-
The rescue operation is all but planned when JARVIS interrupts.
Tony swears. “Come on, not now--”
“Sir, I really think you should hear this,” JARVIS says patiently.
“Timing’s really not great,” Tony says. “We need to get back the big guy--”
“I know,” JARVIS says. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Tony stops and looks up. The rest of the team goes suddenly still.
“Mr. Odinson has been found,” JARVIS announces. “He’s been taken to a local New York City hospital.”
There’s a strange silence that no one quite knows how to breach.
“That’s good news,” Clint says. Then he adds, “Isn’t it?”
“It’s unexpected,” Natasha admits.
Steve gets to his feet with a ready nod. “Whatever it is,” he says. “We need to go.”
No one says a word while they follow.
-o-
When the days had grown long and the nights had grown bleak, Thor had stopped fighting. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but there had been no point. The ice flowed through his veins, and Thor knew what it was like to freeze alive. He wondered vaguely if this was Loki’s horror, to feel nothing but coldness inside until it consumed you whole.
Thor did not wish to be a god. He did not crave a throne.
He did, however, want to live.
Death, though, did not seem so bad. His mother would be waiting, and Loki, too. The shores of Valhalla would be warm and welcoming.
Surrender was not in his nature.
But in the end, it truly did not seem so bad.
-o-
“Well,” Bruce says, rubbing his hands together absently. “The good news is that he’s recovering really well.”
Tony snorts. “Starting with the good news is never effective.”
“So he’s okay?” Steve asks, almost talking over Tony.
Bruce wets his lips. “Most of the damage was superficial, and they can’t tell for sure everything that they did to him,” he says. “Given Thor’s regenerative abilities--”
“They could torture him and we might not even know,” Clint concludes. “That’s convenient.”
Natasha keeps them on point, however. “That’s all physical,” she says. “What about the bad news?”
Bruce swallows and looks away.
-o-
The layers of drugs are complex, and a tox screen shows too many to keep track of. The intended effects of such concoctions are overwhelming, and the possible side effects are impossible to fully gauge.
“You don’t take down a god,” Steve murmurs as they look at Thor through the observation window. He’s being kept in isolation for a whole host of reasons.
“No,” Tony agrees. “You just drug him into oblivion.”
“What do you think they wanted with him?” Clint asks.
“Alien blood; regeneration possibilities; mind control,” Natasha muses.
“Well, that’s optimistic,” Tony mutters.
“Whatever they wanted,” Bruce says. “I think they got it.”
“So do we know what’s left?” Clint asks.
It’s a question none of them want to answer.
Steve just shakes his head. “We’ve never been called to do the easy jobs,” he says, eyes still on Thor. “Just the important ones.”
-o-
Thor dreamed.
Of the cold plains of Jotunheim, where he fought with his friends and doomed himself. He dreamed of the hot sun in New Mexico and the heavy rain against his mortal flesh as Mjolnir defied him.
He dreamed of Jane’s smile, and his mother’s wisdom. Odin’s robes swished across the throne room floor, and the Avengers cheered while watching a baseball game in the tower.
And Loki hung off the precipice and let go, falling into the abyss.
Thor dreamed of letting go.
-o-
They wait in equal turns, watching as the drugs wear off. The doctors predict that over the period of the month Thor was missing, he was kept on a steady stream of drugs. For a human, that kind of detox would take a while and could be dangerous.
For Thor, it takes approximately a day.
Still, the process burns through Thor’s system, leaving him pale and drenched in sweat. He murmurs and cries out, going tense before thrashing and finally going limp on the bed.
There’s nothing they can do but wait.
There’s just nothing they can do.
-o-
The abyss was colder than Jotunheim, and the darkness never ended. Thor knew not why he was here or where he was to go. He fumbled along, wondering what ill advised decision brought him here.
When all his searched seemed for naught, Thor looked up.
And saw the light.
Funny, he reflected, maybe it had been there all along.
-o-
Thor wakes several times before he blinks and looks twice at Tony. His brow furrows, and he swallows hard. “You rescued me.”
Tony makes a face. “Wish we could take credit--”
Steve steps in closer with a smile. “All that matters is that you’re back now.”
Thor looks at him, perplexed. Then he looks at each of his teammates in turn.
“You feel okay?” Bruce ventures.
“I was drugged and held against my will,” Thor realizes.
“We’re already tracking them,” Clint promises.
“They won’t get away with it,” Natasha adds.
There’s an awkward silence, and Steve forces himself to keep smiling. “Anything we can get for you?”
“My clothing,” Thor says, with a disgusted glance down. His stomach growls audibly. “And perhaps some pop tarts.”
-o-
After everything, they’d been prepared for the worse. Thor’s recovery, however, is nothing short of remarkable. The physical damage can’t be detected. There’s no trace of drugs in his system. After eating a large meal, Thor is upbeat and friendly, and he answers as many questions as the team can think to ask about what happened to him.
It’s an easy end to the worst month.
Which is maybe why it doesn’t feel over at all.
-o-
The hard part is that they didn’t win.
Tony’s security wasn’t enough, and Clint’s ever watching gaze did see it coming. Steve did all the right things, and Bruce was so, so careful. Even Natasha failed to predict such a scenario, and Thor fell. There’s a month none of them can account for, and no one rescued anyone.
Across the world, Thor’s DNA is processed and analyzed and replicated. It’s sold and it’s weaponized and it’s controlled. A plain-faced doctor with a stark ponytail is the only one who walks away smiling.
There are no heroes in this story.
It makes them wonder if there ever really were heroes at all.
-o-
Thor will answer questions, but he does not dwell. Instead, he eats and he laughs and he works.
“You’re handling this really well,” Bruce observes. “I admit, I’m impressed. We’ll have to share anger management techniques.”
Thor cocks his head. “I am not angry.”
“Really?” Bruce asks. “After what they did--”
“A month is not so long on my planet,” Thor notes.
Bruce nods. “That’s one way to look at it.”
Thor smiles. “Trust me,” he says warmly. “I have experienced worse.”
-o-
Thor does not dwell.
He understands the implications, but it is merely another threat in a long line of oppositions. He is used to it, it seems. People often take things from him and give little in return. His own flesh and blood used against him -- at least, with that, it seems like he has practice. Thor has already had his heart ripped from his chest, and he always survives.
Surrender, after all.
But sometimes when he closes his eyes, he feels the chill in his veins. The ice burns him and leaves him breathless, and he wakes with a cry unbidden in his throat.
Thor thinks to be ashamed for this weakness, but he has not the energy. Instead he gets to his feet and refuses to sleep.
-o-
In the common area, Thor sits alone.
After some time, there is a slight shuffling. He turns, and Steve smiles sheepishly. “Usually I’m the only one up.”
“Ah, not quite,” Tony says, making his way in noisily to the bar. “I just usually don’t come out of the workshop.”
“It is the only time I can get dibs on the remote,” Clint says slinking in from the shadows.
Natasha sighs, moving toward the table. “Somehow I knew I’d find you all here.”
The overhead light flicks on, and Bruce is standing in the doorway, looking disheveled. “You guys are loud,” he says. Then, he shrugs, as if adding an afterthought. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Thor pours a glass of water for himself and settles back down.
He’s not alone anymore.
-o-
The Avengers are superheroes. They saved the world.
They’re not invincible, though. No matter what the world thinks, they’re fallible. They can hurt and fall. They have oversights and failures. They’re damaged goods, every last one of them.
Thor dreams of Jotunheim.
Tony dreams of the cold space in his chest where the reactor used to be. Natasha dreams of Siberia and all the places she no longer calls home. Clint dreams of Loki’s scepter and the blankness, stretching like a canvas in his brain. Bruce dreams of cold metal in his mouth so he can still taste the bitterness on his tongue. Steve dreams of an airplane and seventy long years he’ll never get to live.
This is their failure.
This is their strength.
Gods and giants and superheroes.
But always a team, first.
Always a team, until the last.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Mostly unbeta’ed. Very random, set early post-Avengers, so it may not fit with the rest of the actual MCU timeline. Fills my wild square for hc_bingo.
Summary: After all, taking Thor down is only half the equation.
-o-
It takes a specialized drug concoction and an elite hit team. The entire operation is carefully planned to minimize resistance and maximize the element of surprise. After all, taking Thor down is only half the equation.
Getting him out is the rest.
With the right drug; with the right people; with the right timing; with the right everything.
Then it's totally possible to sneak past the Avenger's defenses--
And walk away with a god.
-o-
"This isn't happening," Steve says. "How did we let this happen?"
"The bastards timed it right," Tony says, tapping angrily into his tablet. "Waited until he got outside -- we had no security systems in place--"
"Yeah, but a hit like that, it doesn't just happen," Clint says.
"Wait, you're saying he was profiled?" Bruce asks.
"Of course he was profiled," Tony mutters. "They knew everything, and they had the equipment to do it. I mean, they even avoided security cameras--"
"So you're saying we have nothing," Steve concludes.
"I don't have a single trace," Tony admits.
"But we still have something," Natasha says.
They look to her.
"Think about it," she says. "The scale of the operation; the precision of the hit. We don't have to see anything to have a pretty good idea of who did this."
Tony's eyes brighten. "You're right."
"We work backward," Bruce says.
"Take what we know about the hit," Steve continues.
"And what we don't know," Clint adds.
Natasha inclines her head dangerously. "And we'll know exactly who to look for."
-o-
The first dart had been nothing but a pfft of air and a prick against Thor's arm. Clad in a t-shirt he was out for an afternoon walk. He liked the hot dogs a few blocks over, and was interested in trying something known as a corn dog.
He reached up to rub at his arm when the world tilted and he fell to his knees.
Blinking, reality shifted, and Thor wavered in confusion.
The second dart hit him in the other arm, sending him off balance as the drugs took effect. The realization of what was happening stirred anger within him, and Thor looked up and down the alley with blazing eyes.
"Show yourselves!" he bellows, staggering to his feet. "You hide like cowards!"
He managed a few steps before the third dart struck him high in the chest, just above the heart.
It was like a rush of adrenaline, ringing in his ears and turning his vision gray. He blinked, and ended up on his back.
He blinked again and felt his heart stutter. Desperate, he held out his hand, beckoning Mjolnir.
The power tingled, building like a crash of thunder.
The last dart hit him in the neck, blurring his vision and stealing the last of his strength. His outstretched fingers fell slack, and the rumble died before taking life and there was no storm at all.
Only the dark.
-o-
There are no traces left behind. They pinpoint Thor’s last known location with security feeds, and they figure out the alley is the most probable location for the abduction because it’s out of the way and easy to block off.
“Plus, there’s nothing there,” Tony says.
“Well, sure, it’s an alley,” Steve begins.
“No, like, literally,” Tony continues. “The place is almost pristine. There’s not a single print, not one piece of DNA evidence.”
Steve frowns. “But how is that possible?”
Natasha is grim. “That really is the question.”
-o-
The lab is prepared for months in advance, so it is well equipped and expertly secured. The analysis starts before Thor even wakes, with samples of his blood sent off for testing.
Thor wakes when they start to hook up the electrodes. He’s been stripped down to his underwear, and the technicians do not look at him as he blinks blearily into the blinding lights of the exam room.
As awareness dawns, he tugs at his bonds. His breathing heightens as his disconcertion grows, and he starts to thrash when the doctor appears.
She is a plain faced woman with a stark ponytail. She holds a clipboard, which is perfectly antiquated for her own reasons.
“Your metabolism surprises us, Mr. Odinson,” she comments wryly.
“Who are you and how dare you hold me against my will,” Thor seethes, pulling hard against the leather restraints, bucking enough to dislodge one of the technicians.
“I am afraid I am not here to answer your questions,” she says with a small smile. She nods to a technician, who injects something into the IV.
Thor’s frustration builds, and he feels himself flush as he starts to rage.
But then the liquid hits his veins like all the ice in Jotunheim, and Thor’s spirits deflate.
“No,” she muses demurely. “You are here to answer mine.”
-o-
“It takes guts,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I mean, to walk up and take Thor.”
“That’s not guts,” Bruce says. “That’s insanity.”
“Guts or insanity,” Clint says. “The part I can’t believe is that it worked.”
“Superheroes,” Bruce says, his expression guarded. “We’re not so invincible after all.”
-o-
There is little that makes sense about Thor’s life now.
Certainly, his existence has been confusing for some time. Ever since his first trip to Earth during his banishment, he has been propelled from one conflict to the next, enduring more heartaches than he knows truly how to understand. The decision to forego the throne and live on Earth has been one that he never doubted, but that does not mean that it has been easy. For surely, he enjoys the company of his friends and his affections for Jane Foster grow ever stronger, but it is a different life.
On Asgard, he was a Prince and warrior. These mortals revere him as a savior, though their customs show such gratitude in strange ways. Still, he finds them amiable and enjoyable.
Most of them, at least.
His company here is somewhat lacking.
None of them talk to him, even while they poke and prod. His blood is taken and he is turned on his side and sat up in bed. They shine lights at him and shock him with electricity. Cuts are made into his skin, and burns are pressed upon the surface of his chest and arms while white-clad technicians watch and observe.
He is asked no questions, and he volunteers no answers. When the tests grow painful, he bites down hard and refuses to make a sound. His skin is flayed and his senses are overloaded, but he is Thor, the god of thunder, and he will not yield.
Surrender is not in his nature.
The doctor, though, she does not need his surrender. She takes what she wants from him, and leaves him breathless and wanting. Sometimes he hangs from the ceiling; other times he is strapped to the floor. It changes so often that Thor loses track, and time has no meaning to him here.
The only thing constant, then, is the steady stream of drugs, pumping into his system. Usually it is just enough to keep him conscious but utterly placid.
Sometimes, though, it puts him under entirely.
He wants to think this is a reprieve.
Thor, contrary to the belief of some, knows better.
-o-
They make a list of names, people who have the means.
They narrow it down, identifying those with motive.
Then they cross reference the names, seeing who had the opportunity.
It takes time, though.
Tony hits the table in frustration. “Damn it, it’s been weeks.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow. “We’ve got it narrowed down.”
“Sort of need to get this one right,” Clint agrees.
“Besides,” Steve points out. “This operation took months, maybe years to plan.”
Tony rubs a tired hand over his face.
Bruce smiles ruefully. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”
No one disagrees.
-o-
The operation was always a short-term hit. They never expected to keep Thor.
They only wanted to take everything they can.
The Avengers could have whatever was left.
-o-
The rescue operation is all but planned when JARVIS interrupts.
Tony swears. “Come on, not now--”
“Sir, I really think you should hear this,” JARVIS says patiently.
“Timing’s really not great,” Tony says. “We need to get back the big guy--”
“I know,” JARVIS says. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Tony stops and looks up. The rest of the team goes suddenly still.
“Mr. Odinson has been found,” JARVIS announces. “He’s been taken to a local New York City hospital.”
There’s a strange silence that no one quite knows how to breach.
“That’s good news,” Clint says. Then he adds, “Isn’t it?”
“It’s unexpected,” Natasha admits.
Steve gets to his feet with a ready nod. “Whatever it is,” he says. “We need to go.”
No one says a word while they follow.
-o-
When the days had grown long and the nights had grown bleak, Thor had stopped fighting. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but there had been no point. The ice flowed through his veins, and Thor knew what it was like to freeze alive. He wondered vaguely if this was Loki’s horror, to feel nothing but coldness inside until it consumed you whole.
Thor did not wish to be a god. He did not crave a throne.
He did, however, want to live.
Death, though, did not seem so bad. His mother would be waiting, and Loki, too. The shores of Valhalla would be warm and welcoming.
Surrender was not in his nature.
But in the end, it truly did not seem so bad.
-o-
“Well,” Bruce says, rubbing his hands together absently. “The good news is that he’s recovering really well.”
Tony snorts. “Starting with the good news is never effective.”
“So he’s okay?” Steve asks, almost talking over Tony.
Bruce wets his lips. “Most of the damage was superficial, and they can’t tell for sure everything that they did to him,” he says. “Given Thor’s regenerative abilities--”
“They could torture him and we might not even know,” Clint concludes. “That’s convenient.”
Natasha keeps them on point, however. “That’s all physical,” she says. “What about the bad news?”
Bruce swallows and looks away.
-o-
The layers of drugs are complex, and a tox screen shows too many to keep track of. The intended effects of such concoctions are overwhelming, and the possible side effects are impossible to fully gauge.
“You don’t take down a god,” Steve murmurs as they look at Thor through the observation window. He’s being kept in isolation for a whole host of reasons.
“No,” Tony agrees. “You just drug him into oblivion.”
“What do you think they wanted with him?” Clint asks.
“Alien blood; regeneration possibilities; mind control,” Natasha muses.
“Well, that’s optimistic,” Tony mutters.
“Whatever they wanted,” Bruce says. “I think they got it.”
“So do we know what’s left?” Clint asks.
It’s a question none of them want to answer.
Steve just shakes his head. “We’ve never been called to do the easy jobs,” he says, eyes still on Thor. “Just the important ones.”
-o-
Thor dreamed.
Of the cold plains of Jotunheim, where he fought with his friends and doomed himself. He dreamed of the hot sun in New Mexico and the heavy rain against his mortal flesh as Mjolnir defied him.
He dreamed of Jane’s smile, and his mother’s wisdom. Odin’s robes swished across the throne room floor, and the Avengers cheered while watching a baseball game in the tower.
And Loki hung off the precipice and let go, falling into the abyss.
Thor dreamed of letting go.
-o-
They wait in equal turns, watching as the drugs wear off. The doctors predict that over the period of the month Thor was missing, he was kept on a steady stream of drugs. For a human, that kind of detox would take a while and could be dangerous.
For Thor, it takes approximately a day.
Still, the process burns through Thor’s system, leaving him pale and drenched in sweat. He murmurs and cries out, going tense before thrashing and finally going limp on the bed.
There’s nothing they can do but wait.
There’s just nothing they can do.
-o-
The abyss was colder than Jotunheim, and the darkness never ended. Thor knew not why he was here or where he was to go. He fumbled along, wondering what ill advised decision brought him here.
When all his searched seemed for naught, Thor looked up.
And saw the light.
Funny, he reflected, maybe it had been there all along.
-o-
Thor wakes several times before he blinks and looks twice at Tony. His brow furrows, and he swallows hard. “You rescued me.”
Tony makes a face. “Wish we could take credit--”
Steve steps in closer with a smile. “All that matters is that you’re back now.”
Thor looks at him, perplexed. Then he looks at each of his teammates in turn.
“You feel okay?” Bruce ventures.
“I was drugged and held against my will,” Thor realizes.
“We’re already tracking them,” Clint promises.
“They won’t get away with it,” Natasha adds.
There’s an awkward silence, and Steve forces himself to keep smiling. “Anything we can get for you?”
“My clothing,” Thor says, with a disgusted glance down. His stomach growls audibly. “And perhaps some pop tarts.”
-o-
After everything, they’d been prepared for the worse. Thor’s recovery, however, is nothing short of remarkable. The physical damage can’t be detected. There’s no trace of drugs in his system. After eating a large meal, Thor is upbeat and friendly, and he answers as many questions as the team can think to ask about what happened to him.
It’s an easy end to the worst month.
Which is maybe why it doesn’t feel over at all.
-o-
The hard part is that they didn’t win.
Tony’s security wasn’t enough, and Clint’s ever watching gaze did see it coming. Steve did all the right things, and Bruce was so, so careful. Even Natasha failed to predict such a scenario, and Thor fell. There’s a month none of them can account for, and no one rescued anyone.
Across the world, Thor’s DNA is processed and analyzed and replicated. It’s sold and it’s weaponized and it’s controlled. A plain-faced doctor with a stark ponytail is the only one who walks away smiling.
There are no heroes in this story.
It makes them wonder if there ever really were heroes at all.
-o-
Thor will answer questions, but he does not dwell. Instead, he eats and he laughs and he works.
“You’re handling this really well,” Bruce observes. “I admit, I’m impressed. We’ll have to share anger management techniques.”
Thor cocks his head. “I am not angry.”
“Really?” Bruce asks. “After what they did--”
“A month is not so long on my planet,” Thor notes.
Bruce nods. “That’s one way to look at it.”
Thor smiles. “Trust me,” he says warmly. “I have experienced worse.”
-o-
Thor does not dwell.
He understands the implications, but it is merely another threat in a long line of oppositions. He is used to it, it seems. People often take things from him and give little in return. His own flesh and blood used against him -- at least, with that, it seems like he has practice. Thor has already had his heart ripped from his chest, and he always survives.
Surrender, after all.
But sometimes when he closes his eyes, he feels the chill in his veins. The ice burns him and leaves him breathless, and he wakes with a cry unbidden in his throat.
Thor thinks to be ashamed for this weakness, but he has not the energy. Instead he gets to his feet and refuses to sleep.
-o-
In the common area, Thor sits alone.
After some time, there is a slight shuffling. He turns, and Steve smiles sheepishly. “Usually I’m the only one up.”
“Ah, not quite,” Tony says, making his way in noisily to the bar. “I just usually don’t come out of the workshop.”
“It is the only time I can get dibs on the remote,” Clint says slinking in from the shadows.
Natasha sighs, moving toward the table. “Somehow I knew I’d find you all here.”
The overhead light flicks on, and Bruce is standing in the doorway, looking disheveled. “You guys are loud,” he says. Then, he shrugs, as if adding an afterthought. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Thor pours a glass of water for himself and settles back down.
He’s not alone anymore.
-o-
The Avengers are superheroes. They saved the world.
They’re not invincible, though. No matter what the world thinks, they’re fallible. They can hurt and fall. They have oversights and failures. They’re damaged goods, every last one of them.
Thor dreams of Jotunheim.
Tony dreams of the cold space in his chest where the reactor used to be. Natasha dreams of Siberia and all the places she no longer calls home. Clint dreams of Loki’s scepter and the blankness, stretching like a canvas in his brain. Bruce dreams of cold metal in his mouth so he can still taste the bitterness on his tongue. Steve dreams of an airplane and seventy long years he’ll never get to live.
This is their failure.
This is their strength.
Gods and giants and superheroes.
But always a team, first.
Always a team, until the last.