Valhalla || A Loki Fanfic

Chapter 22

We're all in a circle, the Avengers watching cautiously as I stand behind Thor. Banner in the center, listening to Stark blabber nonsense for the past ten minutes.

"Ok, remember," he says for the umpteenth time, "Everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago. You're just bringing them back, to now, today. Don't change anything from the last five years,"

Why is he so adamant about this? It's rather annoying to be truthful.

But Banner only nods, seeming to understand where this paranoia is coming from, "Got it," he replies, staring grimly at the gauntlet in his hands, the rhythmic clicking as the Avengers place masks and shields around them.

"Like your mortal armor would be enough against the might of all six infinity stones," I grumble, my mouth twitching upwards as Barton tosses me a glare out of the corner of his eye.

"FRIDAY? Do me a favor and activate Barn Door Protical," Stark says through his helmet and before it's possible to wonder about what Barn Door Protocal is, metal surrounds the windows, locking every piece of glass on entryway closed.

And who is FRIDAY?

"Everybody comes home," Banner whispers, the gauntlet opening to fit his hand. He places it on.

And he screams.

Immediately dropping to the floor as the greatest power in the universe consumes him. The colors lighting up his veins like fire. His arm burning and blistering like magma is being pushed through his blood.

They still can't see it.

He's going to die.

It doesn't matter how much gamma whatever is in his body, it's too much for his mortal body to handle.

As soon as the stones' power leave him, he will crumble into madness.

And I can only watch.

Watch as he lets out a strangled breath, lifting his dying arm higher, his fingers drawing closer and closer.

Until he

Snaps.

There's a ringing in my ears and everything seems fuzzy.

Bruce's eyes roll to the back of his head, collapsing to the floor with a loud 'thud.' His arm black and burnt.

"What the- who're you?"

I whip around, facing the confused voice. It's him, a man with curly hair, radiating a more timid, academic aura than his counterpart.

Oh no, you brought the monster.

And I can't stop the mischevious grin that overtakes my face, "Hello, Bruce,"

His face immediately pales, scrambling backwards clumsily as I stride towards him.

"I-I thought you were- Thor told us you were dead!" He exclaims, trying to escape my firm grip as I latch onto his wrist, "Jesus, you're cold... and blue,"

"Staying dead isn't really my forté," I deadpan, refusing to say anything about his comment on my appearance.

"And let go of me!" He yelps, attempting to plant his feet firmly, only to fall forward, continuing his rant as I drag him along the floor, "What is going on?"

Biting back an enormous eye roll, I whirl around to face the moronic genius, "You're dying, don't you get it? Dying," I spit, every word off my tongue like venom.

He blinks, taking a step back, "What?"

This time I actually do roll my eyes, then march forward again with a confused Bruce in tow. Ignoring the stifled gasp as I phase through the team.

"I- why are you saving me?" The scientist asks, eyes flicking back and forth in between myself and his body that I am trying to stuff his soul back inside.

Because Thor would fall apart if he lost another person.

But I can't say that.

Love is weakness, Jötun runt.

So I opt for a cheeky smirk instead. Before properly grabbing hold of Bruce before throwing him back inside is body.

I probably should have told him not to mention our... exchange to my brother.

A whimpered groan escapes Bruce, who's now back in the beastly body, "Did it work?"

Maybe he forgot...

"Lo... Loki," he whimpers, squeezing onto Roger's hand for dear life.

Thor takes a step back, eyes filled with hurt and confusion, "What?"

Bruce pauses, looking around the room, eyes glazing right through me, "I- Loki was there and he was-"

I whip around, glaring at Barton, the panic written all over my face, "Make him stop talking. Before I cut out his tongue," the words are spat like poison, but there's an undertone of pleading.

A beg.

Pathetic.

But Barton seems to understand, turning his sights from the gauntlet to Bruce, "Bruce, you've been through a lot, why don't we-" he stops abruptly, when something starts vibrating on the table.

My breath hitches in my throat when I read the name.

Laura.

Bruce instantly forgets about me, intently listening to see if it worked.

"Honey,"

I doubt anyone else could hear the other end of the phone, but it's times like this I'm grateful I'm a Jötun.

"Clint?"

He has tears brimming in his wide eyes, his voice no more than a husky whisper, "Honey,"

Then I hear the moron- Lang, from the other room.

"Guys... I think it worked,"

BOOM.