Chapter Text
The short journey back to the Compound is accompanied by dead silence and averted eyes. Once they land, they remind themselves to look straight ahead, but not even then their collective gaze holds any sense of clear direction. Future. Hope.
Tony is nowhere to be seen. He faintly hears Steve, Nat, and Carol talking… strategy? Exchanging contacts? His eyes are trained on a single person in that room.
Had the situation been much lighter and appropriate, he would probably be amazed how a towering god looked smaller than a raccoon at that moment. It could be funny.
Seeing the spark in his eyes fade out. It could be poetic.
He doesn't want to spread himself too thin again. He doesn't want to be everywhere at once, brainstorm possibilities, lose even more sleep and he sure as hell isn't the kind of person to try and convince others to stick together. Because from where they are standing, Tony was right. No options. No clues. Nothing.
And in that moment, he realizes there is only one thing that he wants to do. That matters. So, he crosses the space, continues to ignore the ongoing conversation. He comes up to Thor and takes one of his hands.
“Let me help.” I don't know if whatever I'm offering could ever be enough, he thinks. No time for self-deprecating jokes now, though. At least the ones said out loud.
“I'm leaving for New Asgard,” he replies, as if he had been rehearsing this sentence in his head on their way back, just in case someone tries to reach out.
“I'll come with you.” Bruce's voice is soft, but resolute. There is no change in Thor's expression, but he likes to imagine he sees the tinniest thank you in there. Maybe he hallucinates a little nod.
It could be alright?
They don't speak on their way. Bruce realizes he has no idea what he's doing. He doesn't want to take it back either.
He won't let him withdraw from the rest of the world. After all, Thor didn't let Bruce do that, back on Sakaar. It goes beyond wanting to repay a debt or owing to one another. Or maybe it is just that, and, hey, maybe they should focus on simple things that make sense. It's the only meaningful thing he feels he can do right now. Or it's just another sick little project, an experiment of his. Either way, he's coming through. He'll try. For both of them.
There's no welcome committee upon their arrival. The Asgardians are absorbed in their work. A few turn their heads, as they walk past, to no avail. They understand. Perhaps resent. The two of them make the hike towards Thor's cottage. Like all the other ones, it has been put together quickly. No time for details could be spared, only basic necessities. Small kitchen space connected to the living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Simple things, Bruce reminds himself. It's more than enough. For himself, that is. He's quite minimalistic. For Thor, however, this must seem claustrophobic, if nothing else.
They haven't spoken a word since Bruce's insisting on coming along. He wasn't sure about the exact arrangement, but he figured crashing on Thor's couch is going to work for a while. If things were different, that statement could be amusing. Thor didn't seem to mind. Didn't seem to process what was going on, really. He made a beeline for the bedroom, closed the door and left Bruce alone with his thoughts. I'm going to give him some space. For now. Which means I also have space. Good, that's good. We need space... Space. There was something on the edges waiting to be spilled over.
Routine. He needs a routine. I need a routine. Bruce knows he's not this kind of a doctor, but he trusts his limited skills over leaving Thor to his own devices. For a moment he feels disgusted with himself, for trying to approach this so clinically, sounding condescending, like he knows better. In reality, he's been looking through medical journals saved on his tablet and searching for anything even remotely helpful. Sick little project indeed. How do you rebuild a god?
He checks the fridge and the cabinets. There is not nearly enough food to feed one human, let alone an Asgardian. He makes a note to himself to venture to the small market set up near the docks. Then he remembers he doesn't really know how it works around here, thinks Brunnhilde may be able to help. He'll ask if he can make himself useful and try to make Thor tag along. Simple solutions are often the most elegant. He knows it's not as easy as that. It’s a start. It's a concept at best.
It takes some effort, but for the most part, it seems to work. Bruce wakes up, makes breakfast and sure enough, shortly after it's finished, Thor comes trudging into the kitchen. They eat. Then they go out and assist wherever help is needed. Since the Hulk still refuses to come out, they are in fact doing one man's job. Bruce instructs and helps when he can. Thor listens and works. He has (temporarily?) yielded the king's duties to Brunnhilde. Bruce regards this as a wise step. Not that his opinion would matter. Thor has not explicitly stated as such anyway. She's a natural leader. She can relate to Thor. Unfortunately, her obligations leave her little to no time to reconnect. Other Asgardians are still preoccupied. Settling. Mourning. There's not enough of them who would care to question their king's actions in these times. Little mercies.
There are days when Thor isn't capable of getting up.
There are days and nights when Bruce hears silent whimpers from his room. At first, he's quite lost and doesn't know what to do. At first, he leaves him alone, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, personal space, or make him feel embarrassed, though he feels he already does all that just by being there. This is about him, not you. Lately, when he hears the sounds, he knocks on the door and asks if it's okay to stay. He doesn't question what brought it on. He knows, in general, and that is enough. Sometimes he holds his hand. Sometimes he talks about little, unimportant things. Thor doesn't speak.
There are days when Bruce feels invisible. No, he wishes he was invisible. Then he couldn't account for screwing up things by his presence even more. But this is on him. On better days, he blames himself to be the victim of the undying, foolish human optimism.
There's a routine, alright? Even to Thor's movements. Automated, he carries himself like a ghost.
It's almost been a year.