Chapter Text
Thor was yelling again.
Bruce didn't know how he managed it - keeping up with threat after threat long after the demigod’s voice should've gone hoarse from overuse. Fists that should've tired hours ago still pounded on the wall in front of them, arcs of lightning that should've been draining Thor of energy still appeared occasionally from the corner of Bruce’s vision.
He could only imagine how Thor looked now. Probably ragged, although less ragged than him. He'd always held this princely aura about him, even when he was muddling round the tower, barefoot, stumbling his way towards a coffee machine. He was always regal, in a frustratingly handsome way that only the prince of a space kingdom could pull off.
So, ragged, but not too ragged. Angry, that was a certainty given the amount of times he'd heard Thor's voice threatening to tear Ross's arms from his shoulders in the past few hours. Bruce reckoned Thor was about four more hours away from asking to speak to a manager. Maybe tearing someone's arms off was the Asgardian equivalent of that - Bruce didn't really know. He'd ask Thor for confirmation, but his own voice didn't seem to carry through the walls as well as Thor's booming tones did. He'd have to scream for Thor to even hear him, and as of right now his energy was focused solely on shaking whatever tranquilizer they'd pumped into his system so he could hulk out and get them out of there.
The thudding started again, the buzzing of static and the flickering lights above that was the sign of a thunderstorm. A sign of metal that creaked with the false hope of escape, of scorch marks lining the irritatingly pristine white floors of the prison.
This should've given him hope, he knew that much. Thor was yelling, he was angry, which meant he wasn't dead or hurt - Ross hadn't managed to even lay a finger on him yet. But the yelled words held a sense of fragility that was somehow even worse.
Thor was faltering, words slipping back into the Shakespearean dialect from what seemed like so long ago, when the earth was still Midgard and Midgard was still uncertain and scary and wrong.
Thor might've been angry, but Bruce could tell. He was also afraid.
He wished he could see him. Could place a hand against the glass and tell him things would be alright, tell him to save his energy and stop hitting the walls, to smooth his hair and let him be vulnerable again. Bruce wanted to wipe the blood from his knuckles and ask him to trust him, just this once.
Hulk would appear. Or Tony, or Cap, or hell, maybe even Asgard would take issue with their capture. But someone would come for them. They weren't going to be left alone in this.
But as it stood now, all he could do was listen. Place a hand against the wall and feel the buzzing of static as Thor conjured blast after blast against it. He let it ground him, keep his mind tethered to his body. And when his chest felt too tight to breathe or the lights above stung his eyes, he could focus on that - the ever present reminder that Thor was still here, still with him.
Thor had told him once, when the Bifrost was glowing and Asgard was calling his name, that the storms above were for him.
'Every time the rain falls and the sky lights up with thunder,' Thor had kissed his hand then, wiping away his tears with his thumb.
'Every time it storms, Bruce Banner, I will be thinking of you.'
He shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against the wall of the cell to somehow get closer to the sound. As if he could push himself through the wall itself and land, safely, in the eye of the storm. Bruised fingers clung to whatever surface he could, as another arc of lightning flashes in front of the cells.
He wasn't alone. Thor was here.
He wasn't alone.
***
The next day dawned, and Bruce could feel his mind beginning to clear. Memories started to come back to him, conversations and papers and places that had all led to this moment. To him, on his knees inside of a cage, owned by a man he'd never expected to see again.
Ross had been in at some point during the night. He'd marked when the arcs of lightning had reached almost vicious proportions, casting the senator’s face an eerie shade of blue as he'd spat out threats and gloats to him. Muffled by glass, he'd heard Thor's voice, yelling promises of his own.
'You don't touch him.' Thor had all but snarled, eyes ablaze with enough voltage to light up a city, fists curled tighter until there were imprints of his nails against his hands.
'He's under my protection, and so help me God, you will not harm him.'
Ross had smiled curtly at that, promising Bruce to pick up where he left off last time. He'd heaved out a sigh, when all he really wanted to do was scream. He wanted to pound his fists against the glass, to cry out that this wasn't right, that he was a person, not some lab experiment that Ross could do what he liked with.
But that would take energy. Energy that could be better spent saving them. And so, he'd remained quiet. He'd bitten his tongue and tried to push back the memories of a bloodstained childhood where even the slightest sniff was an invitation for violence.
Thor tried to comfort him, as best he could. Whispered comforts barely reached his ears through the walls, but they reached. They were there. He heard every single one of those oaths, declarations that soon, Banner, we'll be back at home, and you can wear that sweater that you like, and I'll make us some tea, and we can watch the stars or a movie or even just each other - but it won't matter, because we'll be home.
He'd held onto those words, let them cover him like a blanket. Home had been such a foreign concept to him up until a few years ago. Home had been somewhere he could never get back to, a person who he'd lost forever. He'd had houses, rickety things that barely served a purpose except to keep the rain off of his back. But home, his home, that was all too new.
Thor hadn't seemed like he'd be a home to him, not at first. No, at first he'd been loud. He'd been shouting battle cries, smashing hammers into walls, and seemed to try and distance himself from earth whenever he could - through stubbornly wearing his armour to press junkets to refusing to relinquish his peculiar manner of speaking.
But, then they'd gotten closer, somehow.
He'd seen vulnerability. Armour that wasn't used to distance but to protect, outlandish capes and bright fabrics that drew people's eyes to the style, rather than to the man wearing it. The right amount of chainmail made someone seem braver than they were, even when they didn't feel like it. And the language, it became a safety net. A turn of phrase that had been drilled into him since childhood (a childhood that began long before Bruce's ancestors had even landed in America) to prevent him from stumbling.
Thor had become a person, in his eyes. A kind, warm-hearted person. He was a friend, someone to trust, and then through time and misadventure had somehow become more than that.
Bruce's hand wandered over to the grate, as the lights dimmed and night fell back over the prison. He reached for the static, for the company, and imagined Thor was doing the same. Imagined that maybe, just maybe, Asgardians had some innate ability to sense radiation, and that Thor could feel him, too.
Thor wasn't alone. Bruce was there.
Thor wasn't alone.
***
Days passed, with Bruce's brain piecing itself back together. It was a slow process, often painful at times, but it marked a sense of progress. An unrelenting movement forward, despite how his memories tried to drag him back into the shadows.
At some point, Hulk's voice began to creep back into the corners of his mind, sluggish with sleep. Too weak to change bodies again, that much had been established. But it was a comfort, being able to talk to someone who he knew could hear him.
He talked to Thor every day, but he knew in his heart that Thor couldn't hear him. The walls were too thick, the barriers too great. He passed on messages from Hulk, for a short while. Mostly surrounding the topic 'Is Blondie ok? Why can't see Blondie? Is he there? Can he see us?'
Bruce had tried to calm his worries as best he could.
'Yes, Thor's fine. We can't see him because of the wall. Yes, Thor's there. He can't see us because of the wall.'
'How does Banner know?' Hulk had grumbled, worry ringing in his voice as much as he'd tried to hide it.
'Look, we can feel it.' Bruce touched a green-veined hand to the grate, letting out a slow and careful breath as the bite of static reached his fingertips, the sensation crawling nearly to his elbow.
'That means Thor's there. And that he's ok.'
Hulk had seemed satisfied with that, and had drawn back into the depths of Bruce's mind. Doctor's orders - plenty of rest, and all that.
He hadn't had the heart to tell him that there was usually more ways to tell that Thor was there. He didn't want to scare him more than he assumed he already was, even though he knew Hulk could probably tell something was up.
Hulk didn't have to know that Thor had stopped talking two days ago. He didn't have to know that Bruce could usually hear every word he'd said, because when it was Thor, how could you not? Hulk didn't have to worry over why Thor had gone silent, but was still in the room. Didn't have to conjure images of what could've happened to him, what was powerful enough to silence a God.
Bruce could make those assumptions himself. Let the worry eat him alive, and spare the part of him that could get them out of here.
As long as he had the storm, he had hope. And as long as he had hope, so did Hulk.
A part of him wondered about what would happen if his worries turned out to be real. About what Hulk would do if confronted with another loss. He'd already experienced so much in such a short time - he was born from it, forged in it. Mjolnir had been crafted from a dying star, or so Thor had said. And in the same way, Hulk was crafted from the fires of Bruce's life. Symbols of peace and protection that had equal capacity to create and destroy.
The more poetic of people would describe that as destiny. As the pull of soulmates that plummeted Thor to earth in the first place.
Bruce called it luck, that Thor had found them. And that he had found him, in turn. Of course Thor had wanted to believe in fate and Norns and prophecies, and Bruce was happy to entertain him. He was more than happy to receive long winding ballads and compliments that somehow managed to compare his eyes and his smile to the stars scattered across galaxies. He didn't understand them, but he liked them. He liked the way Thor made him feel. He liked Thor, full stop.
Laying in the corner of the cell, Bruce found his fingers wrapping tighter around the metal, with an intensity that almost roused Hulk from his slumber. He hushed him back down, and tormented himself with the thought that he really didn't want Thor to go.
Thor was a supernova, trapped in a thin layer of skin and muscle. He was storms, he was rain, he was lightning shooting up the string of Benjamin Franklin's kite and key. He was a creature born of the universe. He didn't deserve to die inside a cage, separated from what he loved by concrete and machinery.
'I'm here, Thor. I'm here. Don't give up on us, please.' Bruce whispered into the grate, shutting his eyes against rapidly forming tears.
'We're not alone.'
***
'BannerBannerBruceBruceBruceBruceWakeUpWAKEUPWAKE-'
Bruce shot forward, gasping for air as he was forcefully yanked out of what little sleep he'd managed to get. For a few terrifying seconds, all he heard was a pounding in his head. The rush of blood roaring past his ears like white water rapids, filling the empty space with an unbearable static. He clamped his hands over his ears, drawing in breaths like a fisherman trying to pull in a shark.
'Hulk?' He groaned, coiling his hands first into his hair, and then letting them fall to trace patterns down his face until they landed in his lap, hugging his knees close to his chest.
'What is it? I told you, we need rest so we can get out of here.'
'Important.' Hulk grunted, and Bruce felt a phantom sensation crawling across his spine - hands that were too big trying to hold him into consciousness.
'What's important?'
'Thor gone.'
Bruce sighed, shaking his head slowly. He began the painstaking journey across the floor of the cell, over to the wall, as he repeated back his usual mantra to the boiling presence inside his mind.
'I told you, he's not gone. You just can't hear him because of the walls.' For the first time in a few days, Bruce was able to clamber to his feet, shivering at the feeling of cold tiles against bare skin that reminded him somehow of every hospital he'd visited.
'If the static is there, he's there.'
'Static gone! Thor gone! Why Banner not listen?'
'It's not gone, your skin is probably just too thick to feel it. Look.'
Bruce reached out his hand to the grate, trying as best he could to roll his eyes and remain the passive scientist Hulk already thought he was. His bruised fingertips traced the wires and patterns inlaid into the wall, following the trail to what he knew would be the comforting buzz awaiting him. Awaiting them both. Hulk would see that Thor was fine, and since he was being so talkative they could attempt a transformation. Providing that went well, they'd leave, and go back to the promises of tea and stars and blankets and comfort and -
Bruce's blood ran cold. His fingers touched metal that was cold and unresponsive. No resonance. No sound. Nothing.
'Where Thor?' Hulk's voice was timid now. Asking a question he almost didn't want to know the answer to.
'I...I don't know.' Bruce swallowed nervously, trying to bite back the tide of emotions currently pooling in his stomach.
'He's supposed to be here. They didn't take him out while I was asleep, did they?'
'No. Would've heard.'
"Thor?" Bruce managed to croak out, his voice hoarse from disuse.
He pressed up against the vent, ignoring the shooting pain of the metal biting into his ear.
"Thor, are you there? I can't...we can't hear you. Please, can you say something?"
Nothing.
"Thor, please." Tears were running down his face before he even had time to register them, as he pulled himself impossibly closer.
Please, Thor. Please.
Don't leave me alone.