Work Text:
The air in the warrior’s suite is thick with the smell of exotic oils, roasted beast, and the metallic tang of Sakaaran technology. Thor Odinson sits on the edge of a lavishly oversized lounge, his fingers trembling slightly as they ghost over the cold, circular rim of the Obedience Disk embedded in his neck. It is a humiliating itch he cannot scratch, a physical manifestation of his fall from grace. He fidgets with it absentmindedly, his mind a thousand light-years away on the burning plains of Asgard and the cold remains of a Norwegian coastline.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The vibrations rattle Thor’s teeth. The floorboards, reinforced as they are, groan under a weight that shouldn't belong indoors. The God of Thunder doesn't look up; he doesn't have to. The shadow that falls over him is cavernous, swallowing the neon glow of the room. Hulk steps into Thor’s immediate periphery, his massive, green-skinned feet landing with the finality of falling boulders. He leans down, his heavy brow furrowed in a look of primitive but intense inquiry. His eyes, surprisingly soulful beneath the rage, bore into the side of Thor’s head.
"Thor sad," Hulk grunts. The voice is like tectonic plates grinding together—low, vibrating, and devoid of the artifice Thor is used to in the courts of kings.
Thor stiffens, his jaw tightening until it aches. He doesn't want to be seen, not like this. He is a king without a kingdom, a warrior without a weapon. "Shut up," he mutters, his voice thin and sharp.
Hulk doesn't take the hint. He never does. He leans closer, his hot breath smelling of raw strength and Sakaaran ale. "THOR SAD!!!" he bellows, the sheer volume of it blowing Thor’s hair back and rattling the decorative weapons hung upon the walls.
Before Thor can retort, a massive green hand swings out. It isn't a killing blow, but a heavy, bullying shove to the shoulder that sends Thor skittering sideways across the plush furs. It is a physical provocation, a demand for engagement. Thor snaps. He hops up, the sparks of lightning that usually dance behind his eyes replaced by a raw, red-rimmed exhaustion. He doesn't back away; he steps right into the Hulk’s personal space, craning his neck back to yell directly into the giant's face. He begins to pace, his boots stomping a frantic rhythm that mimics his heartbeat.
"I'm not sad, you idiot!" Thor roars, gesturing wildly with his scarred hands. "I'm pissed off! Do you understand that? I am angry! I am beyond the point of 'sad.' I lost my father—watched him vanish into the wind! I lost my hammer, shattered like glass by a sister I didn't even know I had!"
He turns his back on the Hulk, his chest heaving. THUD! THUD! He whirls around, expecting another attack, but instead, he sees Hulk sitting on the edge of his gargantuan bed, systematically punching a pillow the size of a mattress. Each blow sends a cloud of downy feathers into the air. Hulk stops mid-swing, staring at Thor with a blunt, honest intensity.
"Whining and crying," Hulk says, his lip curling in a mocking sneer. "Cry like baby. Waaaaah, my hammer. Waaaaah, my papa."
Thor’s face flushes a deep, regal crimson. He feels the sting of the mockery because it grazes the truth. He looks around for something to vent his frustration on and finds a discarded Sakaaran guard helmet near his feet. He draws his leg back and kicks it with all his divine might. It whistles through the air, clattering against the far wall with a discordant shriek of metal.
"You're not even listening!" Thor yells, his voice cracking. "You’ve been here playing gladiator while the world—my world—is ending!"
Hulk’s expression shifts from mockery to a stern, territorial sternness. "Don't kick stuff," he warns, his voice dropping an octave.
"You're being a really bad friend!" Thor snaps, pointing a finger at the giant’s chest. "A truly terrible friend! We were teammates, Bruce and I! But you... you're just a big, green wall of ego!"
Hulk stands up, his massive chest puffed out, looming over the Asgardian like a mountain. "You bad friend! Thor go away, Hulk stay! Hulk champion!"
"You know what we call you back home?" Thor sneers, his bitterness boiling over into cruelty. He knows he’s being petty, but the Obedience Disk is itching, and his heart is breaking, and he wants to hurt something.
Hulk tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. "No."
"We call you the stupid Avenger," Thor says, the words dripping with false pity. "The one we have to clean up after. The big, dumb tool we use when we don't want to get our hands dirty."
The air in the room seems to freeze. Hulk’s nostrils flare, and a low, guttural growl starts deep in his diaphragm. "You're... tiny... Avenger!" he screams.
In a blur of motion that defies his size, Hulk grabs a heavy, circular bronze shield from a weapon rack. He hurls it with terrifying velocity. Thor ducks, feeling the wind of the projectile whistle through the few inches of hair he has left. The shield embeds itself halfway into the stone wall behind him, vibrating with a high-pitched thrum.
"Norns, are you crazy?" Thor gasps, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You could have decapitated me!"
"Yes!" Hulk shouts back, his hands balled into fists the size of engine blocks.
Thor scoffs, a bitter, jagged sound. He looks at the Hulk—really looks at him—and decides to go for the throat. "You know what? Earth does hate you. Why do you think you’re here? They were glad to see you go. Everyone was."
The effect is instantaneous. The rage leaves Hulk’s body as if he’s been punctured. His massive shoulders slump, and the green of his skin seems to go dull. He doesn't roar. He doesn't throw anything else. He simply turns away, a heavy, soulful silence falling over him as he wanders over to the edge of his bed. He sits down, his back to Thor, looking like a discarded mountain of grief. The silence in the room is worse than the shouting. Thor stands there, the echoes of his own cruelty ringing in his ears. He looks at his hands, then at the slumped form of his friend.
The anger evaporates, leaving only the cold, hollow realization that he has just kicked a man—or a monster—who was already hiding from a world that didn't want him. Slowly, tentatively, Thor walks over. The bed is so high that he has to practically climb onto the edge of it. He sits a respectful distance away from the Hulk's massive hip.
"No," Hulk grumbles, his voice small and thick. "Go away, tiny Avenger."
Thor sighs, a long, weary sound that carries the weight of centuries. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. You're not the stupid Avenger. Truly. Nobody calls you that. I was... I was lashing out because I am small right now, and you are big, and I don't know how to be a king without a throne."
Hulk remains still for a long moment, then he shifts his head slightly. "It's okay," he mumbles.
"You just can't go around throwing shields at people, Hulk," Thor adds, trying to inject a bit of his old, lighthearted authority back into his tone. "You could have killed me. And then who would you have to talk to? The Grandmaster? He’s a bit of a dandy, isn't he?"
Hulk turns his head, a flicker of genuine remorse in his dark eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... get so angry all the time. Hulk always, always angry. Inside, it feels like... like sun getting too hot."
Thor nods, looking down at his own calloused knees. "I know. I understand that better than you think. We're the same, you and I. Just a couple of hot-headed fools lost in the stars, trying to punch our way out of problems that aren't shaped like fists."
A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Hulk’s mouth—a terrifyingly large expression of joy. "Yeah. Same. Hulk like fire. Thor like water."
Thor lets out a short, surprised laugh, shaking his head. "Water? No, no. I'm lightning! I'm the storm! We're kind of both like fire, don't you think?"
Hulk lets out a huffing sound that might be a chuckle. He reaches out and gives Thor a playful nudge with his fist—a "light" push that still nearly sends the God of Thunder off the bed.
"But Hulk like real fire," the giant says, his voice regaining its rhythmic, boastful cadence. "Hulk like raging fire! Big, tall, smash everything!" He looks at Thor and grins wider, showing rows of massive white teeth. "Thor like smoldering fire. Like... little campfire. Good for marshmallows."
Thor bursts into a genuine, belly-deep laugh, the first one he’s felt in weeks. He reaches out and playfully punches the Hulk’s massive, tree-trunk arm. "Smoldering? I’ll show you smoldering! But fine... for now, I suppose a campfire is better than being put out entirely."
The two of them sit there in the neon-lit luxury of the arena suite—a god and a monster, two fires burning in the dark, waiting for the dawn.