Linger

Prologue

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And so he fell.

Frigid air blew past him, worse than any storm or blizzard that he had ever encountered in his life, colder than even the bitter frozen tundra of Jötunheim. It pierced through his armor and even his frost giant constitution might have shivered if there was any part of him that still knew of warmth, but his heart was colder still. Falling, falling, he stared unblinkingly as the two figures at the edge of the destroyed Bifröst shrunk in the distance. The single tear dripping down from his left eye froze and floated off, fading into space; shortly, so faded the anguished cry that echoed through the cosmos, but continued to ring through his ears. No, the voice had cried. The word that had followed him around his entire life would be the last he would ever hear. Denial. Rejection. But was that not all there ever was?

Asgard. The city in the sky, realm of a race of powerful warrior gods, a beacon of light and hope that penetrated every dark corner of the cosmos. A capital wrought of gold, home to heroes, the just and noble arbiters of peace; all held together by a thread of lies. His eyes were open now. There was no beauty here, only an empty shell of hard stone and cold metal. All the warmth he had known, his family, all of it gone. All of it never really his to begin with.

Loki turned away from his former home and faced the swirling black abyss. He was certain that this was the end. He welcomed it.

The black hole opened its jaws wide and swallowed him whole. Then, there was nothing but darkness.

Bella Coola, British Columbia

With a staggering population of 2000, the remote North American valley was not exactly the center of all activity in the world. The small rural community probably equated no less than a single quark on the scale of the whole universe. It was a far cry from the hubbub of New York City, but Dr. Bruce Banner found that to be one of its best qualities. It was quiet, peaceful, and—most importantly—there were no people.

Thirty-one days had passed without incident. Thirty-one days since the other guy turned all of Harlem into a real-life version of Tokyo after a Godzilla attack. Thirty-one days since he jumped out of a helicopter and then woke up cold and naked in a field across the continent. Thirty-one days since he turned his back on the life he knew he could never have.

Still, there was a part of him that didn't want to give up hope. Some part of him that clung to the idea that if he could learn to control it, and then he could go home. To Betty. The man in him hoped, but the scientist knew that it was a pipe dream. If he ever went back, there would be nothing for him but glass cages and whitecoats trying to take his blood.

But still, he had to try.

Sitting by the desk, Bruce stared at the envelope in his hands. He would send it off in a few days and be on his way. He'd be long gone before anyone could trace his whereabouts. The wood in the old cabin creaked against a hurl of wind that blew through the valley and he heard the kettle start to whistle. He got up from his sitting position and made his way to the kitchen, frowning slightly as he went. There was that feeling again. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, like he was being watched. But he knew it was impossible; no one had followed him here. And if they had, he would have known it by now and the other guy would have undoubtedly taken care of it. It was paranoia. Five years on the run, and now again. That had to do something to a man. Shaking the feeling off, Bruce made himself some hot tea before padding back to the living room.

He sat on the floor in the lotus position, his hands resting on his knees, index finger and thumb meeting to create an 'O'. He breathed deeply, inhaling and exhaling as he let the warmth from the tea spread from his belly throughout the rest of his body. Relax. Breathe. You're in control. Bruce thought to himself, keeping his breath even and his heartbeat steady.

Are you sure about that?

A shiver ran up Bruce's spine and he felt as if he had just been doused with cold water. The warmth had gone from him and suddenly he was very, very cold. The thought had come to him, unbidden. That sliver of doubt cracking the stony resolve that he had tried so hard to build in the past month. He clenched his eyes shut harder, trying to keep his breathing even as his fingers started to shake from the cold. His heart rate hitched.

Look at you. You're pathetic. Nothing more than a beast, making play he's still a man.

No… no! I'm different. The other guy…

…is you. You are one in the same. Why fight it? Why pretend to be anything other than what you are?

His heart was pounding in his chest as cold sweat trickled down his neck. He could feel it. Him. Anger and self-loathing boiled in his veins as he struggled to keep his composure, his breathing coming now in ragged gasps. But he was still there, his consciousness, his thought.

Let it go.

The voice was so smooth as it coaxed him, so tempting. Yes, it would be so much easier to just let go. To just let the other guy take the reins and relinquish his fragile hold on reality. It was so difficult. Why fight it? Bruce let his shoulders relax and stopped the shaking of his limbs. He felt himself slip away as pure, unbridled anger clouded his thought and took over his consciousness.

His eyes shot open. They were a toxic, acid green.

Flocks of birds took to the skies as a feral roar tore through the mountain range, shaking the core of the windy hills. A large, green hulking figure emerged from the rubble of a dilapidated cottage and tore off towards the forest, disappearing into the line of trees.

Unawares to all, even the wildlife, another pair of green eyes watched with delight as the Hulk destroyed everything in its path. The beast had longed for control, he had only made the choice simpler: by taking it away. After all, there could only be one pulling the strings. A crooked, cruel smile played at his lips as the fallen God of Mischief beheld the results of his handiwork. Maybe his brother was not so misled in his admiration of mortal men. They made such wonderful playthings.

Perhaps Midgard was not so boring after all.

Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at writing in a long, long while, so I hope it wasn't too terrible. Please review and let me know what you think!