I own copies of Thor 1 and 2. Not the rights to this.

I used to write fics on this site a while back. My pen name was Liraeyn. I lost access to that account a while back, so here's a new one.

All of these are fan theories based on the MCU. I may borrow elements from comics or mythology, but as I'm not well familiar with those, I wouldn't count on anything in particular. If you have a request, leave a review. Or, you know, review anyway.

X

For the middle of winter, the day was pleasantly sunny. Most of the residents lounged in the living area, the more lucid ones chatting pleasantly, or cuddling one of several felines, or entertaining their great-great-grandchildren. Even the other ones, who never talked anymore, were wheeled out into the room to enjoy the day.

Piper had appointed herself to care for one such man. Known only as John Doe, he'd arrived in a coma on her day off. The others only said that a man claiming to be "John"'s son told them that he would likely wake soon and to take care of him. She'd kept her doubts to herself. Usually, her patients only ever went downhill.

But today, his left eye was open. Blue-grey, pupil pinpoint in the bright sun. The other eye had evidently been lost somehow, but without any sort of medical history she could only guess. She'd put his age at about eighty-five, but again, that was just a guess. The oldest resident in this particular nursing home was one hundred and four years old, but sharp as a tack and currently deep in one-way conversation with her roommate, twenty-five years younger, who never spoke.

"Hello."

The simple greeting startled Piper. It hadn't occurred to her that "John" would still be capable of speech. Quickly, she composed herself.

"Hello, I'm Piper."

"John" smiled at her. "I'm Oscar."

She made a mental note of that. At least she could call him by name. Hello, my name is...

"Do you know where you are?"

Oscar looked around as if noticing their surroundings for the first time. Then:

"I guess you take care of people here."

As good an assessment as any.

Caretaker and patient soon fell into a rhythm. Oscar would on occasion leave his room to interact with the other patients, or to eat, but mostly he just sat in his room, watching the sun. Piper would sometimes talk to him, or just bring him food and tend to his needs.

In the second bed was a man named David, who slept most of the time. Unlike many of the patients, he actually had a diagnosis, of terminal lung cancer. Two of his grandchildren had visited once, when he still woke often enough, to say their goodbyes.

The day came, when the daffodils in the window box were starting to poke up a few timid spears, that the morning routine was interrupted by Piper setting down the breakfast tray, dashing into the adjoining bathroom, and emptying her stomach into the toilet. After rinsing in the sink, she sheepishly made her way back into the room. Oscar smirked at her.

"Trouble?"

He gestured at her abdomen, which was still perfectly flat, or so she told herself. Not that it really mattered if she couldn't keep breakfast down. Recent developments were becoming blindingly obvious.

"Yeah, so, not what I had in mind for this stage of my life, but I was out drinking..." She couldn't help a chuckle. "He was kind of cute, but I never saw him again."

Piper turned towards David, pretending to verify that his condition was unchanged. How long did he have? Years, hours, it was impossible to say. The beginning and end of life, together in one room. After a few minutes, she continued.

"I've been thinking of giving it up."

Oscar tilted his head. "My wife and I adopted a baby boy. He'd been abandoned at a church. If you do end up giving it away, do better than that."

Piper filed that away, then realized something. "Was that who dropped you off? Oh, wait, you were in a coma..."

"I could hear him talking. I can always hear what's going on, even see things sometimes, but I can't move."

She suppressed a shudder. Being trapped in one's own body seemed terrible, even if one did wake up later. Then she realized something.

"Has that happened before?"

Oscar nodded. "Often enough. I just need to sleep sometimes."

Piper realized he considered that a reasonable explanation, and changed the subject. "So you have a wife and son?"

"Actually, we-" He broke off, as if remembering something. "My wife died a while back. I had a daughter before we were together, then we had a son together, then we adopted a baby..."

Piper stayed as long as she could, listening to him talk about his family. Where exactly they'd all ended up, she couldn't say. Certainly, his youngest must still be alive, unless that had changed in the three years Oscar had been living here. She'd done what digging she could, but all that got her was an official-looking e-mail telling her to "cease and desist". She'd decided to follow that advice.

After she finished the day's rounds, Piper went back to Oscar's room to check on him and David. Oscar had moved to a chair near David's bed and was watching him quietly. After a moment, she realized he'd stopped breathing.

"It was peaceful."

Oscar said no more, just watched his friend as she left the room and started the inevitable paperwork. Nothing she hadn't done before. Time of death (approximate), patient's name (David Evan Baxter), date of birth (some eighty years previously). At least he'd had a long life.

The next morning, the room was empty. No one seemed to know where Oscar could have gone. His bed was stripped and the bedding thoughtfully placed in the laundry hamper. On the windowsill, there was a notecard with a simple message.

"Your lives are so short. Live them well."