Day 1

It was one of the longest nights he had lived through during the past centuries. He had been ushered out of the hospital wing by stern commands and imperious reasoning, so he spent the dark hours sitting on a corridor chair near the entrance, facing the glassed wall on the other side, a fist wrapped in the other palm and pressed tightly to his mouth, taking even breaths from the heavy air and staring at the storm, the never before seen, rainless flashes of thunder among the trees. It's not what his eyes desired to see; his mind craved to take another look, to ascertain that it wasn't his imagination, to make sure it was still there, that it was safe, that it wasn't being the monster that the earthen healers must have been seeing.

Friends approached him a few times during the night, but there was nothing he could tell them now, so he remained motionless. Only later did he realise that he could have shared with them what he had never spoken of before: he could have explained to them what they saw for the first time today, the crimson eyes, the silver-blue skin, the carvings in it. The people of Midgard were excessively aloof towards anything unknown. Was he to trust the ones currently working inside?

The question took hold and dwelt idly in him until the first rays of daylight filtered through the tattered foliage. Then it was tucked aside by the exit of Bruce. The man stopped at the entrance of the wing and waited till Thor rose to face him.

"How is he?" asked the thunder god.

"It depends on what fine means to you. His life isn't in danger. He's not awake, though."

"Is he still-…?"

The scientist eyed him with a curious look, hoping that Thor would name what they all have seen on Loki today. But the god was stuck, so he finished instead.

"…blue? Yes, he is. Does it mean something bad?"

Thor shook his head for a lengthy time, seemingly deep in thought and not entirely sure of the answer himself.

"I think it simply means he can't maintain the spell that makes him look humane."

"Spell?"

"Yes. Perhaps he's unable to produce magic at all, since this is one of the most basic spells that are made to last without effort. But I'm merely guessing."

"It might not be far from the truth, however. You see…" the shorter man hesitated, his eyes suddenly avoiding Thor's, his voice softening. "he's suffered severe injuries at the spine, ones that most species wouldn't survive for a moment. Now, being a god has aided him at staying alive, but… for now, all the neural-… you know, the synapses-… well, his body is almost entirely paralysed."

The pale eyebrows furrowed while the information was processed.

"Paralysed? Is he cursed?"

"No. Or not that I know of, at least. This is definitely not from a curse, it's from the damage the spinal cord has suffered while…" Bruce touched the back of his own neck to indicate what he'd been reluctant to say straight. "It's like someone just crushed his neck."

"That someone did," Thor hissed in a tone between a sigh and a curse.

"They did? I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- We'll soon find out how much can be done, all right?"

The thunder god had been taking his time to pick from the possible reactions that flooded his mind. His sea-deep voice was weak when he asked:

"How long until you find out more?"

Bruce seemed to be pleased with his choice, because the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

"The best medic of Wakanda is on her way to examine him. But even if recovery is deemed possible, it won't happen in a day. Do you plan to be by his side meanwhile?"

"Naturally, I do."

"That's good, because he probably hates everybody else here."

The god smiled and stepped through the door next to his friend, patting his shoulder meanwhile.

"Thor," Bruce called after him, and when the blonde turned, he noticed that the smile wasn't mirrored. The warm-hearted scientist's eyes were grim as he continued. "Don't think for a moment that it will be easy. Brace yourself."

Thor nodded faintly, and he continued on the pale corridor lined with large windows yielding insight at the content of each room. A weight started growing on his heart after Bruce's last request, which he found odd, given that he had never been known as someone afraid of the fiercest challenge.

It wasn't a large wing, ten rooms at most, all with different functions, serving solely the Avengers' purposes in the Tower. He had no need to search either, because the keen look of Dr. Strange on the thunder god told him it was where he was heading.

"Just arrived by teleport, I presume?" Thor inquired as a greeting when they met in front of the closed slide door.

"Indeed. As soon as I've been connected. I don't mean to disturb. Go on."

The blonde couldn't help feeling that the former doctor was studying his face with the intention to read it. But since he had been given leave, he turned away from him and pulled the soundless door aside.

Quiet beeps of different tones hit his ears while he drew it closed behind himself, and an unknown, though harmless smell surrounded him. While his eyes darted around, it felt like the floor drained power out of his legs in one single gulp, even though his heavy steps didn't hesitate to carry him to the buttery white bed. His mouth, suddenly dry, opened to ask about the sight on reflex before he realised that no one was around to hear his questions; they still kept on ringing in his head. Why was his brother restrained from speaking by the mask if he wasn't a prisoner? What harm did this room's air do to him that called for replacing it with the artificial breathing? Was the case around the neck so sturdy for a reason? These noisy things around were Earthen healing mediums, right? What were the countless wires for? Where did they continue after coiling under the blanket? Did they pierce the skin like the ones in the arms? What were they injecting into him? Why were they measuring his thoughts as well? Did these healers know what they were doing to the foreign body? Could they fix it the same way as the once flourishing Asgardian technology, which healed without touch? Everything here was unnervingly… physical. The object of their healing was a mere body, a mass of flesh and bones. One that was utterly different from what these machines were originally built for. Did they do the job?

He reminded himself that he would be able to get answers later. He tucked the urging questions behind attention on the shape of his brother that he had barely seen once. The eyes were shut tight now, their vigorous crimson hidden, without any movement under the eyelids: he was lost in a dreamless sleep. The skin shone like it was covered in minute pearls of sweat frozen on it; thin, curved lines ran like runes carved by a scorching needle to cover forehead, cheeks and chin. Grooves that were not seen in the other form followed some of the facial features: the deep-set eyes, the mildly lined brows, the mouth thin as always and the same silver-blue as the skin around it. They gave the impression of faint scorn covering up warm features. Thor believed he had an idea why Laufey had been ashamed of his new-born, why he had planned to keep him hidden all his life. Loki had always been feared for his actions, not for his looks: while they were young, he had a tough time sending through his rigour with a single blink the way Thor could. To put weight on his will against an opponent, be it the enemy or a cheery friend, he usually needed to prove it by actions. And that he was good at, so he managed well within Asgard. But if he had remained in Jotunheim, he might not have gained much respect from the ice-hearted beasts at all, since his naturally inherited powers were minute compared to theirs: his strength revolved around the sorcery he had learnt from Mother with relentless work and a thirst for knowledge. In Jotunheim, he was a weak link.

What was he in Midgard?

And the circle was completed. He shook his head unwittingly to get the pointless question out of his mind. Loki was all right, he was among allies now. Thor was here to make sure of that. And he was here to let him know he was at the right place.

The latter occurred to him because he recorded a flutter of the eyelashes. His palm unwittingly grabbed the edge of the cool mattress as he bent closer and waited. Though he expected a long time to pass in impatience, the dark eyebrows ran together after a few guided breaths. Thor stared at them in a vain attempt to match the notion to any of his brother's moods that he knew from the past; as if the knowledge would have given him some foothold in the current swirl of his shapeless thoughts. Yes, they knew each other well; yes, they had seen each other injured and recovering several times. Nothing was really new at the present. It was the routine of warrior brothers.

Still, he followed every flinch on that face wide-eyed, like mortals do in fear. Perhaps it was the comment of Bruce, perhaps instinct, or simply the fact that he wanted to reassure his brother of something that was unfamiliar even to himself. It was not something to show to the one he was to comfort.

He composed himself by the time the crimson flashed at him.

"Brother," he went ahead to speak softly. "You're safe."

The eyes widened as they darted around, the mechanical noises increased, the summer blue eyes shot at them for a moment before returning his brother's look.

"You're being taken care of," he said to the dismay shown in it. "You'll have to stay put for now."

He was sure that Loki didn't appreciate his mouth being stuffed, or the surge or air being pushed into him in a defined rhythm, he didn't need to see the eyes shutting tight at the notion. The beeping noises also intruded the thunder god's strife to catch his brother's attention. This was not going well.

As it occurred, the medics were aware of it as well, because one of them entered the room at the next moment, accompanied by two nurses and short sentences of unknown expressions. They seemed somewhat more composed than how Thor felt and his brother looked; but again, they seemed to know more, too, although no one had time to answer the god's questions. An additional shot was injected under the blue skin on the arm, a small light was flashed into the eyes one by one, the surrounding screens got examined as they returned to their original rhythms.

"Send him out, and then remove the life support," the doctor muttered before walking towards the exit without a glance at the thunder god.

He winced as Thor grabbed his arm.

"What's just happened to him?" Thor inquired, his voice soft but its depth eliminating the hope for refusal.

The doc suppressed a sigh and indicated him to follow.

"He's just woken up," he let him know the obvious while leading him away on the corridor. "A bit sooner than expected, due to our lack of knowledge about the exact strength of his species. People tend to get overexcited when they find themselves in a new situation without remembering how they got there, especially when it occurs they have no control over it whatsoever. That's what's just happened to him. Have you been told about his condition?"

"That he's paralysed? Yes."

"Then there is only one thing I can say: give him time."

He patted the god's upper arm as a sign of sympathy, and he turned in to another room. But Thor was not left to brood in himself.

"What do you think?" Dr. Strange asked behind him, leaning to the wall with arms crossed.

Thor turned to face him.

"About what?"

"Him. Is he with you?"

The frown on the god's face showed he didn't understand the question; but instead of explaining, Stephen nodded.

"Later," he said dismissively before stepping backwards into a quickly opening and closing dimensional gate.

The skies had quieted down outside, but the clouds lay heavily over the city in idle waiting.

A/N: This is just being written as an attempt for mental relief, without a desire for perfection. I probably lack some crucial information and use names, personalities, locations etc wrong; feel free to diss/correct it if you enjoy being helpful. Thank you if you do read, and thanks if you even comment~