"How is he?" Heimdall had posed the question in a steady tone, but the worry tinting his all-seeing eyes had been unmistakable.
It was a once rare gaze that Brunnhilde had gotten used to seeing more and more over the last year.
And always when it came to Loki.
Brunnhilde can't remember everything she'd said in reply. It was all a heated jumble of anger, concern, and murderous frustration.
"He's a selfish, useless wrech, Heimdall, and I don't know how anyone can still stand him!"
"And to think, I defended him! I defended him and vouched for him to his own brother, who might be dying right now, for all we know!"
"Does he even know how much damage his inactivity is doing to literally everyone?"
Whatever rants she'd flung upon Heimdall's waiting ears didn't matter now. With each passing second, with every stomp of her boots against the cold ground, a new argument would paint itself over the last one.
And then another insult would arrive, and another. Each more creative than the one prior.
Each rising in levels of severity.
He deserves it.
That's what she tried to convince herself. Heimdall hadn't much to say on the subject, being so obviously torn between the urge to agree with her and his oath to respect his king.
He'd given her some advice, however, hinting that she not return to the Odinsons' house until her anger had cooled.
A task easier said than done.
Brunnhilde scoffed, kicking a stray stone halfway across the town square. When has anything ever been easy?
A shiver ran down her spine as she surveyed the area. The square was usually so bright and active, full of life and the busyness of a village working hard to put themselves on the map.
Now, it reminded her of the barren alleyways back on Sakaar. The abandoned, decrepit corners of the planet that nobody cared about anymore.
Never. Clenching her fist so hard it hurt, Brunnhilde swore it to herself then and there. This place will never be like Sakaar.
No part of her precious village would ever become abandoned, rundown, or decrepit. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Not if I can do anything about it.
And she had. She, Heimdall, and Loki… That's all they'd been working towards for longer than she'd put effort into anything other than drinking, gambling, and enslaving others since… Well, since she'd been a full-fledged Valkyrie.
Back on Sakaar, everyone was afraid of something. If you didn't live with at least a shred of fear eating away at the back of your mind, were you even breathing?
For some, it had been the fear of starvation. For others, fear of the games. Of being chosen one day; being ripped away from their loved ones.
And still, others feared they would never be loved. By anyone. They feared no one would ever care; that they would be trapped on Sakaar forever. Alone.
Perhaps this had been her own fear. Perhaps not.
Maybe it was the one fear she just didn't care to admit. Ever.
No, for her, fear on Sakaar had stemmed from never being able to forget. About anything, despite the drinking. Despite the Grandmaster's fancy stash of drugs.
For Bruce, well… as the Hulk, he hadn't seemed to fear very much. Until later on. She still remembered that evening on the Statesman when he'd confided in her. Every fear, each anxiety. And they all made sense. Back on Sakaar, after he'd transformed into his normal self, he'd been afraid that he would never make it off the planet. The fear that he might never see Earth again, might never get back to his old life had tightened around his chest like an unrelenting coil.
For Korg, it had been the fear of death, which had hung over him every single day as he fought in the games. An executioner's blade primed to drop at any moment. How she found out about this, Brunnhilde couldn't remember. Maybe they'd all been drunk. Maybe she'd just overheard him talking to Thor. She'd never gotten very close with the guy, but still, no one on Sakaar deserved that life-sucking fear on which the world seemed to thrive.
For Loki… Oh, Loki…
The sack of ice in her cooler was left over from the young prince's manic creations.
Despite what he would say to the contrary, Brunnhilde knew that Loki's fear on Sakaar had a face. The Grandmaster had always gotten whatever he desired, and Loki was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Not that he would ever admit it. But she knew. She knew better than anyone.
After all, they had both braved that sick world of insanity, hadn't they? Though never as friends.
Now, however, she couldn't imagine them being anything less.
It was for this reason that Brunnhilde hurried her steps toward the house. Loki needed the ice, and besides, her anger had cooled… enough. Maybe not enough to satisfy Heimdall, but still. It's gonna have to be enough. For now, at least.
Facing Thor again was revolting to her, but she pressed on anyway. For Loki. That's all that mattered now, anyway. Thor had already proved his usefulness—or lack thereof—so if New Asgard was going to lose one of their royals…
Shut up! How careless can you possibly get?
Not careless… Just angry.
Not only was Loki the key to a successful life in New Asgard for literally everyone, but he was also her mainstay. As she was his.
I can't do this alone. Brunnhilde grit her teeth as her fingers wrapped around the doorknob. Don't make me do this alone.
Not again. She couldn't be alone again.
Of course, she had Heimdall and Bruce. And the people… Sure. But there was just something about Loki—a quality of leadership she hadn't served alongside since her time as a Valkyrie.
Now, the leader had reached a stumbling block.
Don't let him die. You can't let him die.
Silence greeted her as she entered the front hall, a welcome contrast to her overloaded mind.
Bruce sat perched on the edge of the ottoman, his brilliant, calculating eyes studying Loki's unconscious frame. And though Brunnhilde hadn't been actively searching for Thor, her gaze caught sight of him anyway as he stood by the window overlooking the fjord.
"Well?" Her voice came out in a whisper and she couldn't seem to get it to go any louder. "How is he?"
Because if she whispered, it meant Loki was simply sleeping. And she didn't want to wake him up. He needed all the rest he could get these days.
Yeah. Yeah, that's easier. We'll go with that.
Bruce offered her a smile, though it lacked it's usual warmth. "There hasn't been much change. His fever is still climbing slowly. Oh, is that the ice? Great."
As she handed him the cooler, Brunnhilde knelt down near Loki's head. Beads of sweat dotted his flushed forehead, clotting in the sharp lines between his brows.
Even when ill, he still looked like he was thinking. Planning. Trying to do everything yourself, you big idiot.
"He woke up once," Bruce commented, pressing a long sheet of ice against Loki's forehead before handing one to Brunnhilde. "Here, press this under his neck, right against his pulse."
"Did he say anything?" She posed the question lightly, keeping her tone off-handed. Stay strong on the outside even when the inside's a mess.
After all, isn't that what Sigrid always used to say? Back when all the Valkyries—
No, stop, don't think about her. Not now. Not now…
"He, uh,"—And there was that smile again. So uncertain, yet so reassuring at the same time—"kept asking for you."
Immediately, Brunnhilde felt her gaze shift back toward Thor. Could he hear their conversation? Was he jealous that Loki had called for her instead of him?
Serves you right.
Clearing her throat, she focused back on Bruce. "Did he say anything else?"
"Not much I could understand. He didn't seem delirious, just… exhausted? Sick, of course. And worried about you. When he wasn't asking for you, he wanted to know if you drank the water, too."
"You told him I didn't, right?"
Bruce just raised a brow. "Did you?"
"No, of course not. I'm—" When she broke off, she found her mind taking an unwanted journey toward the alcohol in the fridge.
"Still drinking?" Bruce guessed, though his voice was devoid of any judgement.
Brunnhilde forced a nonchalant shrug. "Why stop? It works for me. And, I mean, I don't get drunk anymore. Well, not as much as I used to, you know?"
"Really?"
"Yeah… Well… You know, sometimes…" Her grip on the icicle tightened and she could feel it melting slowly through her fingers. Because that was the crazy thing about Bruce Banner: you could tell him pretty much anything. In fact, for some reason, you wanted to tell him everything.
"Yeah?"
After another glance at Thor, Brunnhilde lowered her voice. "Sometimes, Loki and I get to talking. Not too often… Only on the dark nights, you know? Maybe once every few months. And, well, if the alcohol is good, we sorta just… go at it. Talking and drinking. It's… therapeutic."
Bruce was trying to hold back a wince, she could tell. Unfortunately, it wasn't something he was very good at. "Until you wake up with a hangover, right?"
"Right. Yeah," she conceded with a sigh. "And it makes things harder the next day, but… I don't know. Sometimes, it just feels worth it."
"Yeah…"
Silence settled over the two after that as they worked to shove Loki's fever down. Every so often, Brunnhilde would catch Thor glancing back at them. And that look of deep pain in his mismatched eyes… Of uncertainty and concern… She couldn't bear it. It both grated on her nerves and tore at her heart.
A better version of herself would have invited him over; would've made it clear how much they needed his help.
But right now, she didn't feel like the best version of herself. She felt frustrated, helpless, and low. Lower, perhaps, than she'd felt on Sakaar. Because back then, the only person she had to look out for was herself. Now…
Now, everything was different. These stupids Odinsons had made it different. First Thor, then Loki. Changing her world for the better.
Please, her mind whispered to him, hoping he would somehow hear her vain telepathy, don't leave me. Don't stop changing everything. Even if he were to revert back to the Loki she'd only heard stories about. The Loki everyone seemed to despise… That Loki would still be better than none at all.
Because she couldn't imagine a universe without Loki.
A dismal sigh from Bruce pulled her out of her binding thoughts.
"What?" she prompted when he didn't elaborate.
"I just… I'm so out of touch. With everything. I mean, how did I not know all this was happening to you guys? How did I not know Thor was…" Muscles taught with agitation, Bruce gestured at the hunched figure on the other side of the room. "Everyone's been so wrapped up in themselves and making sure they're okay after the Snap—including myself—that they haven't… Gosh, what happened to everyone banding together, not just to survive, but to live, and to make life better for others?
"Tony was wrong," he went on with a shake of his head. "The team didn't just 'break up.' We shattered. And even though I missed all that, I've been living like I had as much of a hand in it as the others. Separating myself from, well, everyone. Just like Steve, and Tony, and Nat, and-and Thor."
Sucking in a breath, Brunnhilde pursed her lips, determined to simply listen. To listen like Loki would have if he were awake. Come on, Lackey… Wake up…
Bruce carded a hand through his dark curls, then switched out his melting icicle for a fresh one. "Loki may have tried to take over New York—and the world, I guess—but honestly? It looks like he's been doing a better job of this… this aftermath stuff than any hero I've ever fought alongside."
Brunnhilde felt a small tug at the corner of her lips. "You say that like he's not a hero."
"Well, maybe he is. I don't know. All I know is: he's doing a heck of a lot better job than I am—than any of us are."
"Hello," she said, forcing a bit of lightness into her tone as she waved a hand in front of his face. "I'm here, too. And I happen to think I'm doing a great job of it as well."
"Right." Bruce cracked a smile. "From what little I've seen, you two seem like quite the team."
Thick trenches of worry dug themselves between her brows as she looked back down at Loki. And don't you dare break it up, you hear?
One piece of her little team of Revengers had already broken off when Thor had decided hole himself away like an aging hermit. She couldn't afford to lose another piece.
Please, not another one.
"It, uh," Bruce began after a moment, clearing his throat, "isn't really his fault, you know. Not all of it, at least."
"I assume you mean him?" She jerked her head toward Thor, her tone closed off and clipped. "Maybe he didn't poison the water, but I didn't see him helping out down there. Actually, I haven't seen him lift a finger to help with anything in months."
"Come on, Val, you know you're just looking for someone to blame. You need a scapegoat. I get that, but don't make it him. He doesn't deserve that."
"He doesn't deserve anything!" she hissed, willing the burning tears to stay trapped in their long-lashed cage.
"None of us do," Bruce said, his voice the epitome of calm. "Except a second chance, I think."
"Yeah, well that's what you think. And that's where our ideals diverge."
"But he got you off Sakaar—"
"I got myself off that hellhole," she cut in, trying in vain to keep her anger from rising once more.
"Come on, he's your friend."
"Really?" She shook her head and resisted the urge to glance back at Thor. "Then why hasn't he been acting like one?"
Bruce flashed one of those knowing grins of his. One of those insanely wise, positively maddening grins. "You must've been trapped on that planet longer than I was because, in case you've forgotten, that's not how friendship works."
"Go preach your friendship sermon to the preschoolers," she muttered. "I don't want to hear it."
"Val, you can't just be someone's friend when it's convenient for your own emotions, and you can't stop seeking them out because they aren't acting the way you want them to."
"Look, I don't think you understand—"
"Oh, I don't, don't I? So, I guess when the Hulk flew the quinjet into outer space and landed me on Sakaar, I was supposed to cut the rest of the Avengers out of my life because they didn't come to save me? Right?" Bruce wet his lips, eyes darting from Thor, to Loki, then back to Brunnhilde. "Yeah, right. That would've solved everything. It would've been so easy. To slip into an angry rage and blame it all on my friends. The other guy wanted to do that…" A small chuckle filled the air. "I guess that's why he's not in charge, right?"
Determined not to be swayed by his words, Brunnhilde scoffed. "They didn't know where to find you, though. You were completely out of their reach."
"Maybe. But Thor's not out of yours. Not yet, anyway."
And what's that supposed to mean? But she found she couldn't give voice to the words. Her throat was too tight; her tongue too heavy.
Not yet… What in the Nine—?
Three sharp raps upon the door served as their only warning. She whipped her head around just in time to greet the wide-eyed little boy dashing into the room.
Bruce was on his feet in an instant. "What happened?"
"One of the sick," he panted, barely able, it seemed, to hold himself upright. "He's… gone. The Gatekeeper told me to come get you and to hurry before anyone else…"
As he trailed off, Brunnhilde swore under her breath. "Thor!" The once mighty thunder god snapped to attention. "Get over here and take care of your brother! We'll be back as soon as we can. Come on, big guy."
Already on his way out the door, Bruce flashed her a tight grin that she assumed was supposed to be reassuring… or something.
"Keep his fever down," he instructed Thor, who had hesitantly taken up Brunnhilde's post next to Loki. "And if anything changes—anything at all—call me."
Thor nodded, expression pinched and solemn.
They're his people, too. The realization hit like a punch to the gut. A blow Brunnhilde wasn't prepared to take. Despite everything… they're still his people.
And she supposed he still cared about them.
He just has a lousy way of showing it, doesn't he?
But that didn't matter right now. As badly as she wanted to feed into her anger, to thrive on the burning sensation it gave her, they had bigger things to worry about.
Because someone had just died from this sickness. It was just a little bad water, right? No one was supposed to die.
And if that poor soul had met his end simply because he tried to give life to body, then…
Loki was in more danger than she'd initially thought.
And didn't that just set her heart hammering…?
I hope y'all enjoyed! Next up: Heimdall's POV. ;)