This was totally supposed to be updated on Wednesday. But then it wasn't. My bad. Buuuut there is a lot of Hawkeye in here, which kind of makes me happy :)
Also, just a warning, there is a drugged up Bruce Banner in here.
Jack was the kind of cold that hurt. It had been so long since cold had been anything but positive, he wasn't used to it anymore, wasn't used to this combination of burning and aching deep inside, radiating to the outside. It was terrible, and he mentally apologized for making fun when people said they were cold. He'd obviously been wrong, this was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced, and he just wanted his powers back, since he obviously didn't yet. If he did, he wouldn't be cold.
He reluctantly peeled his eyes open and looked around the dim room he was in. Definitely not Jotunheim, so that was an improvement. No, this looked more like one of the spare rooms in the Tower, the ones he was always turning down. The lights were out, but there was a steady stream of sunlight filtering in from the window, giving him just enough light to see by.
He curled deeper into the blanket and didn't quite jump when he finally noticed the assassin sitting next to his bed.
Clint Barton was asleep, head tilted back and mouth open as he sprawled in the chair that didn't really look that comfortable. But then, something Jack had noticed about the archer was that the man could sleep anywhere. He'd spotted him crashed out in the ruins of an apartment building once, asleep on a high beam that was barely there while cleanup crews worked below him.
But Jack wasn't focused on any of that. He was focused on the crooked branch clutched in Barton's hand. Just a stick to anyone else, maybe, but to him, it was his entire life. Everything he was, in one tree branch.
Plus it looked really cool.
And he was pretty sure it had his soul in it or something.
Honestly, he didn't know why it was so connected to him, but it was and he needed it, because he was so freaking cold.
He'd always known Barton was an assassin, that was just something that was part of life. The man was badass too, Jack had seen him get beaten down six ways from Sunday, and the guy never stayed down. He could respect that.
But he wasn't thinking about any of that as he reached out for his staff, and in the next moment he was pressed back down to the bed, a gun to his chin.
"Shit. Clint? Hey, it's me, and I really don't want to get shot here." Could MiM even bring him back from that? He doubted it, or that the moon would even bother. He just really hoped that Hawkeye had his aids in, otherwise the guy wouldn't even be able to hear him, but now his eyes were clearing and-
"Seriously, kid, wake me up next time." The assassin grumbled, flopping back in the chair. Jack sat up again, a bit warily this time, and glanced at where his staff had fallen to the floor.
"Can I have that back?" He asked, politely, in his mind. Normally he wouldn't be, but this was his staff. He really wanted it back.
Barton reached down and grabbed it, holding it up to inspect it before he looked at Jack, and there was something like consideration and sympathy in the man's eyes.
"You sure you want it? I mean, this is your chance to be a kid, you know? Not worry about any of this." Jack blinked, not expecting that, and couldn't help but think about. Just be a regular person. Maybe make some friends, get a job, go to school. He'd never had this chance, and he couldn't believe he hadn't thought about it.
He chewed on his bottom lip, glancing at the archer. It was tempting, to agree. To just turn his back on everything and never look back, find a life where he could be selfish and think about himself first.
But then there was North, and Tooth, and Jamie, and Loki, and even Bunny, and he had a center, and what if he became a boring adult? That would be terrible, and it would happen eventually. It always did.
He gave a smile and shook his head. "Nah, I'd never do good as a regular kid. Thanks, though." He took his staff and closed his eyes as he felt that piece of himself click back into place, when energy rushed through him and the cold was transformed into something wonderfully comfortable.
He gave a sigh and laid back on the bed. Life was good again.
Loki was being smothered. He couldn't breathe. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with a building having crashed down on him, and had everything to do with the blonde behemoth who had attached to him as soon as his eyes cracked open.
He would have just teleported, but it seemed he had drained his magic for the most part between traveling to Jotunheim and keeping the castle on the edge of collapsing for as long as possible. Which meant he was stuck here. In what seemed to be the garish Avenger's Tower. With Thor.
This was just perfect.
"Get off of me, you oaf." He snarled, pushing at Thor's chest.
The blonde sat back obediently, but he was beaming, a mixture of happiness and worry in his eyes.
"You saved us, brother. And we will not forget it." He promised, face going solemn for a moment and Loki rolled his eyes, fighting back his pleased feeling. Being acknowledged by the buffoon was nothing to be pleased about, no matter if that was what he'd wanted before.
"I was saving Frost, you lot merely got in the way." Jack, he would admit to saving. There was no salvaging his pride on that point, he had already revealed that he cared for the sprite too many times. The others though? Never. Not even to himself.
"Is he all right?" Loki asked, stiffly. He didn't like actually asking, admitting that much more to caring, but Thor just beamed even brighter.
"Yes, they are all fine. Jack is awake, although Bruce is not, but he is alive, and the doctor assures me that he will heal well." Thor seemed to pause a moment, then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder that Loki stiffened under.
"You did well, brother." Loki frowned and shrugged the hand off, refusing to admit that it had felt nice, comforting, that the words were something like a blessing.
"I am not your brother." He reminded Thor, but the words were weak, and he moved away under the guise of sitting back onto the too-soft pillows on the bed. Seeing the frost giants, going to Jotunheim, it had just reminded him further of what he was. No matter what he wanted, he was never going to be Thor's brother, he was never going to be Loki. He was no one. Not anymore.
"You will always be my brother." Thor told him firmly, drawing the blanket up over him and adjusting the pillows so that he was laying down. Loki scowled, but didn't fight it, just let himself be taken care of. He was too tired to fight it.
"Am not." He muttered as he fell asleep.
Bruce woke slowly. The world was hazy, the edges softened, and he squinted to read the clock. It seemed hilarious when it wouldn't come into focus and he let out a giggle that shocked himself.
"Holy shit, did you just giggle?" Bruce turned his head lazily, no other body parts seemed to work right now. Tony was sitting by his bed. He liked Tony. Did he say that out loud?
"Yeah, buddy, I like you too. They put you on the really good meds, huh?" Tony had the look that said he was trying not to smile and failing. Bruce thought that look was funny and smiled. Sitting up sounded fun, so he pushed himself up. There was something achey, but not hurting, in his abdomen, then Tony was pushing him back down.
"Whoa, big guy. Stay down a bit, you've got some broken ribs and shit. Not pretty." Tony actually sounded worried, and Bruce frowned as he laid down again. Worried. He'd been worried about someone. Who was he worried about?
"Loki! Is Loki okay? And Jack?" He asked, the names coming to him with a rushing worry. They'd been in danger, and he'd been protecting them. He had to protect them, and he surged upwards again, only to be pushed down once more.
"Hey, they're fine. Both sleeping, last I checked. The spaceman's awake though. He's funny as hell." Tony told him and Bruce blinked at him a few times before his words registered and he settled again.
"Good. Have to be friends with Loki now." He muttered. He remembered thinking that, although he didn't know why. But it was important. They were friends.
He fell asleep quickly.
Peter Quill had long ago mastered the art of waking without giving a sign that he was. Living on a ship with with a bunch of bloodthirsty men who wanted nothing more than to snack on him had helped him develop that skill.
Except right now he wasn't on his ship. Or any ship. There definitely wasn't the noise or movement that came with being on a spaceship. Which meant that Yondu was going to kill him and fry him up for supper. He was going to be supper, after over a decade of avoiding it. And here he was even starting to enjoy being a Ravager. Or at least he was enjoying the freedom of being able to go wherever her wanted.
But that was all over now, because he was dead. So dead.
He reluctantly opened his eyes and blinked a couple times when he saw the nice room around him. The walls were a soft eyes, and there was a huge window on one side of the room, letting in light, and a view of a city he'd never seen before.
"Oh, hell."