A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back!

Sorry this took me so long to post, I know y'all were curious about how this would end. Again, I apologize if this disappoints you, I don't know how well I met your expectations. It started one way and ended another. It just kind of wrote itself, and I liked the way it came out, so here it is.

And I just realized this is my shortest Author's Note.

Anyway, enjoy, and do the ol' Read and Review please! Your reviews let me know your thoughts, which are always important.

He could see himself, kneeling there, in his own blood and filth and sweat, struggling desperately against the arms that gripped him. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, but his face denied them: eyes narrowed, where a dying fire resided. His hair was messy and falling over his shoulders in greased clumps before his eyes.

He screamed hoarsely- a battle cry if he could afford to spare enough time to consider such things- as he was yanked back down. It didn't make any difference, anyway, for he was certain his legs could no longer hold him, even if he managed to keep the monsters at bay long enough to stand. Blood was running down his temples in torrents, thick and dark as it dripped from his lashes. He was losing strength, and fast.

It terrified him.

"Why does he still fight?" a deep voice commanded, coloured with disappointment. Loki's chin was forced up as his knees were forced down, that maleficent face studying him and all Loki could do was breathe harshly, lungs burning and spirit aflame.

Thanos pulled at his shoulder harshly. Loki screamed as it was dislocated gleefully. Another injury to add to the list, and gods of ancient realms, the white pain he was feeling was going to make him pass out any second.

He growled and spit in the the Titan's face.

Thanos only smirked at the trickster's persistence, continuing as if he wasn't searching Loki's dulling green eyes for submission, "He must break."

With that, Loki dragged, crying and growling and gasping, back into the darkness, where further chiseling awaited.

"Doctor Banner."

Jarvis chimed pleasantly in Bruce's room, drawing him from his book. He looked up at the ceiling instinctively, brow furrowed, "Yes, Jarvis?"

"Loki's heart-rate and temperature appear to have risen steadily within the last 103 minutes. I suggest you pay him a visit."

Bruce was up and moving before Jarvis had finished, and now he waited for the elevator doors to open as he inquired as to where Thor was.

"In the infirmary as well, sir. He seems distressed."

"Alright," was Bruce's elaborate reply. He groaned, dragging his hands down his face tiredly, realizing how little sleep he'd gotten. He'd hoped that perhaps the book would lull him, but. . . "What time is it?"

"Two thirty-three in the morning, Doctor Banner. Would you like me to wake Sir?"

Bruce considered this a moment. It wasn't anything concerning Tony, and the man needed his sleep in any case. They were lucky he was actually in bed without anyone having to knock him out and drag him there. That had happened once, courtesy of a very fed-up Steve, Bruce recalled with a smirk.

He shook his head, then remembered Jarvis couldn't see him (or could he? He honestly didn't know), "No, Jarvis, that's alright. Just make sure Tony stays in his room, will you? Just at least until, like, six? I really don't want him to collapse in the lap again."

"Very good, sir," Jarvis agreed, and Bruce swore that the AI would be smiling if he could.

Bruce chuckled, walking at last down the hall leading to the infirmary, "You're welcome, Jarvis."

When he entered, Thor was curled around Loki as the trickster tried in vain to calm himself. His breaths were coming in shaky gasps, fingers clawing at the sheets and tears streaming reluctantly down his cheeks. Strangled cries escaped his lips, fading and weak.

Thor had covered his brother's eyes with one hand, the other arm wrapping assuredly across his stomach. Bruce wasn't sure what shielding Loki's eyes would do, but he suspected it might have something to do with separating reality from nightmares. Thor was muttering everything about nothing in Loki's ear, trying to comfort in any way he could.

Bruce strode toward them quickly, his mere doctor's experience returning to him. He pressed two fingers to against the pulse point on Loki's neck. He frowned: one-hundred-eighty BPM. Not good. He checked the trickster's forehead, where the skin burned a little against his own. Not a high fever, but considering Loki's physiology, more than likely it actually was.

The fact that Loki didn't snap at him or even try to yank away from Thor was concerning to say in the least. He must have been truly terrified, not to mention exhausted.

It took some time, but Loki managed to come down enough to fall asleep again. When Thor was sure he was out, he removed his hand, pulling Loki closer.

He looked up at Banner, eyes watering and distressed, "I apologize for summoning you where you were not needed, doctor."

Bruce waved a hand dismissively, smiling reassuringly, "It's alright, Thor. I couldn't sleep anyway."

Thor nodded in understanding, strangely quiet. He glanced down at his sleeping brother, who looked more peaceful than Bruce could've imagined someone like him could ever be. Thor sighed wearily, tracing a thumb nostalgically over Loki's damp cheek with something akin to nostalgia, "He has been having night terrors more frequently, and refuses to confide in me of them. I am. . . worried these dreams will never cease to haunt him."

Bruce fell unceremoniously into a nearby chair, propping his feet up on the end table beside it. It made for an awkward position, but he was too tired to really care, "Tony never tells me about his nightmares, and it only hurts him. He doesn't want to hurt what little pride he has left, I think. It frustrates me." He sighed, letting his head fall back against the arm of the chair as his eyes slipped shut, "What are we going to do with them?"

A rare silence settled, until Bruce sighed again, snapping out of his thoughts, "Jarvis, what's Loki's current temperature?"

"100.8 degrees Fahrenheit, Doctor Banner."

Bruce wasn't sure how bad that potentially was, but from the way Thor's breath hitched worriedly, he could make an educated guess. He shot up, ignoring the nervous lump in his throat and wordlessly berating himself for his sluggishness.

He felt Loki's forehead again, the flesh boiling and flaking beneath the tips of his fingers now.

He scowled, trying to keep his voice steady, "Jarvis what was Loki's temp on the Tricarrier?"

"95.7 degrees Fahrenheit."

Bruce swallowed the lump, "We need to lower it, and we need to do it quickly. Jarvis, can you isolate the temperature in any given room?"

"Of course, Doctor Banner," the AI answered, not missing a beat. "What would you like me to do?"

"Please lower the temp in only this room to fifty degrees Fahrenheit."

"Of course, sir," Jarvis repeated. Instantly, the room began to cool, eliciting a shiver from its occupants, even as it continued to go down.

Bruce turned to Thor, gesturing vaguely at Loki, in all his bandaged-littered glory. "Just let him recuperate; don't worry if he isn't lucid by tomorrow morning; he'll be fine. I would use an ice bath, but it would only falter his healing process," he explained helplessly, brow wrinkled and glasses slipping to the end of his nose. "We need cooling cloths, too, lots of them, to reduce his internal heat."

Thor cradled his brother closer, cautious and gentler than Bruce had ever seen the boisterous god. When he spoke, it was so soft and gentle, Bruce startled in such a way that he took an unconscious step back, "I do not understand your words, but I have faith in your healing abilities, Doctor Banner."

Bruce only nodded, lips pursed, too stunned to do much else.

Much to Bruce's fascination, and Thor's chagrin, Loki's skin suddenly flushed a deep blue, designs of ancient runes blossoming over nearly every part of his flesh. And suddenly he was awake again, gasping for air and lashing out in desperation; he cried out Thor's name, voice hoarse and grasping.

His eyes had flown open, but Thor didn't bother shielding his eyes again. He simply held still, whispering words in his brother's ear as red eyes darted to and fro, panicked and disoriented.

"Thanos- Mother, she- she cannot- he must not touch her," He choked out, clinging to Thor as he had when they were younger. "Thor, he's coming, and Mother is- she is- please. . . I'm sorry."

Thor hushed him gently. "Mother is perfectly safe, Loki. You needn't worry; she is far from Thanos' reach," he lied, and, surprisingly, Loki calmed noticeably, apparently trusting Thor's word.

"What happened to him?" Bruce breathed, his scientific awe bleeding through.

Thor sighed sadly, face falling when Loki whimpered fearfully, "The Asgardian spell All-Father had cast upon him when he was first discovered fails when he falls ill. He was oft sickly in his youth, but less so recently. I had, in my younger years, mistaken this transformation as an occurrence which befell all Asgardians, although I never truly witnessed- nor experienced- such misfortune."

"Fascinating," Bruce replied, unable to repress the grin that practically split his face. When Thor peered at him strangely, he quickly added: "Sorry, sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me." Then, "He'll be alright, Thor. He simply needs a lot of rest and a lot of time to heal."

Thor went to respond, but then Loki was rambling, words jumbled and muffled when he turned to uncharacteristically bury his face in Thor's shirt (he'd changed after Loki had passed out before). Bruce could only just make out the words "Chitauri" and "Thanos" before Thor spoke again.

"You have my eternal gratitude for your services and aid, Doctor Banner, but this is no longer beyond my understanding. I can, as the Midgardians say, 'take it from here'."

Bruce nodded both in awkward sympathy and to return the pleasantries. He quickly reminded Thor to use the cooling cloths, making the god swear that he would, before studying his patient for another moment.

Then he walked out of the room silently, the small sounds of a broken god spilling out behind him.

The next morning, Bruce found the two estranged siblings fast asleep (he smiled when he saw the cloth resting triumphantly on Loki's forehead), strangely peaceful and unusually still. Bruce had always pegged Thor as the snoring type, but the guy wasn't making a sound, just as quiet his brother beside him.

Bruce cautiously checked Loki's temperature again (he didn't want the trickster to wake up suddenly and snap his wrist or something), finding it (thankfully) lower. He would be alright.

Bruce sighed wearily, making his way to the only intact kitchen left in the tower, where Tony had already begun a stare-down with the coffee-maker, daring it to deny him. Bruce merely grunted in greeting, still exhausted from the night before.

Tony glanced over his shoulder, looking just as exhausted, though Bruce knew it was more because of nightmares, rather than playing doctor at two thirty-three in the morning. But Tony asked anyway, in silent understanding, "Rough night?"

Bruce grinned a little, padding over to his fellow nerd and pouring two mugs of the precious liquid. He passed one to Tony, who took it gratefully, barely stopping himself from chugging it down in one go. Meanwhile, Bruce took a long sip, leaning against the counter beside Tony, watching the sky redden silently with the rising dawn.

"Something like that."

A/N: Huh. I thought this was gonna be, like, super short, but then I saved it nearly halfway through, and it was already like 500 words. Which is cool, because I thought that's how long the whole story was going to be.

Anyway, I hoped you guys enjoyed this. I tried to make Bruce and Jarvis as in character as possible, but who knows? I tried Tony too, who ends up having, like, one line. But still, I could've screwed that up, too. XD

Please, leave a review: it tells me your thoughts, and I like thoughts, so. . . Also, please try to let me know particularly how I did on the Thor's speech pattern, since it's basically Old English, which we no longer speak. I feel like it would be viewed as typing Spanish or French or something when you're only fluent in English. Which in my case is true (save for an uncommon amount of Latin. . .)

Here's the Fact of the Day, and then that's the end for this story, unless you guys want to give me some ideas for another chapter or two.

Fact of the Day(#7): The Hemlock Dropwort is a poisonous plant which leaves victims smiling as they die from it, much like Joker's laughing gas.

Don't fret, my dear children, I'm already beginning to post more stories soon, but I have no definite time, unfortunately. So if you want to check out some more of this greatness (XD), it'll be here soon. I can only hope.

Thanks again for reading!

Goodbye and Farewell for now,

JamesHowlette1943