Chapter Text
The air in the room was damp and heavy with tension, the only light, a faint blue glow from the chains that bound both captives. Bruce Banner blinked groggily, a dull ache in his head making it hard to focus. He couldn’t remember much of what had happened before this moment, only flashes of chaos; the Avengers, Loki, a fight. And now... This.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and that’s when he saw Loki. The god of mischief sat half-propped up against the wall, suspended by the strange blue chains that bound him. His usually pristine appearance was gone, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. One eye was swollen shut, and blood oozed from a deep gash on his lip. Worse still, Bruce could see Loki’s legs—both shattered, bones jutting through flesh in a grotesque display of violence.
Bruce's stomach twisted. His doctor instincts kicked in immediately, pushing aside the fact that this was Loki—the Loki,who had tried to destroy New York. Bruce was bound as well, his wrists shackled to the floor, but that didn't stop the gnawing need to help.
Loki’s breaths were shallow and ragged, each exhale sounding more strained than the last. His head lolled to the side, and for a second Bruce thought he might have passed out. He opened his mouth to call out to him, but hesitated; This was dangerous. If he got too stressed, if the Other Guy showed up... Loki wouldn't survive. Not in his current state.
"Loki," Bruce whispered, trying to keep his voice calm despite his growing panic. "Loki, can you hear me?"
Loki's head jerked slightly, and a groan escaped his lips. His good eye fluttered open, and for a moment, there was a flash of something familiar—anger, defiance—but it quickly faded under the weight of pain.
"Your magic," Bruce continued, keeping his voice low. "Use your magic to get out of the chains."
For a long moment, Loki said nothing. His chest rose and fell with laboured breaths. Finally, his cracked lips parted, and the words that came out were so faint, so broken, that Bruce had to strain to hear.
"C-ca... Can’t… Ch-chains…"
Bruce felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at the glowing restraints more closely. If they were stopping Loki from using his magic, they were no ordinary chains, they were something otherworldly, something beyond even his understanding.
He clenched his fists against the metal shackles on his own wrists, feeling helpless. He was the only one here with any kind of medical knowledge, and even if Loki wasn’t exactly his favourite person, no one deserved to be in that much pain. His gaze travelled back to Loki’s legs. The fractures were bad. If he didn’t get help soon, infection would set in, and there was no telling what kind of internal damage had already been done. Loki might be a god, but even gods had limits.
"Hang in there." Bruce muttered, more to himself than Loki. He had to keep his mind calm, keep him at bay. One wrong move, one wrong thought, and everything would spiral out of control.
Loki's breathing hitched again, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping his lips. It startled Bruce; it was so unlike the Loki he knew. He swallowed hard.
"I’m gonna figure something out," Bruce said softly. He tugged at his own chains, testing the strength. They didn't budge. "Just... Stay with me, alright? You have to stay conscious. If you pass out—" He cut himself off, not wanting to finish the thought. If Loki lost consciousness, there would be no way to know how much worse things might get.
Loki's eye focused on him for a moment, and there was something there—something raw and vulnerable that Bruce had never seen before. It wasn’t the proud, arrogant god he’d fought, this was someone else. Someone who was scared, broken.
"I need to help you," Bruce muttered, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. His hands trembled slightly, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The last thing he needed was to lose control now.
"Why… Care?" Loki rasped, his voice barely audible, but the question cut through Bruce like a knife.
For a second, he didn’t know how to answer. Why did he care? Loki was the enemy. He had hurt people. Killed people. But seeing him like this now, so fragile, so defeated—Bruce couldn't ignore the humanity, or whatever godly equivalent Loki had, beneath all that malice.
"Because it’s what I do," Bruce finally replied, his voice thick with emotion. "It’s who I am."
Loki let out a faint, broken laugh, one that quickly devolved into a cough, sending a fresh spasm of pain through his battered body. Bruce winced, feeling a pang of guilt.
"If we get out of here," Bruce murmured, pulling at his chains again, "I can help you, I can fix your legs. But I need you to stay awake. You have to fight, Loki."
Loki’s eye slid shut again, his head sagging forward slightly. For a moment, Bruce thought he’d passed out, but then barely above a whisper, he heard:
"Fighting… That’s all I’ve ever done…"
Bruce could hear the exhaustion, the defeat in his words. Loki, the trickster, the god who had once stood tall against the might of the Avengers, was hanging on by a thread.
But there was still fight in him. There had to be.
"We’ll get through this." Bruce promised, more to himself than to Loki really. Bruce's pulse quickened as he scanned the room, the cold steel walls reflecting the faint blue glow of Loki’s chains. His own shackles were dull, ordinary metal—nothing special, nothing glowing. They don't know who I am, Bruce thought. They must not know about the Hulk.
But then why was Loki so badly beaten? His legs were in ruins, his ribs too surely shattered judging by the bruises. Whoever had done this had focused all their brutality on the god, likely seeing him as the greater threat. Bruce, for now, seemed to have slipped under their radar unnoticed.
Bruce turned his attention to the room itself, desperate to find a way out. His fingers twitched, instinctively testing the chains binding his wrists again, but they held fast. Think, Banner. Think. He glanced at the corners of the room, looking for something, anything—an air vent, a weak spot in the walls, a door hidden in the shadows. But there were only the bare essentials: cold stone and dark metal. A sterile prison designed to hold them, possibly indefinitely.
Focus. Calm. He felt the warning signs, the tension building in his chest, the slow surge of adrenaline. He's too close. Bruce clenched his teeth. The Other Guy was always there, always waiting. If he let his guard down, even for a second… Loki wouldn’t survive.
Closing his eyes, Bruce forced himself to breathe slowly. He had to calm down before things got out of hand. Five things, he repeated to himself, a grounding technique he'd learned to ‘control’ the Other Guy. It was simple, but it usually worked. His voice barely a whisper, he began:
"Five things I can see."
He opened his eyes and scanned the room. The chains glowing on Loki’s wrists. The cracks in the stone walls. The faint shimmer of moisture in the air. The dull glint of his own shackles. Loki’s battered body, laying limp.
"Five things I can smell."
He inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose at the musty stench. The metallic tang of blood—Loki’s blood. The dampness of the room. The faint, lingering odour of sweat. And... Something else. Something unfamiliar, cold, almost chemical.
"Five things I can touch."
His wrists strained against the metal cuffs as he continued. The chains on my wrists. The cold stone floor. The rough texture of the walls. Loki’s chains, if I could reach them. The sharp edges of the shackles cutting into my skin.
It worked. Slowly, methodically, his breathing returned to normal, the tension in his muscles easing. He could still feel the Hulk lurking beneath the surface, but for now, he had him in check. But Loki… His breathing was growing worse. A rattling, horrible sound echoed across the room, broken and uneven. Bruce's eyes narrowed in concern. Broken ribs, a possibly punctured lung, he thought. If he didn’t act soon, Loki wouldn’t last.
“Loki,” Bruce called out softly, hoping to draw the god’s attention back to him. “You still with me?”
A groan came in response, barely more than a whisper. Loki’s head sagged further, his breath wheezing, clearly struggling for air.
"Damn it," Bruce muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure how much time they had left, but it wasn’t long. He tugged at his chains again,futilely . Theytight, and he didn’t have the strength to break them—not without losing control and unleashing the Hulk.
He had to stay calm and keep thinking. There had to be something he could do, some way to get out of here and help Loki before it was too late. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. Even if this was Loki—someone who had caused more pain and suffering than Bruce cared to remember—he couldn’t let him die like this.
"Loki, stay with me," Bruce whispered again, trying to keep his voice steady. "I’m going to get us out of here."
Loki stirred again, his eye flickering open for a moment. There was no defiance left in him now, only exhaustion. For a fleeting moment, Bruce thought he saw something else in Loki’s gaze—something that looked an awful lot like fear. And that scared Bruce more than anything else had ever done.
His mind raced, frustration boiling up inside him. What use are all these PhDs if I can’t use my damn head properly? He’d spent years honing his intellect, mastering biology, physics, chemistry—and yet, here he was, helpless in a room with Loki, of all people, fighting against time and his own darker half.
As he absentmindedly ran his hands down his sides, his fingers brushed against something familiar. His belt. His heart skipped a beat as he remembered the small hidden compartment, and. what was hidden there—something so small, so simple, yet potentially lifesaving: A Leatherman multitool.
Bruce had slipped it into his belt just days ago, purely by accident. He’d been working with Tony on a new design for Black Widow's knives and Tony had left the room, as he always did, to grab something more "important" from his lab. While waiting, Bruce had idly noticed a loose wheel on his chair. He’d fixed it using the Leatherman, and then pocketed the tool without much thought. At the time, it had seemed trivial. But now— now it was everything.
He almost laughed out of relief, but stopped himself, freezing mid-motion. Are there cameras? Bruce’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of surveillance. If whoever had captured them was watching, they would be able to see him making a move. He squinted into the shadows, trying to find anything out of place, any small lens that might be tracking their every movement. Nothing. The room appeared bare, sterile, with no visible cameras. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there, hidden out of sight.
Bruce bit his lip, his mind racing. He couldn’t wait much longer. Loki’s breathing had become more erratic, each breath a painful, rattling gasp. If Bruce hesitated any longer, Loki might not survive.
I have to risk it.
He glanced over at Loki once more. The god’s eye was closed, his body lying limp against the wall. Bruce’s stomach churned at the sight, but he forced himself to focus. His fingers inched toward the hidden compartment in his belt, hesitating for only a second before he went for it.
He moved carefully, making sure not to jostle the chains or draw too much attention to himself. His heart pounded in his chest as his fingers slipped into the small pocket. Come on, come on... His fingertips brushed against the cool metal of the multitool, and he almost sighed with relief. Gently, he pulled it free, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.
His pulse raced, adrenaline surging through his veins, but he kept his breathing steady. He couldn’t afford to panic now, not when he was so close. He unfolded the knife carefully, testing the small blade against the chains binding his wrists. Will this even work? The thought crossed his mind, but he had no other options.
He looked over at Loki one last time, his chest tightening. Loki’s breaths were faint now, shallow. He was running out of time..
Bruce set to work, carefully trying to twist or pry the lock open. He couldn’t afford to make too much noise, couldn’t afford to alert anyone as to what he was doing. He worked methodically, trying to keep his thoughts from spiralling into panic.
Bruce's hands shook with relief when the lock gave way, his heart pounding with both fear and hope. Darting over to Loki, he wasted no time in trying to find the lock, but there was none. He tried to cut through the glowing blue chains that held him instead.
The Leatherman knife was small, not designed for such a task. Bruce’s attempts were clumsy, the blade slipping and missing the chains repeatedly. Each failed cut made his frustration grow, and in the process, he accidentally cut his own hand.
The sharp pain made his vision flash green.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. Focus, Banner. You need to stay calm. He repeated the mantra to himself, trying to control the surge of panic he felt at the pain. He couldn’t let the other guy take over—not now, not when Loki needed him.
Bruce examined the chains closely, trying to find a weak point, but the icy blue light made it difficult to really see anything. The chains seemed to be embedded in the wall, with no visible points of entry or exit. Each touch of the chains sent a jolt of pain through his fingers, they were freezing cold to the touch, he hissed at how it made his skin stick to the metal, but he forced himself to ignore it.
“Hang on, Loki,” Bruce muttered, his voice trembling with the effort of keeping his own fear in check. “I’m going to figure this out. Just stay with me.”
He tried again with the knife, adjusting his grip, but the chains were relentless. They resisted his every attempt, and Bruce's frustration mounted. He could feel the Hulk’s presence growing closer again, the pressure in his chest increasing. It was a constant battle, but he couldn’t let him win. Not now.
“Come on, Bruce,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re smarter than this. Think.”
He gently touched the chains again, the cold almost unbearable against his skin, but he gritted his teeth and kept at it. Every second counted, and he could see Loki’s condition worsening. The god’s breaths were ragged, each inhale a pained struggle.
As he continued to work, Bruce spoke to Loki in a soothing tone, his words a mix of encouragement and self-soothing.
“You’re doing great. Just keep breathing. We’re going to get through this.”
The words were more for his own benefit than Loki’s at this point. Bruce needed the reassurance, needed to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.
He tried every angle, every possible method to cut through the chains, but to no avail.
I can do this. I have to.
With renewed determination, he adjusted his position and tried one last, precise cut. If he could just get through even one link of the chains, it might be enough to weaken them. His hands shook with the effort, but he kept working.
Every moment felt like an eternity, but Bruce pressed on, driven by the urgency of the situation. He needed to succeed. For Loki’s sake, and for his own sanity.
Bruce’s heart sank as his efforts proved fruitless. The chains were not yielding at all, not even showing the slightest sign of damage. They’re magical, he realised with a sense of dread. Normal blades won’t work on them.
The desperation in Bruce’s chest grew, but he tried to keep his focus. Loki’s condition was deteriorating rapidly from what he could tell, as he got closer he could feel the god’s breath was cold, an alarming contrast to the warmth Bruce had expected. Why is it so cold? Bruce wondered, feeling the chill of Loki’s breath against his skin. It was a reminder of how dire the situation was.
Bruce could hear the faint murmurs coming from the battered god, Bruce leaned in closer, straining to catch Loki’s faint, broken words. Loki’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but Bruce made out the strained sounds. It seemed like Loki was trying to communicate something in a language Bruce couldn’t understand—possibly Norse or some ancient equivalent.
“I’m sorry Loki, I can’t get through them..” Bruce seems lost in his own thoughts for a second.
“Do you think the other guy could break these chains?” Bruce asked, his voice low and urgent. “Could you get away quickly if I did?”
Loki’s response was faint but clear enough. “S..posbl” It was a strained, broken “ It's possible.” It was the closest to an affirmative answer Bruce could get, and it was both encouraging and terrifying.
Bruce looked at Loki, seeing how his skin seemed to change, turning the parts Bruce could see to a faint blue. It was a distressing sight. The chains must be affecting him somehow, or maybe this was what happened when gods faced severe injury or imminent death. Either way, the situation was dire.
I need to make a decision, Bruce thought, feeling the weight of his choice. He could attempt to unleash the Hulk, hoping that the sheer force could break the magical chains. But that would also mean risking losing control and causing potentially catastrophic damage. And Loki’s deteriorating condition left him no time for second-guessing.
“Alright,” Bruce said quietly, his voice firm despite the fear creeping in. “I’m going to try. just hang in there, Loki.”
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. The Other Guy. It was a dangerous option, but it might be their only chance. Bruce tried to focus on the switch, drawing upon the anger and the fear he had been keeping at bay so far. The pressure in his chest mounted, the familiar green tint starting to take over his vision.
He had to be quick and decisive. If he was going to do this, he needed to act now. As his mind teetered on the edge of transformation, he felt the other's presence growing stronger. He tried to keep himself focused on the chains. He had to break them—if he could just unleash enough force to shatter the magical bindings, Loki might have a chance to escape using his own magic.
Bruce really hoped that was the case.
“Hold on,” Bruce muttered to Loki, his voice trembling. “Just hold on just a little longer.”
He gritted his teeth, readying himself for the transformation, knowing that once he let the Hulk out, there would be no turning back. The chains had to go if Loki would have any chance to survive.
As Bruce’s vision began to blur and go green at the edges, he could feel the Other Guy pushing against his control, eager to break free. His body tensed, the familiar sensation taking over. He spoke to Loki one last time, his voice now strained and urgent:
"Loki, remember to run—flee as fast as you can. The Other Guy, He is dangerous." With that final instruction, the change consumed him.
The Hulk emerged, his green skin radiating with raw power. The room, previously dim and cold, now seemed to pulse with the Hulk’s immense energy.
The Hulk’s eyes, burning with intensity, locked onto the chains. They had to go, and the Hulk was more than capable of handling that. With a powerful roar, he brought his massive, muscular arms down, focusing his immense strength on the magical chains.
The air crackled with energy as the Hulk’s immense force collided with the restraints. The chains glowed fiercely, but the Hulk’s relentless assault began to strain the magical bindings. The blue light flickered and dimmed under the Hulk’s assault, the bonds groaning and creaking.
The Hulk’s rage was intense, focused on the chains just like Banner had been, each swing, each wrenching motion sent vibrations through the room. The walls shook as the Hulk continued his assault, his raw strength finally beginning to break through the magical defences.
Loki, though barely conscious, seemed to stir at the sound of the Hulk’s fury. Bruce’s final words echoed in his mind, and Loki’s instinct to survive tried to kick in. As soon as the chains weakened enough, Loki’s remaining strength was focused on trying to free himself, dragging and pulling to try to get away from the now broken constraints, to get away from the green monster.
The Hulk roared, the sound echoing off the walls, and with one final, enormous pull, the chains finally snapped. The glowing blue bindings shattered, the blue light faded into the air as they fell away in pieces. The room was left in a chaotic mess, with the Hulk’s energy radiating through the space.
Panting heavily, the Hulk loomed over Loki, who was now slumped against the opposite wall. The room was a wreck, but Loki, now freed from the chains, did not move.
“Run!” Hulk roared at Loki, his voice echoing with an otherworldly power. “Go now!”
Loki did not stir, didn't even recoil. He was slumped over, his skin turning blue far more quickly now.
Bruce’s last coherent thoughts before the transformation were, to ensure Loki’s safety, break the chains and get Loki to leave. Now however, the Hulk’s primary goal was to get out.
“Puny man wants to protect,” Hulk rumbled, his voice filled with a strange mixture of determination and pride. “Hulk protect better.”
With a powerful grunt, the Hulk lifted Loki’s battered form into his massive arms. Despite Loki’s injuries and the god’s cold and almost lifeless appearance, the Hulk moved with surprising care. His priority was clear—get out, get help. The Hulk’s thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of urgency and protectiveness, and he smashed through obstacles with brutal efficiency. Walls crumbled, doors splintered, and debris flew as the Hulk made his way through the maze of rooms.
“Get out!” The Hulk’s roar echoed through the corridors, his voice reverberating with a mix of fury and desperation. Each step he took was driven by the need to escape, to find safety for the puny God.
Get out, get help, get out, get help. Get OUT!
The Hulk’s path was marked by destruction. He barreled through anything that stood in his way, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake. His thoughts were focused on only: escape and help. The walls and rooms seemed endless, but the Hulk’s relentless pursuit of freedom never wavered. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Hulk burst through the final barrier. They were outside, the night air filling their lungs. The Hulk shielded Loki with his massive, powerful arms as he jumped over the walls and barriers, using his immense strength to clear obstacles. His movements were swift and more careful now, as if trying to minimise the 'Puny God's' injury.
“Get help!” Hulk’s voice thundered, his eyes scanning ahead. The cold, faintly blue god in his arms was still, but the Hulk’s protective instincts were steadfast. He continued to run, his heart pounding with the urgency to find help and get them to safety.
The outside world was a blur of motion as the Hulk charged forward, The Hulk’s thoughts were a jumble of protectiveness and panic, but the focus remained clear: escape, find help, and ensure the puny God would survive. The maze of rooms and corridors was behind them, but the journey to safety was not over yet. The Hulk pushed on, driven by the need to save the fragile, broken being in his arms.
As the Hulk made his way back toward the city, his massive form flying through the luckily deserted streets, he felt a sense of urgency but also an unusual calmness. His mind was driven by the need to get help. His thoughts were fixed on the Avengers Tower.
Tin man will help, tin man will help..
Fortunately, the Avengers were on high alert; After Bruce and Loki had disappeared, the team had been searching frantically for the scientist. They were worried that Loki might have taken Bruce with him using magic, and their concerns were raised by the fact that they had lost all trace of them. When they got the pling stating the Hulk had been sighted they hurried, wishing to try to stop him before he reached the city.
As the Hulk approached, the team, consisting of Natasha and Tony - the two members the Hulk seemed to favour, immediately sprang into action. They were among the first to reach him, their faces a mix of relief and concern.
"Calm down, Big Guy.." Natasha tried to soothe. “What’s going on? "
The Hulk stopped and looked down at the two humans reaching their hands out at him, and felt his irritation flare at the sight.
The Hulk’s response was one of frustration. “Stupid small things, Hulk calm. Hulk get help.”
Natasha’s eyes widened as she saw the battered form in the Hulk's hands.
“What you got there, Big Guy? Is... Is that a person?”
Hulk carefully lowered his hand towards them, his expression one of frustration.
“Hulk not do anything. Only smash walls.”
"Um, yeah, we can see that, Jolly Green." Tony, ever the quick thinker, assessed the situation with a mix of concern and disbelief. “Woa… Is that Reindeer-games?” Tony moved forward to take Loki from Hulk’s arms.
“Careful,” Hulk rumbled, his voice deep and filled with an unusual tenderness. “Puny man wants to help. Tin Man not to hurt, only help.”
Tony’s eyes widened at the Hulk’s words, confusion crossing his face. The Hulk’s insistence that Banner wanted Loki saved, combined with the broken state of the god in his arms, was puzzling. But there was no time to dwell on it. Tony nodded and carefully took Loki from him, he turned around, signalling for further medical assistance, the medics on scene thankfully ready.
As soon as Tony had Loki secured, the Hulk’s transformation began to reverse. Bruce Banner’s form emerged from the green behemoth, and collapsed onto the street, naked, disoriented and utterly exhausted, falling unconscious as soon as his body hit the ground. The strain of the transformation, and the sheer force of the Hulk’s actions had taken their toll on him.
Natasha Romanoff, quick to act, wrapped Bruce in a blanket, her face full of concern until her usual mask was in place.
“He needs rest, take him to his room,” she instructed the personnel at the scene, her voice steady despite the chaos.
The two Avengers gathered around, trying to make sense of the situation. Loki’s condition was grave—his injuries severe, his skin a faintly blue colour, rapidly darkening. Questions buzzed in their heads. How had Loki ended up so broken? Why had the Hulk been so insistent that Banner wanted to save him?
The team’s questions would have to wait until Bruce regained consciousness and could provide answers. For now, their priority was to bring them both safely back.
Tony hoped the Medical team knew how to handle Loki, but as a precaution he decided to call up Point Break, just in case it all went to shit.