pirateangelbaby | Getting Back on the Horse [for liverfree]

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prometheus

Getting Back on the Horse [for liverfree]

The Plaza may currently be knee-deep in snow, but not everywhere in the Nexus is so inundated.

This particular region is quite some distance from the familiar grounds that Thor knows. It's still winter, a faint chilly bite to the air, but the weak sunshine is warm on the withered grass of the field, and there are a few muddy patches in spots where icemelt has puddled and soaked in. Compared to a polar winter, it's positively balmy, the air temperature above freezing enough to be tolerable, if not comfortable.

Thor has had little reason to wear his armor since the day of the final battle. It's strange to wear it again, stranger still that he's already become so used to the soft fabrics of Midgardian fashion that donning familiar leathers seem almost foreign. He's foregone the cape and scaled sleeves, leaving his arms bare and his movement unhindered by flapping cloth. The black metal of his left arm shines under the sunshine, and it feels a little odd to have it so exposed, but it's all right. He can't be self-conscious of it in front of Prometheus, after all.

He leaves Stormbreaker standing on its head as he ties back his hair, weaving a quick braid to hold the length of it together at the nape of his neck. "Same rules as last time?" he asks Prometheus, raising his eyebrows. Trying to behave as though the last two years have not left their mark on him, despite the glaring evidence otherwise.

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Prometheus grumbles good-naturedly when he can't seem to shake Thor off. The god has a tenacious grip with that one hand. "Don't encourage me!" he laughs, taking the boast as it was intended.

He lifts his foot up, intending to slam it down again, but is careful not to reach for Thor, as it would only give his friend the opportunity to leap onto his hand. Still, time spent lifting is time that Thor might be able to adjust his hold and grab on more tightly, causing Prometheus to abandon his foot-stomping strategy.

Thor just laughs in response, despite his precarious position. A harmless brawl with a friend is invigorating, knowing that it isn't real combat, and he's actually enjoying himself in a way that he's missed over the last few years.

Stomping again, eh? Prometheus is smart, but Thor is tenacious. He pushes back, braces his boots against the back of the titan's leg, and wedges his living arm underneath the strap where it meets the edge of the armor. It's a tight squeeze, and not sustainable, but it gives him a greater chance of clinging on like an annoying insect. This time, when Prometheus tries to shake him free, he's not budging.

Armor that leaves flesh exposed seems to Thor like a risky prospect until it comes to matters of trying to scale a large version, where handholds are few. The flaps of Prometheus' pteruges are the next obvious target. Predictable, but with few other options. If Prometheus does not swat at him again, that is what Thor will be aiming for next.

The Titan's foot comes down with another hard slam, the shockwave sending a blast outward and leaving a large sandal footprint in the ground. But Thor's tenacious cling holds fast and Prometheus knows that he'll have to come up with something else, and fast.

A full suit of armor would be impractical for Prometheus, although he'd probably make a joke about being hairy enough to compensate if asked. He knows without looking that Thor is planning on his next handhold, so the moment he feels the god's grip loosen on his armor strap, he reaches down to grab him, taking the risk that Thor will grab onto his hand instead.

It takes Thor a little longer than he'd anticipated to extract his arm, and by the time he sees the titan's hand heading his way, there's little time to think about his next move. It's either move, or be swatted off like an annoying insect. He shoves off, reaching out to grapple with Prometheus's thumb, intent on striking at the sensitive web between thumb and forefinger.

But then those giant fingers curl closed around him, pinning him in place, unable to move or fight-

Enclosed by metal, trapped, he watches as another Titan lifts his brother by the throat...

Driven by instinct, faster than conscious thought, electricity sparks across Thor's body, bright blue leaders that snap at exposed flesh and burrow in like a striking snake. For just a moment, the rules are forgotten entirely, their game a distant thought beneath the sudden overwhelming need to escape.

Prometheus thinks nothing of catching Thor in his fist, holding him just tight enough to keep him from escaping his grip. Definitely not tight enough to hurt him, which is why the sudden burst of electricity catches him by surprise.

Despite being the Titan of Forethought, he did not see that coming.

And wow, does it hurt! It's not the smiting strike of one of Zeus's forged lightning bolts, but it's powerful, divine energy that burns where it strikes him. He yelps and opens his hand instinctively, letting Thor fall out, while the rest of him staggers backward, the electric current traveling downward to the ground below his feet, where it finally dissipates.

"I thought we agreed no powers!" Prometheus sounds more confused than anything, cradling his hand to his chest. "What happened?"

Thor does not land on his feet, instead crashing to the earth on his side, his arm feeling oddly heavy and useless as he struggles to right himself. His hands meet not burning metal as he expects, but cool damp grass and dirt, and instead of purple flame he sees blue sky and green plants. No bodies.

His breathing is harsh from the sudden fright, but the lightning fizzles out as he looks around him, trying to get his bearings. Not the Statesman. Not the Guardians' ship, even. His gaze rises to Prometheus, towering above him, and memory and rationality creep back in when he sees those burns, accompanied by a guilty pang. I did that.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, not quite ready to get to his feet, though the disorientation is slowly fading. "Are... you all right?"

Prometheus pulls his hand back from his chest and looks down at his palm. The burn marks are an angry red, but thankfully not bleeding or penetrating below the surface of his skin. They form the tell tale pattern of a lightning burn, an almost tree-like shape that spreads down to just past his wrist. He flexes his fingers, wincing at the sting, but otherwise uninjured.

"I'm fine... it'll heal up in a few minutes, at most." He looks at Thor again, taking in the god's ragged, wide-eyed look. The Titan is no mental health expert, but he can tell that whatever happened just then, it wasn't on purpose, and the god is likely feeling aftereffects of his own.

"Time out, okay?" He shrinks back down to his typical size, not wanting to tower over his friend. "So what brought that on? Was it because I grabbed you?"

Hephaestus had promised him there would be no phantom pain, and it's not quite pain exactly that makes Thor subconsciously rub at his arm where flesh meets metal. Remembered pain, the odd feeling that there shouldn't be anything there, rather. An echo of a memory that fades as reality reasserts itself through touch, grounding him in the here and now.

When did Prometheus get small again? Thor hadn't noticed, but nor does he protest the halt to their match as he tries to collect himself. "Is that what happened?" Yes, that sounds right, though things get rather fuzzy after his leap. Letting go of his arm, Thor scrubs his hand across his face, as if trying to sober up, and he spares a moment's regret that he's already sober.

"I, uh... I think so." How odd to feel the words coming out of him, knowing that not all that long ago, they wouldn't have. In the company of a friend, and without alcohol to blur his memories in a haze, somehow it's easier. Something he can face, at least for a little while. Even though a part of him would still much rather seek out a drink right now. "I couldn't move. When he made me watch."

"That's what happened," Prometheus confirms, helping to fill the gaps in Thor's fuzzy memory. "And then I dropped you... sorry about that, by the way. Pure reflex."

It's a subtle way to let Thor know that there's no blame over what happened. Thor's reaction was as instinctive and uncontrollable as the Titan's. The only question is, why? Not that he'll push the god for an explanation. When one is given, Prometheus winces sympathetically.

"Makes sense you'd react like that." He sighs and runs his uninjured hand through his hair. "I wish I'd known, man. We could have sparred differently. Do you want to talk about it at all?"

"Sorry. I... forgot." Even as Thor says it, it feels absurd to admit. How could he have forgotten? Yet this has caught him as off-guard as Prometheus was, and he hurt his friend as a result.

He makes himself take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. No panic is forthcoming, no loss of control, despite his upset. The damp grass underneath him is a grounding touchstone, and he digs both hands into the earth, glancing briefly skyward at the gray clouds that shadow the sun. Darker, but no storm brewing, either.

Thor doesn't answer right away, mulling over his answer as he reorients himself. "Was it like that, with the eagle?" he asks at last.

Prometheus shakes his head a little. "It's not a matter of forgetting," he says gently. "You don't need to apologize."

He never asked Thor (or Loki, for that matter) about the gruesome details on board the Statesmen. Why would he provoke the trauma of his friend? So that he might one day not accidentally get zapped? The Titan's hand is already beginning to heal, burn marks fading to more of a light sunburn. Rolling his shoulders, he sits down next to Thor and takes off his helmet, setting it beside him on the grass.

The question doesn't surprise him. He looks out over the field a moment, to the more urban areas of the Nexus in the distance. "It was agony," he replies. "Not just having my liver eaten, but knowing that it would keep happening. And the loneliness, too. I'm surprised it didn't drive me insane. Aside from Io, I didn't have any visitors. No one wants to be seen with one of Zeus's enemies." He sighs and turns his gaze to Thor. "But... I knew that Zeus would do something like that to me. I stole fire for the humans with my eyes open. I think it'd be quite different if I hadn't expected it."

Not exactly the same, but... similar. Enough that Thor can relate, still absently rubbing at the join of his arm as he watches the burns on Prometheus' hand brighten to pink. "Yes. There was no warning... we fought to defend the others' escape, for as long as we could. Until I was... disarmed, and could no longer stand."

It's progress that he can even talk about it, and there's something sickly comforting about being able to share this secret that he's kept to himself since that awful day, knowing that his friend will not judge him harshly.

"I was restrained, and when he killed Heimdall, his sorcerer also silenced me. Loki... he traded the space stone for my life. And then Thanos killed him too. They left me for dead. No one else was found in the wreckage alive. Just me." He makes eye contact now, and reaches out to grasp his friend's shoulder, giving him a solid squeeze. "Until I returned, I didn't know if anyone else had survived." No matter how many times he thanks Prometheus for the part he played that day, it will never seem enough to truly express his gratitude.

Prometheus suspects that this is something that Thor has shared with very few people, if at all. That sort of trapped, helpless despair is not a feeling any god would willingly admit. The Titan only had a taste of it, but he knew some day that he would be set free from his chains. In that time Thor spent in the wreckage, he did not even have that hope to hold onto.

He listens in supportive silence, a little surprised when Thor squeezes his shoulder. "It was Loki who herded them out of the portal," he says. "He must have been anticipating it... I just happened to be around shortly after it happened." Not the same Loki as his brother, but one who had made the same sacrifice.

"You know," he adds with a sigh, stretching out his legs. "Even after all this time, I still get queasy in the presence of an eagle. Some things will stay with you for a long time, Thor. But it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"You helped. It matters to me, more than I can say." Thor gives one more squeeze and drops his hand from Prometheus' shoulder, and looks at his own palms as his friend speaks of his own lingering fears, slowly flexing them into fists and back again.

It's little surprise that Prometheus would be reminded of his own pain at the sight of an eagle, and there's sympathy on Thor's face, along with an understanding. He lets out a mostly humorless chuckle, under his breath. "I hate seatbelts. I'd rather travel a handful of miles by Bifrost than get in a car." Strange to have such little, innocent things that bring back such terrible memories. Like seatbelts, and eagles, and fighting a giant.

He takes in a breath and lets it out with deliberation, then turns to face his friend more directly. "So... I think we need a change in how we're sparring." Much as he dreads risking a repeat of the incident, the experience had been enjoyable up until then, and now that he's had a taste of his old self again, Thor is reluctant to run from it. That sort of stubbornness is part of his old self, too, no longer crutched under the haze of drink.

"I'm glad I was there to help," Prometheus says sincerely. "And it gave me a chance to get to know your people. It's been a while since I've felt connected to an actual community." Being immortal has its drawbacks, particularly in forming long-lasting relationships without being outed as inhuman.

Prometheus gives a knowing nod at the mention of seatbelts. "It's frustrating, isn't it? It doesn't feel like it should be a big deal, especially to people like us. I know it's something I don't like to share..." He smiles wryly and adds, "Not like I have a choice, though. Everyone knows about the eagle."

When Thor turns to look at him, the Titan meets his gaze, a little surprised by his friend's determination. "Yeah? Well, I have a couple of suggestions. I could stay this size or I could keep my hands open while we spar. But if you have any ideas, I'm all ears." Prometheus was enjoying himself, too, lightning strike non-withstanding, and he's not about to discourage Thor's desire to bounce back and try again.

Even though the eagle was so long ago, Thor still grimaces at the thought of having his most traumatic memories being public knowledge. "Well, when you put it that way, having embarrassing stories still going around doesn't seem so bad."

He'd half-expected to hear Prometheus insist that Thor isn't ready and refuse to fight, so his friend's response comes as a relief, along with a twinge of regret for doubting him. Reining himself in has not traditionally been Thor's forte, but covering his discomfort with a little humor is something he's learning to be better at. "We probably should've started small," he agrees, trying an uncertain smile. Small, indeed. "Easing back into it, and all that. What's that Earth saying, something about getting back on a horse?" That doesn't sound like the right metaphor, but close enough, right?

Thor shifts, getting his feet under him and rising, steadier than he thought he'd be. He offers a hand to Prometheus, quashing the nervousness in the pit of his belly at the thought of trying again. "I think I can take you like this."

Prometheus laughs. "No, embarrassing stories are the worst! At least for me. The Titan of Forethought can't be caught with his pants down!" He shakes his head. "I'd rather be thought of as a thief. You know there are some humans that think of me as a trickster, or the ultimate source of their misery for giving them fire. It's not always flattering."

Thor was doing fine with their sparring before he was triggered, Prometheus has no reason to believe that they can't get back to it with a few modifications. "No, you got it right," he replies with a smile, taking Thor's offered hand and getting to his feet. "And we'll see about that, won't we? I've fought plenty at this size, too."

"A trickster? You?" Now that, Thor has a hard time believing, and the skepticism shows on his face. "Just for giving them fire? That seems... extreme." Maybe Thor's standards are extremely high given his family, but if giving humanity a vital tool for survival is tricking them, then surely anyone could qualify as a trickster.

It used to be reflexive to use bravado to cover up his insecurities, and for a while, Thor has found it difficult to muster even that. Not so today. He makes himself smile back, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge, hiding his lingering anxiety behind a mask of confidence. Prometheus can likely tell it's not completely genuine, but he's making an effort to reach for his old self. "Recently? Or are you out of practice?"

"Well, I tricked the gods, it's not unreasonable to assume I'd trick humanity, too," Prometheus replies diplomatically. "And technology has always been a double-edged sword, even something as simple as building a fire. It's why I gave humanity the gift of forethought, too, to help them make the right decisions."

Which has gone... well, pretty good, in Prometheus's opinion. Climate change? Just some growing pains, the humans will sort it all out shortly...

"There are even some scholars who draw comparisons between me and your brother! The clear difference being that I can rock a beard." He grins, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. "And excuse you, I was patrolling the Nexus during that terrible winter, I had to lay a smackdown more than a couple of times." He nods his head back to the center of the training circle. "So... back to the beginning, then?"

Edited 2021-07-02 19:28 (UTC)

Oh, well that makes more sense. Thor chuckles a little at the mental image of Loki trying to grow a beard - sure, it might make him look more manly, but having seen his brother's bare chin for so long it would seem strange indeed for him to sport one now. "And an excellent beard it is, my friend. You wear it well."

Right, the Winter. Part of Thor wishes he'd been here to see it, while the more rational part of him knows that he would have been out of his mind with worry over his stranded people. But either way, it's encouraging to know that his opponent isn't going to be rusty on this, and it shows on his face. "Back to the beginning," he agrees, and his eye flicks momentarily to the weapons they left at the side of the ring. "Unarmed, I think." Until he can trust himself not to forget himself again, that is.

Walking helps, even just this short distance, and he stretches his arms a little to loosen up, trying to shake that last bit of tremor from his limbs. The center of the ring is scuffed from their earlier struggle, but still more than serviceable. Thor lets himself slide into a ready stance, one more suited for tackling an opponent more his own size.

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Getting Back on the Horse [for liverfree]

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