Loki never remembered how it happened, how any of it went about...he died, and he remembered only the chill, the chill he'd feared all his long, long life...
Which was, possibly, why he was so surprised to wake in warm sunshine. Green eyes had snapped open, only for the god to weakly draw an arm over them, groaning at the sudden pain shooting through his skull. Duly noted, do not wake up and look directly at the nearest light source after death; the impending migraine is not worth it. Gradually, he let his eyes grow accustomed to the brilliant, golden light, blinking rapidly as he drew his hand away and slowly, painfully sat up. He was in his leathers, his armor lost to whatever power was higher than Asgard...or lower, he had to consider that possibility too. This could be Midgard's metaphorical heaven...or, a pleasant mask over hell.
To be honest, he wasn't sure which one actually applied. He was resting on grass growing sere and brown, the trees surrounding him going vibrant with all the colors of autumn. A cool wind, an almost pleasant counterpoint to the heat of the sun, rustled through the grove, and he breathed it in, the scent a mix of the eventual death of fall, and green, growing life...It was lovely and heartbreaking, all in one breath, and for a long moment, Loki put aside his anger and his betrayal, and mourned his brother. Thor had loved this time of the year, and spring, too, showing a philosophical streak that for so long, only Loki had ever seen. And Loki had loved him all the more for it, for it was something they alone had shared, something so precious and true...He wondered sadly where it had all gone wrong. He wondered if perhaps Thor had meant those words on that lonely hilltop, those few years ago, that he had mourned, he had grieved...that he had missed his brother just as much as Loki missed him now.
He shook off the melancholy with difficulty, and struggled slowly to his feet, shivering just a little. The ground must have soaked up his body heat; he was not so nearly as comforted by the wind now, and the sun was weak, even if it did pour down like balm. And with his armor went his tools, his scrolls and potions secreted. He had no food, no water, and no shelter...and his head raised again, eyes narrowing. There, off to the...he took a moment to orient himself, and swallowed. Off to the northwest, a storm was brewing; the dark clouds were little more than a line on the horizon, but it was a growing line, and one that he dared not tarry before. Whatever else this place was, it was enough like a natural world to have its own weather systems, and he really did not find any interest in slogging through icy rain. God he may be, but he could contract pneumonia just the same as any mortal.
He turned then to the east; in spite of the sun's obvious trek towards the storm, the grove he was in looked to open into a valley, and if he skirted the rim, he might find shelter in a cave for the night. There, he might try to conjure a little fire, perhaps hunt a rabbit out of its burrow. His stomach rumbled in painful agreement, and he sighed. The food from the prison he'd been kept in felt so very long ago now, though he knew realistically it had been, perhaps, a few days...and he was dead anyway, wasn't he? What need had he of food? But at the same time, if he could find it, he certainly wouldn't turn his nose up. Worse illusions had existed, and if he were to be honest with himself, the taste of rabbit would, at least, make the place a little more like home. Home...He sighed, then squared his shoulders and set off, annoyed a little bit by his hair.
It might have been fashionably long, but he well remembered the many hunts, and the hassle of tying it up or back. Should he find a blade, the locks were going off. He shook one such lock out of his eyes and padded through the trees, thankful, at least, that Thor had insisted on walking boots, his eyes taking in the old growth. This place had never known destruction; he could feel it in his bones, in the very air. The grove was ancient and sprawling, the only areas where new saplings flourished being the grave sites of the enormous giants he wandered past. There were a few haphazard game trails, but otherwise, he was walking through a carpet of bright leaves, his passing softened by the thick loam underneath his feet. It was an exceedingly beautiful forest, and he wondered how long he'd been lying there; the birds didn't even note his passing, singing their sweet heads off in the canopy, while squirrels raced one another around and around the trees. He spied a herd of deer that sprinted away only when he paused, and heard the rumbling growl of a far off bear, likely searching out nuts and grubs before winter's fall.
Of course, they may have never seen a being such as himself before, too. He had encountered virgin forests such as this before, though they were smaller and far younger, and often hidden away in folds between the mountains. This one, though...as he slipped out from under a low-hanging pine, he was startled to see that it opened onto scrubland and vast plains, a true rarity. The valley he'd spied before was farther off to the south than he favored, and he paused for a moment to gather his bearings. The storm was hidden by the trees behind him, but judging by the growing moisture in the air, he estimated that he had roughly till sundown to find shelter; perhaps five, six more hours at best. So he heaved a sigh and headed to the plains, passing through the thorny scrubs carefully. As he went, he kept an eye out, hoping, perhaps, to find...ah ha! With a shade of his usual humor, he untangled a long, nearly straight limb from one such bush, nursing a cut thumb for his troubles as he tested the stoutness of the stave. It was firm and dry, with enough flex to be useful.
His new found weapon in hand, Loki continued on, making relatively good time through the scrubland when he took a moment to glance back, swallowing with a little bit of difficulty. His thirst was starting to rival his hunger, and he rejudged the storm's movements, calculating his odds at finding a shelter, finding food...he would have time to find a little food, and hopefully water, but his heart sank. He would be sleeping under a deluge tonight. The storm was rising far swifter than he'd realized and with the winds beginning to howl through the forest, he felt a shiver go up his spine. He'd never much liked storms, whether they were of his brother or of nature; all that chaos, all that power, unleashed within hours or moments, as uncontrollable as Loki himself. And to his mind, far more dangerous.
"Damn..." He whispered, emerald eyes growing fearful. His voice might have startled his own ears, but Loki glanced back at the plain, then at the forest...if he were wise, he would return to the forest's hold. That pine tree was more than large enough to block out the worst of the rain, and he could build a bed of pine boughs. Not the most comfortable, nor the warmest, but it was a far better prospect than a hollow full of icy water. He gave in and headed back the way he came, eyes darting between the storm and the forest. It was coming up a lot faster than he'd planned; it might have been heralded, because most of the sky was a roiling shade of deep gray, flashes of lightning darting between clouds as the dark sheet of rain hastened over the forest's top. He all but threw himself under the pine tree and set to work, his focus narrowed down to place bough here, prop it there. As the rain finally made its way to his tree, Loki sat back on bated breath, eyes on the simple weave of branches over his head.
One droplet, then three, then twenty...and with a roar, the wave of water hit, and he flinched...it held. It dripped, but by the gods, it certainly held. He could almost laugh at that, but he dared not. With a soft sigh of relief, he gathered up his nest of soft needles and leaves, cradled in more boughs, and just when he didn't think he could get comfortable...he slept.
- beep - . . . - beep - . . . - beep -
His eyelids fluttered, cracking open so minutely it wasn't noticed, and a tiny part of Loki's mind, the part, the only part, that wasn't affected by whatever was being pumping through his veins from the innumerable bags hanging over his head, startled awake at the white coats surrounding him, face masks protecting them from whatever they might find...and those eyelids fluttered down, just a hair, to see what was drawing them like moths to a flame.
- beep - . . - beep - . . - beep - . . - beep -
Horror, stomach roiling horror made him claw at the walls of his own mind, for his chest was opened up for their inspection, the gleaming white of his ribcage standing stark against the red meat that made up his muscles, his skin...they were probing him, examining the differences between his body and a normal human's...he saw the diagrams hovering above him, the notes they'd made that he just couldn't make out, and he wanted to scream, /was/ screaming, though his body refused to even twitch. But his heart...they couldn't quite keep that from speeding up.
- beep - . - beep - . - beep - . - beep - . - beep -
"Sir, he may be waking up..." Horror followed those words, and a sharp voice called out names of potions he'd never heard of, the white coats with their shiny masks swarming around him as all the while, his heart picked up pace, beating dangerously within the opened cage of his chest.
- beep - beep - beep - beep - beep - beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep -
"Knock his ass out." That voice very nearly made him faint; the Director, the dark shadow of SHIELD...and as consciousness was swept away, Loki's last thought wasn't of revenge or rage...or even his brother. His final slide into the darkness followed his scream for his mother.
He came awake with a gasp and a choked off scream, clawing at the heavy boughs above him and sputtering when a cascade of water poured down, waking him up completely and soaking his upper half to the bone. He panted, clinging to the rich, thick pine needles, hot tears blending with the cold rainwater left behind. Where in the nine realms had /that/ horrific nightmare come from?! It took far longer than he might have anticipated to calm down, minutes, hours, days...when he finally was able to shake himself loose of the terror and the sheer horror, he eased out of his pine needle nest and stood, slipping out from under the tree with stave up and ready, his eyes dark-rimmed and skin pale. It was just now dawn; the gray light was fading into roseate as he watched, a truly beautiful sunrise hovering just below the horizon.
The rain had stripped away most of the leaves and flattened the grasslands; thankfully, the mud was looked relatively easy to navigate, and Loki could see patches of thick grasses that would keep him out of it completely. But a long day of walking and the terror from the night before had redoubled his hunger; he drank what water he could collect off of the pine tree and bit back a groan, sighing. Food, and a lot of it, was dearly needed; perhaps he could hunt on the plain. He made his way back down through the shrubbery and set out over the grasses, his back straight and eyes on the rising sun. He was Loki, of Asgard, of Jotunheim...and he was more than just a prince. He was a god.
This came to me when I was supposed to be writing NaNo stuff. Yup. Yup yup yup. I'm screwed.