A/N: This is my first tasertricks fic! Please don't be shy about telling me what you think; I hope I haven't covered ground that's already been tread on too much.

It's the décor – the white walls, the white ceiling, the white door – that does him in. He can stare into space for hours, imagine the whole universe projected onto those white surfaces, but every time he blinks the illusion's gone. It's just empty space. As white and stark as the snow-laden plains of Jotunheim.

Sleep evades him, because when he closes his eyes he still sees white – or something far more sinister.

It would be enough if he were just punished by those feeble Midgardians, or even Odin, as arrogant as he is. But he is still cursed, plagued by Thanos, a merciless and cruel Titan, desperate to spread his ruinous intent throughout the universe. And Loki has failed him.

So if he dreams – and if he sleeps he always dreams – it's a dream of cold and torture and vicious threats that cause him to tremble and clench his fingers into his palms so forcefully he draws blood.

There are two spots on his white sheets that are stained red-brown with his dried blood. His handlers haven't noticed. Or if they have, they don't care.

Loki assumes time passes as slowly or quickly has it always has. Time means little for an Aesir, or for whatever he is. He can turn the lights on or off with only his voice, but in the dark the room is pitch black and too reminiscent of the time spent under Thanos' command. So he leaves the lights on, staring at the bright, blank walls that drive him nearly as insane as Thanos had.

He does not sleep; he does not eat, and slowly his skin turns sallow and clings to his bones. But he will not die… probably. At least not quickly, not by Midgardian standards. He can suffer here for years; he can outlive all his captors and laugh as they wither away before his eyes. It's a small comfort.

But there is one who will live alongside him. His dear brother.

Thor.

He sneers the name as disdainfully as he can when he sees his brother open the door, Mjolnir at his side.

"Brother," Thor says. "I have come to see how you are faring."

"And now you've seen," Loki replies. He scowls at his brother, at his brother's audacity at walking in here as if on a social call. "You can tell my keepers that I am faring as well as can be hoped while detained in their quaint Midgardian prison."

"They say you are not eating," Thor says with an air of concern. It makes Loki's blood boil. "Or sleeping. They are worried, as am I."

"Both are unnecessary," Loki snaps. "Even without sustenance I will outlive everyone in this miserable realm."

"Brother, you should not speak of it so," Thor replies. "It is a wonderful and charming place. I hope you will see that one day."

"Oh yes, this prison is the epitome of charm," Loki sneers. "Tell me, what did they give you in return for allowing them to keep me here? Is it that simpering mortal girl from before? Or perhaps one even more useless?"

"You should not speak of Jane that way," Thor tells him, his tone tight. "I have hopes to make her my wife."

Loki scoffs. "And you think Odin would allow it? You are even more deluded than I first thought."

"Brother – "

"Do not call me that," Loki hisses. "I am no more your brother than a wolf is to a sheep." Loki stands finally, rising from his bed. "Leave, Thor."

"But Brother – "

"I said leave!" Loki yells, and he can feel his veins throbbing, his eyes bulging, his heart pounding. This all too much, much too much. Thor must notice for his stunned silence almost gives way to sympathy, but he thinks better of it, turns on his heel and leaves.

Loki sinks back to his bed.

True, starving will not kill him. But neither will it sustain him.

Maybe hours pass. Maybe days and nights. No matter, Loki simply stares at the ceiling and recalls the highlights of his mayhem. The pleasure of causing utter chaos, the way he so grandly lived up to his title. He made Midgardians tremble in their boots, shiver in cold sweat and wet themselves out of fear. Loki relishes in it, the power he felt when all those lowly mortals had knelt before him, and the scepter Thanos had given him hummed with satisfaction. Everything was as it should be, and Loki was king.

The memories of his reign dissolves into dreams – Loki sitting on a golden throne, Loki smiling as humanity bows at his feet, Loki laughing as Thor is imprisoned and rendered helpless. Slowly, the dreams lose their shimmer and recede into darkness. A cold creeps in and sinks more deeply into his bones than the air of Jotunheim ever had.

"Fallen Prince of Asgard." Thanos' raspy voice echoes throughout the darkness, and Loki knows his time is up.

"Thanos," he replies, barely above a whisper.

"You have not kept your promise to me," Thanos says.

"It was out of my control," Loki hisses. "I did everything you asked of me; don't blame me because your plan has failed."

"You were warned what would happen if you failed me," Thanos continues. "The blame lies at your feet alone, and for that you must pay the price."

Pain ratchets through Loki's body; he falls to his knees, convulsing with excruciating spasms that burn through every one of his nerve endings. He cries out incomprehensibly, unable to even think through the agony. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain leaves, and Loki is barely holding himself up on all fours due to his trembling limbs.

"That is but a fraction of what you face," Thanos tells him, and the bloodlust in his voice is obvious. Loki suppresses a shudder. "You cannot hide from me, Frost Giant." The label, sneered as an insult, infuriates Loki beyond reason.

"Enough, Thanos," Loki says, rising to his feet. "Hunt for me if you will, but I will never give you the satisfaction of finding me. You may scour the nine realms, the cracks and crevices in between the branches of Yggdrasil, but I will elude you still."

Thanos' mirthless laugh rings throughout the void and fills Loki's ears with dread and despair. His bluff has been called; Thanos can see right through him.

"Very well, Mischief Maker, hide for the rest of eternity." Thanos' grin reveals all his teeth and contains only malicious glee. "But know that your reckoning may be sooner than that."

Loki awakes in bed, the white room the same as it ever was. Fresh blood dots his sheets. He is panting shallow and sharp breaths, unable to fill his lungs completely. His vision grows dark, not the dark accompanied by sleep, but one that comes with unwilling unconsciousness. He hears a beeping; it sounds distant and grows fainter as his vision continues to blur and his lungs refuse to operate.

Then there is nothing.

The nothingness gives way, and Loki sees again the same curséd white, along with the same curséd brother.

"You awaken!" Thor cries, a relieved smile on his face. "I am glad to see it."

Loki longs to make a scathing retort, but his mouth is bone dry and his lips cracked. He attempts to lift his arm, but it is so heavy; his muscles feel like jelly. Loki's eyes rove over his own body, attempting to make sense of his terribly weakened state. And he sees it on his left arm, a needle stuck into his skin at the elbow infusing him with some sort of solution, no doubt seeking to deteriorate his state even further.

He makes to remove it with his right hand, but can barely lift it a few inches. He groans, but it is lacking in conviction; his throat is scratchy and weak.

"Brother, would you like some water?" Thor is at his side immediately with a glass of water, holding it at his younger brother's lips.

Despite himself Loki drinks; he gulps the water until the glass is empty.

"More," he croaks, and Thor obliges.

After his third glass he's sated and finds his voice.

"What have they done to me?" he asks.

"You were ill," Thor answers. "You collapsed and they revived you."

"What is this?" Loki snarls, gesturing to the needle. "What have they done?"

"They said it's something called saline, it's meant to help you."

"Lies!" Loki cries. He reaches for the needle, fingers fumbling over the tape holding into his skin.

"Brother, don't," Thor says, but it is too late.

Loki rips the needle from his arm and lunges for his brother. Thor lets him come, but Loki can barely make his trembling fingers grasp the other's shoulders.

"You are letting them do this," Loki says, his face twisted into a fierce scowl. "You want them to hurt me, to kill me!"

"Loki, no, I swear it!" Thor rests his hands on Loki's shoulders. "We wish to help you."

"Oh yes, help me now," Loki replies. "But when he comes for me you will gladly give me up to save your insipid mortal pets."

"When who comes for you, brother?" Thor asks, looking into Loki's eyes with genuine concern.

Loki releases Thor from his grip, and pushes him away. He is breathing hard, and a wave of heavy drowsiness comes over him. But with it, a realization. Thor doesn't know. Thanos is coming, and if he finds Loki here on Midgard – on Earth – he will finish what Loki had started. It would almost be worth the torture Loki faces at the hands of the Titan to watch this world burn.

"Go," Loki sneers. "Go back to your little mortal girl." Loki sits on his bed. "I have nothing more to say."

Thor gives him one last glance and exits. Loki falls back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.

He sleeps dreamlessly.

Upon awaking there is a man in a suit standing in the corner of his room. Set before him on a table is a plate of food, a glass of water, and several utensils.

"Eat," the man says. Loki rises and approaches the man – another faceless member of this idiotic organization – and leers at him. The man fingers the gun in his holster.

Loki leans in, grinning at him. "No."

"Director's orders," the man says. "I can't leave until you do."

Loki's grin grows wider. He suddenly grabs the man by the throat, too quickly for the man to reach his gun, and smashes him face first into the table. The man is unconscious instantly, and the room fills with a thick white fog.

Loki coughs and collapses on the floor.

When he awakens, he finds his hands have been chained behind his back and he is seated in a chair. It's uncomfortable and humiliating, but, he supposes, to be expected. All the same, Loki grimaces at the new man in a suit standing across from him. Again there is food on a table, and Loki is commanded to eat.

Loki kicks the table at the man with such force that the man is thrown into the wall behind him, a small trickle of blood running down his forehead.

And the fog reappears.

It's to his great surprise that this time it is a woman. No, not a woman, a girl. She sits at the table across from him and does not wear a suit, but something far more casual. She has glasses, but they do nothing to hide the fear in her eyes.

Loki tests his bonds. His arms are behind him still, and his legs are chained to the floor. He looks at the girl.

"I will not eat," he tells her.

"Yeah, I heard," she replies.

He stares – or rather, glares – at her. She stares back. She's putting on a good show of bravery, but Loki can tell that it's only a thin veneer. She is terrified.

Loki grins.