I don't own The Avengers.
It all started when he was in his holding cell, a bigger, more impressive-looking version of the one he had been in when the Avengers had first captured him.
As he stood there and contemplated his situation with as much calm as he could muster, his insides felt cramped and caused more discomfort than he cared to admit. What would Nick Fury decide his fate to be – no, it would not be up to him to pass the final judgement. That would be for the preening, smug humans in top government positions to decide.
To have his fate dictated by those filthy beasts… It was almost too much to bear.
And yet, he could not help but feel a little worried about his future. What would his punishment be? Would the Midgardians throw him into one of their miserable prisons? Or would he be taken into a government facility and have his body cut open by those primitive beings for examination? Perhaps they would be – merciful, and send him back to Asgard with Thor.
It still made him hopping mad to be at the mercy of such puny, powerless weaklings. That was quite certain.
And as for Thor, he could hardly look that brute in the face. It was difficult to believe that he had once called him brother; the loathing he now felt for that ever-favoured, crude boor had never been more intense.
You hate Thor.
Startled, he blinked. The rest of his body was too exhausted to give much of a response. The voice had come from the back of his head, but he was inclined to agree with it. Indeed, he loathed Thor.
What is the strength of your hatred? The inquiry was almost casual, like a token question after his health.
It was strong enough, strong enough… And he was answering questions posed to him by his own mind.
Well, you are going to have to rely on him a great deal if you go back to Asgard to stand trial, the voice said tartly. He is going to be one of your strongest defendants.
Disgust welled up in him. He did not need Thor to be his advocate. He did not want Thor to say anything when it came to his trial.
But you do need – and want – the lightest possible sentence. If you are sent back to Asgard, the entire population will be against you, will condemn you and speak your name with nothing but contempt. Only Thor and your mother will try to be sympathetic.
There was a point in that… But he did not care for the opinions of Asgardians. He was their prince and their rightful king, and their disdain mattered not to him.
And that is why you're in this state. The voice now sounded smug. Burning bridges is not going to help you in the slightest.
His lip curled and he tried to banish that voice from his mind, without success.
The All-Father will decide on the length and severity of your punishment if you go back. Thor may or may not have influence over him. You could try to –
Enough! Enough about Thor, enough about the All-Father, enough of this insipid, incessant nagging. He was crystal clear on his allegiance and on his motives. He was loyal only to himself, he deserved to rule a world, and he loved few people; Thor was not one of them. He did not have to curry that oaf's favour just for a light punishment.
He did not deserve to be punished. Being a prince meant having a kingdom with subjects. What was wrong with claiming his right by birth? Furthermore, Midgard was a mass of warring and suspicious states. If he were to be king, there would be no more war, no more conflict; just unwavering loyalty to him.
Chains clinked and he looked down at his hands, balled into white fists and bound by that cold, grey metal. He hated it. At the moment, he hated everything, he despised everyone – and the back of his head was throbbing painfully.
You love Thor as a brother would a brother.
An outraged sound was ripped out from his lips almost against his will; he did not, he would never – the very idea… Where was that voice from anyway? It could not be from himself.
I am formed from your own mind, the voice said pointedly.
No it most emphatically was not. He did not love his blameless, pig-headed brother (who was not his brother). Centuries of being overlooked, of being second place – he would not stand for it. And he felt nothing but repulsion when he thought of that obstacle which was the root cause of all those indignities. The very existence of his so-called brother was grief to him.
And hate was the very opposite of love.
No it isn't.
He started, but mostly because at that moment, six men in black suits had come into his cell looking most grim indeed. Two of them held up a metal contraption and proceeded to bring it to his face.
Realising what it was, he said pleasantly. "Now, gentlemen. An advanced, metal gag would hardly be of any further use on me, do you not agree? After all, I am already bound, and of no danger whatsoever." He lifted his hands to show the chains.
The two agents ignored this and fitted the gag around the lower half of his face. It tasted awful and smelled like blood, although that could be because blood smelled metallic… He did not know. His head was hurting terribly now, along with several other body parts.
A voice reached his ears from a distance. "At least now he's got his trap shut." It sounded like one of the agents had spoken.
Unbidden, a sense of humiliation reared up in him. His face felt tight and a little numb.
"Pity they're sending him back to wherever he came from." The same man was still speaking.
"That's enough of that," another agent said sharply.
Hope with a tinge of trepidation rose in his chest. He was going back to Asgard – going home. Far from the judgement and the wrath of these tiny beings, far from the embarrassment of being treated like a common criminal by these Midgardians. He would be judged by the All-Father…
What would the judgement be?
Dimly, he was aware of being led out of the cell by the agents. The gag was restrictive and he disliked it, though he detested the idea of it more. He was to be muzzled like a dog, bound and trussed like a turkey, and then, what? There would be no more fighting, no more ruling, for there were not enough soldiers and slaves, not enough capacity and planning. He had little energy left to plot and deceive.
He was the God of Mischief. If he did not seek to deceive, what was his purpose? He supposed he could rule, but the Midgardians had proven themselves to be averse to his claim to power. But he was a god. Did those blind ones not see? He was all-powerful.
How had those few humans and his brother managed to overcome his army? The army was huge, and they were only six. Six against an entire army and him. The numbers did not add up.
They outsmarted you?
There it was again. That snide, niggling, infuriating voice which did not seem to agree with the rest of him. He wanted it to be quiet, so that he could think.
Lucid thought is something which eludes you at the present moment. I'm your only option. The smug tone was back.
"Silence," he tried to snarl. But it only came out as a muffled growl across his gag.
Sunlight streamed onto his face. He blinked and looked around. All six of the Avengers were there, including Thor.
He would have reacted to this with chagrin, but he was too tired. All he wanted now was to just sit down and nurse his injuries, including the throbbing in his head, which intensified now that he thought about it.
Thor came up to him silently, holding the Tesseract. His face was expressionless, which was rare in an emotional and sentimental philistine like him.
Loki held his gaze levelly. He would not back down, not now, not ever. Not to Thor.
Someone said something. Someone else replied. Thor might or might not have spoken, but Loki did not pay attention. He merely followed Thor and worked on keeping his emotions in control. Keeping that voice quiet would be useful too.
I will not be quiet until you listen to sense.
That voice was not Sense. He would not listen. How presumptuous of that voice to assume it could be that all-elusive, rare stream of thought in minds called thus.
I am sense. There's no need for a capital letter. It's amazing that you can turn upon your brother with such vitriol when you actually do love him.
Thor was not, and had never been, his brother. He was a Frost Giant. A natural enemy of Thor. So he would be an enemy, he would be a foe, and a fearsome one at that.
Not very fearsome when in chains and a gag.
He was now so angry that he promptly refused to think. He would wipe his mind clean. His mind became a blank sheet, with no thoughts floating across it whatsoever. This was bliss, the state of no thought. No pressure to imagine, no obligation to form images or words in his brain. Perhaps those Midgardians enjoyed being in such a state; this would explain why they were such imbeciles.
No thought…
It was hours later when he was standing in front of Odin that the gag was removed and he came back to full awareness of his surroundings. The chains remained on, though. They were starting to chafe his wrists.
The All-Father stared down at him impassively. This suited Loki. He would not be able to tolerate any displays of emotion, especially pity. Perhaps anger he could take. But passiveness was just fine.
He was vaguely aware of Thor standing nearby, along with Sif, Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun. Frigga was also in the room. He disregarded all of them in the commanding presence of Odin.
"Loki," Odin said slowly. "You have committed numerous transgressions, the severity of which is unspeakable." He paused to take in a deep breath, then continued. "Several of these include: The murder of Midgardians, the enslaving of Midgardians, attempted domination of Midgard, the attempted murder of your brother, fraternisation with the Chitauri, destruction and damage of infrastructure in Midgard and Jotunheim." His gaze sharpened. "Do you have anything to say?"
Loki cleared his throat. "Yes," he said. "I do."
There was an expectant pause.
"Well?" Odin raised an eyebrow.
A slight smile crossed Loki's face and vanished. "First of all," he began. "I noticed that many of my charges involve Midgard and its citizens."
The All-Father gazed down at him wearily.
"I believe that any crimes which were committed in Midgard are not crimes at all; they are merely attempts to help better the realm. And secondly," Loki stressed the word, for there were outraged ejaculations. "I do not see how fraternisation with the Chitauri is a transgression, especially since I used them to help further my own, perfectly innocent goals."
From what Loki could hear, no one agreed with him, which was a pity.
"Very well," Odin said. "You do not repent then, since you feel you did nothing wrong in those aspects. But you do admit to the destruction and damage of infrastructure?"
Loki lifted his chin slightly. "Yes. But it was necessary."
"And why do you feel it to be so?"
"Why?" he said incredulously. "Why? That much should be plain. Seeing as I am a prince without a kingdom, what else can I do but take one myself? It was a messy one, an undeveloped one, yes, but it was still something which I should have had, but was denied!" His voice had risen over the course of that passionate declaration.
"Loki," Thor said sharply. "Do not speak in that tone."
Loki ignored him. "Midgard was disorganised," he snarled. "It was filled with weaklings. But it would have been good enough for me, even though I deserved a better throne. I would have freed them all from conflict and self-interest. If they were all subservient to my wishes, they would not have had time to quarrel amongst themselves."
No one stopped him, so he continued. "And who denied me my original throne?" he spat. "Who was always favoured, always got his way? Who just had to be hot-headed and foolish and have everyone bow to him and his wishes?" He turned slowly to face Thor, burning eyes locked with Thor's steady ones.
No words were exchanged between them.
After a few tense moments passed in which Loki stewed in the centuries of indignation, he turned back to face Odin. "Everyone bowed to him," he hissed. "And never to the second son. The insignificant, inconsequential second prince." A humourless smile flickered across his face. "Since no one ever regarded me as anything more than an ornamental vase, or a potted plant, I decided to remedy that."
"How?" The word came unwillingly from Odin's lips.
"I decided to make sure that I was the first son." Loki's voice was cruelly dry. "And when that failed, I decided to have lesser beings bow to me. Small compensation, but quite adequate."
Odin leaned forward, his face more inscrutable than ever. "Tell me, Loki," he said softly. "Do you hate Thor?"
Loki stared at him defiantly. "Yes."
Yes.
Loki flinched. Everyone looked at him with curiosity, even the All-Father.
You love him as a brother would a brother.
"No, I do not," he muttered under his breath, shaken at the repetition of that hated phrase. "I do not." The last three words were filled with conviction.
The opposite of love is indifference. You hate him. You do not regard him with coldblooded indifference, it pointed out with the long-suffering patience of someone who had to explain that one and one made two.
"I hate him!" he shouted suddenly. "I loathe him more than anything else in the world, that usurper, that oaf, that barbaric fool… I abhor the very sight of him! That does not mean I love him. I do not love him. He is not my brother!"
"Loki!" Odin admonished.
Admit it, said the voice in a bored tone. You grew up together. You shared toys, you played, studied, ate together. You fought alongside each other. You cannot possibly have no love at all for a brother.
"I do not," he said through gritted teeth.
You admit it?
"NO!" The shout echoed in the hall. Loki had sunk to his knees, his head in his hands. "Be quiet, I'm telling you, stop it!"
It will be difficult to kill someone whom you love. Family bonds… those are strong. You tried to kill your own family.
"Not… my… family…"
Yes. Your family. Not by blood, but by everything else.
"SILENCE!"
Loki dissolved into convulsive sobs, the sheer duplicity of his mind too much to withstand. Why was his own mind not his to control? It was the last bastion of self, the only thing he had left which he commanded, so why was it slipping from his grasp? If only he could stop it, bring his entire mind under his control again, then things would be perfect. Anything would be better than this.
His face worked furiously. Those… accursed… doubts… in his mind… That voice had a lot to answer for, for he did not love his 'family' – he was a monster, a monster to be hated by all in the land, even by the Frost Giants for he had killed their leader and destroyed parts of their realm, even by his own brother – no, he was not his brother, but everything was blurring together; he could not tell friend from foe.
If that was the case, then he was not to have any friends. Monsters, twisted demons like him were supposed to be solidly despised and defeated someday. But he was an exception. He did not mind being despised, but he would never be defeated… although had he not been defeated mere days before? No, that was not a defeat, that was a tactical manoeuvre…
You overestimate yourself. That was a defeat, it said bluntly.
"Be… QUIET!" he howled. His face was twisted with confusion and rage.
Everyone looked upon the quivering ball on the floor with a mixture of shock and pity. There were cynical observers who wondered if this was a ruse to escape severe punishment, but if it was, then it was acted out with aplomb. And Odin would have seen through it immediately.
But Odin was observing Loki wearily, pityingly. The boy who had been his son was now reduced to a pathetic, gibbering mass. He beckoned to the guards.
"Take him away to his room," he said quietly. "Solitary confinement. His mind will do the rest."
They bowed their compliance and made to help Loki up. He had stopped shouting and muttering, but his face was tight and his breaths came out short and hurried.
"Loki," the All-Father said in a louder voice. "You are to be confined to your quarters for all eternity. No one is to speak to you, or acknowledge you in any way."
Thor stepped forward. "Father," he began. "Perhaps a lighter sentence would do Loki good?"
Odin looked at Thor appraisingly. "No," he said. "A lighter sentence than this does not exist."
"But Father - "
Loki turned and shot Thor a cold look which silenced him immediately. He turned back to face Odin. "Very well, All-Father," he said dispassionately. His hair was in disarray and his face was very pale.
As the guards led him out, he turned and gave Thor a look of pure venom. There was no need to say anything; everything was communicated in that glance.
There was complete silence except for the footsteps of the guards and the disgraced prince. Loki's footsteps dragged a little. No one else dared to make a sound.
It seemed a small miracle that no one else questioned this sentence in terms of weight, but the man was going over the edge. Perhaps being left alone would expose him to the horrors of his own mind.
The doors opened; sunlight streamed in and Loki winced slightly at the sudden brightness. But he continued taking steady strides out of the room, with a guard at each arm. His face was twitching a little; no one saw.
Then the doors closed with a heavy boom.
"Well," Odin murmured. "Let us see how long it takes for him to come to his senses."
He did not state the obvious sentiment.