Loki has experienced pain before, but never like this.
He stands with his wrists chained together, the metal chafing and rubbing at his blistered skin, Odin's magic keeping him rooted in place. His head is tilted back, towards the ceiling of the cave, and he stares up into the blackness.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Each drop of venom sears like fire into his skin, and he clenches his jaw. He is Loki, the God of Chaos. The God of Lies. He is a king. He will not scream.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His hands spasm, searching for something to grip, to break, to hold so his agony does not come out in a verbal cry. But he clutches only air.
His eyes burn with tears, and he blinks, struggling to clear his vision, to see that accursed snake and whisper to it, bend it to his will-
All he can see is darkness, endless and haunting, stretching out above his head, surrounding him, closing in around him.
Do not be so childish. He reprimands himself. The dark cannot harm you.
But he cannot shake the irrational urge to hide, to curl up and close his eyes until he sees light.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The tears slip down his cheeks without his permission, cooling the fire that seared against his face, tingling with salt as they pass down his lips. His hands clench into fists, tight.
Still, he does not scream. He will not scream.
Visions are whispering at the edges of his mind, hissing and whispering chaos and memories and cruel voices to his thoughts, but he pushes them away, irritated. To accept the visions is to rest. And he cannot rest now. He will never sleep, he will be strong. He will fight this punishment with every fiber of his being.
And then he will rise from this cave, and he will rule.
The thought sends the faintest shimmer of satisfaction through him, but it is fleeting. The cave is no place for joy.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He can handle pain. He can clear his mind and focus on-
On what?
If Thor were here, he would have told him to focus on the strength of his body, of his loved ones, of a plan to escape. But Thor wasn't here. and Loki could do none of those things. To think of his body would mean allowing himself to taste the venom, allowing the burning sensation to consume his thoughts for a second, and he cannot bear that.
He had no loved ones to be strong for. He was hated. Forgotten. Cast out. Alone.
And he was too tired to think of ways to escape.
His mind drifted, aimlessly wandering, fleeing this terrible place, where existence is blood, and blood runs down his face like tears(or is it just tears) or maybe it's venom, he can't tell anymore. It burns. it burns and hurts and he can't-
Just before he allows the darkness to consume him, he hears himself scream.
OoO
His eyes open to darkness.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He pivots on the spot, uncomfortable, the manacles biting into his wrists and ankles. Blood, hot and sticky drips down his hands, off his fingers, oozes out from the chaffed skin on his arms, but he doesn't care.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"What are you going to do, Loki Silvertongue?" He whispers as the venom burns and sizzles against his lips. "I do not think you can talk yourself out of this situation."
"What if you are injured?" he asked.
Thor slapped him on the back, laughing, as if the very idea was inconceivable. "I won't be! Anyways, I know whatever trouble I get into, your tongue will talk me out of it."
Loki shakes his head, quickly, and this sends a bout of dizziness, and a sharp pain that makes him gasp. He hangs limp in his bonds, and struggles to catch his breath.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He can't help but cry out as the venom slips into his open mouth, searing white-hot against the sensitive skin of his lips. He throws his head back, as though to escape it, and-
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Fire burns across his face, his eyelids, streams down his cheeks.
He cries as the dreams take him.
OoO
He walks through frozen icelands, comfortable and cool, his hair blowing in the wind, his magic burning with power and tingling with energy. He raises his arms. "Come to me, children." He says. And they are there.
Beautiful. Wild. Beastly. Cunning.
Creatures as lost as he is. They understand him. He created them.
"Father," Hel steps forward and pulls him into the fold of her arms.
He buries his face into her hair and wishes that she could take him home.
OoO
He can't speak.
His lips are tattered and bloody, each small movement sends blood slipping down the back of his throat, hot and wet and salty, and even the sensation of swallowing sends a fresh wave of pain through him.
Breathing hurts. Air is cool, and it slices across the tattered skin of his mouth, cutting across the flaps of skin and tissue.
He whimpers.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
More blood streaks down his fever-heated face, but he can't tell it's source. In all honesty he really doesn't care.
He can picture Thor's face if his not-brother could see him now-pained and furious and sad. So sad.
Sentiment.
At another time, he would have laughed.
But he doesn't, mostly because of the pain. but also because he knows it will come out hysterical.
And he can't give into the madness now.
At least that's what he tells himself.
OoO
The cave reminds him of the abyss.
It is an endless stretch of darkness, and he often feels like he is falling-tumbling through the shadows with no arms to catch him, lost to his misery and his pain.
But he had seen color when he fell, he had seen whole worlds he had never known about, and exploding stars and the birth of a galaxy, and the twisting colors of the Asgardian sky...
Here, there is only an endless darkness. Darkness and the burn of venom against his skin, and small whispers of insanity that tug at the edges of his mind.
OoO
He dreams of his mother.
"You were always so brave, Loki." She whispers, and her cool, healing hands stroke his ruined face, soothing the aching burn.
"I can't do this," He whimpers. "It's breaking me. I can't-"
"Hush," She croons, smoothing back his hair, grasping his limp hand in hers. "You do not look broken to me."
He wakes with a shudder. Had Frigga come? Touched him? Soothed him?
You are not her son, fool. She does not love you.
Tilting his face up to the cave mouth, he welcomes the burn of venom on his flesh. It blocks out his thoughts.
OoO
The next time he opens his eyes, he sees red.
He blinks several times, trying to make sense of his vision. But the red swims above his eyes in a dizzying circle, tantalizing, teasing. He wants to reach up and touch it.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He can't stop the chocked cries of pain that leave his tattered lips as the venom burns. Blinking again, he allows his tears to cleanse his eyes.
The red remains.
You are a mad, broken thing, Loki Laufyson.
He laughs, silently, at himself.
OoO
The visions come in quick flashes-
Thor, his head thrown back, face tilted towards the sun, laughing and laughing and laughing...
Snow.
ice.
Blood.
Frigga, her eyes gentle, her hand cupping his cheek. "You will always be mine, Loki."
Odin's strong hand clasped on his shoulder, the feeling of his hand running through Loki's hair, the twinkle in his eye.
Darkness.
Blackness.
Fear.
He wrenches himself away from the images, straining in his bonds, tensing and arching his body back, as if to escape.
Escape from what?
Breathe. He commands himself. Calm.
But his heart is still racing in his chest, and the venom is still burning him, and he still can't think straight, and-
Stop!
He digs his nails into his palms, hard enough to draw blood, trying to distract himself. Enough, Loki. Enough.
This time, the venom that drips down his cheeks tastes vaguely of saltwater.
OoO
He drifts, in and out of consciousness, floating in and out of his body as the pain begins to take it's toll.
Sometimes he thinks he's riding horses with Thor, and they are laughing and running and running and riding and-
But then he is aware of the pain, and blood, hot and wet, trickles down his throat as his torn lips part in a scream.
Sometimes he thinks he is in Jotenheim, standing in the bitter cold and feeling as if he belonged there.
But then the venom burns. And he writhes and fights his restraints until flesh tears-
Sometimes he thinks he is wandering the forgotten places in the dark between worlds, and letting the void tear at him, whisper chaos to his soul until he feels calm.
But then he feels the bones in his wrist shatter from the pressure of his wild thrashing, and it hurts too much to scream.
Sometimes he sees the Avengers, and he is crushing them, and he is laughing as he tastes their terror...
He sees Thor, looking at him with such sadness.
And the venom falls like fire on his upturned face.
He drifts in and out, and he wonders if this is what madness truly feels like.
Like he cannot control himself. Like he is floating and peaceful-
Like nothing but pain can touch him.
OoO
He gives in, finally.
Surrenders himself to the burning venom and let's his spirit go, relaxes against the aching metal of his bonds and forces himself to breathe through the pain(even if breathing hurts)
And he almost smiles.
OoO
"Loki."
Thor's voice.
Another hallucination perhaps.
Loki's eyes are closed, and he has no desire to open them. He can still feel the venom trailing down his face, and even if Thor is here(which Loki doubts) the other god will want to talk, and Loki can't do that right now.
"Loki."
Go away, you nattering imbecile. Leave me alone.
His fingers curl, tentatively in towards his palms, and his broken limbs scream and refuse to bend the way he commands them to.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Loki. Please..."
Something cool, touching his face, soothing against the inflamed skin.
"Brother, please...please..."
Hands, gentle against his arms, fumbling at the manacles about his wrists.
Was Thor freeing him? Was it...
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
The venom is falling in an odd pattern now, as though he's been moved. And then strong arms, lifting-
He opens his eyes.
Thor is staring at him, his eyes the only thing Loki can clearly see in the darkness, and they are red with saltwater.
But Thor cannot be real. He's dreaming again.
"Loki," Thor says, softly. "Don't you know me?"
Fool.
Something in Loki's expression must have shown his exasperation at such a question, because Thor's eyes crinkled up, as though he were smiling. "Brother, I'm going to..."
His words blended together in Loki's ears, fading and echoing as something slips under his head(Thor's arm?) and his is so dizzy, and it burns-
He forces his tattered, broken lips to whisper one word. "Thor."
The darkness closes up around him, dragging him down to unconsciousness, before he can decide if he meant the name in a hateful way, an endearing way, or if he was simply trying to say thank you.