Title: Monster
Pairings: None
Word Count: 734
Warnings: Angst, lots of it.
Time frame: Set just before we meet Loki in his cell in Thor 2.
Disclaimer: I am making no money off of these characters, nor am I working for Marvel. I wrote this story for no monetary gain, it is for entertainment purposes only. No disrespect is meant.
A/N: So I'm dealing with a pretty bad bout of depression right now. That's what started this. If you wouldn't mind reviewing, I'd really appreciate it.
On to the story!
Loki sits in the cell. Alone. Nothing changing.
He supposes every villain - after all, that's all he is, right? The lowest scum of the Nine Realms - every villain has a sob-story. Every single criminal has some twisted, dark reason why they cannot function with normal people.
Some villains are born into vile families. Some are born and bred to be evil. Loki was not (not from the gate). He was raised side by side with his perfect, golden-haired brother. In the very first years of his life as an Odinson (Loki scoffs to himself. Odinson. Nothing but another sham), Loki was happy. He had a loving brother, a loving father, a loving mother. What more could he want?
Then came the time of exploration. Meeting new people, making new friends, all in the hopes of growing up well adjusted to life on Asgard. And for Thor, this was not a problem. He fit in with the others aesthetically. He fought hard. He attended feasts. He was a pure blood warrior.
Loki was… not. He was smaller, and preferred magic to blunt force. This is not to say Loki was not a ruthless warrior when the need arose; but making others look like fools was much more satisfying than leaving them with bruises. His raven hair and preference to trickery over arenas ostracized him from the group at a young age.
For many years, Loki accepted that he was different. Something always gnawed away inside him over why he was this way, but he just… accepted it.
Until Jotunheim. Until that savage monster grabbed him and changed him. Loki's emerald eyes burst open, pulling him from his reverie. Yes, he thinks, monster. Just like me. Not hero, not villain, not Asgardian… monster…
The Frost Giant had gripped his left wrist, and instead of feeling sharp physical pain, Loki received a harsh psychological blow as he morphed slowly blue. The Jotunn couldn't seem to believe it either, red eyes meeting green laced with shock. Thankfully, Loki was able to recover just enough to fight the rest of the battle, and make it out alive.
But really, what good did that do him? Yes, he survived, but only to return to Asgard and face his liar and thief of a "father". The same one who did nothing but pad his ego and encourage him to fight, although the outcome had been determined long ago. And surely, Frigga... dear, sweet Frigga, who taught him magic. Who taught him how to fight. Who spent hours with him in the kitchen, laughing when their afternoon treat didn't turn out right. Surely she had known he was not of Asgardian descent? Yet she coddled him anyway.
Loki roughly shook his head, messy black tendrils flying everywhere. Thinking of betrayal from Odin gave him strength to fight harder; Frigga betraying him cut deeper than a broadsword. All Loki could remember after the king fell into the Odinsleep was how unworthy he was. A liar and a thief did not deserve to sit on the throne of Asgard. He remembers fighting, fighting, fighting. Then falling toward the Bifrost, hanging on by a staff, held by Thor. Thor, who for whatever reason, still loved him. Then, a hopeful glance skyward, into the remaining eye of Odin. Odin just shook his head and whispered "No, Loki."
"No, Loki."
"No. Lo. Ki." Those three syllables sealed his fate. He knew in that instant that he could never redeem himself. Ever. Odin would always view him as lesser, as a monster.
So he let go.
Honestly, everything after that is a bit of a blur. He remembers sharp pain, screams, torture, and a mission to take over Earth. And that obviously did not succeed.
All of that pain, all of that turmoil, has led him here. Loki sits, in his cell, nothing changing. Blood trickles from his foot from kicking already shattered furniture. His hair flies out in all directions from being pulled. His clothes are tattered, filthy.
He is a monster.
Monster.
Monster.
Loki screams his birthright until his throat is raw and bleeding. He screams until guards arrive to sedate him - the first human contact he's had in months. He screams until his throat gives out, and all he can do is whisper through his pain. He screams and screams until the welcoming blackness swallows him whole.
Monster.
Monster.
Mon…
Ster…
…...