He fairly collapsed onto the meager cot that took up most of the room in the cell. The ache in his muscles gradually retreated by degrees as he relaxed with a wince. He ran a hand across his mouth, wincing again at the sting. At least the muzzle was gone. In its place now was an exceedingly heavy imprisoning enchantment Odin must have cast himself.
It was moot, really. Firstly, he did not have the energy to fight it. Secondly, it was just incredibly nice to lie down and not have to worry about anybody coming after him.
The dimness of the cell brought back painful memories, though. The quiet was the most disturbing. It allowed the sounds in his memories to come back.
The whining hum of a generator spreading heat and electricity. The air hissing when the heat started to spread. His own hoarse, pleading voice only slightly louder than the pounding of his pulse.
The sudden change in his voice when he finally broke. The sudden balm. The sympathy. The condescension.
You know what it's like to be unmade.
Loki closed his eyes, ashamed, and let his fingers drag on the cool floor. The rattle of his chains, he noted, was almost musical. In a hopeless, tragic sort of way. Purposefully ignoring the growing panic hammering at the back of his mind like a bilgesnipe, he laced his fingers across his chest. The slow breath he took sent a wave of pain through his ribs that made him flinch, but it had a calming effect either way.
He could try to heal his various hurts, but that would require focus, which he certainly did not have at the moment. So he was behind a locked 'door,' in chains, and all set up to face the All-Father's wrath. That wouldn't happen until the old man, Thor, and Frigga had some kind of screaming match about an appropriate response to Loki's shenanigans.
He snorted humorously, wincing again at a pain across his nose, but rolled his eyes all the same. He didn't really care. There was no connection between him and these people. He wasn't even one of them.
At least nothing could get to him here.
The glare of memory leapt up behind his eyelids. The furious, burning blue eyes looking down at him from a ruddy, alien face. He could practically feel the weight of his own skin trying to slough its way off his body as the heat rolled over him. He'd tried spells, enchantments, meditation. Nothing had worked against the heat. How Thanos had managed to get past his own mental defenses was beyond him. Then again, maybe it wasn't. He considered himself one of the best sorcerers this side of Vanaheim, but he'd been shown the folly of his confidence.
The nine realms certainly were not alone in this universe.
Have you ever had someone take your brain and play?
Loki opened his eyes. The dark of the cell ceiling met his gaze. No Chitauri. No Thanos. No Other. Just cool, quiet Asgardian stone. He glanced at the small window in the cell door and heard one of the guards clear his throat.
Thank you for your cooperation, she'd said. It had been a barb, aimed to make him angry. As much as Natasha Romanoff played the part of the stone cold assassin, that had been real trauma in her eyes. She just knew how to harness it, and he leapt on it like a starving lion upon meat.
Cooperation, she called it.
His tongue ran over his split lips, feeling the wounds burn and sting. He had replayed that particular conversation over and over again in his head. At first, annoyance had indeed wrinkled his brow. But he remembered sitting down on that oddly present bench with the annoyance fading.
He didn't really care. Maybe it had been cooperation. His eyes roved around his current cell. Again, much preferable to being strapped underneath a radiator.
Had Earth ever really been the target of his wrath? As a proxy, maybe, to get to Thor. Now, he was certain of that, of wanting revenge. It was the chill that steeled his heart and kept him anchored.
He scoffed, fighting a losing battle against the sudden heaviness of his eyelids. Punishment deliberations would last the night. Why did they even bother?
Puh, sentiment.
Loki fell asleep, eyes closing on the stone ceiling.
AN: First, sorry about To All Ends being on pause until I get my crud straight. Needed some unrelated creativity/ disjointed rambling before it can get on. This…well, it's like AU from my own AU storyline. Might come into play at some point, not sure yet.
Secondly, I totes borrowed this from misadventuresofloki, who reblogged a theory/reason behind Loki being mega sick looking in the beginning of Avengers, which I wondered about, as well. Not a badass sick, like WHOA DUDE, THAT'S SICK – more like an 'omgi'vebeenvomitingforthreedays' sick. I read somewhere else that, hey, the guy just traveled across the universe using his own grit, granted with some help from the Tesseract, so he's like to be pretty tired. But the idea that Thanos finds him, reads his mind to determine his identity, and then tortures him using heat ('cause Frost Giants hate that) just to get him to be one of his universal-domination-plan stooges kind of makes sense. Particularly with Loki's more or less direct link to the Tesseract via Asgard/Odin/etc.
There are so many places to go with this whole "redemption" thing, I think. Too much for a little oneshot, and it's late, so apologies for the rambling.
Muse(ic) Fodder:
Million Dollar Man – Lana Del Ray
Skyfall – Adele
Intro - Phoenix