A/N: I guess technically technically this should have been put into The Avengers fandom, but this is more or less the follow-up to my other fic "Safe In The Dark" (you don't have to read that story for this to make sense, but you certainly can if you want to...) Plus it's centered on Loki, so I figured I would post it here.

Without further ado, Loki's "cognitive recalibration."

"Puny god."

The voice was bitter, mocking. The sound of it drifted through the broken fragments of his mind like strangled music in the wind as he struggled to comprehend, to see, to breathe. The horrible beast was leaving, the heavy footsteps fading into the distance, and yet with each passing second the pain intensified and battles raged within his body. He stiffened, back arched, as ribbons of death whispered through his veins, creeping through his being like ice. He opened his mouth in a silent scream but he was alone, so very very alone and isn't that what he deserved?

Vicious threats soared in his mind and memories, so many memories, colliding and crashing as if he were reliving every moment of them. His eyes darted back and forth, watching unseen things, as their colors flickered between green and blue. He wanted to scream, he wanted to die, he wanted to...to...

A barren moon with icy snowflakes settling on lifeless bodies, the stench of their rotting flesh swelling in the dead air. Someone was begging, begging for their life, but glinting metal flashed and a piercing scream and then all was silent

Do not fail do not fail do not fail

You think this madness will end with your rule?

(no, no, but there is no other choice)

Sentiment

A rightful king, meant to rule, wanted to rule

Searing pain, burning and tearing and destroying and

Flash of blue light, as blinding as one thousand suns.

He opened his eyes, unaware that he had ever closed them. He inhaled once, pushed the air from his lungs. He could breathe. Black dots danced in his vision and he ached into his bones, but something was different. There was...clarity. He placed a hand on his chest, barely feeling the steady pulse of his heart. His heart. For a brief moment he could not remember where he was, or why he hurt, but then. But then.

By the Norns.

He could not move, and did not want to. Flashes of horrid remembrances danced before his eyes, taunting and cruel. Bitterness arose in his chest like bile and he fought to forget everything, but it was too real. Too much a part of him.

You have done this, you pitiful wretch. All your pain, all the destruction was caused by your own hand. Your own choice.

His head swam as he tried to reconcile it all. His actions (kneel, you will know peace, death death death) - yes they had been his own. But the motivation was not his, was not his. Midgard had mattered little to him, so from where had the desire to be its king come from? He noticed, then, the pull on his heart was gone and the haze in his mind had faded and despite the pain and the cruelty and the burning city around him he smiled because he had won.

But...at what cost?

Asgard. Asgard, in all its brilliance, gleamed unbidden and unexpected in his mind and he nearly choked at the thought of his...his home. He could return. As a prisoner, no doubt, but the futility of abandonment seemed to vanish like wisps of smoke. He would be bound by chains, but the hold on his heart and mind would be no longer.

Freedom.

Life's great lie.

Was it?

His mind could not seem to handle the onslaught of too many thoughts at once. There were too many to remember, and far too few to forget. What had he done? What had he done?

His relief quickly faded into misplaced unease. Despite all that had happened, and all that he knew within his heart, he knew not a soul - not even Thor - would believe the tale even he himself could hardly comprehend. And why should they? Could he deny the bitter pangs of jealousy that still tore at his heart? The stab of rejection, the knowledge that he had never truly belonged? That despite his longing and fear and hurt, in the end...he still had no family? This replay of already-painful thoughts clouded his mind and overwhelmed his senses. Was this his fate? To always be the outsider, the black sheep, the wandering soul?

He gasped then, the first real sound he found he could make, body shuddering, fingers twitching. His body was finally catching up with his mind, and he wanted to move now. This paralysis of sorts was far too familiar and horrors replayed in soundless progression until he wanted to scream.

He sputtered once, reaching for the heavens, until he realized he could breathe again.

He rolled onto his side and an unexpected bout of nausea flooded his senses. A distant hum sounded in his ears and he clutched the side of his head, pressing, pressing to make this stop stop STOP. His body lurched to vomit, but he only shuddered and heaved until his eyes watered and his stomach burned. Breathing heavily, he reached out and slammed a hand against the ledge beside him. barely managing to pull himself into an upright position. Everything felt so heavy, so useless. He inhaled once more, blinked, but then -

A presence.

He knew, before he ever had to look. He turned slowly, intentionally, until his eyes landed on them, the supposed victors, Midgard's mightiest heroes save his brother, and the sheer magnitude of the situation was suddenly so inexplicably funny that he would have burst into hysterics had he the strength.

He barely noticed the scepter - his scepter - in the hands of the maiden warrior or the arrow aimed directly at his heart. His beating, untouched heart.

He almost smiled.

"If it's all the same to you," the Silvertongue found himself saying, "I'll have that drink now."

Gagged. Chained. Dragged along like a mindless beast (you are, you are), a prisoner in body, but not in spirit. He no longer knew what he should feel. They thought he would run. He could see it in their stares, their whispers. But it honestly did not matter. Not anymore.

He could play the part of silent prisoner. When Thor held out the vessel in which the Tesseract was stored, something lurched within him. He could feel its pull, the quiet whispers of promises once more. But instead he looked - he really looked - into the eyes of his once-brother and he was suddenly hit with the realization that he was leaving, that he was on his way back to Asgard, that they could no longer reach him.

Fear. Excitement. At too many things he could not pinpoint. He felt it once more - the pull, the thrum of power, being transported to another world, to his world.

I will be my own.

I've got a whole theory on Loki's mind control thing that I might feel the need to expound on in a future fic. Anywho, if this made any sense at all, why not leave a review? And thanks for reading!