Note: The timeline is not linear. Things are jumbled. It's a metaphor.

It was dark.

That, or they stole his eyesight, again.

But he couldn't hear anything either, so there must be nobody around.

Or his ears were damaged…

Most likely, it was evening, and his scientists had gone away for the night.

He wasn't normally awake when that happened. Normally, he'd pass out shortly after they left and would wake when they brought the light with them. But now and again, he'd be blessed to be able to cherish these intervals.

He could hear himself breathing, could feel his lungs healing, and could see that accursed green dot that never seemed to stop blinking.

He relished in the reprieve, relished in the silence, relished in the dark. It gave his senses a break, a chance to recover.

He could hear the faint whistling of something in the room, probably belonging to whatever was stirring up the air, but nothing else. The silence sounded so good after so long of nothing but the whirrrr of machines, the unintelligible chatter of the men, and if he were aware enough, the ringing in his ears after a while of screaming that he couldn't stop.

His eyes felt good for the first time in a very long time, the darkness a blessing from the bright light at which he always ended up staring, so he turned his head to the side so that the blinking dot was in his range of vision. He actually really hated the dark, but he has no choices, has never had any choices, so as long as he could see something, he was considerably happier than when there was light. The blinking green dot was his favorite thing in the world.

He didn't want to think about what he felt, just knew that it hurt, but not so bad as if the men were there—but he shut those thoughts down immediately, focusing on the green dot.

He almost enjoyed these alone times, always crafts dreams in his head, stories that he can control, mainly focused around him being alone. Sometimes, back at the beginning, he would dream of himself and the scientists together, would dream that he was a scientist too, would dream of a thousand different ways he could hurt them like they hurt him. He had just been so full of hate and rage.

Now, though, he harbored no anger; the fear had overtaken that emotion long ago. Now, he was filled with sadness and fear and a longing for he knew not what.

Now, he dreamed of himself alone, because he was the only person he knew.

—

With Fury gone and SHIELD disavowed, HYDRA could be anywhere, unchecked. Steve couldn't trust just anyone with what should be classified info, which meant going to a civilian hospital was out of the question. There would be obvious dislike working against them, and the press would take notice. Who knew who would see the news coverage if that happened, and then government officials would come to take Loki into custody once again—but could the government be trusted to not be HYDRA, coming to take back what was stolen from them?

No, Steve couldn't go to a hospital. But where, then?

"I can get medical equipment brought in within five hours," Tony's voice came through the earpiece, after having been silent for a good while.

"He needs a doctor, Tony. The wounds and injuries are—" Steve cut off. He really didn't know the words to use to get his thoughts across properly.

Loki's injuries were—well, injuries wasn't the right word. This was done to him, with a specific purpose in mind. He'd suffered physical trauma, and this trauma was extensive.

When Steve and Sam found Loki, they had been searching for Bucky, or information about Bucky. The scientists at the compound were a different branch of HYDRA; they didn't know the Winter Soldier was anything more than a bodyguard, so Steve and Sam didn't bother to try to get them all to talk, just knocked them out and locked them in one of the labs. That proved to be a mistake when they found Loki, unmoving, strapped to what looked like a dental engine, unclothed with many wounds open to the cool air. There had been a fair amount of blood lost in the process of wrapping him and getting him onto a gurney and out of there, and neither Sam nor Steve were doctors, and both were pretty sure they hadn't properly taken care of a single one of those wounds.

A doctor was very necessary.

"I can maybe get Bruce here, too."

"He's not that kind of doctor—"

"He's got extensive background experience in pediatrics."

That was true.

Steve's only objection was that he really didn't want anything to trigger Dr. Banner into transforming into the Hulk. However, he didn't know Bruce as well as Tony did, and he certainly didn't know the man's triggers or his self-control. It'd be a risk, but Tony was probably the only one who knew the size of the risk. So if Tony says it'll be fine, then Steve'll believe it'll be fine.

"Yeah, call him in. It seems as if he's our only option anyway. It's not like we can just walk into a hospital…"

"Lemme know if his status changes."

"Will do."

"How's Thor?"

Ah, yes. The remaining Avengers had been concerned for some time, because Thor hadn't checked in for months. They had thought he'd either given up his search for Loki completely or gone back to Asgard, but lo and behold, he was unconscious in a cell, too. He also was strapped down, but to a padded table with only an IV drip. Steve could only assume HYDRA was keeping Thor unconscious. They must have been at it for some time, since the man had lost a considerable amount of weight from the last time they saw each other.

The good part was that, unlike his brother, Thor bore no evidence of having been harmed. In fact, he was still wearing his normal underclothes.

"Still unconscious. Sam removed the IV, which cut off whatever they were pumping into him, but he still hasn't woken up."

"Who knew how long HYDRA had him down there. Did you get anything about how they got him?"

After finding Loki and actually witnessing an ongoing operation on him, Sam had thrown up. Steve had dealt with the doctors and wrapped Loki's abrasions, while Sam had excused himself and found the file room. Aside from the computers, there had been filing cabinets all along the walls, but most had been empty, save an armful of papers.

Steve had gone looking for Sam and had found Thor in a nearby cell.

Sam had uploaded all data to JARVIS for Tony to go through, and after helping Steve wheel the two gurneys onto the jet, he sat down and began to sort through it all.

"We're still trying to figure that out. What about you? Anything useful in those files?"

"Jarvis just finished translating it all. I haven't started looking."

"Let me know if there's anything in there that we need to know immediately."

"Back at ya, Cap."

And that was that.

The jet was on autopilot for now, with at least eight hours ahead of them. Sam looked exhausted, hand on the side of the gurney where Loki lay motionless and unconscious, holding it still during the flight, and Steve knew neither he nor Sam had slept in the last 32 hours. With what they'd just seen, he also knew neither of them would be able to sleep at all, at least not until they got Loki to Stark's mansion and Thor woke up.

So, he joined Sam to go through the papers. Maybe they'd find something useful.

—

A2.

A2, A2, A2.

That was him.

That was his name, that was what they always called him.

A2.

But it didn't sound right. It didn't feel right.

Was it a nickname, then?

Or was it a description? Maybe that was how they referred to his body, but not him.

He knew those two were separate things. He knew he was his mind, and he was also his body, but they didn't seem to know that. They didn't know that the body they call A2 was him, too.

Or maybe they did.

He didn't know, couldn't figure anything out most of the time—the pain kept his mind from thinking about things.

Maybe they were doing this to him on purpose. Maybe they knew it was his body.

But why then?

He remembered most of nothing outside this place—had thought for a long time now, that they had created him here, in this lab that he never left, created him through their ruthless experiments.

They had created his mind on accident and his body deliberately. Thus, they were two separate things.

But then again, he remembered a man, tall and fit, seas of red and a dull yellow. He remembers that man's face, yet the men here look nothing like that. Never have.

The men here always were colorless. Colorless fabric on their arms, colorless fabric on their chests, and colorless fabric on their faces. If they had faces.

That man did not belong here, in this lab, with him and with them. He must then know him from somewhere else.

But he couldn't fathom from where he could possibly have seen him.

—

Loki was not okay.

That was the first thing he remembered when he woke up.

Loki was not okay, and he had to help him!

Thor shot up and out of the bed and had called Mjolnir, before he realized that he was not in that place. In fact, he recognized immediately where he was—Tony's mansion in Midgard, specifically, the room he always slept in when staying. When had he escaped? And where was Loki?

He quickly searched the house and found Tony first, in his lab at a desk messing with one of those holographic projections of words.

"Tony," he said, trying not to startle the man, "how did I get here?"

Tony swiveled around, all bright eyes and a smile on his face, "Thor, my man!"

He stood up and they approached each other; Tony continued, "You're finally awake! How do you feel?"

Finally? Just how long had he been asleep? Hadn't he just been fighting HYDRA agents to get to his brother? Speaking of…

"I am fine. Where is Loki? What happened?"

Tony slapped his bicep in greeting before turning back around to sit again, "Good to see you, too. Hey, take a seat, that story will probably be short since I'm narrating, but still sit anyway. You look like you're gonna fall over."

There was a chair directly to his right, and he sat and listened, "Speak. Please. Is he well?"

"Well? Um, no, I'd say not. You were there, right? Do you know what was happening? How did you even get there?"

That wasn't exactly a story, as Stark had said, but Thor answered his questions, "I was. It was…" He looked down at his fidgeting hands in his lap, searching for words. Now that he actually thought about the whole situation, he couldn't actually remember much at all. "Not good. I don't remember much, not how I came to be there, but those men were hurting him," he clenched his fists and grit his teeth, "He was screaming, and there was a lot of blood. I think in my rage I might have killed one of them, but I did not intend to."

Now that he remembered, he felt very guilty. He wasn't completely sure the man had died, but he had hit his head rather hard and the man was but a mortal.

"If ya did, he deserved it. I could quickly skim the important bits for you and you can read the rest, if you want. I don't want to go into the details of the torture."

Torture? Yes, he supposed that must have been what had been happening. Loki had been screaming rather desperately—and he remembered Loki crying out for him, looking at him and seeing him, begging him to kill him, and he remembered panic at hearing Loki, panic at seeing all the blood, panic when he saw Loki's chest and organs and the rapid inhalations of his lungs. Those men had opened his brother up, tortured him, and yes, perhaps the man he killed had deserved it.

His guilt quickly changed to anger again, and he stood, fists clenching at his side.

"I shall read about it, then. I'd like to know what else those monsters did to my brother. But first, tell me, what else happened? How did I get here, and where is Loki?"

Tony leaned back to rest his elbows on the desk behind him.

"I don't know how long you've been unconscious, buddy, but you haven't checked in with us for months. We were all worried. Glad nothing torturous happened to you," Tony cracked a smile.

Thor smiled back.

Tony continued, "While you've been gone, Steve met up with an old friend of his who ran away. Then he made a new friend, and together they helped Nat bring down HYDRA, a terrorist organization that preys on the innocent. They had been hiding inside SHIELD since the 40s, so now SHIELD is compromised, practically gone as it is, and—oh yeah! Nat uploaded all of HYDRA's files online, so that auto search that I made for you to find Loki blew up my phone. That's how we found out HYDRA had Loki this whole time."

The faster Stark spoke, the less Thor understood. But the man just didn't stop, "Since I'm retired, Steve and Sam went down to Cuba to find Steve's friend that ran away and discovered our very own human experiment and the god of Shakespeare. You were unconscious the whole flight until now."

Tony must have really meant quickly—he just now stopped to breathe. Now, Thor considered his words.

The first thing he'd said was that it'd been months since Thor had spoken to any of them, but how could that be, since he just spoke with Stark not four days ago? Had he been unconscious that whole time, in that place?

Nothing torturous had happened to him, so he'd been kept unharmed. Had they been saving him, keeping him until it was time to torture him instead of Loki? What plans had they had with him that they kept him asleep for that length of time?

Tony mentioned that they found an experiment along with what he recognized as Stark's attempt at a nickname for Thor himself, so would that be Loki, then? The experiment?

"Was that what they were doing to my brother—experimenting?"

Tony didn't freeze, per se, but paused, thinking about his words, "Yes and no. Yes in that they were curious about the differences between us humans and you Asgardians, and no in that they weren't really looking for anything in particular, just hurting him out of sheer curiosity…"

Thor supposed he'd need to read those files Tony'd mentioned, but now that the anger had subsided a bit, he was afraid to, afraid of what horrors hid in those words. He saw what they had been doing to Loki, saw the pain his brother had been in, saw the horror with his own eyes, enough to last a lifetime. Odin help him if he were to see or read more.

No, he no longer wanted to so much as glimpse those documents. Loki would be tell enough.

Speaking of…

"And where is my brother now? Did the Captain and the Falcon leave him there?"

Tony looked affronted by his questioning, startled, but he took a moment to respond.

"…You serious? No! No way would the good Captain leave someone in that state, not even a mass murderer!"

Thor was indeed ashamed of himself for doubting his friends, for evening thinking that those good men would do such a thing.

"You are right. I am sorry of accusing."

Tony just shook his head a little and motioned with his thumb, "He's down the hall. I ordered medical equipment and asked Bruce to come patch him up."

"Is he all right?"

"Unsure. He hasn't joined us in the land of the awake yet. Y'all haven't been here long, just about a few hours, and I think Brucey is still nursing over him."

Thor nodded his understanding and turned toward the door.

"I shall go see him, to be by his side when he wakes."

He had almost opened the door when Tony stopped him, voice shrouded, distant, hesitant, "Thor?"

He turned, "Yes?"

"Um, be careful with him. He might not look all that bad, I mean—" he glanced down and rubbed the back of his neck, seeming like he was nervous about what he was saying, "—I know y'all heal really fast—anyway, I've gone through almost all the files HYDRA had on their mainframe about the experiments, because they popped up when Nat uploaded them, and they all contained the label they gave him, 'Subject A2', and well, what I'm trying to say is—it's bad."

Thor felt as if his stomach had dropped, despair creeping upon him, but Tony continued, "Like, what they did to him… They had him for, what, nearly two years? He was awake, as far as I could gather from these files, and the things they did to him while he was conscious—"

Thor couldn't take it, couldn't listen to it anymore, didn't want to, "Stop. Please. I'd rather not know of the horrors the punishment became for Loki. I don't want to read those files. I just want to see him."

Without another word, he left.

—

He just laid there, as still as he could. He was so tired from screaming and crying and the pain, and not for the first time he wished they would make a mistake that would end his life.

He hated procedures like these, the ones where they were interested in what his insides could do. He never understood why they did what they did to him, but he couldn't argue, couldn't protest, couldn't give them the answers they sought because they wouldn't ask.

He thought he did have the answers they were looking for, but maybe he didn't. If he had been created in there by them, then surely they had more answers than he did. So he was probably just an unhelpful nuisance to them.

But he hadn't been created in there!

He remembered that much.

He remembered the man with the yellow and the red, remembered that he was waiting for him for something—something, he couldn't remember what. He was supposed to do something, but nobody ever told him what to do, so how was he supposed to get them to like him if they didn't talk to him or ask him to do things?

…There was a rumbling. He thought maybe the scientists were trying to jostle something around, because his whole bed was rumbling, and he didn't like it.

His doctors didn't seem to like it either; they ran away, left him open and bleeding and hurting (they always put him back together before they leave, but they hadn't, no wait, please come back make it stop please don't leave)

And then there was a lot of noise, a different kind of noise from the sound he or the machines usually made.

There was noise, a crash, and a lot of dust.

He started coughing, and the pain of that over-shrouded the rest of the noise in the room. By the time the fit subsided, his ears were ringing and his eyes were watering, and he thought he must've been dreaming again, maybe he coughed himself unconscious, because there was the man he dreamed of. The man in yellow and red, but this time, he was more clear.

The yellow turned out to be wavy hair, the red was a thick, soft cape, and the man was Thor.

The man was his brother.

He remembered who he was.

He remembered, because the man kept saying his name, "Loki, Loki, brother, please look at me."

At first he didn't understand, because he was looking at him, his armor was beautiful and solid and shiny and—oh wait, he meant his eyes. Look him in the eyes.

He couldn't help the words that spilled out, "Thor, Thor, Thor, brother, help me, please don't leave me—"

But Thor cut him off, "Brother, we don't have much time," he turned his head, gazing at Loki's wounded and open stomach with a face calculatingly blank, but Loki remembered his brother got angry so very easily, and he was looking at Loki with those eyes, and Loki remembered that those eyes were often full of rage, and there was no one else in the room with them, so then it must be Loki he was angry with—but why was he angry with Loki?

What had he done this time?

"No, no, no, please, Thor, please, brother, don't hurt me, don't—"

And his eyes were back on his, locked with Loki's, and his voice broke through Loki's murmuring, "Loki, please quiet yourself. We don't have much time. I've been so worried—"

Loki knew Thor was still talking, probably just chatting the nerves away like he was wont to do, but he was also undoing the restraints and folding Loki's chest back together and Loki just couldn't hear through the pain.

All he knew was that Thor was his brother.

Thor was his brother and Thor was here to save him.

Thor was getting him out of this place and away from this pain and they were going to go home.

He remembered he had a mother, and he thought about her and about how beautiful she was, and—

Large, warm hands were on his face, turning his head and wiping away the tears that had gathered, and he saw Thor's mouth. It was moving, so he strained to hear.

"Loki, please, be quiet. They will find me, and they'll try to stop me from taking you away. You must be quiet."

There was such urgency in his face, in his voice, in his hands that pulled him to sit up and wrapped his chest in bandages.

Then there was a click-click and Thor moved, too fast, and Loki was holding onto his arms, so Loki moved too but also held Thor back and slowed him down.

But something happened. Thor tensed up, let go of Loki, and fell to the ground. That's when the scientists all ran back into the room. A man in green stood by the door holding a gun. The scientists unwrapped the bandages that Thor had wrapped him with and gently laid him back down.

The soldier by the door dragged Thor away, leaving a trail of blood.

Loki thought perhaps they killed him.

Who was he again?

Loki didn't fight back.

—

When Tony rang him up, he hadn't been doing anything too terribly important. Just sleeping. So he missed the first call.

And the second. And the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. But the seventh came at 5:21 in the morning, and his mind was used to waking then. Didn't mean he was happy about it, though.

Tony wasn't exactly chipper that he missed the calls, but in Bruce's defense, nobody should be awake at such an hour!

"Bruce! Finally! Where have you been? We need you!"

…What?

"Tony?" He sat up and rubbed his eye, "Tony, what—"

"No time to explain, big green, just get over here ASAP."

He just woke up. He didn't have the brainpower yet to think about whatever was going on. He just took it and rolled with it.

"Where exactly is here?"

"The mansion, just—"

His head was clear now.

The mansion!? The one that Tony had in Malibu? The one that was completely across the country? 2,800 miles away?

"Tony, that's a five hour flight, why do—"

"Brucey, listen. You know me. You know I wouldn't wake you from your beauty sleep in the wee hours of the morning if it wasn't important."

"I do know you, and you called me three times in the middle of the night last Thursday!"

"So I get a little carried away sometimes, sue me—"

He was getting tired of this game. Tony was obviously near desperation, yes, he could sense that much, but didn't want to tell him what it was about, which meant it was something bad. Either Tony couldn't tell him over the phone or didn't want him thinking about it.

Regardless, it was important, so he figured that he probably should get over there. Because, Tony was right, well, partially. He wouldn't sound this frantic and rushed if it could have waited 'til morning.

"All right, all right. I'll be on my way. Let me wake up, get some coffee, pack some clothes—how long am I staying?"

"No time for that! There's coffee on the jet, and I can have someone pack your bags for you. We need you in three hours."

Oh. Oh this was not good. This was time sensitive?

This wasn't about Bruce, this was about something else, something that required his attention.

He slipped into his slippers and headed for the elevator.

"Okay Tony, I assume there's a cab waiting for me?"

"I called the moment you answered."

The doors dinged open.

"See you soon, Tony."

"Back at ya, Green."

The driver already knew where to take him, and Tony had already transferred cash into the guy's account. Bruce was just surprised to see that Tony called a regular Taxicab driver, instead of one of his personal lackeys. Guess they were the fastest ride. Just how desperate was Tony? How many times did he call?

He checked his missed calls, and was a bit taken aback that Tony's first call came through just after midnight. He'd been trying to reach Bruce for five hours.

Bruce tried calling him again once he was on the jet, but Tony didn't answer. So he was probably busy. Whatever it was sounded real important, so he understood and didn't call back.

For four hours.

He was almost there, another twenty minutes, and it wasn't like he didn't know what to do: exit the aircraft, get in the car waiting, get to the mansion, and be debriefed there. But he didn't like all the waiting, and not knowing, and what if this was a problem he wasn't able to assist with? What if this problem was a problem that only he could fix? What if this was a trap, and some terrorist threatened Pepper's life if Tony didn't make the call to get him over there?

Fact of the matter was Bruce was walking in blind without a debriefing. He had absolutely no idea what to expect. For all he knew, Steve and that new friend of his found that old friend of his and he needed a good hulk slam. Which was completely impossible. No way would Stark have called him to the mansion for that. He would have gone outside to the water, at least.

Regardless, of what the problem was or what it wasn't, Bruce steeled himself to be completely surprised by it, since he had no earthly idea.

And true enough, he was. The moment the front doors opened for him, he could hear screaming, and he knew for sure that wasn't good.

Who was screaming?

He followed the sounds, and as he got closer to the stairs, he had to stop and take a breath. It was louder by the top of the stairs, not only because he was closer, but also because the bend and shape of the stairwell amplified the sound.

At the bottom of the stairs, just inside Tony's mechanical lab/garage, were several large hospital-grade medical units. The desks and tables and machines that normally took up Tony's floorspace were pushed neatly against the far wall, blocking his cars in.

He saw an EKG machine by an electrosurgical unit, patient monitors and an anesthesia machine, some surgical lights by a surgical table, and then there was the matter of the patient bed.

There was clearly someone on it, and that was most likely where the screaming was coming from, but he couldn't see the patient through the crowd surrounding. Tony was on the opposite side holding the body still, though it didn't look like he was using much force. Sam was wrapping a leg in gauze at the foot of the bed. The third body looked like Steve, if the slump of his shoulders gave anything away. Bruce couldn't tell what he was doing.

Until he got closer.

Tony noticed him, and must have said something, which prompted Steve to turn and glance his way, but Bruce heard nothing but the sounds Loki was making, pitiful whimpers, which was a blessed change from the screams he heard a moment ago.

So they finally found him. Took long enough.

He stood near Sam, at the foot of the bed, and gazed over Loki. He hadn't really been into Thor's search for his missing brother; the only thing he knew was that the guy went missing from his cell. He figured he'd escaped, but he wasn't one of the get-out-and-go Avengers. He didn't transform into the Hulk every weekday and fight crime from nine to five. He wreaked too much havoc.

Thor understood why he had not wanted to be involved in the search.

But now he wondered what he'd missed. Was this what Tony didn't want to tell him over the phone?

Obviously, what else could it have been!?

Whatever happened to Loki, it was bad.

Sam was wrapping some injury to his leg, blood was soaking through the bandages already, and Bruce wondered if maybe the screaming was the result of that wound. But there were also bandages on his torso—his entire torso, and they were also leaking through. How badly was this guy damaged?

He was sure there was more upon closer examination, but what struck him the most was that Loki wasn't struggling, wasn't fighting back. Sure, Tony was holding him down, but that looked more like he was trying to keep him from squirming or twitching.

Steve had papers in his hand that he was reading through—papers that Bruce assumed had to do with the situation somehow, but couldn't fathom how.

"Um, Tony?" He started, slowly and quizzically, "What's going on?"

"Steve found Loki, and he's in rough shape. We need you, Mr. Pediatrician, to patch him up."

That made sense, sort of.

"…Pediatrician?"

Steve turned toward him, and Tony didn't bother replying.

"We found some documents about the procedures, but from what I pieced together from the non-redacted parts, it's more of an overview of multiple projects, like a proposal. There are no details."

"So, I've got nothing really to work with in regards of possible internal injuries," he toned it like a statement on purpose, yet Tony contradicted him.

"Not quite. I've pieced together some documents about details of procedures, like emails from colleague to colleague, asking questions to the next shift or something. Like Steve said, a lot of it has been redacted. I have more on my computer that I haven't gone through yet."

Loki was just shaking now, laying still and quiet.

Upon closer examination, he was a complete mess. He wasn't wearing clothes, so the shaking could be from the chill, but considering his biological ancestry, it was doubtful. His palor was both far too pale and far too flushed, possibly from a fever, and there were bruises all over his limbs, especially his wrists and ankles. That must've been where the restraints were.

But Loki was losing blood fast. Bruce didn't have time to stare and check. He needed to work.

"Did you get a sterilizer and gloves?"

"Yeah, behind you on the desk."

Bruce excused them all from the room and began his work.

Thankfully, Loki didn't fight him.