Secret File
Part Two
Thor carried Loki as carefully as humanly – and godly – possible into the S.H.I.E.L.D. building and followed Fury as he led him down the confusing maze of tunnels to a room with what looked like the glass holding cell that had been made for the Hulk on the flying version of S.H.I.E.L.D. The cell was completely bare except a plain white bed which Thor gently laid Loki onto. There was nothing Loki could do but clench his teeth against the pain and try to muffle his groans.
Thor looked around the holding cell and couldn't help thinking; He would have been treated much better in Asgard. Loki hadn't even moved after Thor had set him down and as Thor gazed down at the broken form of his younger brother he saw Loki clenching his fists and jaw as a single tear slid down his cheek. What else could he do? He wanted to help his brother as much as he could but Thor had never been a healer and wasn't going to risk trying it out on Loki so when Fury motioned for Thor to follow him out of the room all Thor could do was send a silent prayer to Odin and hope he had heard.
Loki could barely open his eyes without the brightness of the room sending shoots of pain into his brain and down his spine which settled in his stomach making him nauseous. He clenched his whole body against the pain hoping it would fade but as Loki watched Thor turn away a whole other pain bloomed inside of his chest. Of course Thor was just leaving him. Loki always had been the black sheep of the family. Ever since he was little Loki had been looked down upon by his brother. And now, even here in this unfamiliar place, Thor was leaving him behind.
Loki remembered being on the Rainbow Bridge with Thor and Odin and all he could think of was how he wanted to get away. He didn't want to be near the people who constantly looked down on him from childhood on. At least he knew why they had hated him so much: he was a Frost Giant. He had been and always would be viewed as an inconvenience. So, in his mind, it made perfect sense that the only way to get away would be to just… let go.
He remembered Thor screaming his name as if Thor actually cared if he survived or not and he remembered turning his back on them as he fell, facing what was new. He remembered falling down, down, down and not even caring where he ended up. He wanted to die. There was no place for him in this universe: he couldn't be trusted in Asgard, and he was hated in Jotunheim now that he had killed Laufey. There was no place for him.
He remembered glaring down defiantly at the black and broken looking planet rushing up to meet him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that this was definitely not one of the nine planets but, again, he didn't care. He would let his death come and he would embrace his end gratefully.
He remembered the last few seconds before he hit the ground. He remembered the panic and fear of death creeping into him now but he fought it back as he harshly reminded himself that there was no place for him anyway.
He remembered the instant pain that came like a giant wave crashing against his whole body all at once. He felt like everything was broken. Why couldn't he have had the good fortune of dying instantly? He had landed on his side with his arm underneath him which was now definitely broken. In the split second before hitting the ground his body had reacted and tried to move but it was too late and now he lay there, wishing death would just come. The pain was constant and seemed to grow and multiply with every passing second. Soon it was too much and, to protect itself, Loki's brain shut off and he slid into unconsciousness.
Unfortunately this oblivion hadn't lasted long: he had moments of lucidity as he heard people – no, things – moving around him. It felt like every time they even merely brushed his totally destroyed and abused body that they were pounding on him with mjolnir itself. He could hear himself screaming and cursing them but it was like it wasn't him who was doing it. He was in a completely different world – one where there was nothing but an oppressive haze of pain that smothered everything else from reality into oblivion.
These moments happened too often for his liking and when he finally woke up – not just delirious or choked with hallucinations as he had been before, but really awake – he could barely move without causing himself more than the constant amount of pain. He put all his energy in just staying awake for at least a few minutes as he observed the room he was in. It was very dark and therefore there wasn't much he could see but as his eyes adjusted his eyes caught sight of what must have been the outline of the door. It was oddly shaped and looked very thick and metallic. He wanted so desperately to figure out where he was but he was so tired. Even if he had just been sleeping for weeks he was still tired.
The last thing he did before falling asleep was to take stock of his injuries. Right arm: broken. Left hand: broken. Ribs: quite a few broken. He slowly and painfully brought a hand to his chest and felt how broken and swollen from internal bleeding it was. He slowly dragged the same hand up to his face and found that nothing was broken but as his hand reached the side of his head he found it covered in a large amount of bandaging. His left knee felt sore as if it had been wrenched from its socket and then popped back in. He gritted his teeth as he gingerly laid his arm back down. Suddenly a sharp jab of pain ran across his chest and he sucked in a large breath which subsequently caused more pain throughout his body and he passed out.
He remembered waking up later with a burning determination to just die. Looking at his life so far: what had he accomplished? What was left for him? He had tried to keep disaster from coming to Asgard by manipulating Odin to banish Thor but that turned into a large disaster and he had not only failed Odin but he ruined his chances of even being accepted into Jotunheim. He figured that it would just be for the best.
Later on, when the strange creatures of the planet came in to treat his wounds again he spotted one of them carrying a large tray of medical supplies. Surely one of the bottles had something deadly if taken in large amounts – even to him. After all; it would take powerful drugs to just treat him, therefore they were probably already shooting large amounts into him anyway. It shouldn't take much more.
By the time the creatures had left he had successfully swiped a bottle from them without their notice. After multiple tries – he only had use of one hand – he opened the stupid bottle and poured ten of the translucent grey pills into his hand. Before he could talk himself out of it he threw them back and closed his eyes and waited.
Loki had gotten extremely lucky and couldn't have picked a better bottle to swipe: the pills were evidently pain killers and before he could even hide the bottle his body lost all feeling. Just before he closed his eyes the door banged open and several of the creatures burst into the room. One grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up in a manner that should have been extremely painful. Another grabbed his face and started hissing some weird language and he lost conscious thought.
He woke up later laying on top of a tall tower in some unknown place with Thor running towards him. Even here, in death, Thor had come to mock him, to remind him of his failures against Odin.
When Thor had turned to leave him here in this unfamiliar place Loki was utterly spent. There was nothing more left in him. A single tear slid down his cheek as he drifted into unconsciousness.
