A/N: In case anyone was wondering, this story takes place approximately 2 years after the events of the manga/Brotherhood.
Loki was far too refined to utter profanities. It was a matter of pride, and by the Nine, he was not going to stoop so low as to allow such foul language to color his impeccable character.
It didn't change the simple truth that he was very lost.
There seemed to be no change in this endless stretch of trees and fields, and his attempt at climbing a tree to see further had left him with nothing but scratches and an ankle that hurt when he put his weight on it. Backtracking had also proved difficult – he hadn't been in the right state of mind to pay any attention to where he'd been going.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen. If only his father – no, not his father, Odin – and Thor could see him now. Thor would mock him with his friends, the ones Loki used to consider his own friends. Odin would consider it a fair punishment and leave him to rot, like the weed in the family he'd always been. They likely thought Loki dead. Perhaps they were off celebrating, or perhaps they had the decency to go through the traditional mourning period, even if they didn't truly feel any grief. Then again, traitors didn't get mourning periods, nor those who took their own lives.
Loki's stomach growled, reminding him of the predicament at hand. It was so horribly inconvenient just how quickly this body required sustenance. He was without even his daggers, and he still hadn't found any signs of civilization. His arm ached terribly, his bare feet were bleeding and he felt lightheaded, like there was still a chance he could wake up and this all would have been nothing more than a vivid, terrible nightmare.
Looking up, he noticed what looked like a flat-topped dome in the distance, and some of his unsteadiness seemed to fade as he focused on a more concrete destination. There was no way that was a natural structure, and with luck that would mean civilization.
His optimism faded as he got nearer. The sounds of the forest seemed to fade the closer he got, leaving an eerie silence befitting the destruction surrounding him. It looked like a battleground. Charred trees and scorched earth had started to regain a little color, but it was obvious something had happened here. Surviving trees on the outskirts bore wicked gashes, some parallel and some, the deepest ones, singular. Trenches ran through the ground, all leading to the center of the destruction. To the dome.
It was massive, and frankly it was a marvel it was still standing. As he got closer, legs trembling of exhaustion, he realized it was made of the same materials as the ground, forming a structure that seemed almost impossible. The top had collapsed in and a quarter of the walls had crumbled, and it was obvious it had been here for some time. Loki's eyes lingered on the strange trenches converging on the dome. It was almost as if huge slivers of the land had been peeled up to create the dome, though how such a feat could be accomplished escaped him. Humans were craftier than he'd given them credit for. It would not do to underestimate them, especially not when he lacked an advantage.
The sun was beating down on him. It was nearing noon, by his best estimate. Exhaustion was wearing down on him even more in the exposure of the clearing, and the coolness of the shade was welcome when he hesitantly stepped into the dome. It was empty, unsurprisingly given the silence, yet small footprints littered the dirt. Surely civilization could not be too far away, if this was a place children visited, but he was too tired to continue on without some rest. He would lie down for just a few minutes. There was no time to waste on sleeping, not when he still did not know exactly where he was. He would find America, and from there he could locate the place known as New Mexico, and Thor's lover. That woman would be of no use to him, but Thor would undoubtedly find a way to return to her, and Loki intended to be there, waiting for him. Thor had always been too soft for his own good – surely Loki could convince him to find a way to restore Loki to his former glory. He would promise (or lie about) anything to achieve that goal.
"Is he dead?"
"No, I think I saw 'im twitchin'."
"Look, he's all bloody! He's totally dead!"
"Shut up, you idiots! He's moving!"
"Holy shit!"
"Somebody go get Marcoh!"
Awareness came slowly. Everything was sluggish and it was a struggle to do so much as turn towards the painfully loud voices. His head throbbed, and Loki wished he could just go back to sleep and ignore the fools disturbing his badly needed rest. When he attempted to snap as much, though, all that came out was a low groan, and he added a sore throat to his growing list of torments. His arm felt like it was on fire.
A couple blurry figures were leaning over Loki when he finally opened his eyes, and he recoiled instinctively. It was a movement he instantly regretted, but thankfully they backed off. Oh, Hel, he had to get out of here. He was far too vulnerable.
The world started spinning wildly when he tried to sit up and he collapsed almost immediately. It was pathetic just how easily his body was giving out, after all that effort.
It seemed like only seconds had passed before a horribly deformed face filled his vision. Maybe Loki had already died and gone to Hel. He didn't recall anything about demons or comparably ugly races living there, though it hadn't been his area of focus in his studies. It was an unfortunate face regardless.
Whoever it was, they were saying something, but Loki didn't have enough energy to focus on the words. It was doubtful to be anything of importance, and he was just so tired.
When he opened his eyes again, his surroundings had changed. It was dark aside from a flickering lamp, the meager light revealing a ramshackle room and that oddly disfigured man he vaguely recalled leaning over him back in the dome. The man took notice of his alertness and moved over to him with a plate of some sort of food, sitting down in a chair next to the thin cot Loki was lying on.
"Can you eat?" he asked in a rough, aged voice. Loki eyed him warily, cautiously pushing himself up with his good arm. The shabby blanket draped over him fell and he realized his shirt was missing, his arm now wrapped in bandages. The man seemed to take his silence as confusion. "I'm Dr. Marcoh. How much can you remember?"
"I was in a dome of earth," Loki said, choosing his words carefully as not to reveal more than absolutely necessary. "Some children found me. You were there." Although the mortal did not seem malicious, Loki wasn't sure just how safe he was. He had, after all, managed to kill one of their kind within minutes of his arrival, and his last appearance on Midgard had been even more destructive.
The doctor frowned. At least, it looked like he may have frowned. It was difficult to tell, with his face so distorted. Loki was tempted to ask about it, but it was doubtful such an inquiry would go over well. It would be best not to anger anyone for the time being. Marcoh placed the plate of food next to Loki, who took it with only a little reluctance. He was far too hungry to be too concerned about any contaminates – if they wished him dead or otherwise incapacitated, he was hardly able to put up much resistance. "You'd been shot. What happened?"
"I don't remember," Loki said. Predictably, Marcoh didn't seem to believe him. It was a weak lie, but Loki didn't have the energy to bother with an elaborate one.
"Of course not," the doctor muttered. He didn't press, a small mercy. Humans had a terrible habit of nosiness. "Can you at least tell me your name?"
"Erik." That had been the name of one of Thor's human companions, if he remembered correctly. Loki was unfamiliar with human naming conventions; it was safer to use one he'd heard before on Midgard. Marcoh looked like he was going to continue asking questions, so Loki deflected with one of his own. "Where am I?"
"Kanama. It's one of the slums right outside of Central," Marcoh amended when Loki showed no sign of recognition.
"I see." Loki was tempted to ask about the dome and its surroundings, but considering how distinctive it was it might be suspicious if he admitted to knowing nothing about it. He set his now empty plate down. "What time is it?"
"Five in the morning. You should try to get some more sleep, you need the rest." Marcoh stood up, moving to the curtained doorway. "I'll be in the next room over if you need anything, Erik."
Loki just nodded. There was no way he was staying, and the moment the doctor disappeared he was on his feet. His ankle and feet had been wrapped as well, and he couldn't help a ripple of gratitude. Only a small one – Marcoh was a human after all.
A cursory examination of the room recovered his boots and pants, which he quickly pulled back on. His shirt had been cut apart, much to his disappointment, but he found a well-worn black shirt folded on one of the tables that would have to suffice. He left the jacket. It was too small to begin with, not to mention he'd stolen it from the home of the mortal he'd killed. The less they could link back to him the better.
The gun was gone, unsurprisingly. Marcoh had probably confiscated it. That was one more reason to leave. Loki had no idea how long he'd been here – probably at least a couple days, given the improved state of his injuries, and for all he knew Marcoh was out calling the guards. He didn't have time to look for the weapon, as much as he would have liked to hang onto it.
The window was small and an uncomfortably tight fit. Thank Valhalla he wasn't as broad as Thor, or he might as well have just busted through the wall. The thought brought a small smile to his face that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. He shouldn't be thinking about Thor with any sort of fondness, not when it was that boor's fault Loki was here in the first place.
The narrow street – if you could call it that – he was on was devoid of people, though he could hear the slum waking up. There were more lights in the distance, and he set off towards them, hoping it was the city he was seeing. He needed to figure out where exactly he was and where he needed to go next, and neither the wilderness nor a slum like this was going to help him achieve that goal.
