The doe went down surprisingly easily, since Loki hadn't had a bow, nor a spear, and he was grinning as he dragged the carcass down into the hollow he'd found, building a fire-pit and spit before he went hunting for a flint. Conjuring fire had seemed possible, but no...he had no magic in him. This was only his skills now, and for the first time in eons, he was grateful for the times they hunted, the times they went far abroad in Asgard and Midgard both. Luck was with him, though; he found two stones that if not quite perfect, certainly did the job, and within an hour, he had a cheerful little flame, the tantalizing scent of venison filling the air. There wasn't to be a storm tonight, so Loki set to work skinning the deer and preparing the hide as best he could; it wasn't much, but deerskin was warmer than nothing, and silk and leather didn't do much when the wind whipped around you.
Fall must have been shorter here than he imagined; already the warmth of the sun had dissolved into a brisk chill, one that made him huddle around his fire a little bit more, and as the sun set, he pulled the hide over his shoulders, curling his lip a little at the smell. No matter. It wasn't as though there was anyone to see him here. Nor smell him. And he'd encountered far worse on his adventures in his youth. Besides, the deer was more than ready to eat, and he burnt his lips and tongue on the crackling meat; despite that, the haunch disappeared with almost indecent haste, and he'd set the other half on to cook while he laid back, picking out his teeth with a sliver of bone. Refined he might have been, but he could quite easily put away as much food as his brother; more so, when he'd worked his magics.
And now he was relatively warm, comfortable, and pillowing his head on a rock, he laid back, eyes going up to the stars just now winking into existence. Ah, that was the trick...he knew star charts from all the nine realms, had studied them over his long years, and knew how to orient himself...but that wasn't right. His brow crinkled, and he sat up, lips pursing as he braced himself on one hand and traced one constellation blooming into light with a shaking finger. That was...Ursa Major. Of Midgard. But next to it...that was Fenrir, of Asgard, the great wolf...and at the opposite part of the cosmos, the enormous dragon of Muspelheim, that Surt bested...Stars he'd known all his life jumbled together in a moonless sky, and Loki felt his heart quiver. This was...this was all wrong. All wrong. Perhaps this was indeed Hell...Helheim, all of it. Perhaps this was what the humans called Purgatory; a place of suffering...he did not know. And he feared that most of all. He turned over, eyes wide and staring into the fire, and sought sleep with abandon, begging for its sweet embrace.
- beep - . . . - beep - . . . - beep -
The soft sound of the machine woke him this time, and he loathed that sound, feared it, hated it...but it was better than the dream world he went back to whenever he left the mortal world. The dream world...frightened him. Terrified him, actually. It held all of his fears, and a loneliness so great that he could not bear it, would seek sleep there to return here...only to be sent back there, to wake with tears in his eyes. Never mind that there he could run, could jump, could be free...he was far more caged there than he ever would be here. The days, he did not count them any more; once they numbered in the tens, then more...and he simply lost count. He would wake, walk, sleep, wake, suffer, sleep...it was an endless, hateful cycle.
But this time, he felt more alert, more totally there than before...and judging by the way his wrists and ankles were bound down to the bed, they had anticipated that.
Never mind that he was as weak as a lamb, and worn thin with pain. The pain that was, in fact, spreading out from the healing scar upon his chest. But he welcomed the pain, reveled in it, for it meant life, and it meant that the death in Asgard was nothing. If only the same could be said for his mother...He closed his eyes as a hot tear slipped down, and he tried to quiet the howling grief. /Mother, my dear mother...I am such a fool.../ He knew she could no longer answer him, but it was a measure of her legacy that he felt a little comfort anyway. Whatever else he had been, all those long years ago to her when Odin had brought him back, an infant spoil of a war that massacred so many, he had been her son. He knew that now.
And there was a nurse coming; the soft pad of her footsteps, the scent of the lotion on her hands, and the quiet breathing brought him back into focus. She would see that he had been crying again; and if she was the same as the one a few weeks before, she would not comment on it. He did admire her professionalism; he'd heard her talking, low and soft, and his heart clenched painfully when she admitted that he'd been the cause of her fiance's death, courtesy of a Chitauri. /I was such a fool.../ He could speak, and had to the agents who'd come with Fury, his lies picked apart and trampled under their shiny black shoes, but to speak to this woman, when he'd done her such a wrong...
His eyes opened when she lightly touched the needle in his arm, her own eyes cool and expression nothing more than simple interest.
"You are going to be bathed today. The doctors are finished with their...examinations." There was a hint of distaste in her tone, and he wet his lips, nodding. His voice was halting, labored.
"I...thank..you. I..I am...sorry...for..."
"For what?"
"For...New..York." He whispered, swallowing as her eyes widened, but he plowed on. He had to keep going now, there was no stopping the words, the sorrow.
"I...was...a fool...a jealous fool...I brought harm...to so...so many...all...because...I forgot...myself...my place...I harmed innocents...harmed a world...and I deserve this." Her eyes were quiet, appraising, and he closed his eyes, the hot sting of tears familiar.
"Y'know, Director Fury warned me that you'd try and talk to me." Her voice was as quiet as his, and he swallowed, cracking an eye open as her weight settled near his right knee. "Try and convince me. That you were sorry. He called you a lot of names, most notably a liar. And a cheat. And you know, he wasn't wrong...about the first part." She turned to face him, eyes shimmering with tears also, and he swallowed back his reply, caught in her honesty. "And I hate you. I hate you so much. But you've never once lied to the agents, to the Director, since you came back here. And I don't believe you're lying to me now. I could do...so much to you. I could smother you with a pillow, overdose you on drugs. I could even do something horrible, like inject a cleaning solution into your veins." He gulped at that, eyes going round, and she laughed weakly.
"I could kill you. And let's be honest here; I'd get a reward. I know that. But I'm going to make sure you're clean, and comfortable, and suffiently painless. Because your big brother has been here every day since you were brought in, pleading with SHIELD and the World Council to give you a chance to rehabilitate. He accepted that you'd be opened up, examined; that we could do whatever we wanted to you. The crux has been that after it's all said and done, you'll be allowed to heal. To try your hand at a new life. You have no magic any longer. Asgard and Midgard both have taken care of that. But you've been given the best care possible, and protected from, quite frankly, some pretty bad people. And Director Fury himself told me I could say all this to you. Or I could tell you to go to hell. It was my choice." She was quiet for a moment, studying his slack-jawed surprise, and nodded.
"I chose to trust that you've changed. That you're going to keep changing. But you've got a long way to go; they tore you open pretty thoroughly, and while they put you back together pretty well, you're still going to have to heal the hard way. So, it's bath time; there will be three orderlies helping, and..."
"May...I have...my brother?" She blinked, caught unawares, and Loki gulped again. "P-please?" He whispered, suddenly terrified of what he was asking, of the repercussions..what...what if one of the things in the stipulations was that Thor wasn't to see him? At all?
"Let me ask the head doctor." She replied simply, and slipped off his bed and out of the room, leaving him to worry at the idea like a dog with a bone. It felt like hours before they returned; it probably wasn't, but it was long enough that he was in a tremendous amount of pain, his breathing short and labored, and he didn't even notice his brother's presence until a massive hand laid over his brow, so familiar in the scent of leather and metal that he might have cried...and judging by his brother's quiet sigh, he began to.
"My brother, forgive me the delay...The Director was most annoyed."
"It...is...alright...please...may...I...have...a.. .little more...medicine?" He breathed out, eyes glassy as he tried to focus in on those familiar blue eyes.
"Nurse, you may administer the pain medication." Came a smooth, gentle voice, one of a man whom he faintly recognized, but how...then the horrible, horrible pain was gone, and he could relax with a soft groan, eyes moving from Thor to the nurse, to...his hair was grayer, eyes sardonic, and Loki felt the blood drain from his face.
"Doctor...Banner."
"Loki. You're lucky I was visiting today; threatening a Hulk-Thor knockout fight like the one on the carrier was the only way we were able to get you your brother. Whom I presume you're claiming now." Banner crossed his arms, looking far more comfortable in his own skin than he had back on that carrier, one eyebrow lifted.
"I...am. Thank you, Doctor." He replied, nodding just a little utterly flummoxed.
"Thank me after your clean-up. Thor, think you can handle him without more than myself and the nurse? I'd rather not squeeze a half-dozen people in that room."
"Most certainly, Bruce. Brother, you are mostly nude already; will you be alright with this arrangement." Loki nodded, and sighed in relief as the restraints came off. Banner noted that, and started massaging feeling back into his feet.
"Have you been able to feel your hands and feet."
"Not...well. The numbness...comes, and goes." He murmured, leaning heavily into Thor as his brother sat him up, slow, gentle. This kindness...this was not the Thor he'd known as a man. This was the Thor he'd known as a child, when Loki would get so sick in the heat (now he knew why), when things were at their worst...he laid his head on that enormous chest and just let his older brother take care of him. He was beyond shame now; wobbling naked to a sterile rest room, his body aching and bones too big for his skin, he had no more interest in anything but the steaming bath and the plastic skin of drugs bobbling on its metal pole. As Thor simply lifted him into the tub, he melted into the water, completely boneless. "...this. I...have missed this." He groaned faintly, the hot water a heaven. It eased his pain, his aches, everything...and Thor was quiet, holding his head gently.
"...Actually, nurse, how about we take a break outside? I think Thor's got this, and Loki certainly isn't going anywhere fast." Loki could have blessed the man, and as they left the room, he raised a shaky, trembling hand to Thor's arm, ignoring the brilliant scar down his front. Thor, however was staring at it, remorse in his eyes.
"What has been done to you, brother?"
"...You know the...answer, Thor." And he did; they both did.
"Can you ever forgive me? For what I've done?" Loki was quiet, silent, long enough that Thor bent his head, hot tears hitting his brother's forehead, his hair...and Loki laughed, soft, weak, and lost.
"You've forgiven me...all that I've made...your world and you suffer. This...This is the punishment...I earned. There is nothing...that...needs forgiven. Only...how...how can you...love me...still, when I...hurt so many?" It was Thor's turn to be quiet, then, and long moments stretched into an hour, and Loki washed himself slowly, painfully, thankful to see the grime disappearing into hot soap and water. Water wasn't an element he'd much cared for...but now...it was a balm, soothing away the doubts now curdling in his stomach. At long last, Thor spoke, his voice so soft that Loki paused to hear it.
"...I love you as my brother, as my partner, as one of the truest friends I could ever have. I have loved you from the moment you became my brother, when we were both babes in our mother's arms. When we were children, were youths, were men...I have loved you through all of that. And when you first fell, to be tortured and broken and lost...I told myself I hated you, that you were nothing. I wept every night, knowing how wrong that was. Because you, Loki...you have ever been the man I longed to be. Even at your worst, your most spiteful, I thought of little more than being like you. I might have acted as our father had...but you, Loki, you were ever my true peer. Even now, even as hurt and battered as you are...you are more a man than I can ever be. Because you have suffered, have lost, have lived...and I...I have simply been a brash fool. You deserve the throne, not I." Loki had turned during the narrative, eyes wide, lost, and Thor matched him, tears spilling from those blue, blue eyes. A sky turned stormy...Loki reached for him, his own eyes brimming.
"...My brother."