Chapter Two

A/N: You don't need to read the note if you don't want to; just skip to the story if you feel like it.

Once again, if you take the time to read this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. That was cheesy, but you know what I mean. I honestly am surprised that anyone does want to continue reading this, just because I feel like the way my writing reads is kind of weird (I'm working on it. Bear with me). But I do love it when someone likes reading something I wrote :). I know this chapter is really short, but the upcoming ones should be much longer. Like, much longer. Sorry if this note is too long, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Also, I noticed that I spelled 'Midgard' wrong in the previous chapter, and I am acknowledging it here instead of going back and fixing it. I know, I'm lazy. Don't judge me.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters, and I do not make a profit from this story.

I forgot this last chapter, but this story (loosely) based on the song Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper. I don't own it. Carry on.

Sometimes you picture me-
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me, I can't hear
What you've said-
Then you say-go slow-
I fall behind-
The second hand unwinds

The first thing Loki notices when he blinks his eyes open, the dim light blinding him for a moment, is that he is in a bed. A bed, with blankets and pillows and a mattress. How long had it been since he had slept on one? How long had he been Shield's prisoner? Hours? Days? Months?

He didn't know. All of his other senses had left him when the pain had started.

He hadn't expected it to hurt that much. He hadn't expected it to hurt at all, really. He had been expecting- well, it doesn't matter what he had been expecting. Not now, anyway.

He feels the bruises around his neck even before his fingers touch them of their own accord. Stop. You can't afford to think about that right now. But the memories are already coming back, his eyes closing in attempt to ward them off. It doesn't work.

Hands. Hands everywhere. No. Not again. No more. Please, please let it stop. Make it stop. It hurts, why won't it stop? It was supposed to stop. It was supposed to stop but it wasn't and they were hurting him and why wasn't Thor there? Why wasn't Thor saving him? He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. He didn't feel anything anymore. And then he did.

A scream shatters the silence. Was that me? He didn't think it was, but who else could it be? All he knew was that he couldn't do this again. He would die before he let them touch him; let them hurt him, again.

But it isn't your choice, is it?

A sob escapes his lips, and suddenly there are hands. There are hands, but they aren't hurting. They are stroking his face, wiping his tears, smoothing his hair where it stuck to his forehead with sweat. It didn't matter though, because they would hurt. They might not now, but eventually they would hit and cut and take.

But Loki wouldn't let them.

So he pushes and scratches and bites, anything to make sure that he would be safe. They would never hurt him again.

When the outburst is over, his eyes still tightly shut, he feels himself drift back to sleep. He doesn't even have enough energy left to react when a soft blanket is pulled up around his shuddering body, or to the murmured, "Goodnight, Lokes," that follows.

He does hear it, though.

This time, the sky is dark when Loki wakes, the moonlight barely shining through the thick gathering of clouds in the sky. He involuntarily shivers when thunder booms, breaking the steady pounding of rain on the window.

Slowly, he moves to the edge of the bed, wincing when the pillows rub against the welts peppering his back. Those would be difficult to heal.

But not now. Now, he would focus on resting and building his magic back up. Currently, he could barely feel miniscule tendrils where before his imprisonment there were vast reserves. The fact that he was so drained suggested that it had been far longer than Loki had guessed since its last use. Now, he wondered if a few years passed, perhaps more. That was unfortunate.

Unfortunate, but not impossible to work with. As long as he was in the right environment, it should only take a few months, a bit less than a year at the longest, to gather enough energy to teleport somewhere he knew he would be safe.

But he had recognized the voice from before. He was in Tony Stark's home. And considering the events that had transpired during his last visit here, it would notbe the right environment.

And it would be nowhere near safe.