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Loki automatically clawed at the fingers clamped about his arm, immovable as iron and about as comfortable. Moth was staring at him with a dumbfounded expression firmly in place and he wanted to yell at the idiot - 'I didn't think I'd do something so stupid either!' Only a squeak came out. An absolutely mortifying squeak and he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn, as if attempting to set his hair on fire.

"The fuck was that? Are you suicidal?!" Hon Dör said under her breath and shoulders tense. She had appeared from the fray next to Moth and favoured her left leg. Loki was asking himself the same thing. Evidently, falling from the rainbow bridge hadn't been enough for his self-destructive subconscious.

But there was no time to retort that he had everything perfectly how he wanted it and that his master-plan was most certainly real and most certainly implemented. Of course he had been plotting this since Odin had chucked him into Asgard's dungeon many months ago.

Instead, Loki was dragged away by the guard with his blustering excuses still swimming up and down his throat, but it was too tight for them to escape. Like the hand on his arm was actually sunk through the flesh of his neck and clenched about his trachea.

Moth's large brown eyes and Hon Dör's blank mask followed him to the exit, where the doors were flung open and they disappeared from sight.

Quick march, through vaguely familiar corridors. He didn't bother digging in his heels - such behaviour was undignified and would expend valuable energy.

At first there were no crowds, then the halls were lined with the occasional person and then they were suddenly wading through bodies, all casting him sideways glances or openly staring. Evidently some had been watching the recent spectacle through those cameras in the mess and were eying him up. Would bets be placed on how quickly he would be squashed by this Champion of theirs?

Loki mentally shook himself. It did not matter what these insignificant imbeciles thought. He did not care. As long as he managed to get off of this forsaken, primitive rock, then he could make it to Asgard and Thor and find out what in the Nine Realms had happened. Because the Crown Prince had not yet tumbled through one of the portals - of that, Loki was certain. The Thunder God's presence always made a mark in the fabric of seiðr. If he could sense it was another matter.

Unless what tumbled through one of the portals was a corpse.

A corpse with staring, glazed over blue eyes. No longer sparkling and vibrant and filled with life. But frozen still, looking out in one direction never to shift, glance over and crinkle at the edges. Like they had when spotting Loki out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a golden pillar in the palace and gesturing for quiet, so that some trick or another could be performed.

Cold on his cheeks and Loki blinked. The skin under his eyes felt sore and he reached up to touch them, felt frost on his fingertips, barely covering the puffy skin.

No; he would not allow his brother to die.

Because as much as it hurt less for him to think of Thor as a stranger and an enemy… The thin sheen of ice which had formed on his face said otherwise, and it didn't lie. Mostly, though, he was tired. So tired. Not just from this whole escapade, but from worry. Worry, worry, worry. He felt like an old, world-weary caretaker. Because he had been trying to convince himself that Asgard and Thor and all the rest of it was alright, that they would have vanquished Hela the moment she arrived. But at the same time with the absolute certainty that he didn't care. That this was all mere curiosity.

Mere curiosity did not make him cry like some ergi!

So many of his excuses for what he'd done were tied up in refuting his family. Telling his mother that she wasn-

About his arm, the fist tightened painfully and Loki bit back a gasp, rubbed his eyes and glowered at the guard by his side. Banished any thought of Asgard to the depths of his mind. When - when not if - he saw Thor again, they could work this out. Work their way through whatever this was. Because now that the panic and terror and exhaustion had worn away the mental walls keeping out thoughts of what might have, could have, will have happened… The prospect of never seeing Thor again was far worse than all of his memories of inadequacy and being ignored and not being good enough. They still hurt. But not as much as that momentary, imagined and blurry image of a golden-haired, blue-eyed body lying lifeless and battered.

He tried to shift his thoughts away from Thor again and succeeded this time. Before him was a double-door entrance, golden and gilded and looking rather convinced of its own importance. Loki focused on that. On how everything here was so self obsessed and how nothing quaked in his presence or from knowledge of what Hela might be, could be, would be doing in Asgard at that very momen-

No. Loki shut the thought down and scowled at his own weakness. Thinking about that was not a good idea. He had enough to deal with. A new mental blockade was erected, nowhere near as strong as the previous had been, but enough to stop himself from obsessing over it, then collapsing into a panicked heap on the floor. Not the most excellent of battle strategies.

Instead, he glowered at the looming double doors with as much force and anger as he could muster, studiously ignoring the ache in his legs.

Slowly, they swung in to reveal the same chaotic mess of a king's hall as last time. But, there was more organisation to it this time. Each head was already turned towards him when the great slabs of metal finally opened fully. It was painfully obvious they were judging him. Eyes ran up and down his body, taking note of everything, laughing at the puffy red which undoubtedly ringed his eyes. He hoped they bet against him - making these bastards lose money would be rather satisfying.

For the second time, he stood opposite the Grandmaster.

Those eyes were still the same sort of dangerous warm as they had been when he first entered this hall. Promised to ignite a terrible blaze for little to no reason. Loki suppressed a shudder. Had he looked like that? At some point, he must have. After the Void had sunk its claws into him, twisted him to his anger. Hopefully it was gone, left him after all these years.

"Well, look at this!" The Grandmaster exclaimed. His arms came out, fingers spread as if to grab him and Loki controlled his flinch. If this creature ever touched him, he would flay his own skin. "Topaz, I owe you a few million," He said to the side and the stout woman smirked. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place her.

Then those eyes were back on him and Loki was too aware of it, as if prickling hot needles were pushing into his skin. "I never imagined you'd challenge this quickly. This may, in fact, be a new record. Someone correct me?" Like they would. Bootlickers.

"Anyway!" He stood, springing up despite the grey hair. "You've challenged. You're here, so, obviously, I think you're good enough to put on a show." The eyebrows waggled suggestively and Loki wanted to projectile vomit all over that expensive-looking coat.

With a flick of his hand, the guard led his prisoner over to a chair with ominous manacles attached to the armrests. Loki was forced into it and the iron bands at his wrists and feet snapped into place. A subtle tug revealed that there was absolutely no give to them. Perhaps he could have wriggled free, but it would have taken a few minutes of obvious yanking. Such a display would warrant the disk at his temple being activated and potentially lose him a chance for escape.

So, Loki sat still like a good little gladiator. He didn't manage to curb his glower, but pretending to be a dimwit could wait for when he wasn't surrounded by utter twats and their power-hungry despot.

Then the chair was rolling beneath him and Loki shifted in place as he was wheeled out to a side room. Unfortunately, the Grandmaster and some of his lackeys followed close behind. The new chamber was smaller than the hall behind him and walls lined with gleaming, sharp implements. Inside, an ancient, hunched over creature wielding a rotating set of blades.

Loki raised an eyebrow and grinned. "You severely underestimate me if you think some old man can be an effective torturer."

"Oh, you misunderstand!" The Grandmaster held out his hands as if in surrender. "No, you must look the part if you are to fight the Champion."

"You want to bloody me up before the bout has even started?" He hissed, outraged. It would be one thing to defeat a supposedly extremely powerful fighter at full strength, another whilst already weakened. Even further than Odin's binding already left him.

A laugh. "No, no. You're getting a haircut!"

Loki paled.

"A what?!"

"A haircut," The bastard rolled his eyes. "Ever heard of them? Look like a lady out of some shampoo commercial and you've never heard of a haircut. Do you even have those where you're from?"

And no more words were exchanged, because swirling blades in a maelstrom about his head. Loki could do nothing but hold stone-still as the familiar weight of his hair was shorn off.

When the device moved away, he felt cold. No tickling on the back of his neck and no stray strands waving in and out of view. Normally, he would only cut his hair with Thor - it had been the only way their mother could convince her troublesome Princes to do so. He hadn't cut it since before the coronation, when the Jötnar had been led into Asgard.

Loki shook his head, pretended it was to dislodge the lingering pieces and they fell swiftly to the floor, a dark puddle at his feet. He blinked down at it and scowled all the harder. Tried to convince himself that this really didn't matter. Such a stupid little thing to be upset over, even if the brother it reminded him of could be dea-

"Like it?" The Grandmaster asked. "We don't want the crowd thinking that I let any old pretty boy fight my Champion!"

He just blinked again at the hair, then shrugged and felt his face settle into a cold, unmoving mask. Perhaps simply escaping was no longer his only goal. This narcissistic, egotistical fucktard had to die.

And he was being moved again, bustled through the crowd and into a new room, filled to the brim with higher-quality weapons and armour than he had seen previously. They were still rather pathetic looking compared to the work of Asgard, but a sight better than what he was already equipped with.

Loki was freed from the chair's confines and he stood swiftly, brushed himself down and more raven strands swirled about him. Stepped up to the tables, arrayed against a wall and holding all manner of weapons. Ran a hand over them, feeling worn hilts and sharp blades and stiff leather.

At his back, the onlookers tittered like so many over-fed birds and he bristled. But he didn't hesitate in picking out which blades to use and discarding the ones strapped to his shoulder and belt. Then stripped, tugged on a new pair of trousers and tunic, the same except that they were a better fit and less worn. Sewn spirals were rough against his fingers as he set the paper-thin leather down. Shrugged on a long overcoat which extended to a few inches above his ankles, but was light and cut out at the sides; very similar to the one he had conjured when Thor first freed him from Asgard's dungeons to help fight against Malekith. The scrap of red cloth he'd been wearing as a half cape dangled in his grip above the table. He started to set it down, then quickly tied it onto his belt at the back where it hung down beneath the coat, like some sort of ridiculous butt-cape. His ears heated and Loki silently dared the bastards behind him to say anything.

And, after about fifteen minutes of deliberating, he was ready.

Thankfully, the Grandmaster seemed eager to 'get this show on the road'. Loki was hurried out of the hall, into the arms of a waiting guard and then escorted back down to his cell.

Now that he was due to fight the Champion, time seemed to fly past, each step a millisecond, as if the Norns had taken the film of his life and cut frames out. Within moments he was shoved into the familiar blank corridor, stretching into the distance in both directions.

Sat against the wall only a few metres from the door were Moth and Hon Dör, heads leant back and, in the green one's case, with bruises scattered across their features. Loki silently stepped further in, new boots only making a soft padding sound against the hard metal surface. He made his way to the wall opposite his cellmates and slid down, sat against it.

Time slipped by.

Moth would twitch and turn every few minutes, the discoloured bruising pulling back until it was so faint he could barely see it, then was gone. The exact opposite, Hon Dör sat quietly and unmoving, not even twiddling her thumbs, with no visible wounds but a stiffness to her posture which suggested severe bruising.

Loki huffed out a sigh, confident that the others weren't faking sleep this time around. He made to run a hand through his hair but pulled back at the unfamiliar sensation of sharp bristles against his fingers. Bit at a knuckle instead and stared at the blank floor.

Could he fight this Champion? Or perhaps the death he had been indifferent to not so long ago would finally claim him. Just when he had come to realise he had a brother and a home, needed to know what happened. The Norns had to get their kicks somewhere, and Loki was starting to think he was their version of reality television. Too much irony and coincidence; realising what he had seconds after losing it, or just in time to watch it die. Hopefully, nothing would happen to Thor. How he hoped.

Loki felt his head grow heavy and let it sink to his knees, resting against the knobbly bone. He hadn't hoped like this - it was nearly a prayer - since he was very young. Only just learning to fight on unsteady legs with a too-large handle in hand and Odin before him, scowling, disappointed. If he could just see his dratted brother alright, the gnawing in his stomach would ease and the fog in his mind would dissipate.

Under Asgard, in the dungeons when no-one had come to see him and the very air had been torturous… But then someone had come. Maybe not for him, to save or help him, but Thor had come. And had saved him and helped him. It ripped away the walls he had placed between himself and the roiling thing which was the mess of what he felt for Asgard and her Royal family. Other walls had been constructed, quickly and ineffectively, far less permanent than ones the Void had helped him create. And he couldn't properly box it all up again.

Anger and hate and all the rest of it was slipping away, through his fingers as he tried to keep hold of it. Left only bone-deep weariness. He wanted Thor and Asgard and his mother back. He wanted to get off this awful planet and to talk. Not to apologise or grovel for acceptance, but everything to go back to the way it had been before that coronation. Even with how he had been excluded and laughed at; Thor hadn't hated him. He had been Æsir. Frigga had been alive. Compared to now… It was idyllic.

Aching pain, lodged somewhere deep in his torso and Loki wrapped his arms about himself, pushed his knees into his eye sockets.

Asgard could be gone and he couldn't stop thinking about it anymore. It was more immediate now, with the battle looming within touching-distance, so immediate that he could be out in the ring, fighting for his freedom in minutes.

Those towering pillars and houses and the palace could be little more than rubble, brought low by Hela. Perhaps Odin was dead. Perhaps Thor was, too. Perhaps Hela had slain every single Æsir and he was the last remaining.

Alone.

At least as far as culture went, he would be the last, but as a race - extinct. Everyone he had ever known, who had known him. Dead and gone.

Loki felt his shoulders shaking and wrapped his arms tighter, metal of his armour digging into his stomach and thighs. Deep in his torso, the pain ached. He wanted to die all over again, but freedom and escape was so close, he could smell the familiar campfire smoke of Asgard.

A hand on his arm and Loki started, looked up.

Honey hair and sparkling eyes as Asgard's deceased Queen leant over him, fingers gently over his bicep.

You mourn me, my son?

He blinked, slowly uncurled and bit down on his knuckle as he stared up into her face. "You and the rest of Asgard."

She hummed in response and set herself down beside him, but never letting go. Loki let out a shuddering breath and the aching stabbed a little more, then seemed to ease.

Don't try to stop it, this pain. You shall be better for it.

Loki leant his head back until it thumped softly against the wall and his eyes drifted shut for a moment, before opening again and resting on Frigga's face, blurry and transparent at the edges. "I want it to stop," He managed to say, a barely audible whisper, voice breaking. "I want to go home."

I would say that time heals all ills, but you must let yourself experience the ills first.

"You want me to feel this?" He placed a palm against his sternum, almost without thinking, and pressed. As if his hurt was a physical wound which could be eased by staunching the blood flow. "It was better behind walls."

No, my sweet boy. This is letting out the infection. If you do not, it shall fester and only continue to grow as it has been these past years.

Frigga shifted and leant against him. The hand let go, but encircled him instead of leaving completely. Loki heaved in a shaky breath and curled into the offering of a hug, head coming to rest against her barely-there shoulder as his own shook with the force of keeping his face free of tears. Or at least what passed for them.

Now, my boy. You must sleep to keep your strength up.

Loki felt his eyelids grow heavy and shut, the soft hands lowered him to the floor and faded away. He was tired, exhausted. Frost was forming on his face despite his efforts, but his shoulders no longer shook - the tears just slipped out, despite how drained he felt.

I am so proud of you, my son.

With those not-quite-words drifting through his mind, Loki fell asleep. Frost was on his cheeks, but also a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth at his mother's words. It hurt, as he drifted off, but her pride softened the edge for a moment.

Loki woke to a green face far too close to his.

Eyes blinked open and teeth suddenly appeared, lips pulled up in a smile. He flinched back sharply and shoved at the creature looming over him, but it was not flung back, only stumbled.

Then he recognised them. Moth, not some creature. Loki huffed out a breath and scowled in an attempt to hide his relief. "Did anyone ever teach you manners?" He snapped, trying and failing to inject venom into his tone.

Hon Dör snorted. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to challenge the Champion."

"I stopped you from being ripped apart," Loki shot back, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest.

She paused, shoulders tense, but spoke. "Thank you, I suppose," Hon Dör said, quickly and nearly too quiet to be heard.

He smiled in response, all edges. "Wasn't that hard, was it?"

"You're an arse," She hissed, the cracks in her mask revealing narrowed eyes and lowered brows.

Moth's large hand came between them, and they frowned, but without any force behind it. "Please calm down, Hon Dör. Luke."

"I am calm," She grumbled, but strode away.

They watched as Hon Dör sat down along the corridor, back turned and sighed, glanced down at Loki. "You said you wouldn't snap at her."

The Prince snorted. "And I'm supposed to care?" He replied. Inside him, the hollow ache from before falling asleep was still there. Like he had swallowed a large, sharp stone and it was sliding down his esophagus in spurts, scraping uncomfortably and too large to fit. He shuddered, automatically reached up and pressed the heel of his palm against his sternum to rub at it.

"Are you ready to fight the Champion?"

Loki heaved in a breath, let it out slowly. "I haven't even seen it, how can I know?"

Moth subsided into silence, thinking. They slumped down to sit next to him with a sigh. "Try to stay alive, Luke."

"I will," He said, voice soft.

"Then you are ready." Moth's great hand came over, rested on Loki's shoulder. At first, he tensed, almost shrugged it off, but stilled and let the touch comfort him. Once he got off Sakaar, none of this would matter, if it even did in the first place.

The two sat in companionable silence as they waited. Hon Dör came over after a while, sat on his other side, knee brushing against his thigh and they just sat together, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

And, inevitably, the door swung open. A guard stood in the entrance, armour spiked and far more intimidating than Loki had ever seen it, despite there being no change. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore how his ribs felt as if they were constricting, squashing his lungs in his chest.

It's eyes weren't visible, but Loki could feel them boring into him anyway. Judging him, perhaps laughing at this newest, pathetic challenger. Pride stung, the Prince pushed himself upright and strode towards the door, studiously ignoring that this meant battle was at hand. That he would be facing an incredibly powerful creature in a one versus one fight to the death. That his mother had warned him against it - whether she truly was Frigga or wishful thinking, Loki didn't know. Hadn't had the time to figure out.

And he was before the door, a metal-clad hand wrapped about his bicep and dragged out. One last glance back to see his cellmates staring after him, Hon Dör's mask inscrutable and Moth's face troubled.

Then he was out, dragged along behind the guard. Again, each step seemed far too fast, the Norns once more messing with the speed of how things passed, his heart hammered in his chest. To try and calm it, Loki automatically ran his hands over his armour, buckles, coat, weapons, the scrap of red fabric. It was in his fist once they reached the holding cell. Scratchy and reassuring against his fingertips as he was thrown in.

Loki sat on the bench, all the checks he could think of completed. His equipment was as ready as it would ever be.

Hands twisting in that red fabric. He could almost smell campfires, metal and honey - what distant memories told him Thor's cape smelled of. When he was smaller, being bundled up in that warm sea of red cloth, carried like a baby. He remembered feeling indignant at the treatment, but Loki would give anything to swap positions with his younger self. He suppressed the smile at first, but then let it spread across his face. There was no one here to judge him for it. At least no one who mattered.

"Five."

The smile disappeared, made way for a frown and Loki stood, twisted the red fabric one last time then made a conscious effort to let go.

"Four."

He heaved in a breath and puffed it out again. Hands reached for the pommels of his daggers, one at each hip, a smaller knife in his boot and throwing knives stashed wherever they would fit. There had been far more than a measly six to choose from, this time.

"Three."

Loki rocked on his feet, bouncing up onto the balls, then back onto his heels. Rolled his neck, felt the vertebrae in his spine click.

"Two."

Hopefully, he'd win. He'd be free. He'd find his way to Asgard, find Thor, vanquish Hela. Get his home back.

"One!"

And the great doors trundled open, he threw up an arm against the piercing light, but it did nothing to block out the thunderous roar which swept through the opening.

It was screams and yells and wordless disdain. Boos, chatter, curses and everything else assaulted his ears. Spotlights trained on the entrance into the arena and Loki stepped out into it, squashed any uncertainty down.

Announcer was screaming, an insufferable voice insufferably loud. But he didn't pay it any attention, and stared out at the arena instead.

The same tall walls. The same blue and red gravel. The same sea of faces atop those walls, mouths gaping open wide with the force of sound they were making.

Would he die here?

Would this be the last thing he saw? These tall walls and blue and red gravel and sea of open faces.

It was odd, seeing the place where he could die. It felt all the more real for how Frigga had almost begged him not to do this, how she had insisted it would end in his death, what felt like long ago.

But Loki wanted to see his brother again, wanted to be wrapped up in that red sea of cloth and feel like no one could touch him. It was infantile and childish and sentimental, but there wasn't much else he could think of, to give himself the strength to stay standing where he was. Not to try and flee.

And then all thought was at the very back of his mind.

Opposite him, across the arena.

Doors slid open.

Blasted by sound all around, Loki could still hear the thumping as a creature - a huge creature - thudded closer.

Before the great sheets of metal had even slid completely to the side, it was there. A giant green arm slammed out, smashed into it and the door crumpled beneath the blow. It had to have been a metre thick, but acted more like a millimetre of aluminium foil.

It let loose a bellowing roar, stood before the ruined entrance it had come through, chest heaving. An almost comically tiny head sat atop grotesquely muscled shoulders, each one wider than Loki's torso. The left one was armoured; a blue piece of curved, ribbed metal and an accompanying helmet covered the black hair which undoubtedly adorned its pate. Strips of leather strapped everything to it, twined into vambraces and greaves at unnaturally large hands and feet. In each fist was a ridiculously oversized weapon - one an axe, the other a strange variation of hammer.

Loki would have started an internal monologue, picking up on every single speck of dirt on the creature, just to distract himself from the inevitable fact that he needed to snap out of whatever limbo he had receded into. But he didn't, because this was important and needed his mind not to be distantly pointing out utterly unimportant details and screaming in panic.

More importantly, that was the motherfucking Hulk.

"Oh shit," Loki breathed as he stared at the rapidly approaching Avenger.

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