The incessant pain blurred the minutes; it blurred the hours, until Loki found his sense of time and place vanishing entirely.

There was no ticking timer anymore. No escape plan, no Sakaaran hangar, or ships, or access codes.

There was nothing.

Only pain.

Only excruciating pain and the cold, hard floor on which he writhed.

Memories of when the Valkyrie had first brought him to Grandmaster flashed before his eyes, and as time continued its slow, painful crawl, Loki found he couldn't separate the past from the present. Was he again on his way to meet the Grandmaster? Was he still lying amongst the rubbish heaps while the Valkyrie smashed her thumb atop the controller?

Or was he dying? Really and truly dying?

Somewhere along the line, he remembered Thor, but that seemed like a very long time ago, indeed. And as the obedience disk on his back pulsed wave after endless wave of pain through his veins, the image of his brother grew increasingly distorted.

Filling his lungs proved to be an agonizing chore, but it wasn't as if Loki could simply stop breathing.

Well, he could, but Death was an old enemy he'd fought so desperately to avoid.

Then, almost as abruptly as it had begun, the pain stopped. It was like a commanding snap of the fingers: one moment he was struggling for air, and the very next he was drinking in more oxygen than his lungs could handle.

Inhale, exhale, and oh! How good it felt to breathe!

His glorious reprieve lasted no more than a few seconds, however, and his now clear mind instantly reverted back to its quick calculations.

He was free. The electricity no longer clawed at his skin. Someone had switched off the pain.

Someone was here.

Whether that someone be friend or foe was a question Loki had yet to answer—though, there weren't many on Sakaar he could truly call friend. In fact, there weren't any.

He got his answer when rough fingers tangled themselves in his hair and jerked upward, pulling him to his knees.

Two hideous creatures loomed over him, with the third—and perhaps a fourth?—positioned behind him. Their armor betrayed their status and Loki bit back a groan.

Guards. But hadn't he and Thor taken care of them…?

"That's him," the tallest of the group declared. "The Grandmaster's favorite pet."

Oddly insulted, Loki would soon come to curse himself for opening his mouth. Sometimes, he just couldn't help it.

"Well, I believe that's an oversimplification. I'm not—"

His hard-earned air left his lungs in a rush as an armored fist slammed into his stomach.

"I don't recall asking for your clarification," a voice growled, though Loki was too stunned to match it with a face. "Grab him."

The hand clutching his hair migrated to his bicep and squeezed down hard. More hands locked around his other arm, forcing him onto his feet.

"I'm sure there's been some sort of a mistake," he gasped, trying to find his voice again.

"Oh, this is no mistake—it's an arrest."

Right.

"I can assure you, I'm not the one you need to arrest, but if you let me go, I can show you—"

A backhanded slap across the face stunned him once more, but only for a moment this time.

Shut up! Just shut. Up.

But the other part of his brain urged him to keep stalling. Until what? Until he thought up a plan?

Until he worked up enough strength to use his magic. Though the obedience disk was gone, he could still feel the effects of its jarring aftermath. Phantom lightning bolts seared his skin and pierced his bones.

"Truly," Loki pressed, "I'm not the one you want. I'm not the one who stole the Grandmaster's beloved Champion."

"Maybe not," the tallest hissed back. "But did you really think the Grandmaster wouldn't know who swiped his access codes?"

Loki felt the color drain from his face. Of course…

"And he thinks I did it?" The laugh he bit out tasted like death on his tongue. "Norns, with all those ludicrous parties, when would I even have the time? So, what now? Going to kill me, are you?"

A sinister grin stretched the leader's lips. "You've been here long enough to know that the Grandmaster likes to handle his executions himself."

So. Death it was, then.

Right.

"I see… Well," Loki began with a small shrug, "I guess you'll never know where the true thieves went. Such a pity. I'm sure the Grandmaster had high hopes for you."

Not a second later, Loki had conjured his twin daggers and plunged them into the stomachs of his captors, who released their holds with a jerk.

Two down, two to go—

A debilitating shock shot through his back, sending him to his knees. Though it lasted only a few seconds, he still gasped for air as his eyes widened.

The obedience disk. They had deactivated it, but hadn't hit the button to release it from his skin.

Inwardly cursing himself, Loki had but a moment to breathe before he was backhanded across the face once more. A kick to the stomach followed, then a jab to his back, which missed his spine by mere inches.

The fingers were in his hair again. Tangling and pulling until his gaze met that of the leader, whose snarl sent shivers down Loki's spine.

"No," he growled, his jagged nails digging into the prince's flesh as they held captive his chin. "He had such high hopes for you. Now, you're no better than the trash he found you in. But maybe that's what you always were."

Loki grit his teeth, steeling himself against the next blow. When it came, it brought with it a shower of white stars and black dots.

Simply wishing he could rub at his freshly bruised eye would get him nowhere. Instead, Loki flung his head forward, smashing it into the beast's nose. He had no time to revel in the sickening crunch that followed as he aimed another blow at his captors.

A dreadful crack split the air as Loki felt pain explode in the back of his skull. Fighting to stay conscious, he fell to the floor. Another kick to the stomach—and then another—had him fighting for air.

As the beating continued, Loki felt his will to resist begin to fade. It would be so simple just to let the darkness claim him. So easy…

But no. No, Thor was already on his way back to Asgard—back to Hela. He had to stop him; had to make him see reason before it was too late.

And if he couldn't stop him, Loki had to save him.

He had to save Thor.

He had to get up!

And yet, how could he when he could barely shield himself against the onslaught of blows? He couldn't remember when he had started tasting blood, but he didn't have time to dwell on the fact.

He had to get up!

Get up, you pathetic coward! Your brother's counting on you!

No, he's not. Or have you forgotten who left me here in the first place?

You can't very well blame him though, can you?

Loki barred his arms across his face, a feeble wall of protection at best.

Can you?

… No…

Not when your betrayal forced his hand. And when have you ever seen fit to just give up?

Give up… Yes, it would be so easy…

Get up! Get—!

Blaster fire filled the air and Loki tensed his battered body. Surely, they'd had enough now. Surely, this was where he would finally meet his end.

Another shot fired, but he'd yet to feel the pain… Or, perhaps he simply couldn't differentiate it from the rest of the agony throbbing against his skin.

Nevertheless, the blows had stopped. For now. And for a moment, he could breathe—he could think.

When hands grabbed at his arms again and brought him to his feet, Loki knew the reprieve had been too good to be true. Blinking hard through bruised eyelids, he forced the world to come back into focus.

A tall, blueish-gray rock creature stood before him, and he looked vaguely familiar. One of the gladiators, perhaps…? No matter how long Loki squinted, however, he couldn't match the face to a name. Behind the rock stood a large group of mismatched aliens, all of which appeared to be armed and dangerous.

The guards lay dead at their feet.

"Hey, man," the being began with a small wave. "You look a little worse for wear."

"Really?" Loki shot back, his voice gravelly. "I hadn't noticed."

Unperturbed, the rock man smiled. "Oh, well, we're just about to hop on that ginormous spaceship. Wanna come?"

"Well…" Tugging free of his captors, who were far more gentle than the guards with their hold, Loki brushed himself off and willed his legs not to collapse beneath him. "You do seem like you're in desperate need of leadership."

"Why, thank you!" And while that was certainly not the answer Loki had been expecting, he didn't question it. He was too exhausted and in too much pain.

But it would pass. Soon, the pain would fade. At least, that's what he continued to tell himself as he led the self-proclaimed revolutionaries onto the ship—the Statesman, he believed it was called.

"You're a revolutionary too, aren't you, man?" And Loki had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back as the rock man approached the chair Loki had collapsed upon.

Go away. Leave me alone, please… But this being was his savior, after all, so Loki swallowed his irritation and fatigue.

"I suppose you could say that."

The rock man shrugged. "Why else would those guards beat you up like that? Fellow revolutionaries have to stick together, that's what I say. I'm Korg, by the way."

"Loki." Once upon a time, he would've followed this statement with some sort of glorious title. Loki, Prince of Asgard. Loki, Rightful Ruler of Jotunheim.

Loki, God of Mischief.

Loki… Odinson.

"And I'm burdened with Glorious Purpose."

At that moment, though, he didn't feel very glorious. He didn't feel like a prince of Asgard.

Because, perhaps, his tormentors had been right: he was just a piece of Sakaaran trash lucky enough to make it off the planet alive.

While glorious might not be in his current self-description, he still had a purpose. He needed to rescue Thor.

He needed to save his people.

"Your savior is here!"

And though he cast an illusion upon himself before landing on the Rainbow Bridge, Heimdall still gave him an odd look. Searching… Almost knowing…

Loki didn't have time for sympathy, nor did he want it. Instead, he threw himself into the battle with all the strength of an Asgardian prince. Because perhaps, one day, he could truly claim that title again.

One day, when he finally succeeded in putting Sakaar behind him. When he had earned back the right to call himself a prince. A royal.

A brother.

Until then, he would put salve on his wounds, both mental and physical.

And hope for the best in the end.

"Maybe you're not so bad after all." The words were fondly spoken when Loki went to visit his brother in his ship quarters after the battle was won.

Loki cocked his head, plastering on a small smile. "Maybe not."

"If you were here," Thor went on as he fingered the bottle cap in his hands, "I might even give you a hug."

The cap flew his way and Loki caught it with ease. "I'm here."

Then, his brother's smile widened.

He hadn't actually been expecting the newly crowned king to make good on his comment, but when Thor crossed the distance between them and wrapped Loki in his arms, the trickster found himself hesitantly melting into the embrace.

As Thor's hold tightened, Loki felt his illusion fade away. For the first time in years, he felt safe.

Safe in his brother's arms.

And if a few tears trickled out of his eyes, well…

… He would just make sure they were gone before anyone could see.