A/N: Written for lokibingo over on tumblr. Also written for Angstember 2021, Day 24. Warnings for angst, physical and mental torture, blood, ptsd.

No Words

by

incogniteaux (incogniteau over on tumblr and AO3)

~ o ~

"You don't have to tell me what happened, but you can if you want to."

Though Thor rehearsed his speech several times over in his head before approaching his brother, he still stumbles awkwardly through it. He adds that last line softly, his voice trailing off into silence after his rambling and meandering monologue. Loki's remark back on Sakaar was correct; their family had never been great communicators, at least not when it came to each other. They brokered deals, negotiated treaties, and forged alliances across the nine realms, but heartfelt and honest familial conversations were anathema. The only exception to this was Frigga.

Thor remembers all the times their mother made he and Loki, as young boys, sit down and talk through their troubles, she serving as mediary. As they grew older and were increasingly included in Asgard's diplomatic affairs, they both developed stiff upper lips, for Odin was not fond of the "softer" emotions. These were the equivalent of exposing an underbelly of fragility for an enemy to thrust their daggers in. Thor can count on one hand the number of times Odin had told him he loved him, and that included right before his father died. But, again, Frigga was the exception. Frigga never withheld speaking of and displaying love for her sons; she never shied away from softly caressing their faces, gentle kisses on their temples or brows, even after when, seemingly overnight, they'd grown over half a foot taller than her and their voices had deepened. She'd run slender fingers through her husband's long, white hair, soothing an aching head Odin was prone to under the weight of his position as King of Asgard. All men in the House of Odin could let down their guard, feel safe in their vulnerability, in Frigga's presence. Their fears, their worries, their hurts: they'd seek her council regarding all.

The brothers sit side by side towards the back of the Benatar, the spaceship that answered the Stateman's distress call when it came under attack. After explaining the battle with their elder sister, the complete destruction of their home, and the slaughter of half of their rescued people, all they've encountered and gone through leading up to when the both of them collided with the front of the ship and were rescued, the Benatar's crew are giving them a bit of space.

Thor glances at Loki through his peripheral vision; his brother hunched over and hands around his knees, coils further into himself. Loki tries making himself smaller than he already has; he wants to hide from Thor's gaze, yet he simultaneously finds comfort in the proximity of his sibling. Thor is all of family he has left. But now Thor knows. Loki always felt weaker and lessthan compared to his brother, and now Thor knows it's all true. He's weak, and he crumbled.

When the massive ship dropped into view, Loki's stomach dropped with it, for he knew a vessel that large and menacing could only belong to one being. He felt as if he were falling from the Bifrost once again, headed for certain death. Though this death would not be of his choosing. Loki's fears were confirmed when Thanos and his children boarded the Statesman, and he came face to face with her once more.

"Hello again, my beautiful toy," Proxima Midnight purred.

Loki couldn't help it when he widened his eyes, mouth slackened, and he reflexively stepped back to put more distance between them. He saw Thor look at him during this exchange, confusion and concern inscribed on his brother's face. Thor's mind raced with how Loki crossed paths with this woman and what, exactly, transpired between the two; the way Loki shuddered at her voice and stood trembling slightly told Thor it could be nothing but ghastly.

Shortly after Loki released his grip and fell from the Bifrost into the nebulous clouds below, he had blacked out. He knew he wasn't going to wake in Valhalla or Fólkvangr, but he didn't expect to wake where he did. And he certainly didn't expect to wake alive.

He gasped, and his eyes snapped open. Suspended in mid-air, belly down, hundreds of barbed projectiles surrounded him. Loki struggled to move, but was unable to do so. He tried again, harder this time, an arm, a finger, even a toe within his boot, but couldn't. His magic would not even work. In front of him stood a creature: white hair dry as hay, wide-set, toadish eyes, no recognizable nose, and mouth set in a cruel grimace. This stranger wore fine leather not unlike his own, and, if Loki hadn't found himself in such a frightening and vulnerable position, he would've allowed himself to admire the clothing.

"Oh, Maw, do let me play with this one."

As Loki couldn't turn his head, he heard the voice before he saw what it belonged to. Black hair slicked back, top half of her face black, and horns on either side of her head, she reminded him of the sister he'd just helped vanquish. The look the woman gave him was absolutely predatory.

Play with him, she did. She controlled the icicle-like shards, stabbing him with precision. Every possible combination, quick jabs, purposeful thrusts, and slow, twisting withdrawals, in every spot of his body. Though Loki felt incomprehensible pain, his physical fortitude cruelly kept him from expiring. Because he couldn't move, he wasn't even allowed to thrash in his torment.

She burned him, and with his Frost Giant physiology, the agony was more than thousandfold. Loki bit his tongue and the insides of his cheeks until he elicited blood. It coated his teeth in a disgusting smear and his tastebuds in a metallic tang.

But Loki would have suffered and endured physical torture for eternity compared to what she chose to do next. She touched his chest with a pointed staff containing a glowing orb, and she instantly knew of every person he cherished, every deep rooted fear he held, every insecurity that ate at him. And she twisted that knowledge into whispers of cruel and callous discussion among his family regarding what they "really" thought of him; she showed him visions of his loved ones mercilessly and ferociously exterminated at his own hands. Loki was aware of everything, yet his mind was not his own anymore. He heard and saw so much that was beyond indescribable.

Loki closes his eyes for a long moment before cautiously speaking.

"It's not that I don't want to, brother."

He honestly wishes to talk of his ordeal with Thor, allow himself to lean upon his brother and not bear this trauma alone anymore.

"But I fear I've not the adequate words to do so."

A moment passes between the two.

"Quite alright," Thor says. "I will be here when you find them."