Darkness. It's become his friend over the past two years. Darkness to him means no one's come for him again, it means they're far, far away from him and they can't hurt him more. But what it really means is they're waiting for him to heal, biding their time for his body to stitch itself together so that it can be broken anew, each and every limb.
He's long forgotten the ache in his stomach; the dry pull of his throat when he swallows. What he thinks of now is memories. He remembers all the times he'd gotten into trouble as a boy and Thor having to save him. He remembers listening to his father ramble on about 'Aesir's biology' and then ultimately referring him to his mother, who was able to put it more eloquently. He revels in the memory of feeling safe, not quite a picture in his mind but more of thrumming warmth encircling his mind, putting him at ease.
He does not remember his crimes. They were repressed by the first six months, so the reason as to why he is imprisoned and tortured is beyond him. All he knows is he has to be quiet, he has to stay still so his bones and skin can heal, and he cannot beg. Begging will only get acid thrown onto his already torn body.
His mind has reverted. His thoughts are overshadowed by a childlike innocence that the tormentors don't understand. So when they ask him, 'Do you know what you did, Loki Liesmith?' he replies with tears rolling down his face, 'No.' that earns him another lashing.
Many times he calls out for his brother, his mother, his father and on one occasion the Lady Sif. He imagines they hear him, and when the pain is over, it's them that is there comforting him; not the harsh and cold stone of the floor. He sobs onto the stones, silently, always silent.
And then one day the usual silence is broken. He tenses up, ready for another round of torment. Though it doesn't make sense, they usually let him be for at least a week before they return. What has he done? The door is swung open, but no bright light enters as usual. Instead, voices. Voice followed by a very soft and flickering luminary. Something pokes him and he flinches, expecting hurt but receiving something strange instead. He's blinded.
No, not blinded. Not completely. They've shined a light in his eyes. Over his face. He realizes his eyes are not open. He wonders when the last time he opened them was. In total darkness, it does no good to open your eyes. His eyes remain shut as the light passes over, and then he's being cradled. Loki doesn't believe it. He knows it's some form of premature torture so he cries, feebly scratches at the arms that bind him, hoping he'll be let go. But the arms do not release.
He hears a whisper in his ear. It's a soft and familiar, 'shh'. He doesn't remember why it comforts him so, but he's glad of it. Even if it is all just a ruse to get him to feel safe, it's nice, so he relaxes a bit and instead of scratching at the arms, grasps them, happy and grateful of his captor's gentility. He wants to thank him for giving him time to rest before he's hurt again, but nothing comes out but a whimper.
He awakes after a whoosh of air, and the sound of footsteps. He remembers the situation and, eyes still closed, he tightens his grip on his captor's arm. He isn't sure how much time has passed without pain being inflicted upon him, but it feels like forever and he knows he is unworthy of this man's kindness. He opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light with a wince. It takes him a few blinks, but his vision finally clears.
There are people in front of him. A woman, so familiar, so threatening. He is terrified of her instantly. A man, standing in front of the woman, also so familiar, but Loki can't put a finger on him. Behind them, sitting on a couch is another man. He's slightly larger than the other two, and instead of making Loki feel endangered, there is an air of neutrality floating above him. Loki's eyes begin to strain as the man carrying him walks off. Right before he closes them for a rest, he glances up, eager to see this benevolent being who has treated him so kindly after all of the wrongs he must have committed.
He sees blond hair, a shaggy beard, weary, blue eyes. It's the eyes. It's the eyes that make his heart skitter and his world drop. He's confused, majorly confused, but also majorly relieved. His eyes flutter shut as he breathes out, managing to hold back more tears, not from pain, but from happiness. He knows he is safe, now. He knows his brother will not let harm come to him. Just as there is another great whoosh of air, Loki falls into unconsciousness once again.
His world is spinning as he's lowered down. He tries to protest, but no sound comes out. He tries to apologize, knowing he must have done something for his brother to give him up to the cruel world. He's laid down, but his mangled and painfully broken fingers still cling to his brother's collar. They're pried off, it hurts like hell but Loki doesn't make a sound, and he is forced to cower onto the soft surface he was placed on.
He listens as his brother address a woman. He tries to listen through the sound of white noise rushing in his ears and hear the words. It seems this lady is meant to care for him. Words break from his throat for the first time in years. He pleads with his brother not to leave him. He knows once he's gone the lady will hurt him. She may be less capable than his former tormentors, but he still had broken bones that were sore and could be used as torture.
Thor lays a hand on his face and lays next to him. Loki instantly calms. His eyes shut once again and he is lulled asleep by the sound of his brother's breathing and his heartbeat.
When he wakes it is dark. For a few disorienting moments he fears he's back in the dungeon and the rescue was all just a dream. Tears drip from his closed eyes as he silently weeps, it seemed so real, he should have known it wasn't; he does not deserve to be treated to kindly.
Then, lights flick behind his eyelids and he whimpers out, it must be time. He waits, silent and still for the first impact. They usually started with a punch and ended with a sharp kick to the ribs. He waits more, but nothing comes. He dares to open an eye and he is met by a white ceiling. His other eye follows and he recognizes the place he is in as Midgardian chambers. He blinks, confused.
A voice startles him and he nearly falls from the bed in his panic. Strong arms grab him, not the arms he wants, needs, and he is terrified. He's crying and he's vaguely aware that noise is coming from his chest. He knows that's not allowed, but it doesn't seem he can help it. The arms bring him back to a resting position and he hears words floating around the room, from another voice. A lighter one. A face registers itself in his line of vision and it's smiling kindly, he feels fingers gently stroking his own. It's so comforting that he almost doesn't scream when his fingers are yanked and twisted, re-breaking and then setting them. The face is gone, but a voice is lamenting, it sounds sad. The fingers are stroking his again, the pain in them radiating up to his elbow. The man above him repeating the pulling with his other and fingers and this time Loki doesn't scream. He was at least expecting it this time.
Another face comes to hover above him, a slightly older one. This one seems less gentle, but Loki doesn't feel soft fingers tracing over any of his active breaks so he is curious as to why this man is smiling at him, talking to him like he thinks he understands. Loki strains to hear him but all he hears is the rustle of material to his left and the white noise rushing past his ears.
Suddenly, he hears a rip and a crack. He doesn't register the pain until his vision is dotted in black and he's slipping into unconsciousness. He feels his leg being wrapped in something, then his eyes roll back and he passes out from the pain.
Sometime later, he awakes to the sound of something click. He opens his eyes cautiously and sees the girl that scared him before, with a strange black, metal looking object held firmly in her hand. Her lips are pursed and she looks angry. He expected this all along. He knew the pain was coming, that after a tormentor is gone another will always come. The woman steps closer, pointing the black thing at his head and he flinches, ready for whatever was coming.