Summary: He is disgusting. He is a monster. Loki, suffering from amnesia, is a child exposed to rapes, torture, and Electroshock Therapy. He escapes, of course, but the mental scars always remain fresh. Then he meets this person named Thor, who claims to be a god, who says they're really long lost brothers. With Loki questioning– and losing– his sanity, things take a disastrous turn.
Warning: Mentions of rape, torture, swearing, ooc, AU (I guess…?), maybe some disturbing thoughts...
Pairings: Thorki. C: (And for those of you who don't know what Thorki is... Thor x Loki ;D)
Disclaimer: If I owned Loki, I think I would die of happiness. Literally. By the gods, I mean, have you seen him? He's, like, only the definition of SEXY. And CUTE. And– *cough* Sorry, no more rambling. Onto the story!
Chapter Two: Anniversary
x_x_x_x_x
Bright green eyes scan their surroundings and they pick up nothing but dull, gray buildings and humans who walk around almost aimlessly to and fro. Really, what was he expecting? For chaos to pop up out of nowhere and tear down a building or two before quietly slipping away to create another scandalous ploy to play out in future? His eyes scan over everything, taking in every little detail that comes into his line of sight. Sometimes he thinks he's become overly-paranoid. No one was going to randomly come up to him, kidnap him, and torture him for days on end. But he still couldn't help but be wary of his surroundings every time he walked outside.
He walks down the street, his back straight, his posture neat. His suit is speckless and his hair is slicked back. To anyone who passed, he seemed like just another successful business man; just another Somebody walking down Life's Golden Path. A woman sends him a smile, her cheeks temporarily turning red as his green eyes glance at her brown ones. A man in a business suit talking on his cellphone gives him a nod, stepping to the side to let him pass. If only they knew of the darkness that he held in his mind, in his heart, in his soul…
In truth, he is not a Somebody; he is a Nobody. He is not a successful business man and he most certainly is not walking down one of Life's Golden Paths. Instead, he is walking down Life's Blackened Path; the path he had been forced to go down at the young age of nine. A path he could never get off of, even if he wanted to. He looks back at the woman and she is not smiling now, as if she knows what he truly is. She glares instead, griping her bag tightly as she briskly walks away. The man that had stepped to the side to let him pass has now changed his mind and rudely shoulders his way through the crowd, his voice now considerably louder as he yells on his phone. He continues to walk and, even though his posture is tall and screaming confidence, his eyes remain on the ground once he knows no one will attack. But even while he stares at the ground– occasionally looking up to glance at his surroundings–, he can see their expressions in his peripheral vision. The people around him are not generous towards him though they do not know him.
Why?
Because he is different.
He has always been different.
He pulls his mind back to his surroundings and he finds himself in front of one of the few places he feels comfortable: the library. He enters and no one looks at him because he is a Nobody and they are all Somebodies. But when their eyes do land on him, they are harsh with judgement and distrust. He is used to this, though, and continues on to where his book of interest lies in wait. He always find the non-fiction area to be so quiet, even more so than the adult-fiction section. He glides over to the 290's, his steps are light and quiet but full of purpose. He stops, his eyes falling on the fourth shelf down and–
Oh, well, this is new.
His book is checked out.
He shrugs this off and turns on his heels. No matter, it wasn't a big deal. The only reason he came to borrow it again was because the copy he ordered wouldn't be in his hands for another two days. He scans his mind for any other books he might be interested in and his brain conjures up the name of an author.
Well, it had been a while since he read anything written by Edgar Allan Poe…
His fingers slide over and grip the hardcover of The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Looking at the thickness of the book, he figures he should get another book as well. He is a fast reader, after all, and has been known to go through several books a day if in the mood. He finds himself in front of the Stephen King section and his fingers twitch on the spine of Bag of Bones. He grabs the book and makes his way to the checkout counter were he quickly checks his books out.
The walk back to his house is uneventful and he finds himself both relieved and disappointed by this. It had been some time since he had seen even a spark of mischief in his life. Part of him longs to fill that empty void, to start trouble and see the chaos that would ensue. But the other part of him tells him that was a bad idea, that it will lead to horrible punishments that will leave him begging for death. He knows, he knows that isn't true; that his mind is overreacting. Yet, he still can't help but believe it. Releasing a sigh, he enters his small house; placing the books on the table as he shuts and locks the door behind him.
It is a small house, holding two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living, a bathroom, a basement, and a very small attic. The only reason he was able to afford the house was because the previous owners had thought the house to be haunted and, well, when a house is claimed to be haunted, no one wants to move in. Except Loki, he didn't mind so much. Truth be told, he hadn't seen one spark of paranormal activity in the building since he moved in five years ago. He walks to the bedroom and opens up his dresser, pulling out a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a shirt that was easily two sizes too big for him. Normally he would have thrown something as such away in an instant.
But the shirt made of cotton.
How could he toss something so comfortable?
Not too mention it was a light olive green.
He likes green.
As he changes in the bathroom, he can't help but feel… off. Like he was forgetting something, something important. He makes his way into the living room where a calendar is hanging and sees what the date is. June 3rd, it reads and he stands up.
'Ah, that's what I was forgetting…'
Today was the twentieth anniversary of his escape.
He sits down in his comfortable reclining chair and stares at the wall. 'Has it really been twenty years already…?' He remains seated for a moment before swiftly getting up. It seems, he found, that his stomach suddenly yearns for tea and pudding. He doesn't keep it waiting.
x_x_x_x_x
He had reached a breaking point.
Both physically and mentally, he had reached a breaking point.
His sanity, he found, left him the day his mouth was sewn shut. Not only had the attacker taken away his dignity and innocence, but he also took his ability to scream. Loki had one thing that kept him going, and it had been his ability to speak. His words, he found, were a great weapon. Yet, he had been ripped of that as well. His mind had lapsed not long after the sewing and all the tortures seemed to blur together. After that came his physical breaking point. His body wouldn't move at all. Breathing had become such a hard task and he wondered why he even continued to try. He was almost positive the wounds his body was sporting were infected. They had been cleaned but a few times and he could feel the infection. It was sickening.
Disgusting, gross, vile, corruptive, sickening, disgusting.
It felt like puss ran through his veins and his blood was suddenly nothing more than squirming maggots eating away at his insides. He lifted his head just high enough to look over his exposed chest. Four drops of acid had burnt his skin away and left the epidermis in a horrible state. He was almost tempted to tear pieces of the ragged flesh off but found he was too weak to move. He could feel them, the maggots, crawling on his chest. They lived in his acidic wounds and they made his skin around the burns turn to mush, goo, slime.
He laughed maniacally.
His abused throat was raw and the sound that emanated from it sounded like sandpaper rubbing against a rough surface. The stitches that held his mouth shut suddenly stretched as he smiled and the pain forced him to close his mouth again. He could taste blood in his mouth and could feel it run down his chin, but this only made him laugh harder behind clenched teeth. He didn't care anymore. Why should he? He was going to die anyway, might as well have a good laugh before then, right? He felt as if he had been placed in a straightjacket and his mind was being picked at by centipedes and wasps. The stinging was severe and he suddenly began to cough violently, the action making the stitches stretch even more. He used what little strength he had to roll onto his side and blood continued to ooze from his mouth.
He had nearly choked on his own blood.
He had no idea why, but the thought brought clarity to his mind. Here he was, a nine-year-old boy, bloodied, battered, and tortured with no way of escaping and he was laughing.
That, he found, frightened him.
He hadn't even realized that his mind had begun to shut down and madness started to take over. But that madness was a release, an escape for him. Should he not welcome it with open arms? His mind was at war with itself. He wanted to escape, but he wanted to be aware at the same time. His brain felt like it was going to explode and the urge to laugh and laugh and laugh began to fade in again. The puss running through his blood suddenly turned to glass, sends bolts of pain throughout his entire body. He bit down hard on his tongue to suppress a scream. 'It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, notrealnotrealnotrealnotreal notrealnotre–'
'Of course it's real, you idiot! Maggots are eating away at your body, turning you into a pile of disgusting slime! Centipedes and wasps are picking apart your brain! Spiders are crawling behind your eyes, making webs and nesting thousands of poisonous eggs that are moments away from hatching! A snake slithers through your throat, constricting around your airway every passing second; bringing you closer and closer to death! Another snake, one that sports a thorny vine around its body, encircles your heart! It will squeeze the organ until it pops! You will no longer have a heart, you will no longer live! Your soul is nothing but a home for killer bees, worms, and other vile creatures! Roaches crawl under you skin, can you not feel it all? Can you not feel it?! This was your wish! This is what you have been praying for! An end, an escape! *Death*! Whoever said death was a beautiful thing was correct in every sense. It is beautiful, is it not? Look, the darkness is already swallowing you! Wrapping around you like a caterpillar's silk cocoon! You will leave behind this world and enter the next as a new being, a new creature! Do not fight it. Embrace it. It is your fate, Loki. This, you must know. You were never meant to get far in this world. Life is a joke, and you, my pathetic friend, are its punchline.'
"You're wrong," Loki whispered, his eye shut tightly and hands clasped over his ears. His lips screamed with pain every time he moved them, but he had to answer the voice. He had to. "You're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong."
'Am I, now… Think about it. What have you done to deserve this, huh? Sure, you played a joke or two; but you have never done anything to deserve this except exist. Life has pinpointed you to be its punching bag.' The voice seemed to stop and Loki was grateful. His mind was racing and hurting and he couldn't focus on anything. His sanity was trying to make a comeback– and he was trying to his best to help– but it wasn't very easy when he couldn't concentrate. His body began to ease and the fingers of exhaustion were nearly upon him. He hadn't slept for five days. Honestly, he had hardly slept at all since he had been captured. But the voice wouldn't let him go, oh no, not just yet. It snaked its way back into his mind, its voice smooth as silver. 'Life isn't worth living. It is to be taken and beaten and wrestled and formed in your image. That's where the meaning lies. In what you can twist life into. For those who just endure life, yeah, it is a very nasty joke. But for those who form it with their will, the joke is on those who get in the way.'
"I must be crazy," Loki muttered. "You're beginning to make sense."
'Because I am sense. Loki, the gods are playing with you, they want to see you suffer.'
Loki furrowed his brows. "Gods…?"
'Yes, Loki. You know who I'm talking about.'
"But I–"
'They scorn you. They hate you. You have no place to call home and they'll do everything in their power to make sure is stays that way. Like I said before, Life is a joke, and you are its punchline.'
"Go away," Loki whispered. "Go away, go away."
'I will never go away. Never.'
"Go away, go a–"
"Shut up, brat!" A kick to his already abused back made him cry out in both pain and surprise. Another kick found its way to his ribs and he let out another cry. He was dizzy and hurting and insane and– why couldn't he just die? "Worthless scum. Get up." But Loki couldn't. His energy was drained. He had no strength to do anything. "I said get up."
'I can't,' he thought. 'I just… I can't.'
"Are you deaf? Get up!" More kicks assaulted his broken body and he wondered if this time death would finally come for him. His back was lined with whiplashes and lacerations while his chest was disfigured with acidic burns. Bruises littered his body and he had absolutely no doubt in his mind he had a lot of broken bones. A well placed kick had him gasping for air, but with every breath he took, it burned. Some organs were probably bruised as well. "Piece of shit! I said get up, goddamn it! Fucking get up, you pathetic weakling!"
But he couldn't.
Because he was weak.
No, wait… that wasn't right.
'Weakling, weakling! What a little weakling!"
'Pathetic weakling!'
'Loki, Loki, what a little weakling!'
He clenched his teeth and a sudden surge of anger ran through him. He. was. not. weak! He rolled over to face the man and kicked out with his newfound strength. He heard something snap and the man fell to the ground before him with a scream. Loki let out a cry of absolute rage as he jumped onto the man and reached for his throat. Unfortunately, the man saw this coming and pulled a baton from his belt; swinging it with everything he had. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber and Loki was thrown to the ground with his vision swimming. Blood raced from the new wound on his temple and reached up to touch it. His skull had a deep fracture, he knew, and he would have given a curse if not for the pain that rang through his mind. He groaned as he sat up, his eyes concentrated on the man across his cell. The man was limping towards him, his face twisted in rage and disgust.
Fear came first.
The next, anger.
And last, insanity.
The man was halfway across the cell when Loki did something that even had the perpetrator stopping in his tracks with a look of horror on his face. Loki reached up and grabbed one end of the leather throng that held his mouth shut. Then, in the most ungraceful way, he pulled. The knot went through every hole painstakingly slow, and Loki couldn't help but let the tears– those damn creatures he absolutely detested– fall from his eyes. Blood flowed from the wounds like silk ribbons and it was obvious he was losing too much blood too quickly. But he did not stop. Halfway through, Loki's muffled sobs became short, hysterical laughs. His green eyes were wide and unfocused and practically screaming death.
The knot exists the last hole and Loki is the true image of bloodied maniac on the very verge of having a psychotic breakdown. Scratch that, this was his psychotic breakdown. The pain, Loki finds, is unworldly, and he can't help but relish the fact that he felt so alive at the moment, yet, at the same time, felt so close to death as well. The man's nearly upon him now and the fear returns to the child with full force. He stands, his back pressed against the wall, and he shrinks in on himself; raising his arms as if to protect himself. The hand is coming closer now, closer, closer, closer! Fear continues to rise and, suddenly, Loki shouts–
"Get away from me!"
A bright flash of green blinded the male before a powerful hit to his stomach sent him flying across the cell. The small boy panted, his breath ragged, and his vision blurred even more. He felt drained and stared into space, a look of shock and confusion on his face. "What… what just…?" He looked down at his own trembling and dirty hands as if they held the answer. His eyes looked up and he was shocked to see the male hunched over, a rapidly expanding pool of blood surrounding him. The boy inched closer, leaning heavily on the cell's bars as he did. As he approached, he noticed the man's stomach had a horrible looking wound to it.
"What… What have you…" He rasped, coughing blood as his head lolled back. "What are… you…"
That was a question even Loki didn't know the answer to.
The boy watched as the man took his last breath and went to exit his cell, hesitating as he did. His world was spinning, his body felt like its about to fall apart from pain and exhaustion, his mind was on the verge of exploding, and he felt oh so tired. But he pressed on, and took his first step out. He felt happiness wash over him, along with victory and relief and–
"Hey, freak! What are you doing out of your cell?"
"What's the loser doing now?"
"The whore's been let loose!"
Happiness vanished and was replaced with detest and Loki found himself opening the door the children's cell. They showed no fear at all, but they did look disturbed. Loki wondered why until he suddenly remembered the blood running down his chin and the acidic wounds on his chest. He heard the word 'monster' whispered several times and– 'you know what? Fuck it.' He smiled, but it was not a frightening one nor a mad one.
It was a sincere one.
The children were confused. He didn't blame them. None of them spoke a word and when one finally opened their mouth to do so, Loki acted.
Lifting up his hand, he concentrated with everything he has.
It proved to be way too much concentration because the next thing he knew, people were exploding.
Literally.
Innards and blood flew everywhere and he slightly flinched when part of someone's small intestine landed on his shoulder and another's eyeball smacked him in the leg. A jaw grazed his arm and a toe bounced off his stomach. Luckily only a little blood landed on him and he's more than pleased with the outcome. In truth, he didn't want to make them explode– honestly, he didn't even know he could do that–, he had only wanted to kill them quickly. He knew he promised to make them suffer, but he just couldn't do that. He just… couldn't. Not to them, even though part of him longed for it. He hadn't been the only one tortured after. They had been whipped daily, their backs had shown that, but at least they had each other. Loki? Had no one.
But after that powerful attack– he wondered what it is exactly– he felt almost completely drained and his world spun even more. He felt himself tremble horribly and prayed he had enough strength to make it out of this hellhole. He walked until the darkness of the room began to turn white, white, white again. He came to a fork in the hallways and he looked to the left, his face paling even more as he saw an all too familiar door staring at him.
The room with the lightning.
Fear crept into his mind again and he quickly turned around to make sure no one was going to drag him into that horrible room. To make him suffer. To make him do a deadly dance and a shrill song with the lightning. He turned right and walked as fast as he could away from the door. He held onto the white wall, smearing it with rose petals of blood. It made him think of an old story he read– did he read this story, or did he make it up?– about a girl who colored white roses red with paint to suffice a roaring queen of hearts. 'Wonderland. Lewis Carroll,' his mind responded. He turned down a few more hallways before he saw a glowing red sign.
EXIT
His heart pounded like a horse's hooves and excitement coiled around him like a snake. Freedom screamed for him like a wolf howling to the full moon awaiting its pack to arrive. And the ruler of the dead seemed to push him away with gentle hands, push him towards the light that is Life, not the darkness of Death. He threw open the emergency exit door and nothing prepared him for the blinding light of day that assaulted his eyes. He had been so accustomed to the dark and artificial light. Sunlight, he found, was much, much brighter. He no longer felt cold and the warm sunlit rays made his pale skin glow. He fell to his knees and finally opened his eyes. He was met with rocks, a cliff, and the ocean. He smiled, taking in a deep breath of the salty air. The sound of the ocean roaring as it crashed into the waves made his eyes water. The sound of gulls cawing, the feeling of the wind blowing through his hair, the scenery of nature… He found himself crying tears of joy.
He was free.
Free, free, free!
He would die free.
He fell onto the jagged rocks below him but he didn't care about the pain it brought to his wounded back. The sun continued to caress his skin and he smiled. "I did it," he whispered. "I'm free."
The light of the outside world began to fade away into darkness and, this time, Loki didn't mind it so much.
x_x_x_x_x
Loki sat at the kitchen table as he waited for his kettle to whistle, his mind still lost in the memory. He remembers he had awoken two days later to find nearly all his wounds had healed but he had been left with a mean sunburn which, luckily, healed just as fast. He raises his hand and green sparkles dance in his palm. He had finally found out what it was called. Magic. He smiles and his magic ceases. He can feel it, though, coursing through his veins. It sparks, asking to be used. "It has been a while since I've used you… and, well, let's face it; this neighborhood is in desperate need of some excitement." He can't help but grin at his words. Maybe one of his neighbors lawnmowers will come to life and walk itself outside and take down Ms. Gerismawl's neglected garden…
Yes, he likes the idea of that! But, first, pudding and tea!
But as he pours the water from his whistling kettle, he can't help but think back to that man's question. "What are you?" That was a question he had been asking himself for the past twenty years. Especially last year when he had exhausted himself of magic– he had wanted to see how much magic he had and found he held quite a lot– and when he tried to do one last spell, he had turned blue. And when in this blue form, he could summon ice easily. He also found his skin was cold like ice– which explained why he never got cold–, but when exposed to heat, it turned back to its normal pale state.
Although, he had to admit, that form made an excellent halloween costume.
He had managed to scare eleven adults, sixteen teenagers, and over fifty children.
Yes, that had definitely been a successful holiday.
He scoots his chair in and looks down at his meal. Pudding and tea. Honestly, it couldn't get any better than that. He only gets half through his pudding a quarter through his tea when a knock at the door catches his attention. He groans as he stands up, making his way from the kitchen to the door. He didn't like being interrupted while eating pudding and drinking tea. It ruined the whole 'peaceful Loki' time. Another knock, this one more eager sounding, and Loki growls. "Give me a second," he hisses loudly. He can tell by the knock it's definitely not a girl scout looking to sell cookies that's knocking at his door. "Honestly, if this is another Jehovah Witness, or surveyor, I swear…" Another knock and– really? Are they that impatient? He wonders if it's someone who's come to kidnap him. Or maybe rob him. Or kill him. Either ways, they wouldn't leave this house alive if that was the case.
He reaches the door and throws it open. "What?" He snaps, his eyes narrow and dark. (Okay, so he hadn't been able to sleep a peaceful night since he could remember. At least the darkness under his eyes wasn't extreme. In fact, he kind of likes it. It makes him look more menacing and threatening.)
The man at the door is large and big and has many toned muscles and Loki starts to wonder if he should run. The large male is grinning practically from ear to ear and his golden hair shines in the sun's light. He is oddly dressed and Loki can only guess that he's wearing armor. Yeah, it's definitely armor. And a bright red cape. Odd. He didn't hear of any renaissance fairs coming to town. The man's eyes are bright like the blue skies and clear like the sea. Looking over him, Loki can only think of one word.
Golden. This man is practically glowing the golden color.
It irks Loki to no end and he suddenly has the urge to punch this man in the face.
The large man opens his arms wide as if expecting a hug and his grin seems to brighten and widen even more. "Brother, I found you!"
Loki slams the door in the stranger's face.
X_x_X_x_X
I just want to say thank you to those who took the time to review! Really, it means so much to me! In fact… Cyber pudding for everyone who reviews! :D Sorry for any mistakes I made. Literature isn't my strong point. It's actually one of my weaker points…. Don't worry, though. Loki may seem better but, let's be honest, you never fully recover from something like that. His mind'll definitely be going down the drain again. Just gotta be patient. c:
Sorry about, like, exploding the kids and all... But it was kind of called for in order for the plot to advance. P:
And, just for the hell of it all, I'll throw in two trivia questions! Why? Because I like trivia. Give me a break. Okay, first one:
The voice in Loki's head says, "Life isn't worth living. It is to be taken and beaten and wrestled and formed in your image. That's where the meaning lies. In what you can twist life into. For those who just endure life, yeah, it is a very nasty joke. But for those who form it with their will, the joke is on those who get in the way." Without looking this up, who can tell me where– and maybe who, too– this quote is from? Here's a hint: It's from a T.V. show.
Second question:
"His heart pounded like a horse's hooves and excitement coiled around him like a large snake. Freedom screamed for him like a wolf howling to the full moon awaiting its pack to arrive. And the ruler of the dead seemed to push him away with gentle hands, push him towards the light that is Life, not the darkness of Death." Can any of you tell me who this is in reference to? I know a lot of you can, since you're probably Loki fans. But if you don't, well, GO READ YOUR MYTHOLOGY! X3
Okay, now that that's over, please leave a review? Please? You'd make me a very happy kitty!
Anyway, have a nice day/night!
Your shy ice elemental,
~roo the mischievous psycho
