Loki's eyelids flutter open, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at the ceiling, his vision blurry, as the world around him slowly comes back into focus. His body aches with a sharp, biting intensity—a lingering reminder of the Hulk's devastating blows.

Loki clenches his jaw, his teeth grinding as the pain in his ribs and limbs pulses in waves. If he didn't know better, he would think he had just gone ten rounds with Thor—and that's the last thing he wants to remember right now.

Yet he can't help but feel relieved. For the first time in ages, his mind is silent. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes to take it all in. There are no whispers, no orders, no foreign presence trying to pull the strings of his thoughts. No suffocating grip of Thanos's will pulling him apart piece by piece. No longer can he feel the Other's nails against his flesh, opening barely healed wounds. No longer do his ears ring from the sound of his own screams echoing in his skull. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and for a moment, just lets it wash over him—this sudden, disorienting sense of relief. The quiet feels almost alien. He could get used to it. He could—

A sharp pain in his chest interrupts his fleeting moment of peace. Loki gasps, and for the first time, his hand moves instinctively to touch his body, feeling the raw bruises and the heavy ache of his ribs. There's no denying it—he is alive, but he feels the effects of his injuries.

But it's not just his physical pain that's overwhelming. There's something deeper—a gnawing fear he can't shake.

Where am I?

The question lingers, and Loki feels his body shift slightly as he attempts to sit up.

When Loki opens his eyes again, he's immediately confronted by weapons and hostile stares. His mind takes a moment to catch up with his surroundings as his gaze sweeps over the group of Midgardians standing before him. But it's Anthony Stark's figure that finally registers—his towering form in that familiar, gleaming armor.

Loki's lips curl into a wry smile. "I think I'll take that drink now," he drawls, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

Stark's lips twitch, a brief flicker of something between amusement and annoyance. But it's quickly replaced by an angry frown. "Not happening, Reindeer Games," he sneers, his voice thick with disdain.

Loki opens his mouth to respond, but before the words can form, he's yanked to his feet by a pair of strong hands. He doesn't get a chance to resist—can't even summon his magic in time.

His body lurches upward, and the breath is knocked from him as he's hoisted to a standing position. "Thor!" The word escapes him before he can stop it, his voice a whisper, strangled by the rawness in his throat. He needs to say something—anything. "Thor! I need-"

But then, before he can get another word out, a sharp, cold sensation cuts across his lips. His mouth is filled with something hard, metallic. The taste is bitter, and it's all he can do not to gag. It's a gag, a silencing instrument.

Loki recoils, trying to pull away, but strong hands hold him fast. His eyes lock on Thor's, and he sees it—that look. His father's, no, Odin's look.

Thor's face is stern, unyielding. The bright, defiant gaze that once saw him as family has turned cold. There is no brotherly affection in Thor's eyes now, only something else. Something Loki can't bring himself to fully comprehend. "No more of your lies, Loki," Thor says, his voice low, but filled with something dangerous.

Lies? Loki's chest tightens. His brother, his friend—the one person he thought would understand—calls his words lies? The hurt cuts deep, sharper than any weapon. His heart sinks into his stomach, the weight of betrayal heavy upon him.

Loki wants to scream, to rail against this injustice, but all he can do is stare at Thor in stunned silence. How did it come to this? How did the two of them, once so close, end up here?

He's not your brother anymore. He never was.

Loki pushes the voice to the back of his mind with practiced detachment, the way one ignores an unwelcome presence that has overstayed its welcome. He has not seen his brother in years. Thor's face, the once-familiar warmth in his eyes, now feels like a distant memory. Loki can only guess how long he had been lost in the void before Thanos had pulled him from it. But the time that followed—on that norns forsaken rock at the outer edges of the galaxy—feels as though it stretched on for centuries, each day a blur of darkness and agony. The cruel emptiness of it all still lingers, threatening to drown him, especially now as he senses a flicker of something familiar in his chest.

The connection to his magic is weakening.

The cuffs Thor places around his wrists are cold, unyielding—crafted from a mixture of gold and iron, heavy and ornate. They almost seem elegant, adorned with runes that shimmer like moonlight against his pale skin. To anyone else, they might appear as ceremonial adornments, symbols of status, or perhaps tokens of power. But Loki knows them all too well. These runes are no mere decoration. They are a prison. He has seen them before, on those who have been captured as enemies of Asgard.

And now, the metal coils around him, tightening his chest with the weight of memories he thought he'd locked away. The cold, unforgiving embrace sends him spiraling back to the past, to the days of torment and relentless whispers from Thanos.

There is no escape, princeling.

The voice echoes through his mind again, and Loki's breath hitches. His heart races for a moment, before he forces himself to retreat. He has built a safe corner in his mind, a place where he can hide from the pain and constant manipulation. He withdraws into that place now, making himself small, careful not to give away too much. Just enough of his consciousness remains, a tether that will allow him to follow whatever orders come his way. He will not let them see how broken he is. He will not let them know that even now, the shadow of Thanos still hovers over him, a specter he fears he will never fully escape.

Something didn't sit right. This felt almost too easy. Tony had witnessed Loki's relentless determination to win—hell, the guy had nearly pulled off an invasion. He'd been cunning, vicious, and there was a certain desperation in his eyes that made it clear he wasn't ready to give up. And now? Here he was, bound and gagged, silent, and almost... accepting of his fate.

Tony couldn't shake the unease that twisted in his gut. It didn't line up with the Loki he knew—or thought he knew. The god of mischief didn't just surrender like this. It felt wrong, as if there was something else going on.

"Stark, are you coming?" Steve's voice broke his focus, pulling Tony back to the present.

He glanced over at Rogers, quickly pushing the unsettled feeling to the back of his mind. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Capsicle," Tony said with a forced grin, as he turned to follow, his tone laced with his usual sarcasm. "Especially after I helped save it."